Dragon Wing

41

The High Froman didn’t like it—any of it. He didn’t like the fact that the prisoners were taking this much too docilely. He didn’t like the words that the Welves were dropping on his head instead of more treasure. He didn’t like the occasional musical note that emanated from the crowd below the Palm. Watching the ship, the High Froman thought he had never seen one move so slowly. He could hear the creaking of the cable drawing the gigantic wings inside the huge body, thus speeding the ship’s descent, but it wasn’t fast enough for Darral Longshoreman. Once these gods and Mad Limbeck were gone, life, he fondly hoped, would return to normal. If he could just get through the next few moments.

The ship settled into place, its wings trimmed so that it maintained enough magic to keep it afloat in the air, hovering near the Palm. The cargo bays opened and the monna fell onto the Gegs waiting below. A few of the Gegs began to clamor for it as it fell, those with keen eyes and good monetary sense latching onto the valuable pieces. But most of the Gegs ignored it. They remained standing, staring up at the top of the arm in tense, eager, (jingling) expectation.

“Hurry, hurry!” muttered the High Froman.

The opening of the hatch took an interminable length of time. The Head Clark, oblivious of everything, was regarding the dragonship with his usual insufferable expression of self-righteousness. Darral longed to shove that expression (along with his teeth) down his brother-in-law’s throat.

“Here they come!” The Head Clark chattered excitedly. “Here they come.” Whipping around, he fixed a stern eye upon the prisoners. “Mind you treat the Welves with respect. They, at least, are gods!”

“Oh, we will!” piped up Bane with a sweet smile. “We’re going to sing them a song.”

“Hush, Your Highness, please!” remonstrated Alfred, laying a hand on Bane’s shoulder. He added something in human that the High Froman could not understand, and drew the boy back, out of the way. Out of the way of what?

And what was this nonsense about a song?

The High Froman didn’t like it. He didn’t like it one bit.

The hatch opened and the gangway slid out from the bulwarks and was fixed firmly to the fingertips of the Palm. The elf captain emerged. Standing in the hatchway, surveying the objects before him, the elf appeared enormous in the ornately decorated iron suit that covered the thin body from toe to neck. His face could not be seen; a helmet shaped like the head of a dragon protected his head. Slung from his shoulder was a ceremonial sword encased in a jeweled scabbard that hung from a belt of frayed embroidered silk.

Seeing that all appeared in order, the elf clunked ponderously across the gangway, the scabbard rattling against his thigh when he walked. He reached the fingers of the Palm, stopped and stood gazing about, the dragon’s-head helm lending him a stern and imperious air. The iron suit added an additional foot of height to the elf, who was already tall. He towered over the Gegs and over the humans as well. The helmet was so cunningly and fearsomely carved that even Gegs who had seen it before were awed. The Head Clark sank to his knees.

But the High Froman was too nervous to be impressed.

“No time for that now,” snapped Darral Longshoreman, reaching out to grab hold of his brother-in-law and get him back on his feet. “Coppers, bring the gods!”

“Damn!” swore Hugh beneath his breath.

“What is it?” Haplo leaned near.

The captain had clanked his way onto the fingers. The Head Clark had dropped to his knees and the High Froman was tugging at him. Limbeck was fumbling with a sheaf of papers.

“The elf. See that thing he’s wearing around his neck? It’s a whistle.”

“So?”

“Their wizards created it. Supposedly, when the elves blow into it, the sound it makes can magically negate the effects of the song!”

“Which means the elves will fight.”

“Yes.” Hugh cursed himself. “I knew warriors carried them, but not watership crews! And nothing to fight with except our bare hands and one dagger!” Nothing. And everything. Haplo needed no weapon. Rip the bandages from his hands, and by his magic alone he could destroy every elf on board that ship or charm them to do his will or send them into enchanted slumber. But he was forbidden to make use of his magic. The first sigil whose fiery blaze he traced in the air would proclaim him a Patryn—the ancient enemy who had long ago very nearly conquered the ancient world.

Death first, before you betray us. You have the discipline and the courage to make that choice. You have the skill and the wits to make that choice unnecessary.

The High Froman was ordering the coppers to bring the gods. The coppers started toward Limbeck, who firmly and politely elbowed them out of the way. Stepping forward, he rustled his papers and drew in a deep breath.

