“The poison has been festering inside you long. Now it is purged, your wound will heal.”
“I hope so,” Alfred said, though he seemed dubious. “I hope so.” He sighed, looked down at his shoes. “What will you do to me?”
“Do to you?” Samah appeared puzzled. “Ah, you mean punish you? My dear Alfred, you have punished youself far more than such an infraction of the rules warrants. The Council accepts your apology. And any time you would like to use the library, you have only to ask either myself or Ramu for the key. I think you would find it extremely beneficial to study the history of our people.”
Alfred gaped at the man, all power of speech lost in unparalleled astonishment.
“The Council has some additional, minor business,” Samah said briskly, removing his hand from Alfred's shoulders. “If you will seat yourself, we will attend to our work swiftly and then we can depart.”
At a gesture from his father, Ramu silently brought Alfred a chair. He collapsed into it, sat huddled, drained, dazed.
Samah returned to his place, began to discuss some trivial matter that could well have waited. The other Council members, obviously uncomfortable and eager to leave, weren't listening.
Samah continued to talk, patiently, quietly. Orla watched her husband, watched his deft, facile handling of the Council, watched the play of intelligence on his strong, handsome face. He had successfully won over poor Alfred. Now, slowly, surely, he was winning back the loyalty and confidence of his followers. The Council members began to relax under the influence of their leader's soothing voice; they could even laugh at a small joke.
They will leave, Orla thought, and the voice they hear will be Samah's. They will have forgotten Alfred's. Odd, I never noticed before how Samah manipulates us.
Except now it is them, not us. Not me. Not anymore.
Not anymore.
The meeting came to an end at last.
Alfred didn't listen, he was lost in troubled reveries, was roused only when people began to move.
Samah stood up. The other Council members were at ease, feeling better. They bowed to him, to each other (not to Alfred, they ignored Alfred), and took their leave.
Alfred wavered unsteadily to his feet.
“I thought I had the answer,” he said to himself. “Where did it go? How could I lose it so suddenly? Perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps the vision was, as Samah said, a trick of Haplo's.”
“I have noticed that our guest seems extremely fatigued,” Samah was saying. “Why don't you, Wife, take Alfred back to our house and see to it that he relaxes and eats something.”
The Council members had all filed out by now. Only Ramu lingered behind.
Orla took Alfred's arm. “Are you all right?”
He still felt dazed, his body shook, feet stumbled over themselves. “Yes, yes,” he answered vaguely. “I think I would like to rest, however. If I could just go back to my room and … lie down.”
“Certainly,” said Orla, concerned. She glanced around. “Are you coming with us, Husband?”
“No, not just yet, my dear. I need to arrange with Ramu to attend to that small matter on which the Council just voted. You go ahead. I will be home in time for dinner.”
Alfred let Orla guide him toward the door. He was almost out of the Council Chamber when it occurred to him that the dog wasn't following. He glanced around for the animal, could not, at first, find it. Then he saw the tip of a tail, sticking out from under the Council table.
An unwelcome thought came to him. Haplo had trained the dog to act as a spy. He often ordered it to tag along with unsuspecting people, whose words were then carried through the dog's ears to the Patryn's. Alfred knew, in that moment, that the dog was offering this very same service to him. It would stay with Ramu and Samah, listen in on what they said.
“Alfred?” said Orla.
The Sartan jumped, guilt assailing him. He whirled around, didn't watch where he was going, and smashed nose first into the doorframe.
“Alfred … Oh, dear! What have you done? Your nose is bleeding!”
“I seem to have run into the door…”
“Tilt your head back. I'll sing you a rune of healing.”
I should call the dog! Alfred trembled. I should never permit this. I am worse than Haplo. He spied on strangers. I'm spying on my own kind. I have only to say the word, call it, and the dog will come to me.
Alfred looked back. “Dog—” he began.
Samah was watching him with disdainful amusement, Ramu with disgust. But both were watching him.
“What were you saying about the dog?” Orla asked, looking anxious.
