Dragon Wing

42

Haplo turned from the hatch in time to see the lieutenant thrust his sword through the elf captain’s body. The lieutenant yanked his weapon free, and the captain slid to the deck. The crew was silent, no sound of either cheering or lamenting. The lieutenant, his face cold and impassive, stood back to allow the wizard room to kneel beside the dying elf. Haplo assumed that this wizard, who had been in attendance upon the captain, was a healer. The Patryn was surprised, therefore, to see the wizard make no gestures toward helping the dying. He held the inlaid box he carried up to the captain’s lips.

“Speak the words!” the geir hissed.

The captain made some attempt, but blood gushed out of his mouth. The wizard appeared angry and, propping up the elf’s head, forced the rapidly dimming eyes to look at the box.

“Speak the words! It is your duty to your people!” Slowly, with an obvious effort, the elf gasped out words that were, to Haplo, unintelligible. The captain sank back, lifeless. The wizard snapped the box shut and, glancing suspiciously at the other elves, guarded it jealously, as if he had just locked away some rare and priceless jewel.

“You dare not harm me!” he whined. “I am a weesham, protected by law! A curse will follow you all your days if you prevent me from carrying out my sacred task!”

“I have no intention of harming you,” said the lieutenant, his lip curled in scorn. “Although what possible use the soul of that wretch can be to our people is best known to yourselves. Still, he died with honor, if he did not live with it. Perhaps that counts for something.” Reaching down, he picked up the dead elf’s sword and, turning, handed it-hilt-first-to Hugh.

“Thank you, human. And you.” The elf glanced at Haplo. “I saw the peril we faced from the Gegs. Perhaps, when we have leisure to discuss such things, you can explain to me what is going on in Drevlin. Now we must prepare to swiftly take our leave.” The elf turned back to Hugh. “What you said about the High Realm, is that true?”

“Yes.” Hugh took the scabbard off the dead elf, thrust the sword into it. “The boy”—he jerked a thumb at Bane, who was standing mute, staring curiously at the corpse—“is the son of one Sinistrad, a mysteriarch.”

“How came such a child to be in your care?” The elf was looking at Bane thoughtfully. Bane, his pale face almost translucent, caught the elf’s gaze. Meeting the gray eyes, he smiled sweetly, bravely, and made a grave and graceful bow. The lieutenant was charmed.

Hugh’s face darkened. “Never mind. It’s not your affair. We were attempting to reach the High Realm when our ship was attacked by your people. We fought them off, but my ship was damaged and fell into the Maelstrom.”

“Your ship? Humans do not fly dragonships!”

“Humans named Hugh the Hand fly what they please.” The elves murmured, the first sounds they had made since the commencement of the duel. The lieutenant nodded.

“I see. That explains much.”

Withdrawing a lace-edged piece of cloth from the pocket of his uniform, the elf used it to wipe blood from his sword blade, then slid the weapon into its sheath. “You are known to be a human of honor—rather peculiar honor, but honor nonetheless. If you will excuse me, humans, I have duties to perform now that I am captain of this vessel. Midshipman Ilth will show you to quarters.” So might slaves be dismissed from the presence of the master, Haplo thought. The elf has chosen to side with us, but he has no love for us and apparently little respect. The elven midshipman motioned them to follow him. Limbeck was kneeling beside the body of the dead elf.

“I was right,” he said when he felt Haplo’s hand on his shoulder. “They’re not gods.”

“No,” said Haplo. “They’re not. There are no gods in this world, as I’ve told you.”

Limbeck glanced about, looking very much as if he had lost something and hadn’t the vaguest idea where to begin searching for it. “Do you know,” he said after a moment, “I’m almost sorry.”

Following the midshipman off the bridge, Haplo heard one of the elves ask, “What do we do with the body, lieutenant? Throw it overboard?”

“No,” said the lieutenant. “He was an officer and his remains will be treated with respect. Place the body in the hold. We will stop in the Mid Realm and deposit it and the geir with it. And from now on, mate, you will address me as captain.”

The elf was moving swiftly to command his crew’s respect, knowing that he must knit up the threads of discipline he himself had unraveled. Haplo awarded the elf silent commendation, and accompanied the others below.

The young elf placed them in what Hugh said was the shipboard equivalent of a dungeon. The brig was bare and cheerless. There were hooks on the walls where hammocks could be slung up at night for sleeping. During the day, they were stowed away to leave enough space to move about. Small portholes provided a view of outside.

Having informed them that he would return with food and water once the ship was safely through the Maelstrom, the midshipman shut the door and they heard the bolt slide home.

“We’re prisoners!” cried Bane.

Hugh settled himself, crouching on his haunches, his back against a bulkhead. He appeared to be in a bad mood. Drawing his pipe out of his pocket, he clamped it between his teeth.

“You want to see prisoners, go take a look at the humans working below deck. They’re the reason he’s keeping us locked up. We could take over this ship if we freed the slaves, and he knows it.”

“Then let’s do it!” said Bane, his face flushed with excitement. Hugh glowered at him. “You think you can fly this ship, Your Highness? Maybe like you flew mine, huh?”

Bane flushed in anger. Hand clutching the feather, the child swallowed his rage and marched across deck to glare out the portholes.

“And you trust him?” Alfred inquired somewhat anxiously. “This elf?”

“No more than he trusts me.” Hugh sucked moodily on the empty pipe.

“So are they converted or whatever happens to elves when they hear that song?” asked Haplo.

“Converted?” Hugh shook his head. “I don’t think so. Elves truly affected by that song lose all awareness of their surroundings. It’s as if they’ve been transported to another world. This elf’s doing what he’s doing for himself. The lure of the reputed wealth of the High Realm and the fact that no elves have ever dared travel up there is what’s drawing him.”

“Wouldn’t it occur to him that it would be easier just to toss us out into the storm and keep the kid for himself?”

“Yeah, maybe. But elves have a ‘peculiar’ honor. In some way—we’ll probably never know how—we did this elf a service by delivering his captain into his hands. His crew witnessed it. He’d lose standing in their eyes by slaughtering us just to make things easier on himself.”

“Honor, then, is important to the elves?”

“Important!” Hugh grunted. “They’d sell their souls for it, those souls the vultures don’t get first.”

Interesting to know. Haplo stored up the information. His lord was in the market for souls.

“So we’re taking a boatload of elven pirates up to the High Realm.” Alfred sighed, then began nervous fussing. “Your Highness, you must be tired. Let me put up one of these hammocks . . .” Tripping over a plank, the chamberlain sprawled facefirst on the deck.

“I’m not tired,” protested Bane. “And don’t worry about my father and these elves. My father’ll take care of them!”

“Don’t bother getting up,” suggested Hugh to the prostrate chamberlain. “We’ll be flying through the Maelstrom and then no one’ll be on his feet. Everyone sit down and brace yourself.”

Sound advice. Haplo could see the first storm clouds scudding past. Lightning flashed blindingly; thunder boomed. The ship began to pitch and buck. The Patryn relaxed in a corner. The dog curled up, nose to tail, at his feet. Alfred hunched miserably against the bulkhead and pulled a protesting Bane down by the seat of his pants.

Only Limbeck remained standing, staring entranced out the porthole.

“Limbeck,” said Haplo. “Sit down. It’s dangerous.”

“I can’t believe it,” murmured the Geg, without turning.

“There are no gods . . . and I am going to heaven.”