“Distinguished visitors from another realm. High Froman, Head Clark. My fellow WUPP’s. It gives me great pleasure—”

“At least we’ll die fighting,” said Hugh. “With elves, that’s something.” Haplo didn’t have to die fighting. He didn’t have to die at all. He hadn’t expected it would be this frustrating.

The squawky-talk, designed to loudly transmit the blessings of the Welves, was now loudly transmitting Limbeck’s speech. “Shut him up!” shouted the High Froman. “—throw up your hackles. No, that can’t be right.” Limbeck stopped. Peering at the paper, he took out his spectacles and put them over his ears.

“Throw off your shackles!” he shouted, now that he could see. The coppers surged forward, grabbed him by the arms.

“Start singing!” Haplo hissed. “I’ve got an idea!” Hugh opened his mouth and began to boom out in a deep baritone the first notes of the song. Bane joined in, his shrill voice soaring above Hugh’s in an ear-piercing shriek, heedless of tune, but never missing a word. Alfred’s voice quavered, almost unheard; the man was pale as bleached bone with fear, and appeared on the verge of collapse.

At the first note, the Gegs below let out a cheer and, grabbing their weapons, began to toot and jingle and wheeze and sing with all their might. The coppers above heard the singing below and became flustered and distracted. The elven captain, hearing the notes of the dreaded song, grasped the whistle that hung from around his neck, raised the visor of the helm, and put the whistle to his lips.

Haplo touched the dog lightly on the head, made a sweeping gesture with his hand, and pointed at the elf. “Take him.”

All Flame as Heart, surmount the Ridge, All noble Paths are Ellxman. Sleek and swift and silent as a thrown spear, the dog cut through the tangled crowd and leapt straight at the elf.

The elven iron suit was ancient and archaic, designed primarily to intimidate, a remnant of olden days when such suits had to be worn as protection against the painful affliction known as “the bends” that struck those sailing swiftly up from the Low Realm to realms far above. By the time the elf captain saw the dog, it was airborne, aiming straight toward him. Instinctively he tried to brace himself for the blow, but his body, encased in the clumsy armor, could not react fast enough. The dog hit him square in the chest and the captain toppled over backward like a felled tree.

Haplo was on the move with the dog, Hugh not far behind. There was no song on the Patryn’s lips. The assassin was singing loudly enough for both.

“Servers unite!” shouted Limbeck, shaking off the annoying coppers. Immersed in his speech, he paid no attention to the chaos around him. “I, myself, ascending to the realms above, there to discover Truth, the most valuable of treasures—”

“Treasures . . .” echoed the squawky-talk.

“Treasure?” The Gegs standing below the Palm looked at each other. “He said treasure. They’re giving more away! Up there! Up there!” The Gegs, still singing, surged toward the door in the base of the arm. A few coppers had been detailed to guard the entrance, but they were overwhelmed by the mob (one was later discovered lying comatose, a tambourine around his neck). The singing Gegs raced up the stairs.

The first Gegs surged through the door at the top of the arm and dashed out onto the base of the golden Palm. The Palm’s surface was slippery from the spray of the water shooting into the air. The Gegs slid and slithered and came precariously near hurtling over the edge. Hastening forward, the coppers attempted to stop them, trying without success to herd them back down the stairs. Darral Longshoreman stood in the center of the hooting, clanging crowd and watched, in mute anger and outrage, hundreds of years of peace and tranquillity go up in song.

Before Alfred could stop him, Bane raced excitedly after Hugh and Haplo. Caught up in the melee, Alfred struggled to try to catch the prince. Limbeck’s spectacles were knocked off in the tussle. He managed to save them, but—getting knocked about in every direction—couldn’t put them on. Blinking, bewildered, he stared around, unable to tell friend from foe, up from down. Seeing the Geg’s predicament, Alfred caught hold of Limbeck by the shoulder and dragged him toward the ship.

The elf captain, flat on his back on the Palm’s fingers, struggled ineffectively with the dog, whose slashing teeth were trying to find their way between helm and breastplate. Reaching the gangway, Haplo glanced in some concern at an elven wizard hovering over the fallen elf. If the wizard used his magic, the Patryn would have little choice but to respond in kind. Perhaps, in the confusion, he could do it without being seen. But the wizard did not appear interested in fighting. He stood over the elf captain, watching keenly the battle with the dog. The wizard held in his hand a jeweled box; an eager expression lit his face.

