Dragon Wing (The Death Gate Cycle #1)

by Margaret Weis

  He took his time. Rushing this job might mean a snapped wing cable and resultant loss of control. Soon after he’d completed his task, Bane and Alfred returned. From the sound of the boy’s excited chatter, Hugh gathered that the berry picking had been successful.

  “Can we come up now?” Bane shouted.

  Hugh kicked at a pile of rope lying on the deck with his foot. It tumbled over the side, forming a rope ladder that dangled down almost to the ground. The child swarmed up it eagerly. Alfred cast it one terrified glance and announced his intention of remaining below to guard the packs.

  “This is wonderful!” said Bane, tumbling over the rail and nearly falling between the planks. Hugh fished him out.

  “Stay here and don’t move,” the Hand ordered, planting the boy against the bulwarks.

  Bane leaned over the rail, looking at the hull. “What’s that long piece of wood down there do-? Oh, I know! Those are the wings, aren’t they?” he cried in high-pitched excitement.

  “That’s the mast,” explained Hugh, eyeing it critically. “There’s two of them, attached to the mainmast there”-he pointed-“at the forecastle.”

  “Are they like dragon’s wings? Do they flap up and down?”

  “No, Your Highness. They’re more like a bat’s wings when they’re extended. It’s the magic that keeps it afloat. Stand over that way a little more. I’m going to release the mast. You’ll see.”

  The mast swiveled outward, pulling the dragon’s wing with it. Hauling on the cable, Hugh didn’t allow it to swing out too far for that would activate the magic and they’d take off prematurely. He released the mast on the port side, made certain the center mast that extended the length of the ship-cradled in its support frame-was free to rise properly and that everything functioned smoothly. Then he looked over the side.

  “Alfred, I’m going to lower a rope for the packs. Tie them on securely. When you’re finished with that, cast off the mooring cables. The ship will rise slightly, but don’t worry. It won’t take off unless the side wings are extended and the center wing is raised. When all the cables have been cut loose, then you come up.”

  “Up that!” Alfred gazed, horrified, at the rope ladder swaying in the breeze.

  “Unless you can fly,” said Hugh, and tossed a length of cable overboard.

  The chamberlain attached it to the packs and, giving it a tug, indicated they were ready. Hugh hauled them up on deck. Handing one to Bane, he told the boy to follow him and, hopping from plank to plank, made his way aft. Opening a hatch, he climbed down a sturdy wooden ladder, Bane gleefully coming after.

  They entered in a narrow corridor that ran beneath the upper deck, connecting the steerage way with the passengers’ quarters, the storage compartments, and the pilot’s quarters, located in the afterdeck. The corridor was dark after the brightness of the day outside, and both man and boy stopped to let their eyes adjust.

  Hugh felt a small hand fasten onto his.

  “I can’t believe I’m really going to get to fly in one of these! You know, Sir Hugh,” Bane added with a wistful cheerfulness, “once I’ve flown in a dragonship, I will have done everything in life I ever wanted to do. I really think I could die quite contentedly after this.”

  A constricting pain in Hugh’s chest nearly suffocated him. He couldn’t breathe, for long moments he couldn’t see, and it wasn’t the darkness of the ship’s interior that was blinding him. It was fear, he told himself. Fear that the child had found out. Shaking his head to rid his eyes of the shadow that had fallen over them, he turned to look hard at the boy.

  But Bane was gazing up at him with innocent affection, not cunning guile. Hugh jerked his hand roughly out of the child’s grasp.

  “That cabin’s where you and Alfred’ll sleep,” he said. “Stow the packs there.” A thud and a muffled groan sounded from above them. “Alfred? Get down here and take care of His Highness. I’ve got work to do “

  “Yes, sir,” came the quavering return, and Alfred slid-literally-down the ladder, landing on the deck in a heap.

  Turning on his heel, Hugh stalked off toward the steerage way, shoving past Alfred without saying a word.

  “Merciful Sartan,” said the chamberlain, backing up to avoid being run down. He stared after Hugh, then turned to Bane. “Did you say or do anything to upset him, Your Highness?”

  “Why, no, Alfred,” the boy said. Reaching out, he took hold of the chamberlain’s hand. “Where did you put those berries?”

