“That’s what you’re supposed to see.” Hugh made a mental note of the first number, turned a ring at the bottom of the baton, read off the second, and finally a third. Then he began flipping pages in the book.
“What are you looking for?” Bane squatted down on his haunches to peer over Hugh’s arm.
“Those numbers you saw are the position of the Lords of Night, the five Ladies of Light, and Solarus, all in relation to each other. I find the numbers in this book, match them with the time of year, which tells me where the islands are located at this particular moment, and it should tell me within a few menkas where we are.”
“What funny writing!” Bane turned his head nearly upside-down to see. “What is it?”
“It’s elvish. Their navigators were the ones who figured all this out and came up with the magical device that takes the readings.”
The boy frowned. “Why didn’t we use something like that when we flew on the dragon?”
“Because dragons know instinctively where they are. No one’s sure how, but they use all their senses-sight, hearing, smell, touch-plus some we probably don’t even know exist to guide them. Elf magic won’t work on dragons, so they had to build dragonships and they had to make things like this to tell them where they were. That’s why”-Hugh grinned-“elves consider us barbarians.”
“Well, where are we? Do you know?”
“I know,” said Hugh. “And now it’s time, Your Highness, for a nap.”
They were on Pitrin’s Exile, probably about 123 menkas backtrack [8] from Winsher. Hugh felt more relaxed, once this was in his mind. It had been unsettling, not being able to tell up from down, so to speak. Now he knew and he could rest. It wouldn’t be full light for another three hours.
Rubbing his eyes, yawning, and stretching, like a man who has traveled far and is bone-tired, Hugh-shoulders slumped and feet dragging-marched the prince into the shed. Seeming half-asleep, the assassin gave the door a push to close it. It didn’t shut all the way, but he was, apparently, too tired to notice.
Bane took a blanket from his pack, spread it, and lay down. Hugh did the same, shutting his eyes. When he heard the child’s breathing fall into a slow and steady rhythm, he swiftly twisted, catlike, to his feet and crept silently across the floor of the shed.
The prince was already fast asleep. Hugh looked at him closely, but the boy did not appear to be shamming. Curled up in a ball, lying on top of his blanket, he would freeze in the chill predawn air.
Fishing another blanket out of his pack, Hugh tossed it over the kid, then moved silently back to the opposite side of the shed, the side near the door. He slipped off his tall boots and laid them on the floor, carefully arranging them so that they were turned sideways, one resting on top of the other. He dragged his pack over and laid it just above his boots. Removing the fur cloak, he wrapped it in a ball and placed it next to the pack. A blanket, spread over the cape and pack, left the soles of the boots showing. Anyone looking in from the doorway would see the feet of a blanket-wrapped man fast asleep.
Satisfied, Hugh drew his dagger from his boot and squatted down in a dark corner of the shed. Eyes on the door, he waited.
Half an hour passed. The shadow was giving Hugh ample time to fall into deep sleep.
The Hand waited patiently. It wouldn’t be too long now. Day had dawned fully. The sun was shining. The man must fear they would waken and start on their way again. The assassin watched the thin ribbon of gray light streaming in through the partially shut door. When that ribbon began to widen, Hugh’s hand tightened its grip on the dagger.
Slowly, silently, the door swung open.
A head thrust inside. The man looked long and carefully at the supposedly slumbering figure of Hugh beneath the blanket, then turned the same careful scrutiny to the boy. Hugh held his breath. Apparently satisfied, the man entered the shed.
Hugh expected the man to be armed and to immediately attack the dummy of himself. The assassin was disconcerted to see that the man carried no weapon in his hand and was padding soft-footed over to the boy. It was just to be a rescue, then.
Hugh leapt, wrapped an arm around the man’s neck, and put the dagger to his throat.
“Who sent you? Tell me the truth and I’ll reward you with a quick death.”
The body in Hugh’s grasp went limp and the assassin saw, in astonishment, that the man had fainted.
CHAPTER 15
PITRIN’S EXILE, VOLKARAN ISLES, MID REALM
“NOT EXACTLY THE SORT OF PERSON I’D SEND OUT ON A MISSION TO RESCUE MY SON from the hands of an assassin,” muttered Hugh, stretching out the comatose man on the floor of the shed. “But then, maybe the queen’s having trouble finding bold knights these days. Unless he’s shamming.”
