Dragon Wing

50

The tinkling of many unseen bells called Sinistrad’s guests to dinner. the castle’s dining room—no doubt having just been created—was windowless, large, dark, and chill. A long oaken table, covered with dust, stood in the center of the bleak chamber. Chairs draped in cloth ranged round it like guardian ghosts. The fireplace was cold and empty. The room had appeared right in front of the guests’ noses, and they gathered within it, most of them ill-at-ease, to await the arrival of their host.

Sauntering over to the table, Haplo ran his finger through an inch of dust and dirt.

“I can hardly wait,” he remarked, “to taste the food.” Lights flared above them, hitherto unseen candelabrum flamed to brilliant life. The cloth draped over the chairs was whisked away by unseen hands. The dust varnished. The empty table was suddenly laden with food-roast meat, steaming vegetables, fragrant breads. Goblets filled with wine and water appeared. Music played softly from some unseen source.

Limbeck, gaping, tumbled backward and nearly fell into a roaring fire blazing on the hearth. Alfred nearly leapt out of his skin. Hugh could not repress a start, and backed away from the feast, eyeing it suspiciously. Haplo, smiling quietly, took a bua[20] and bit into it. Its crunch could be heard through the silence. He wiped juice from his chin. A pretty good illusion, he thought. Everyone will be fooled until about an hour from now when they’ll begin to wonder why they’re still hungry.

“Please, sit down,” said Sinistrad, waving one hand. With the other, he led in Iridal. Bane walked at his father’s side. “We do not stand on ceremony here. My dear.” Leading his wife to the end of the table, he seated her in a chair with a bow. “To reward Sir Hugh for his exertions in caring for you today, wife, I will place him at your right hand.”

Iridal flushed and kept her gaze on her plate. Hugh sat where he was told and did not appear displeased.

“The rest of you find chairs where you will, except for Limbeck. My dear sir, please forgive me.” Switching to the Geg’s language, the wizard made a graceful bow. “I have been inconsiderate, forgetting that you do not speak the human tongue. My son has been telling me of your gallant struggle to free your people from oppression. Pray, take a seat here near me and tell me of it yourself. Do not worry about the other guests, my wife will entertain them.” Sinistrad took his seat at the head of the table. Pleased, embarrassed, and flustered, Limbeck plunked his stout body into a chair at Sinistrad’s right. Bane sat across from him, on his father’s left. Alfred hastened to secure a seat beside the prince. Haplo chose to seat himself at the opposite end of the long table, near Iridal and Hugh. The dog plopped down on the floor beside Bane.

Taciturn and reticent as ever, Haplo could appear to be absorbed in his meal and could listen equally well to everyone’s conversation.

“I hope you will forgive my indisposition this afternoon,” said Iridal. Though she spoke to Hugh, her eyes kept sliding, as if compelled to do so, to her husband, seated opposite her at the table’s far end. “I am subject to such spells. They come over me at times.”

Sinistrad, watching her, nodded slightly. Iridal turned to Hugh and looked at him directly for the first time since he had taken his place beside her. She made an attempt at a smile. “I hope you will ignore anything I said to you. The illness . . . makes me talk about silly things.”

“What you said wasn’t silly,” Hugh returned. “You meant every word. And you weren’t sick. You were scared as hell.”

There had been color in her cheeks when she entered. It drained as Hugh watched her. Glancing at her husband, Iridal swallowed and reached out her hand for her wine goblet.

“You must forget what I said! As you value your life, do not mention it again!”

“My life is, right now, of very little value.” Hugh’s hand caught hold of hers beneath the table and held it fast. “Except as it can be used to serve you, Iridal.”

“Try some of the bread,” said Haplo, passing it to Hugh. “It’s delicious. Sinistrad recommends it.”

The mysteriarch was, indeed, watching them closely. Reluctantly releasing Iridal’s hand, Hugh took a piece of bread and set it down, untasted, on his plate. Iridal toyed with her food and pretended to eat.

“Then for my sake don’t refer to my words, especially if you will not act on them.”

“I couldn’t leave, knowing I left you behind in danger.”

“You fool!” Iridal straightened, warmth sweeping her face. “What can you do, a human who lacks the gift, against such as we? I am ten times more powerful than you, ten times better capable of defending myself if need be! Remember that!”

“Forgive me, then.” Hugh’s dark face flushed. “It seemed you were in trouble—”

“My troubles are my own and none of your concern, sir.”

“I will not bother you anymore, madam, you may be certain of that!” Iridal did not answer, but stared at the food on her plate. Hugh ate stolidly and said nothing.

Things now silent at his end of the table, Haplo turned his attention to the opposite.

The dog, lying by Bane’s chair, kept its ears pricked, gazing up at everyone eagerly, as if hoping for a choice bit to fall its direction.

“But, Limbeck, you saw very little of the Mid Realm,” Sinistrad was saying.