  “Can I come in?”

  “No. Stay in the hatchway,” Hugh ordered.

  Bane peeked inside the steerage way and his eyes widened in astonishment. Then he giggled. “It looks like you’re stuck in a big spider’s web! What are all those ropes hooked to? And why are you wearing that contraption?”

  The contraption Hugh was strapping on himself resembled a leather breastplate, except that it had numerous cables attached to it. Extending in various directions, the cables ran upward into a complicated system of pulleys fixed to the ceiling.

  “I’ve never in my life seen so much wood!” Alfred’s voice floated into the steerage way. “Not even in the royal palace. The wood alone must make this ship worth its weight in barls. Your Highness, please keep back. Don’t touch those cables!”

  “Can’t I go over and look out the windows? Please, Alfred? I won’t get in the way.”

  “No, Your Highness,” Hugh said. “If one of these cables wrapped around your neck, it would snap it in a second.”

  “You can see well enough from where we’re standing. Quite well enough,” said Alfred, looking slightly green around the mouth. The ground was far below them. All that could be seen were the tops of trees and the side of a coralite cliff.

  Harness firmly fastened in place, Hugh settled down on a high-backed wooden chair that stood on one leg in the center of the steerage way. The chair swiveled to the left and the right, allowing the pilot easy maneuvering. Sticking up out of the floor in front of him was a tall metal lever.

  “Why do you have to wear that thing?” Bane asked, staring at the harness.

  “It keeps the cables in easy reach, prevents them from getting tangled, lets me know which cable goes where.” Hugh nudged the lever with his foot. A series of startling bangs resounded through the ship. The cables whirled through the pulleys and snapped taut. Hugh pulled on several of the cables attached to his chest. There came various creaking and rumbling sounds, a sharp jerk, and they could feel the ship lift slightly beneath their feet.

  “The wings are unfolding,” said Hugh. “The magic is activating.”

  A crystal globe sextant, located directly above the pilot’s head, began to gleam with a soft blue light. Symbols appeared within it. Hugh pulled harder on the cables, and suddenly the treetops and the cliff side began to drop out of sight. The ship was rising.

  Alfred gasped. Losing his balance, he staggered backward, clinging to the bulwarks for support. Bane, jumping up and down, clapped his hands. Suddenly the cliff and the trees vanished, and the vast expanse of clear blue sky stretched endlessly before them.

  “Oh, Sir Hugh, may I go to the upper deck? I want to see where we’re going.”

  “Absolutely not, Your High-” began Alfred.

  “Sure,” interrupted Hugh. “Take the ladder we used coming down. Keep hold of the rails and you won’t get blown off.”

  Bane scampered away and in another moment they could hear his boots clomp overhead.

  “Blown off!” gasped Alfred. “It’s not safe!”

  “It’s safe. The elven wizards put a magical canopy around it. He couldn’t even jump off. As long as the wings are extended and the magic’s working, he’ll be all right.” Hugh flicked Alfred an amused glance. “But you might want to go up and keep an eye on him, all the same.”

  “Yes, sir,” said the chamberlain, swallowing. “I … I’ll do just that.”

  But he didn’t move. Clinging with deathlike grip to the bulwarks, his rigid face white as the clouds sailing pas
t them, Alfred stared fixedly out at the blue sky.

  “Alfred?” said Hugh, tugging on one of the cables.

  The ship dipped to the left, and a glimpse of treetop sprang suddenly and dizzingly into view.

  “I’m going. Right now, sir. I’m going,” said the chamberlain, not moving a muscle.

  Up on the deck, Bane leaned over the rail, entranced by the sight. He could see Pitrin’s Exile sliding away behind him. Below him and before him were blue sky and white clouds; above him sparkled the firmament. The dragon wings extended on either side, their leathery skin barely rippling with the motion of the ship’s passage. The center wing stood up straight behind him, swaying slightly back and forth.

  Holding the feather in his hands, the boy brushed it idly back and forth across his chin. “The ship is controlled by the harness. Magic keeps it afloat. The wings are like bat’s wings. The crystal on the ceiling tells you where you are.” Standing on tiptoe, he stared down below him, wondering if he could see the Maelstrom from this high up. “It’s easy, really,” he remarked, twiddling the feather.

