Alfred hesitated, licked his lips. “Your people have been … trapped in that place all this time?”
“Yes, but you knew that already, didn’t you? That was your intent!”
Limbeck, hearing nothing of what was happening two doors down from him, continued writing:
“My people, I have been in the realms above. I have visited the realms our legends tell us are heaven. And they are. And they aren’t. They are beautiful. They are rich—rich beyond belief. The sun shines on them throughout the day. The firmament sparkles in their sky. The rain falls gently, without malice. The shadows of the Lords of Night soothe them to sleep. They live in houses, not in cast-off parts of a machine or in a building the Kicksey-winsey decided it didn’t need at the moment. They have winged ships that fly through the air. They have tamed winged beasts to take them anywhere they want. And all of this they have because of us.
“They lied to us. They told us that they were gods and that we had to work for them. They promised us that if we worked hard, they would judge us worthy and take us up to live in heaven. But they never intended to make good that promise.”
“That was never our intent!” Alfred answered. “You must believe that. And you must believe that I—we—didn’t know you were still there! It was only supposed to be a short time, a few years, several generations—”
“A thousand years, a hundred generations—those that survived! And where were you? What happened?”
“We … had our own problems.” Alfred’s gaze lowered, his head bowed.
“You have my deepest sympathy.”
Alfred glanced up swiftly, saw the Patryn’s curled lip, and, sighing, looked away.
“You’re coming with me,” said Haplo. “I’m going to take you back to see for yourself the hell your people created! And my lord will have questions for you. He’ll find it hard to believe—as I do—that ‘the jailer died.’”
“Your lord?”
“A great man, the most powerful of our kind who has ever lived. He has plans, many plans, which I’m certain he’ll share with you.”
“And that’s why you’re here,” Alfred murmured. “His plans? No, I won’t go with you.” The Sartan shook his head. “Not voluntarily.” Deep within the mild eyes, a spark kindled.
“Then I’ll use force. I’ll enjoy that!”
“I’ve no doubt. But if you’re trying to conceal your presence in this world”—his gaze fixed on the bandaged hands—“then you know that a fight between us, a duel of that magnitude and magical ferocity, could not be hidden and would be disastrous to you. The wizards in this world are powerful and intelligent. Legends exist about Death Gate. Many, like Sinistrad or even this child”—Alfred’s hand stroked Bane’s hair—“could figure out what had occurred and would eagerly start to search for the entry into what is held to be a wondrous world. Is your lord prepared for that?”
“Lord? What lord? Look here, Alfred!” Bane burst out impatiently. “None of us are going anywhere as long as my father’s alive!” Neither of the two men answered him or even looked at him. The boy glared at them. Adults, absorbed in their own concerns, they had, as usual, forgotten his.
“At last our eyes have been opened. At last we can see the truth.” Limbeck found his spectacles irritating and pushed them back up on top of his head. “And the truth is that we no longer need them …”
“I don’t need you!” Bane cried. “You weren’t going to help me anyway. I’ll do it myself.” Reaching into his tunic, he drew out Hugh’s dagger and gazed at it admiringly, running his finger carefully over the rune-carved blade. “Come on,” he said to the dog, still standing beside Haplo. “You come with me.”
The dog looked at the boy and wagged his tail but did not move.
“Come on!” Bane coaxed. “Good dog!”
The dog cocked his head, then turned to Haplo, whining and pawing. The Patryn, intent on the Sartan, shoved the dog aside. Sighing, with a final, pleading glance back at its master, the dog—head down, ears flat—padded slowly over to Bane’s side.
The child shoved the dagger in his belt and patted the dog’s head. “That’s a good boy. Let’s go.”
“And so, in conclusion …” Limbeck paused. His hand trembled, his eyes misted over. A blot of ink fell upon the paper. Pulling his spectacles down from on top of his head, he adjusted them on his nose and then sat unmoving, staring at the blank spot where the final words would be written.
“Can you truly afford to fight me?” Alfred persisted.
“I don’t think you’ll fight,” answered Haplo. “I think you’re too weak, too tired. That kid you pamper is more—”
Reminded, Alfred glanced around.