Alfred sighed, closed his eyes. “Only that I… I sent it home.”
“Where you should be right now,” Orla told him.
“Yes,” said Alfred. “I'm ready to leave.”
He had reached the outer door of the Council hall, when he heard, through the dog's ears, father and son start to talk.
“That man is dangerous.” Ramu's voice.
“Yes, my son. You are right. Very dangerous. Therefore we must never relax our vigilance over him again.”
“You think that? Then why did you let him go? We should do to him what we did to the others.”
“We cannot now. The other Council members, especially your mother, would never agree. This is all part of his clever plan, of course. Let him think he has fooled us. Let him relax, think himself unwatched, unsuspected.”
“A trap?”
“Yes,” Samah answered complacently, “a trap to catch him in the act of betraying us to his Patryn friend. Then we will have enough evidence to convince even your mother that this Sartan with the mensch name means to encompass our downfall.”
Alfred sank onto a bench, just outside the Hall of the Council of Sartan.
“You look terrible,” said Orla. I think your nose must be broken. Are you faint? If you don't feel able to walk, I can—”
“Orla.” Alfred looked up at her. “I know this is going to sound ungrateful, but could you please leave me?”
“No, I couldn't possibly—”
“Please. I need to be alone,” he said gently.
Orla studied him. Turning, she looked back toward the hall, stared into the shadowy interior intently, as if she could see within. Perhaps she could. Perhaps, though her ears did not hear the voices inside the hall, her heart did. Her face grew grave and sad.
“I'm sorry,” she said, and left him.
Alfred groaned and rested his head in his shaking hands.
1Reference to the startling and horrifying discovery that the dead were being brought to life in Abarrach, recounted in Fire Sea, vol. 3, The Death Gate Cycle. It is theorized that for one person to be brought to life untimely, another will die untimely.
2A reference to Alfred's adventures with the child Bane, the assassin Hugh the Hand, and his first meeting with Haplo, recounted in Dragon Wing, vol. I of The Death Gate Cycle.
3A more complete history of the Patryns can be found in Fire Sea, vol. 3 of The Death Gate Cycle.
EVENTS HAVE HURTLED DOWN ON US LIKE BOULDERS FROM the mountaintop. Some seemed likely to flatten us, but we managed to duck and so survived.1
We spent several more days on Phondra, for we had a great deal of planning to do, as you may well imagine. Many factors had to be determined: how many people were to be in each sun-chaser, what we could and could not take with us, how much food and water would be necessary for the duration of the journey, and a lot of other details that I won't bother to put down. It was bad enough having to listen and worry about them all.
Alake and I have finally been allowed to sit in on the royal meetings. It was an extremely proud moment for us.
During the first meeting, Alake and I concentrated on being serious, solemn, and earnest. We paid strict attention to every word and we were ready with our opinions, despite the fact that no one ever asked us for them.
But by the next afternoon, when my father and Dumaka were busy drawing—for
the sixth time—a diagram of one of the sun-chasers in the dirt to determine how many water barrels could be safely stowed in the hold, Alake and I began to discover that being a ruler was, as she put it, a royal pain.
Here we were, stuck inside the longhouse, which was hot and stuffy, forced to listen to Eliason drone on about the merits of fish oil and why casks of it were considered an absolute necessity by the elves. Outdoors (we could see plainly through the slats in the log walls) the most interesting things were going on.
Alake's quick eye caught sight of Haplo, pacing restlessly about the camp. Devon walked with him. Our elf friend had almost completely recovered from his accident. The scars on his neck were healing. Other than an extremely raspy voice, he was back to being his old self. (Well, almost. I guess he will never be the merry, carefree Devon we once knew, but then I suppose none of us will ever be the same again.)
Devon spent most of his time with Haplo. They never seemed to say much to each other, but each seemed glad of the other's company. At least, I assume Haplo liked having the elf around. It's hard to tell what Haplo's thinking. For example, he's been in an extremely dark humor these past few days, which is odd, considering everything worked out the way he wanted. But then, I got the distinct feeling he was impatient, in a hurry to be gone, and was fed up with the delay.