The man’s age was indeterminable. The face appeared careworn and haggard. He was bald on the top of his head; wispy gray hair hung in a long fringe around the sides. But his cheeks were smooth, and the wrinkles around the mouth came from worry, not age. Tall and gangly, he appeared to have been put together by someone who had run out of the correct parts and been forced to substitute. His feet and hands were too big; his head, with its delicate, sensitive features, seemed too small.
Kneeling beside the man, Hugh lifted a finger and bent it back until it almost touched the wrist. The pain was excruciating, and a person feigning unconsciousness would invariably betray himself. The man didn’t even twitch.
Hugh gave him a sound smack on the cheek to bring him around, and was about to add another when he heard the boy coming up to his side.
“Is that who was following us?” The prince, keeping close to Hugh, stared curiously. “Why that’s Alfred!” The boy grasped hold of the collar of the man’s cape, jerked his head up, and shook him. “Alfred! Wake up! Wake up!”
Bang! went the man’s head against the floor.
The prince shook him again. The man’s head bumped the floor again, and Hugh-relaxing-sat back to watch.
“Oh, oh, oh!” Alfred groaned each time his head hit the floor. Opening his eyes, he stared dazedly at the prince and made a feeble effort to remove the small hands from his collar.
“Please … Your Highness. I’m quite awake, now … Ouch! Thank you, Your Highness, but that won’t be necess-“
“Alfred!” The prince threw his arms around him, hugging the man so tightly he nearly smothered him. “We thought you were an assassin! Have you come to travel with us?”
Rising to a sitting position, Alfred gave Hugh-and particularly Hugh’s dagger-a nervous glance. “Uh, traveling with you may not be quite feasible, Your-“
“Who are you?” interrupted Hugh.
The man rubbed his head and answered humbly, “Sir, my name-“
“He’s Alfred,” interrupted Bane, as if that explained everything. Noting from Hugh’s grim face that it didn’t, the boy added, “He’s in charge of all my servants and he chooses my tutors and makes certain my bathwater’s not too hot-“
“My name is Alfred Montbank, sir,” the man said.
“You’re Bane’s servant?”
” ‘Chamberlain’ is the correct term, sir,” said Alfred, flushing. “And that is your prince to whom you are referring in such a disrespectful manner.”
“Oh, that’s all right, Alfred,” said Bane, sitting back on his heels. His hand toyed with the feather amulet he wore around his neck. “I told Sir Hugh he could call me by my name, since we’re traveling together. It’s much easier than saying ‘Your Highness’ all the time.”
“You’re the one who’s been following us,” Hugh said.
“It is my duty to be with His Highness, sir.”
Hugh raised a black eyebrow. “Obviously somebody didn’t see it that way.”
“I was mistakenly left behind.” Alfred lowered his gaze, staring fixedly at the floor of the shed. “His Majesty the king flew off so quickly, he undoubtedly overlooked me.”
“And so you followed him-and the boy.”
“Yes, sir. I was almost too
late. I had to pack some things I knew the prince would need, which Trian had forgotten. I was forced to saddle my own dragon, and then I had an argument with the palace guards, who didn’t want to let me leave. The king and Trian and the prince had disappeared by the time I was through the gates. I had no idea what to do, but the dragon seemed to have some notion of where it wanted to go and-“
“It would follow its stablemates. Go on.”
“We found them. That is, the dragon found them. Not wanting to presume to thrust myself into their company, I kept a proper distance. Eventually we landed in that dreadful place-“
“The Kir monastery.”
“Yes, I-“
“Could you get back there again if you had to?”
Hugh put the question casually, easily, out of curiosity. Alfred answered, never dreaming his life hung in the balance.
“Why, yes, sir, I think I could. I’ve a good knowledge of the countryside, especially the lands surrounding the castle.” Lifting his gaze, he looked directly at Hugh. “Why do you ask?”
The assassin was tucking the dagger back into his boot. “Because that’s Stephen’s secret hideout you stumbled across. The guards will tell him you followed him. He’ll know you found it-your disappearance clinches it. I wouldn’t give a drop of water for your chances of living to a ripe old age if you went back to court.”