“Bane? Where is he?”
Haplo made an impatient gesture. “Gone somewhere. Don’t try to—”
“I’m not trying’ anything! You heard what he asked me. He has a knife. He’s gone to murder his father! I’ve got to stop—!”
“No, you don’t.” Haplo caught hold of the Saltan’s arm. “Let the mensch murder each other. It doesn’t matter.”
“It doesn’t matter to you at all?” Alfred gave the Patryn a peculiar, searching look.
“No, of course not. The only one I care about is the leader of the Gegs’ revolt, and Limbeck’s safely shut up in his room.”
“Then where’s your dog?” asked Alfred.
“My people”—Limbeck’s pen slowly and deliberately wrote down the words—“we are going to war.”
There, It was done. Pulling off his spectacles, the Geg tossed them down upon the table, put his head in his hands, and wept.
CHAPTER 56
CASTLE SINISTER, HIGH REALM
SINISTRAD AND HUGH WERE SEATED IN THE STUDY OF THE MYSTERI- arch. It was nearly midday. Light streamed in through a crystal window. Seeming to float on the mist outside the window were the glittering spires of the city of New Hope—the city that, according to what Iridal had told him, might as well be called No Hope. Hugh wondered if the buildings had been placed there for his benefit. Outside, coiled around the castle, dozing in the sun, was the quicksilver dragon.
“Let us see, what would be best?” Sinistrad tapped thoughtfully on the desk with his thin fingers. “We will transport the child back to Djern Volkain on the elven ship—taking care, of course, to make certain that the ship is seen by the humans. Then, when Stephen and Anne are discovered dead, it will be blamed on elves. Bane can tell them some rigmarole about how he was captured and escaped and the elves followed him and killed his loving parents as they tried to rescue him. You can make it appear that the elves murdered them, I suppose?”
The air around Hugh stirred, a cold breath swept over him, and icy fingers seemed to touch his shoulder. Iridal was working her own magic against her husband. She was here. She was listening.
“Sure, nothing’s easier. Will the boy cooperate?” asked Hugh, tensing, yet doing his best to seem at ease. Now that she was faced with inescapable truth, what would she do? “The kid seems less than enthusiastic.”
“He will cooperate. I have only to make him understand that this is to his advantage. Once he knows how he can profit by this action, he will be eager to undertake it. The boy is ambitious, and rightfully so. After all, he is my son.”
Invisible to all eyes, Iridal stood behind Hugh, watching, listening. She felt nothing at hearing Sinistrad plot murder; her mind, her senses, had gone numb. Why did I bother to come? she asked herself. There’s nothing I can do. It’s too late for him, for me. But not too late for Bane. How did the ancient saying go? “A little child shall lead them.” Yes, there is hope for him. He is still innocent, unspoiled. Perhaps someday he will save us.
“Ah, here you are, father.”
Bane entered the study, coolly ignoring Sinistrad’s glaring frown. The child’s color was heightened, and he seemed to glow with an inner radiance. His eyes gleamed with a feverish luster. Walking behind the boy, its nails clicking against the stone floor, the dog appeared worried and unhappy. Its
eyes went to Hugh, pleading; its gaze shifted to a point behind the assassin, staring at Iridal so intently that she felt a panicked qualm and wondered if her spell of invisibility had ceased to work.
Hugh shifted uneasily in his chair. Bane was up to something. Probably—from that beatific expression on his face—no good.
“Bane, I’m busy. Leave us,” said Sinistrad.
“No, father. I know what you’re talking about. It’s about me going back to Volkaran, isn’t it? Don’t make me, father.” The child’s voice was suddenly sweet and soft. “Don’t make me go back to that place. No one likes me there. It’s lonely. I want to be with you. You can teach me magic, like you taught me to fly. I’ll show you all I know about the great machine, and I can introduce you to the high froman—”
“Stop whining!” Sinistrad rose to his feet. His robes rustled around him as he moved out from behind his desk to confront his son. “You want to please me, don’t you, Bane?”
“Yes, father …” The boy faltered. “More than anything. That’s why I want to be with you! Don’t you want to be with me? Isn’t that why you brought me home?”