Keeping one eye on this strange wizard, Haplo knelt swiftly at the battling elf’s side. Making certain he kept clear of the dog’s teeth, the Patryn slid his hand beneath the ironclad body, grappling for the sword. He grasped hold and pulled. The belt to which it was attached gave way and the weapon was his. Haplo considered the sword an instant. The Patryn was loath to kill in this world, particularly elves. He was beginning to see how his lord could make future use of them. Turning, he tossed the weapon to Hugh.

Sword in one hand, his dagger in the other, Hugh dashed across the gangway and through the hatch, singing as he ran.

“Dog! Here! To me!” Haplo called.

Immediately obeying the command, the dog bounded from the chest of the ironclad elf, leaving the captain floundering helplessly on his back, like an overturned turtle. Waiting for the dog, Haplo managed to catch hold of Bane as the child hurtled past him. The prince was in a state of wild excitement, shrieking the song out at the top of his lungs.

“Let me go! I want to see the fight!”

“Where the hell’s your keeper? Alfred!”

Searching the crowd for the chamberlain, Haplo got a firm grip on the squirming, protesting boy and held on to him. Alfred was clumsily shepherding Limbeck through the chaos raging on the Palm. The Geg, struggling to keep his feet, was still pouring out his heart.

“And now, distinguished visitors from another realm, I would like to give to you the three tenets of WUPP. First—”

The mob closed around Alfred and Limbeck.

Releasing Bane, Haplo turned to the dog, pointed to the boy, and said, “Watch.”

The dog, grinning, sat down on his hind legs and fixed his eyes on Bane. Haplo left them. Bane stared at the dog.

“Good boy,” he said, and turned to enter the hatch. Casually the dog rose to his feet, sank his teeth into the rear end of His Highness’s trousers, and held him fast.

Haplo darted back across the gangway to Palm. He extricated Alfred and the speech-making Limbeck from the thick of the crowd and hustled them toward the ship. Several WUPP’s, blowing their horns, surged after them, deafening any who tried to stop them. Haplo recognized Jarre among them and tried to catch her eye, but she was bashing a copper with a wheezy-wail and didn’t see him. Despite the confusion, Haplo attempted to keep an ear attuned for fighting on board the ship. He heard nothing except Hugh’s singing, however, not even the sound of blowing whistles.

“Here, chamberlain, the kid’s your responsibility.” Haplo freed Bane from the dog and thrust the kid toward a shaken Alfred. The Patryn and the dog raced across the gangway; Haplo assumed everyone else was following.

Coming into the dark ship from the sunlight glaring off the golden Palm, the Patryn was forced to pause and wait for his eyes to adjust. Behind him, he heard Limbeck cry out, stumble, and fall to his knees, the sudden absence of light and the loss of his spectacles combining to effectively blind the Geg. Haplo’s vision cleared quickly. He saw now why he had heard no sounds of fighting. Hugh stood facing an elf with a naked sword in his hand. Behind the elf ranged the rest of the ship’s crew, armed and waiting. The silver war robes of a ship’s wizard caught the sunlight, gleaming brightly from where he stood behind the warriors. No one spoke. Hugh had quit singing. He watched the elf narrowly, waiting for the attack.

“ ‘The sullen walk, the flick’ring aim . . .’” Bane trilled the words, his voice loud and jarring.

The elf’s gaze slid toward the child, the hand grasping the sword shivered slightly, and his tongue flicked over dry lips. The other elves, ranged behind him, were seemingly awaiting his orders, for they kept their eyes fixed on him as their leader.

Haplo swiveled about. “Sing, dammit!” he shouted, and Alfred, jolted into action, raised his voice—a piping tenor. Limbeck was shuffling through his papers, trying to find the place where he’d left off.

There was Jarre, coming across the gangplank, more WUPP’s behind her, all gleeful and eager for treasure. Haplo signaled frantically, and finally she saw him.

“Keep away!” he motioned, mouthing the words at the same time. “Keep away!” Jarre halted her troop and they obediently (and a few literally) fell back at her command. The Gegs craned their heads to see, watching intently to make certain no one got a glass bead ahead of them.