“Merciful Sartan!” Alfred’s face was the color of clay-he might have been wearing a mask of silt. “I didn’t know! I swear, noble sir!” Reaching out, he grasped Hugh’s hand pleadingly. “I’ll forget the way, I promise-“
“I don’t want you to forget it. Who knows, it might come in handy one day.”
“Yes, sir …” Alfred hesitated.
“This is Sir Hugh.” Bane introduced them. “He has a black monk walking with him, Alfred.”
Hugh stared at the child in silence. No expression shifted the stone facade of the face except perhaps for a slight narrowing of the dark eyes.
Alfred, flushing red, reached out his hand and smoothed Bane’s golden hair. “What have I told you, Your Highness?” said the chamberlain, gently rebuking. “It is not polite to tell people’s secrets.” He glanced apologetically at Hugh. “You must understand, Sir Hugh. His Highness is a clairvoyant and he has not quite learned how to handle his gift.”
Hugh snorted, rose to his feet, and began to roll up his blanket.
“Please, Sir Hugh, allow me.” Leaping up, Alfred sprang to snatch the blanket from Hugh’s hand. One of the chamberlain’s huge feet obeyed him. The other seemed to think it had received different orders and turned the opposite direction. Alfred stumbled, staggered, and would have pitched headfirst into Hugh had not the assassin caught his arm and shoved him upright.
“Thank you, sir. I’m very clumsy, I’m afraid. Here, I can do that now.” Alfred began struggling with the blanket, which seemed suddenly to have gained a malevolent life of its own. Corners slid through his fingers. He folded one end, only to unfold its opposite. Wrinkles and bumps popped up in the most unlikely places. It was difficult to tell, during the ensuing tussle, who was going to come out on top.
“It’s true about His Highness, sir,” Alfred continued, wrestling furiously with the strip of cloth. “Our past clings to us, especially people who influenced us. His Highness can see them.”
Hugh stepped in, throttled the blanket, and rescued Alfred, who sat back, panting and wiping his high domed forehead.
“I’ll bet he can tell my fortune in the wine lees, too,” Hugh said in a low voice, pitched so that the child wouldn’t hear. “Where would he get that kind of talent? Only wizards beget wizards. Or maybe Stephen’s not really this kid’s father.”
Hugh shot this verbal arrow aimlessly, not expecting to hit anything. His shaft found a target, however, burying itself deep, from the looks of it. Alfred’s face went a sickly green, the whites of his eyes showed clearly around the gray iris, and his lips moved soundlessly. Stricken, he stared speechless at Hugh.
So, thought the Hand, this is beginning to make sense. At least it explains the kid’s strange name. He glanced over at Bane. The child was rummaging through Alfred’s pack.
“Did you bring my sweetmelts? Yes!” Triumphantly he dug the candy out. “I knew you wouldn’t forget.”
“Get your things together, Your Highness,” ordered Hugh, throwing his fur cloak over his shoulders and hefting his own pack.
“I’ll do that, Your Highness.” Alfred sounded relieved, glad for something to occupy his mind and his hands and keep his face averted from Hugh’s. Out of three steps across the floor, he missed only one, which brought him to his knees, where he needed to be anyway. With great goodwill he set to do battle with the prince’s blanket.
“Alfred, you had a view of the landscape when you traveled. Do you know where we are?”
“Yes, Sir Hugh.” The chamberlain, sweating in the chill air, did not dare look up, lest the blanket take him unawares. “1 believe this village is known as Watershed.”
“Watershed,” repeated the Hand. “Don’t wander off, Your Highness,” he added, noticing the prince starting to skip out of the door.
The boy glanced back. “I just want to look around outside. I won’t go far and I’ll be careful.”
The chamberlain had given up attempting to fold the blanket and had at last stuffed it bodily into the pack. When the boy had disappeared out the door, Alfred turned to face Hugh.
“You will allow me to accompany you, won’t you, sir? I won’t be any trouble, I swear.”
Hugh gazed at him intently.
“You understand that you can never go back to the palace, don’t you?”
“Yes, sir. I’ve set fire to my bridge, as they say.”