“Bah! What nonsense. I brought you home so that we could put into action the second phase of our plan. Certain things have changed now, but only for the better. As for you, Bane, as long as I am your father, you will go where I tell you to go and do what I tell you to do. Now, leave us. I will send for you later.”
Sinistrad turned his back on the child.
Bane, a strange smile on his lips, thrust his hand into his tunic. It came out holding a knife.
“I guess you won’t be my father long, then!”
“How dare you—” Sinistrad whirled around, saw the dagger in the child’s hand, and sucked in a seething breath. Pale with fury, the mysteriarch raised his right hand, prepared to cast the spell that would dissolve the child’s body where he stood. “I can get more sons!”
The dog leapt, hit Bane square in the back, and knocked the child to the floor. The dagger flew from the boy’s hand.
Something unseen struck Sinistrad; invisible hands clutched at his. Raging, he grappled with his wife, whose spell crumbled as she fought, revealing her to her husband.
Hugh was on his feet. Snatching up his dagger from the floor, he watched for his opportunity. He’d free her, free her child.
The wizard’s body crackled with blue lightning. Iridal was flung aside in a thunderous shock wave that hurled her, dazed, against the wall. Sinistrad turned upon his child, only to find the dog standing above the terrified boy.
Teeth bared, hackles raised, it growled low in its throat.
Hugh struck, driving the dagger deep into the wizard’s body. Sinistrad screamed in fury and in pain. The assassin jerked his dagger free. The body of the mysteriarch shimmered and faded and Hugh thought his foe was dead. Suddenly, the wizard returned, only now his body was that of an enormous snake.
The snake’s head darted at Hugh. The assassin drove his knife again into the reptilian body, but too late. The snake sank its fangs into the back of Hugh’s neck. The assassin cried out in agony, the poison surging through his body. He managed to retain his grip on the knife, and the snake—twisting and coiling—drove the blade deeper. It lashed out in its death throes, wrapped its tail around the assassin’s legs, and both crashed to the floor.
The snake disappeared. Sinistrad lay dead, his legs wrapped around the feet of his killer.
Hugh stared at the corpse and tried feebly to rise. The assassin felt no pain, but he had no strength left in him, and he collapsed.
“Hugh.”
Weakly he turned his head. It was pitch dark in the cell. He couldn’t see.
“Hugh! You were right. Mine is the sin of not doing. And now it is too late … too late!”
There was a crack in the wall. A thin shaft of light gleamed brightly; he could smell fresh air, perfumed with the scent of lavender. Slipping his hand through the bars of his cell, Hugh held it out to her. Reaching out as far as she could from behind her own walls, Iridal touched the tips of his fingers.
And then the black monk came and set Hugh free.
CHAPTER 57
CASTLE SINISTER, HIGH REALM
A LOW RUMBLING SOUND CAUSED THE STONES OF THE PALACE TO quiver on their foundation. It grew louder, like thunder heard in the distance, marching toward them, shaking the ground. The castle shifted; stone quaked and shuddered. A triumphant howl split the air.
“What the … ?” Haplo stared around him.
“The dragon’s free!” murmured Alfred, eyes widening in awe. “Something’s happened to Sinistrad!”
“It’ll kill every living thing in this castle. I’ve fought dragons before. They’re numerous in the Labyrinth. You?”
“No, never.” Alfred glanced at the Patryn, caught the bitter smile. “It will take both of us to fight it, in the might of our power.”
“No.” Haplo shrugged. “You were right. I don’t dare reveal myself. I’m not permitted to fight, not even to save my life. I guess it’s up to you, Sartan.”
The floor shook. A door down the corridor opened and Limbeck looked out. “This is more like home,” he shouted cheerfully over the rumbling and thudding and cracking. Walking easily across the trembling floor, he waved a sheaf of papers. “Do you want to hear my spee—”
The outer walls split asunder. Alfred and Limbeck were flung from their feet, Haplo slammed up against a door that gave way behind him with a crash. A gleaming red eye the size of the sun peered through the ruptured wall at the victims trapped inside. The rumbling changed to a roar. The head reared back, jaws opening. White teeth flashed.