I was watching the two of them walk past, thinking regretfully that if Alake and I had been spying, as usual, we would have left long before this (or fallen asleep!), when I saw Haplo suddenly stop in midstride, look in our direction. His face was grim. Turning, nearly bowling over the startled elf, he headed for the longhouse.
I perked up, having the feeling something was about to happen. Alake had seen him coming, too, and was smoothing her hair and adjusting her ear-jangles. She sat up straight and pretended to look deeply interested in the subject of fish oil, when only a moment before she'd been rolling her eyes and trying not to yawn. It was enough to make a cat laugh. As it was, I snorted and caught a stern, reproving look from my mother.
The doorkeeper entered, apologized for interrupting, and announced that Haplo had something to say. Of course, he was graciously received. (He'd been invited to attend these meetings, but he had better sense.)
He began by saying he hoped we were making progress, reminding us again that we didn't have much time. I thought his look, as he said this, was dark.
“What are you discussing?” he asked, his gaze going to the diagram on the floor.
None of the others seemed inclined to answer, so I told him. “Fish oil.”
“Fish oil,” Haplo repeated. “Every day, the Sartan grow stronger, your sun drifts farther, and you sit here yammering about fish oil.”
Our parents looked ashamed. My father ducked his head, chewed on his beard. My mother sighed loudly. Eliason, his pale skin flushed, started to say something, floundered, and fell silent.
“It is hard to leave our homelands,” said Dumaka finally, staring down at the diagram of the boat.
At first, I couldn't figure out what that had to do with fish oil, but then it occurred to me that all of the arguing and discussion over petty details were just our parents' way of stalling, of refusing to face the inevitable. They knew they had to leave, but they didn't want to. I felt suddenly like bursting into tears.
“I think we were hoping for a miracle,” said Delu.
“The only miracle you're going to get is the one you make yourselves,” Haplo answered irritably. “Now, look, here is what you take and how you take it.”
He told them. Squatting down on the floor near the diagram, he explained everything. He told us what to take, how to pack it, what each man, woman, and child could carry, how much room to allot, what we'd need when we reached Surunan, what we could leave behind because we could make it when we got there. He told what we'd need in case of war.
We listened, dazed. Our parents presented feeble arguments.
“But what about—”
“Not necessary.”
“But we should take—”
“No, you should not.”
In less than an hour, everything was settled.
“Be ready to sail for your homes tomorrow. Once there, send out the word for your people to start gathering at the appointed locations.” Haplo stood up, brushed the dirt off his hands. “The dwarves will sail the sun-chasers to Phondra and Elmas. Allow a full cycle at each city or village for loading everyone on board.
“The fleet will reassemble at Gargan in”—Haplo made a swift calculation in his head—“fourteen cycles' time. We should travel together; there's safety in numbers. Any who lag behind”—a stern glance at the elves—“will be left behind.
“Understood,” said Eliason, with a faint smile.
“Good. I'll leave you all to work out the final details. Which reminds me, I'm in need of a translator. I want to ask the dolphins some questions concerning Surunan. I was wondering if I could borrow Grundle?”
“Take her,” my father said, with what sounded suspiciously like relief.
I was on my feet, glad to escape, and heading for the door when I heard a smothered sound, caught sight of Alake's pleading eyes. She'd give every ear-jangle she owned and probably her ears along with them to go with Haplo.
I tugged at the sleeve of his shirt. “Alake speaks dolphin a lot better than I do. In fact, I don't speak it at all. I think she should come with us.”
He gave me an exasperated look, but I ignored him. After all, Alake and I were friends. He couldn't go on avoiding her forever.
“Besides,” I said, out of the corner of my mouth, “she'll only follow us.” Which was true enough and got me off the hook.
So he said, not very graciously, that he'd be pleased if Alake would come, too.