“I saw enough.” Limbeck blinked at him owlishly through His thick spectacles. The Geg had changed visibly during the past few weeks. The sights he had witnessed, the thoughts he had been thinking, had, like hammer and chisel, chipped away at his dreamy idealism. He had seen the life his people had been denied all these centuries, seen the life they were providing, all the while not sharing. The hammer’s first blows hurt him. Later would come the rage.

“I saw enough,” Limbeck repeated. Overwhelmed by the magic, the beauty, and his own emotions, he could think of nothing else to say.

“Indeed, you must have,” answered the wizard. “I am truly grieved for your people; all of us in the High Realm share your sorrow and your very proper anger. I feel we must share in the blame. Not that we ever exploited you. We have no need, as you see around you, to exploit anyone. But still, I feel that we are somewhat at fault.” He sipped delicately at his wine. “We left the world because we were sick of war, sick of watching people suffer and die in the name of greed and hatred. We spoke out against it and did what we could to stop it, but we were too few, too few.”

There were actually tears in the man’s voice. Haplo could have told him he was wasting a fine performance, at least for his end of the table. Iridal had long since given up any pretense of eating. She had been sitting silently, staring at her plate, until it became obvious that her husband’s attention was centered on his conversation with the Geg. Then she raised her eyes, but their gaze did not go to her husband or to the man seated beside her. She looked at her son, seeing Bane, perhaps, for the first time since he’d arrived. Tears filled her eyes. Swiftly she lowered her head. Lifting her hand to brush aside a stray lock of hair, she hastily wiped the drops from her cheeks. Hugh’s hand, resting on the table opposite him, clenched in pain and anger. How had love’s gilt-edged knife managed to penetrate a heart as tough as that one? Haplo didn’t know and he didn’t care. All he knew was that it was damned inconvenient. The Patryn needed a man of action, since he was barred from action himself. It wouldn’t do at all for Hugh to get himself killed in some foolish, noble chivalric gesture.

Haplo began to scratch his right hand, digging down beneath the bandages, displacing them slightly. The sigla exposed, he casually reached for more bread, managing—in the same movement—to press the back of his hand firmly against the wine pitcher. Grasping the bread in his right hand, he returned it to his plate, brushed his left hand over the bandages covering the right, and the runes were hidden once again.

“Iridal,” Hugh began, “I can’t bear to see you suffer—”

“Why should you care about me?”

“I’m damned if I know!” Hugh leaned near her. “You or your son! I—”

“More wine?” Haplo held up the pitcher.

Hugh glowered, annoyed, and decided to ignore his companion. Haplo poured a glassful and shoved it toward Hugh. The goblet’s base struck the man’s fingers, and wine—real wine—sloshed on his hand and his shirt sleeve.

“What the devil . . . ?” Hugh turned on the Patryn angrily. Haplo raised an eyebrow, obliquely nodding his head in the direction of the opposite end of the table. Attracted by the commotion, everyone, including Sinistrad, was staring at them. Iridal sat straight and tall, her face pale and cold as the marble walls. Hugh lifted the goblet and drank deeply. From his dark expression, it might have been the wizard’s blood. Haplo smiled; he hadn’t been any too soon. He waved a hunk of bread at Sinistrad. “Sorry. You were saying?”

Frowning, the mysteriarch continued. “I was saying that we should have realized what was happening to your people in the Low Realm and come to your aid. But we didn’t know you were in trouble. We believed the stories that the Sartan had left behind. We did not know, then, that they were lying—” A sharp clatter made them all start. Alfred had dropped his spoon onto his plate.

“What do you mean? What stories?” Limbeck was asking eagerly.

“After the Sundering, according to the Sartan, your people—being shorter in stature than humans and elves—were taken to the Low Realm for their own protection. Actually, as is now apparent, what the Sartan wanted was a source of cheap labor.”

“That’s not true!” The voice was Alfred’s. He hadn’t spoken a word during the entire meal. Everyone, including Iridal, looked at him in astonishment. Sinistrad turned to him, his thin lips stretched in a polite smile. “No, and do you know what is the truth?”

Red spread from Alfred’s neck to his balding head. “I ... I’ve made a study of the Gegs, you see . . .” Flustered, he tugged at and twisted the hem of the tablecloth. “Anyway, I ... I think the Sartan intended to do ... what you said about protection. It wasn’t so much that the dwarv . . . the Gegs were shorter and therefore in danger from the taller races, but that they—the Gegs—were few in number . . . following the Sundering. Then, the dwarv . . . Gegs are very mechanically minded people. And the Sartan needed that for the machine. But they never meant . . . That is, they always meant to . . .” Hugh’s head slumped forward and hit the table with a thud. Iridal sprang from her chair, crying out in alarm. Haplo was on his feet and moving.

“It’s nothing,” he said, reaching Hugh’s side.

Slipping the assassin’s flaccid arm around his neck, Haplo lifted the heavy body from the chair. Hugh’s limp hand dragged at the cloth, knocked over goblets, and sent a plate crashing to the floor.