Haplo staggered to his feet. Limbeck was lying flat on his back, his spectacles smashed on the stone floor. Groping for them, the Geg stared up helplessly at the red-eyed silver blur that was the dragon. Near Limbeck lay Alfred, fainted.
Another roar shook the building. A silver tongue flickered like lightning. If the dragon destroyed them, Haplo would lose not only his life but also his purpose for coming here. No Limbeck to lead the revolution among the Gegs. No Limbeck to start the war that would lead to worldwide chaos.
Haplo ripped the bandages from his hands. Standing over the fallen, he crossed his arms and raised sigla-tattooed fists above his head. He wondered, briefly, where the dog had gone. He couldn’t hear anything from it, but then, he couldn’t hear much of anything at all over the bellowings of the dragon.
The creature dived for him, mouth open wide to snatch up the prey.
Haplo was right: he’d fought dragons before—dragons in the Labyrinth, whose magical powers made this quicksilver look like a mudworm. The hardest part was standing there, braced to take the blow, when every instinct in the body shrieked for him to run.
At the last instant, the silver head veered aside, jaws snapping on empty air. The dragon pulled back, eyeing the man suspiciously.
Dragons are intelligent beings. Coming out of enthrallment leaves them furious and confused. Their initial impulse is to strike back at the magus who ensorceled them. But even raging, they do not attack mindlessly. This one had experienced many types of magical forces in its lifetime, but never anything quite like what it faced now. It could feel, if it could not see, power surround the man like a strong metal shield.
Steel, the dragon could pierce. It might even pierce this magic, if it had time to work on it and unravel it. But why bother? There were other victims. It could smell hot blood. Casting Haplo a last curious, baleful glance, the dragon slid out of his view.
“But it’ll be back, especially if it gets a taste of fresh meat.” Haplo lowered his hands. “And what do I do? Take my little friend here and leave. My work in this realm is completed—or almost so.”
He could hear, at last, and he heard what his dog was hearing. His brow furrowed, he absently rubbed the skin on his hands. From the sounds of it, the dragon was smashing in another part of the castle. Iridal and the boy were still alive, but they wouldn’t be for long.
Haplo looked down at the unconscious Sartan. “I could send you into a faint that would last as long as I needed it to last, and transport you to my lord. But I’ve a better idea. You know where I’ve gone. You’ll figure out how to get there. You’ll come to me of your own accord. After all, we have the same goal—we both want to find out what happened to your people. So, old enemy, I’ll let you cover my retreat.”
Kneeling beside Alfred, he grabbed hold of the Sartan and shook him roughly.
“Come out of it, you craven scum.”
Alfred blinked and groggily sat up. “I fainted, didn’t I? I’m sorry. It’s a reflex action. I can’t control—”
“I don’t want to hear about it,” Haplo interrupted. “I’ve driven the dragon off for the time being, but it’s only gone looking for a meal that won’t fight back.”
“You … you saved my life!” Alfred stared at the Patryn.
“Not your life. Limbeck’s. You just happened to be in the way.”
A child’s thin wail of terror rose in the air. The dragon’s howl cracked solid stone.
Haplo pointed in the creature’s direction. “The boy and his mother are still alive. You’d better hurry.”
Alfred swallowed hard, sweat beading on his forehead. Shakily he rose to his feet and, with a trembling hand, traced a sigil on his chest. His body began to fade.
“Good-bye, Sartan!” called Haplo. “For the time being. Limbeck, are you all right? Can you walk?”
“My … my spectacles!” Limbeck picked up bent frames, poked his fingers through the empty rims.
“Don’t worry,” said Haplo, helping the Geg to his feet. “You probably don’t want to see where we’re going anyway.”
The Patryn paused a moment to run through everything in his mind.
Foment chaos in the realm.
His rune-covered hand closed fast over Limbeck’s. I’ve done that, my lord. I’ll transport him back to Drevlin. He will be the leader of the revolt among his people, the one who will plunge this world into war!
Dragonwing Page 46