“And Devon?” I asked, seeing the elf hanging about, lost and forlorn.
“Why not?” I thought I heard him mutter. “Invite the whole damn village. Have a parade.”
I waved to Devon, whose face brightened. He joined us eagerly. “Where are we going?”
“Haplo wants to talk to the dolphins. We're going along to translate. By the way,” I added, something just occurring to me, “the dolphins speak our languages, you know. And so do you. Why don't you talk to them yourself?”
“I tried. They won't talk to me.”
“Really?” Devon stared at him, amazed. “I never heard of such a thing.”
I had to admit I was pretty surprised, myself. Those gossipy fish will talk to anyone. Usually you can't get them to shut up.
“I'll speak with them,” offered Alake. “Perhaps it's just because they've never seen anyone quite like you.”
Haplo grunted, said nothing more. He was, as I have stated, in a dark and morose mood. Alake looked at me, worried, raised her eyebrows. I shrugged my shoulders, glanced at Devon, who shook his head. None of us had a clue what was bothering the man.
We reached the seashore. The dolphins were hanging about, as usual, hoping for someone to come along and toss them a juicy tidbit of news or cod or listen to whatever it was they had to say. But, when they saw Haplo coming, they all flipped their tails, turned, and swam out to sea.
“Wait!” Alake cried, standing on the shore and stomping her foot. “Come back here.”
“There, you see.” Haplo waved his hand impatiently.
“What do you expect? They're only fish,” I said.
He stood glaring at them in frustration and at us in resentment. It occurred to me that he didn't really want us there, probably didn't want us to hear whatever it was he thought he might hear, but he didn't have much choice.
I went down to the water's edge, where Alake was talking with one of the dolphins who had slowly and reluctantly swum back. Haplo stayed behind, keeping well away from the water.
“What's the problem?” I asked.
Alake squeaked and whistled. I wondered if she knew how truly ridiculous she sounded. You'd never catch me lowering myself to fish-talk. She turned around.
“Haplo's
right. They're refusing to talk to him. They say he's in league with the dragon-snakes, and they hate and fear the dragon-snakes.”
“Listen, fish,” I said to the dolphin, “we're not crazy about the dragon-snakes ourselves, but Haplo has some sort of hold on them. He got them to let us go and made them repair the sun-chasers.”
The dolphin shook its head violently, splattering water all over both of us. It began to squeak shrilly, alarmingly, flapping its flippers in the water.
“What's the matter with it?” Devon came over to join us.
“That's nonsense!” Alake cried angrily. “I don't believe you. I won't stay here and listen to such talk.” She turned her back on the frantic dolphin and walked up the beach to where Haplo was standing.
“It's useless,” she said. “They're behaving like spoiled children. Let's go.”
“I need to talk to them,” Haplo said.
“What did the thing say to her?” I asked Devon softly.
He glanced over at the two of them, motioned me closer.
“It said that the dragon-snakes are evil, more evil than we can imagine. And that Haplo's just as evil as they are. He has a private hatred for these Sartan. Once, long ago, his people fought the Sartan and lost. Now, he wants revenge. He's using us to get it. When we've destroyed the Sartan for him, he'll turn us over to the dragon-snakes.”
I stared at him. I couldn't believe it, and yet, in a way, I could. I felt sick inside and afraid. Judging by his looks, Devon wasn't faring much better. Dolphins often exaggerate the truth, or sometimes come up with only part of the truth, but it is, generally, the truth. I've never known one to lie. We both eyed Haplo, who was trying to persuade Alake to return and talk to the dolphins again.
“What do you think?” I asked Devon.
The elf took his time answering. “I think the dolphins are wrong. I trust him. He saved my life, Grundle. Saved my life by giving me some of his own.”
“Huh?”
That made no sense at all. I was about to say as much to Devon, when he shushed me. Alake was returning to the water's edge, followed by Haplo. Seeing him this near the sea, in danger of being splashed, I concluded the matter must be serious.
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