  CHAPTER 24

  DEEPSKY, MID REALM

  THE DRAGONSHIP SLICED THROUGH THE PEARLY, DOVE-COLORED NIGHT, ITS WINGS gliding on the magic and the air currents that swept upward over the floating isle of Djern Hereva. Strapped into the flight harness, snug in the small steerage room, Hugh lit his pipe, leaned back, and relaxed, letting the dragonship almost fly itself. A touch here or there upon the cables attached to the harness tilted the wings to slice through the air currents, sliding effortlessly across the sky, from one swirl to another, gliding trackward toward Aristagon.

  The Hand kept a lazy half-watch for other winged transports-either live or mechanical. In his elven ship, he was most vulnerable to attack from his own kind, for human dragonriders would immediately take him for an elf, probably a spy. Hugh was not particularly worried. He knew the flight paths the dragonriders took on their raids of Aristagon or elven shipping. He was flying higher purposefully to avoid these, and figured it unlikely that he’d be annoyed. If he did run into a patrol, he could always dodge it by slipping into a rift of clouds.

  The weather was calm, the flying easy, and Hugh had leisure to think. It was then that he decided not to kill the child. The need to make a decision had been in his mind awhile now, but he had put off thinking about it until this time when he was alone and all around him was quiet and conducive to thought. He had never before defaulted on a contract and he needed to satisfy himself that his reasoning was rational and valid and not swayed by sentiment.

  Sentiment. Though something within the Hand might have sympathized with a childhood such as Bane’s-a childhood unloved, cold, and bleak-the assassin had grown too callous to feel his own pain, much less that of another. He was letting the kid live for the very simple reason that Bane was going to be worth more to the Hand alive than dead.

  Hugh did not have his plans quite worked out. He needed time to think, time to wring the truth from Alfred, time to unravel the mysteries that wound around the prince. The Hand had a hideout on Aristagon which he used when he needed his ship repaired. He would go there and wait until he had his information; then he would either return and confront Stephen with his knowledge and demand more money to keep silent, or perhaps contact the queen and discover what she would pay to have her son back. Whatever his decision, Hugh figured his fortune was made.

  He was settling into the rhythm of flying the craft, which he could do with his body and part of his mind, letting the other drift free, when the object of his thoughts poked his towhead up through the hatch into the cabin.

  “Alfred’s sent some dinner.”

  The boy’s eyes were eager and curious, darting here and there at the cables attached to the harness, Hugh’s arms resting easily on them.

  “Come up,” Hugh invited. “Just be careful what you touch and where you step. Keep away from the ropes.”

  Bane did as he was told, sliding up through the hatch, placing his foot gingerly on the deck. In his hands he carried a bowl of meat and vegetables. It was cold. Alfred had cooked it before they left Pitrin’s Exile, then packed it away to be eaten later. But it smelled good to a man accustomed to living on the wayfarer’s meal of bread and cheese or the greasy fare of inns.

  “Hand it here.” Hugh knocked the ashes from his pipe in a crockery mug he carried for this purpose, then held out his hands to take the bowl.

  Bane’s eyes glistened. “You’re supposed to be flying the ship.”

  “She can fly herself,” said Hugh, grasping the bowl and the horn spoon and shoveling the food into his mouth.

  “But won’t we fall?” Bane peered out the crystal windows.

  “The magic keeps us afloat, and even if it didn’t, the wings could support us in this calm air. I just have to make certain they stay extended. If I pulled them in, then we’d begin to sink.”

  Bane nodded thoughtfully, turning his blue-eyed gaze back to Hugh. “What cables draw them in?”

  “These.” He gestured to two heavy lengths of rope attached to the harness at his breast near his right and left shoulder. “I pull them this way, in front of me, and that draws the wings in. These other cables let me steer by lifting the wings or lowering them. This one controls the mainmast, and this cable’s attached to the tail. By flipping it one way or the other, I can control the ship’s direction.”

  “So we could stay afloat like this for how long?”