“ ‘Fire leads again from futures, all.’ ”

The singing was louder now, Alfred’s voice stronger, carrying the tune, Bane growing hoarse but never flagging. Certain now the Gegs would not interfere, Haplo turned from them to Hugh and the elf. Holding the same positions, swords raised, each watched the other warily.

“We mean you no harm,” said Hugh in elven.

The elf raised a delicate eyebrow, glanced around at his armed crew, who outnumbered them twenty to one.

“No kidding,” replied the elf.

But the Hand knew something of the ways of elves, apparently, for he continued without pause, speaking their language fluently.

“We’ve been stranded down here. We want to escape. We’re bound for the High Realm—”

The elf sneered. “You’re lying, human. The High Realm is banned. Ringed round by magical protection.”

“Not to us. They’ll let us pass,” said Hugh. “This child”—he pointed at Bane—“is the son of a mysteriarch. He’ll—”

Limbeck found his place. “Distinguished visitors from another realm—” From outside came a clunking and clattering of iron.

“The whistles! Use the whistles, you fools!”

Two whistles screeched—the elf captain’s and that of the wizard holding the box.

The dog growled, its ears pricked, its hackles bristled. Haplo stroked the animal reassuringly, but it wouldn’t be calmed and began to howl in pain. The clunking noise and the whistling grew louder. A shadow appeared in the hatchway, blotting out the sunlight.

Alfred shrank back, pulling Bane behind him. Limbeck was reading his speech and didn’t see the captain. An ironclad arm shoved the Geg roughly aside, knocking him into a bulkhead. The elf stood in the hatchway, blasting on his whistle. He had removed the helm. The eyes, glaring at his crew, were red with rage.

He took the whistle from his lips long enough to shout savagely, “Do as I command, damn you, lieutenant!” The wizard, box in hand, hovered at his charge’s elbow.

The elf facing Hugh lifted the whistle with a hand that seemed to move of its own accord. The lieutenant’s eyes went from his captain to Hugh and back to the captain again. The rest of the crew either lifted the whistles or toyed with them. A few blew tentative bleeps.

Hugh didn’t understand what was going on, but he guessed that victory hung upon a note, so to speak, and so began to sing hoarsely. Haplo joined in, the captain blasted away on the whistle, the dog howled in pain, and everyone, including Limbeck, came out strong on the last two verses:

The Arc and Bridge are thoughts and heart.

The Span a life, the Ridge a part.

The lieutenant’s hand moved and grasped the whistle. Haplo, marking an elven warrior near the officer, tensed, ready to jump the man and try to wrest away his weapon. But the lieutenant did not put the whistle to his lips. He gave the thong on which it hung a vicious jerk, broke it, and hurled it to the deck. There was ragged cheering among the elven crew, and many—including the ship’s wizard—followed their lieutenant’s example.

The captain’s face flushed crimson with rage, blotches of white stood out on his thin cheeks, foam flecked his lips.

“Traitors! Traitors led by a coward! Weesham, you are my witness. They are mutineers, filthy rebels, and when we get back—”

“We’re not going back, captain,” said the lieutenant, standing straight and tall, his gray eyes cool. “Stop that singing!” he added. Hugh had only a vague idea of what was going on; apparently they’d stumbled across some sort of private feud among the elves. But he was quick to recognize that it could turn to their advantage, and he made a motion with his hand. Everyone hushed, Alfred ordering Bane twice to keep silent and finally clapping his hand over the boy’s mouth.

“I told you this man was a coward!” The captain addressed the crew. “He hasn’t the guts to fight these beasts! Get me out of this thing!” The elf captain could not move in the iron suit. His geir laid a hand upon the armor and spoke a word. The iron melted away. Bounding forward, the elf captain put his hand to his side, only to discover his sword was gone. He found it almost immediately; Hugh was pointing it at his throat.

“No, human,” cried the lieutenant, moving to block Hugh.

“This is my battle. Twice, captain, you have called me coward and I could not defend my honor. Now you can no longer hide behind your rank!”

“You say that very bravely, lieutenant, considering that you are armed and I am not!”