“Good man, but a weak head for wine. I’ll take him to his room. No need for the rest of you to be disturbed.”

“Are you certain he’s all right?” Iridal hovered over them anxiously. “Perhaps I should come—”

“A drunk has passed out at your table, my dear. There is hardly any need for concern,” Sinistrad said. “Remove him, by all means.”

“Can I keep the dog?” asked Bane, petting the animal, which, seeing its master preparing to leave, had jumped to its feet.

“Sure,” said Haplo easily. “Dog, stay.” The dog settled happily back down at Bane’s side.

Haplo got Hugh to his feet. Weaving drunkenly, the man was just barely able to stagger—with help—toward the door. Everyone else resumed his seat. Alfred’s words were forgotten. Sinistrad turned back to Limbeck.

“This Kicksey-Winsey of yours fascinates me. I believe that, since I now have a ship at my disposal, I will journey down to your realm and take a look at it. Of course, I will also be quite pleased to do what I can to help your people prepare for the war—”

“War!” The word echoed in the hall. Haplo, glancing back over his shoulder, saw Limbeck’s face, troubled and pale.

“My dear Geg, I didn’t mean to shock you.” Sinistrad smiled at him kindly.

“War being the next logical step, I simply assumed that you had come here for this very purpose—to ask my support. I can assure you, the Gegs will have the full cooperation of my people.”

Sinistrad’s words came through the dog’s ears to Haplo, who was carrying a stumbling Hugh into a dark-and-chill corridor. He was just wondering which direction the guest rooms were located from the dining room when a hallway materialized before him. Several doors stood invitingly open.

“I hope no one walks in his sleep,” Haplo muttered to his besotted companion. Back in the dining room, the Patryn could hear the rustle of Iridal’s silken gown and her chair scrape against the stone floor. Her voice, when she spoke, was tight with controlled anger. “If you will excuse me, I will retire to my room now.”

“Not feeling well, are you, my dear?”

“Thank you, I am feeling fine.” She paused, then added, “It is late. The boy should be in his bed.”

“Yes, wife. I’ll see to it. No need to trouble yourself. Bane, bid your mother good night.”

Well, it had been an interesting evening. Fake food. Fake words. Haplo eased Hugh onto his bed and covered him with a blanket. The assassin wouldn’t wake from the spell until morning.

Haplo retired to his own room. Entering, he shut the door and slid home the bolt. He needed time to rest and think undisturbed, assimilate all that he had heard today.

Voices continued to come to him, through the dog. Their words were unimportant; everyone was parting to rest for the night. Lying down on his bed, the Patryn sent out a silent command to the animal, then began to sort out his thoughts.

The Kicksey-Winsey. He’d deduced its function from the flickering images portrayed on the eyeball held in the hand of the Manger—the Sartan flouting their power, proudly announcing their grand design. Haplo could see the images again, in his mind. He could see the drawing of the world—the Realm of Sky. He saw the isles and continents, scattered about in disorder; the raging storm that was both death-dealing and life-giving; everything moving in the chaotic manner so abhorrent to the order-loving Sartan.

When had they discovered their mistake? When had they found out that the world they created for the removal of a people after the Sundering was imperfect?

After they had populated it? Did they realize, then, that the beautiful floating islands in the sky were dry and barren and could not nurture the life that had been placed in their trust?

The Sartan would fix it. They had fixed everything else, split apart a world rather than let those they considered unworthy rule it. The Sartan would build a machine that, combined with their magic, would align the isles and the continents. Closing his eyes, Haplo saw the pictures again clearly. A tremendous force beaming up from the Kicksey-Winsey catches hold of the continents and the isles, drags them through the skies, and aligns them, one right above the other. A geyser of water, drawn from the constant storm, shoots upward continually, bringing the life-giving substance to everyone. Haplo had figured out the puzzle. He was rather surprised that Bane had solved it as well. Now Sinistrad knew, and he had, most obligingly, explained his plans to his son—and to the listening dog.

One flick of the Kicksey-Winsey’s switch, and the mysteriarch would rule a realigned world.

The dog jumped up on the bed and settled itself at Haplo’s side. Lazily, relaxed to the point of sleep, the Patryn stretched out his arm and patted the dog on the flank. With a contented sigh, the animal rested its head on Haplo’s chest and closed its eyes.

What criminal folly, Haplo thought, stroking the dog’s soft ears. To build something this powerful and then walk away and leave it to fall into the hands of some ambitious mensch.[21] Haplo couldn’t imagine why they had done it. For all their faults, the Sartan weren’t fools. Something had happened to them before they could finish their project. He wished he knew what. This was the clearest sign he could imagine, however, to prove that the Sartan were no longer in the world.

An echo came to him, words spoken by Alfred during the confusion of Hugh’s drunken swoon, words probably heard only by the dog and transferred dutifully to the master.

“They thought they were gods. They tried to do right. But somehow it all kept going wrong.”