“You haven’t just set it on fire. You’ve cut it from the bank and dumped it down the gorge.”
Alfred ran a trembling hand over his bald pate and stared at the floor.
“I’m taking you with me to look after the kid. You understand, he’s not to go back to the palace either. I’m very good at tracking. It would be my duty to stop you before you did anything foolish, like trying to sneak him away.”
“Yes, sir. That’s understood.” Alfred raised his eyes and looked directly into Hugh’s. “You see, sir, I know the reason the king hired you.”
Hugh flicked a glance outside. Bane was gleefully throwing rocks at a tree. His arms were thin, his throw clumsy. He continually fell short of the mark, but patiently and cheerfully kept at it.
“You know about the plot against the prince’s life?” Hugh questioned easily, his hand, beneath his cloak, moving to the hilt of his sword.
“I know the reason,” repeated Alfred. “It’s why I’m here. I won’t get in the way, sir, I promise you.”
Hugh was confounded. Just when he thought the web was unraveling, it got more tangled. The man knew the reason, he said. It sounded as if he meant the real reason! He knows the truth about the kid, whatever that is. Has he come to help or hinder? Help, that was almost laughable. This chamberlain couldn’t dress himself without help. Yet, Hugh had to admit, he’d done an extremely efficient job of tailing them; not an easy matter on a dark night made darker by enchanted fog. And, at the Kir monastery, he had managed to conceal not only himself but also his dragon from a wizard’s six senses. But someone that skilled in tracking, hiding, and tailing had fainted dead away when he felt a knife at his throat.
There was no doubt this Alfred was a servant-the prince obviously knew him and treated him as such. But whom was he serving? The Hand didn’t know, and he meant to find out. Meanwhile, whether Alfred was truly the fool he appeared or a cunning liar, the man had his uses, not the least of which would be to take charge of His Highness.
“All right. Let’s get started. We’ll circle around the village, pick up the road about five miles outside it. Not likely anyone around here would know the prince by sight, but it’ll save questions. Has the kid got a hood? Get it on him. And keep it on him.” He cast a disgusted glance
at Alfred’s satin-coated, knee-breeched, beribboned, and silk-stockinged finery. “You stink of the court a mile off. But it can’t be helped. Most likely they’ll take you for a charlatan. First chance we get, I’ll bargain with some peasant for a change of clothes.”
“Yes, Sir Hugh,” Alfred murmured.
Hugh stepped out the door. “We’re leaving, Your Highness.”
Bane danced up eagerly and caught hold of Hugh’s hand. “I’m ready. Are we going to stop at an inn for breakfast? My mother said we might. I’ve never been allowed to eat at an inn before-“
He was interrupted by a crash and a stifled groan behind him. Alfred had encountered the door. Hugh shook the boy’s hand free. The child’s soft touch was almost physically painful.
“I’m afraid not, Your Highness. I want to get clear of the village while it’s still early, before people are up and stirring.”
Bane’s mouth drooped in disappointment.
“It wouldn’t be safe, Your Highness.” Alfred emerged, a large knot forming on his glistening forehead. “Especially if there is someone plotting to … uh … do you harm.” He glanced at Hugh as he said this, and the assassin wondered again about Alfred.
“I suppose you’re right,” the prince said with a sigh, accustomed to the problems of being famous.
“But we will make a picnic under a tree,” added the chamberlain.
“And eat sitting on the ground?” Bane’s spirits lifted, then fell. “Oh, but I forgot. Mother never allows me to sit on the grass. I might catch a chill or get my clothes dirty.”
“I don’t think that this time she will mind,” Alfred replied gravely.
“If you’re sure …” The prince put his head on one side and looked intently at Alfred.
“I’m sure.”
“Hurrah!” Bane darted forward, skipping lightheartedly down the road. Alfred, clutching the prince’s pack, hurried after him. He’d make better time, thought Hugh, if his feet could be persuaded to travel in the same general direction as the rest of his body.
The assassin took his place behind them, keeping both under careful surveillance, hand on his sword. If Alfred so much as leaned over to whisper into the kid’s ear, that whisper would be made with his last breath.
Dragon Wing (The Death Gate Cycle #1) Page 12