  Hugh shrugged. “Indefinitely, I suppose, or until we came to an isle. Then the wind currents would catch us and might suck us into a cliff or underneath the island, then slam us up against the coralite.”

  Bane nodded gravely. “I still think I could fly it.”

  Hugh felt satisfied enough with himself to smile indulgently. “No, you’re not strong enough.”

  The boy gazed at the harness in longing.

  “Try it,” Hugh invited. “Here, come stand beside me.”

  Bane did as he was told, moving cautiously, being careful not to accidentally jar one of the ropes. Standing on the deck in front of Hugh, the boy placed his hand on one of the ropes that caused the wing to rise or lower. He pulled at it. The rope moved slightly, enough to cause the wing to shiver, and that was all.

  Unaccustomed to having his will thwarted, the prince gritted his teeth and, wrapping both hands around the rope, pulled with all his might. The wooden frame creaked, the wing dipped a fraction of an inch. Grinning in triumph, Bane planted his feet on the deck and pulled even harder. A gust of wind, sweeping upward, caught the wing. The cable slid through his hands. The prince released his grip with a cry, staring at his palms, which were torn and bleeding.

  “Still think you can fly it?” the Hand said coolly.

  Blinking back tears, Bane mumbled, “No, Sir Hugh,” disconsolately. He wrapped his injured hands tightly around the feather amulet, as if seeking some sort of consolation. Perhaps it helped, for he swallowed and lifted shimmering blue eyes to meet Hugh’s. “Thank you for letting me try.”

  “You did well enough, Your Highness,” said Hugh. “I’ve seen men twice your size who didn’t do as well.”

  “Truly?” The tears vanished.

  Hugh was rich now. He could afford the lie. “Yeah. Now, go on down and see if Alfred needs any help.”

  “I’ll be back to get the bowl!” Bane said, and ducked through the hatch. Hugh could hear his excited voice calling for Alfred, telling the chamberlain how he had flown the dragonship.

  Eating in silence, Hugh idly scanned the skies. He decided that the first thing he would do upon landing on Aristagon would be to take that feather to Kev’am, the elven wizardess, and see what she could make of it. One of the lesser mysteries he had to solve.

  Or so he thought at the time.

  Three days passed. They flew by the night, hiding during the day on small, uncharted isles. It would take a week, Hugh said, to reach Aristagon.

  Bane came every night to sit with Hugh, watch him handle the ship, and
ask questions. The Hand answered or not, depending on his mood. Preoccupied with his plans and his flying, Hugh paid no more attention to Bane than he was forced to. Attachments were deadly in this world, bringing nothing but pain and sorrow. The boy was cold hard cash. That was all.

  The Hand was, however, puzzled at Alfred. The chamberlain watched the prince nervously, anxiously. It might have been an overreaction to the tree’s fall, but Alfred wasn’t being protective. Hugh was strongly reminded of the time an elven fire canister had been hurled over a battlement of a castle he’d been caught in during a raid. Rolling about on the stone, the black metal container appeared harmless. But everyone knew that at any moment it could burst into flame. Men regarded that canister in exactly the same way Alfred was regarding Bane.

  Noting Alfred’s tension, Hugh wondered-not for the first time-what the chamberlain knew that he didn’t. The assassin increased his own watchfulness over the boy when they were on the ground, thinking the child might try to run away. Bane meekly obeyed Hugh’s command that he not leave the campsite unless escorted by Alfred, and then only to forage in the woods for the berries that he seemed to take such delight in finding.

  Hugh never went on these expeditions, considering them foolish. Left to himself to find food, he would have made do with whatever came to hand, so long as it kept life in his body. The chamberlain insisted that His Highness have what he wanted, however, and each day the clumsy Alfred sallied forth into the forest to do battle with overhanging limbs, tangled vines, and treacherous weeds. Hugh stayed behind, resting in a half-wakeful, half-dozing state that allowed him to hear every snap and crash.

  The fourth night, Bane came up to the steerage way and stood staring out the crystal windows at the magnificent sight of cloud and vast empty sky below. “Alfred says dinner will be ready soon.”

  Hugh, puffing on his pipe, grunted noncommittally.

  “What’s that big shadow I can see out there?” Bane pointed.