The lieutenant turned to Hugh. “As you can see, human, this is an affair of honor. I am told you humans understand such things. I ask that you give the captain his sword. That leaves you weaponless, of course, but you didn’t have much chance anyway—being one against so many. If I live, I pledge myself to assist you. If I fall, then you must take your chances as before.” Hugh considered the odds, then, shrugging, handed over the sword. The two elves squared off, falling into fighting stance. The crew was intent on watching the battle between their captain and his lieutenant. Hugh edged his way near one of them, and Haplo guessed that the assassin wouldn’t be weaponless for long.

The Patryn had his own worries. He had been keeping his eye on the riot raging outside the ship and saw that the WUPP’s, having defeated the coppers, were blood-crazed and searching for trouble. Should the Gegs board the ship, the elves would think it was an all-out attack, forget their own differences, and fight back. Already Haplo could see the Gegs pointing at the ship, yammering about treasure.

Sword clashed against sword. The captain and lieutenant thrust and parried. The elf wizard watched eagerly, clutching the inlaid box he held to his breast. Moving swiftly but smoothly, hoping to attract as little attention as possible, Haplo made his way over to the hatch. The dog trotted along at his heels.

Jarre stood on the gangway, her hands grasping a broken tambourine, her eyes fixed on Limbeck. Undaunted, the Geg had climbed to his feet, adjusted his spectacles, found his place, and resumed speaking.

“—a better life for everyone—”

Behind Jarre, the Gegs were rallying, urging each other to go into the ship and grab the spoils of war. Haplo found the mechanism for raising and lowering the gangplank, and quickly studied it to understand how it operated. His only problem now was the female Geg.

“Jarre!” Haplo cried, waving his hand. “Get off the plank! I’m going to raise it! We’ve got to leave now!”

“Limbeck!” Jarre’s voice was inaudible, but he understood the movement of her lips.

“I’ll take care of him and bring him back to you safely. I promise!” That was an easy promise to make. Once Limbeck was properly molded, he would be ready to lead the Gegs and develop them into a united fighting force—an army willing to lay down their lives for the Lord of the Nexus.

Jarre took a step forward. Haplo didn’t want her. He didn’t trust her. Something had changed her. Alfred had changed her. She wasn’t the same fiery revolutionary she’d been before she went off with him. That man, meek and inoffensive as he seemed, bore watching.

By this time the Gegs had goaded each other to action and were marching unimpeded toward the ship. Behind him, Haplo could hear the duel between the two elves rage on unabated. He set the mechanism, prepared to raise the gangway. Jarre would slip and fall to her death. It would look like an accident, the Gegs would blame it on the elves. He put his hand on the mechanism, ready to activate it, when he saw the dog dash past him, running across the plank.

“Dog! Get back here!”

But either the animal was ignoring him or, in the midst of the singing and the sword clashing, it couldn’t hear him.

Frustrated, Haplo let go of the mechanism and started out onto the gangway after the animal. The dog had latched on to the sleeve of Jarre’s blouse and was tugging her off the plank, herding her in the direction of the Palm. Jarre, distracted, looked down at the dog, and as she did so, saw her people advancing on the ship.

“Jarre!” cried Haplo. “Turn them back! The Welves will kill them! They’ll kill all of us if you attack!” She looked back at him, then at Limbeck. “It’s up to you, Jarre!” Haplo shouted. “You’re their leader now.” The dog had loosed its hold and was gazing up at her, its eyes bright, its tail wagging.

“Good-bye, Limbeck,” whispered Jarre. Leaning down, she gave the dog a fierce hug, then turned and, shoulders squared, stepped off the gangway onto the fingers of the Palm. Facing the Gegs, she raised her hands and they halted.

“More treasure is being dropped. You must all go down below! There’s nothing up here.”

“Below? It’s being dropped below?”

Hastily the Gegs whirled around and began to push and shove, trying to reach the stairs.

“Get in here, dog!” Haplo ordered.

The animal gamboled across the deck, its tongue lolling out of its mouth in an irrepressible grin of triumph.

“Proud of yourself, huh?” Haplo said, releasing the mechanism and pulling on the ropes, drawing up the gangplank as swiftly as possible. He heard Jarre’s voice raised in command, heard the Gegs shout in support. The gangway slid inside. Closing the hatch, Haplo sealed it tight. The Gegs could no longer be seen or heard.

“Disobedient mutt, I should have you skinned,” muttered Haplo, fondling the dog’s silky ears.

Raising his voice about the clashing of steel, Limbeck carried on: “And in conclusion, I would like to say...”