TREETOPS, EQUILAN

Haplo regained consciousness to find himself surrounded—not by tytans—but by everyone he’d met in this world, plus what appeared to be half the elven army. Groaning, he glanced at the dog.

“This is all your doing.”

The dog wagged its tail, tongue lolling, grinning, relishing the praise, not realizing it wasn’t. Haplo stared at those hovering above him. They stared back—their gazes suspicious, dubious, expectant. The old man, alone, regarded him with intense anxiety.

“Are ... are you all right?” asked the human woman—he couldn’t remember her name. Her gaze went to his shoulder. Timidly, she reached out a hand. “Can we do ... anything!”

“Don’t touch!” Haplo said, through clenched teeth.

The woman’s hand darted back. Of course, that was an open invitation for the elf female to kneel down beside him. Sitting up painfully, he thrust her aside with his good hand.

“You!” he said, looking at Roland. “You’ve got to help me ... put this back!” Haplo indicated his dislocated shoulder, hanging at an odd angle from the rest of his body.

Roland nodded, crouched down on his knees. His hands moved to take off Haplo’s shirt, the leather vest he wore over it. The Patryn caught hold of the human’s hand in his own.

“Just set the shoulder.”

“But the shirt’s in the way—”

“Just the shoulder.”

Roland looked into the man’s eyes, looked hurriedly away. The human began to gently probe the injured area. More elves moved closer to watch; Paithan among them. He had been standing on the fringes of the group surrounding Haplo, conversing with another elf dressed in the torn and bloody remnants of what must have been an elegant dress uniform. Hearing Haplo’s voice, the two elves broke off their conversation.

“Whatever’s underneath that shirt of yours must be something special,” said the elf woman. Aleatha. “Is it?”

Roland cast her a dark glance. “Don’t you have somewhere else to go?”

“Sorry,” she answered coolly, “I didn’t understand what you said. I don’t speak human.”

Roland scowled. He’d been speaking elven. He tried to ignore her. It wasn’t easy. She was leaning over Haplo, exposing the full curve of her round breasts.

For whose benefit, the Patryn wondered. He would have been amused if he hadn’t been so angry at himself. Looking at Roland, Haplo thought that this time Aleatha might have met her match. The human was strictly business. The human’s strong hands grasped Haplo’s arm firmly.

“This is going to hurt.”

“Yeah.” Haplo’s jaw ached from gritting his teeth. It didn’t need to hurt. He could use the magic, activate the runes. But he was damn sick and tired of revealing his power to one-fourth the known universe! “Get on with it!”

“I think you should hurry,” said the elf standing near Paithan. “We’ve beaten them back, but it’s only for the time being, I’m afraid.”

Roland glanced around. “I need one of you men to hold him—”

“I can do it,” answered Aleatha.

“This is important,” Roland snapped. “I don’t need some female who’s going to pass out—”

“I never faint ... without a good reason.” Aleatha favored him with a sweet smile. “How’s your cheek? Does it hurt?”

Roland grunted, keeping his eyes on his patient. “Hold him fast, brace him back against this tree so that he doesn’t twist when I pop the bone in place.”

Aleatha grasped hold of him, ignoring Haplo’s protests.

“I don’t need anyone to hold me!” He brushed aside the woman’s hands. “Wait a minute, Roland. Not yet. Let me ask—” He twisted his head, trying to see the elf in the elegant uniform, interested in what he had said. “Beat them! What—How? ...”

Pain flashed through his arm, shoulder, down his back, up his head. Haplo sucked in a breath that caught and rattled in his throat.

“Can you move it now?” Roland sat back on his haunches, wiped sweat from his face.

The dog, whimpering, crept to Haplo’s side and licked his wrist. Gingerly, biting his teeth against the agony, Haplo moved his arm in the shoulder socket.

“I should bandage it,” protested Roland, seeing Haplo struggling to stand. “It could go back out again, real easy. Everything’s all stretched inside.”

“I’ll be all right,” Haplo said, holding his injured shoulder, fighting back the temptation to use the runes, complete the healing. When he was alone ... and that would be soon, if all went well! Alone and away from this place! He leaned back against the tree trunk, closed his eyes, hoping the man and the elf woman would take the hint and leave him to himself. He heard footsteps walking away, he didn’t care where. Paithan and the elflord had resumed their conversation.

“... scouts reported that conventional weapons had no effect on them. The humans’ defeat in Thillia made that obvious. Humans using our magical weapons proved somewhat more effective, but were eventually beaten. That’s to be expected. They can use the magic that is in the weapon, but they can’t enhance it, as we can. Not that enhancing helped us much. Our own wizards were completely at a loss. We threw everything we had at them and only one proved successful.”

“The dracos, my lord?” said Paithan.

“Yes, the dracos.”

What the devil was a draco? Haplo opened his eyes, peered through half-closed lids. The elflord held one in his hands, apparently. Both he and Paithan were studying it intently. So did Haplo.

The draco was similar in appearance to a railbow, except that it was considerably larger. The projectiles it fired were carved out of wood, fashioned to resemble small dragons.

“It’s effectiveness doesn’t appear to be in the wounds the draco inflicts. Most didn’t get close enough to the tytans to inflict any,” the lord added ruefully. “It’s the look of the draco itself that frightens them. Whenever we loose the dracos, the monsters don’t try to fight. They simply turn and run!” The elflord glared at the weapon in frustration, shaking it slightly. “I wish I knew what it was about this particular weapon that frightens them off! Maybe we could defeat them!”

Haplo stared at the draco, eyes narrowed. He knew why! He presumed that when it was fired at the enemy, it came to life—elven weapons sometimes operated that way. It would appear to the tytans’ senses as if they were being attacked by a small dragon. He recalled the sensation of overwhelming terror emanating from the tytan when the dragon had appeared in the glade. So, the dragons could conceivably be used to control the monsters.

My lord will find that most interesting, thought Haplo, smiling quietly and rubbing his shoulder.

A nudge at his belt drew his attention. Looking down, he saw the dwarf, Blackbeard or Drugar or whatever he was called. How long has he been standing there? Haplo hadn’t noticed, and he cursed himself for not noticing. One tended to forget the dwarf and, from the look in the dark eyes, that tendency could be fatal.

“You speak my language.” It wasn’t a question. Drugar already knew the answer. Haplo wondered briefly, how?

“Yes.” The Patryn didn’t think it necessary to lie.

“What are they saying?” Drugar nodded a shaggy head at Paithan and the elflord. “I speak human, but not elven.”

“They’re talking about that weapon the elf’s holding in his hand. It apparently has some effect on the tytans. It makes them run away.”

The dwarf’s brows beetled, his eyes seemed to sink back into his head, practically invisible except for the sparkling hate in their black depths. The Patryn knew and appreciated hatred—hatred kept those trapped in the Labyrinth alive. He had been wondering why Drugar was traveling with people the dwarf made no secret of despising. Haplo thought suddenly that he understood.

“Elven weapons”—Drugar spoke into his thick beard—“drive them away! Elven weapons could have saved my people!”

As if in response, Paithan’s grim voice rose, “But it didn’t drive them far, Durndrun.”

The lord shook his head. “No, not far. They came back, attacked us from behind, using that deadly elemental magic of theirs—hurling fire, rocks dragged from the Mother-knows-where. They took care not to come within sight of us and, when we fled, they didn’t follow.”

“What do they say?” Drugar asked. His hand was beneath his beard; Haplo could see the fingers moving, grasping at something.

“The weapons stopped them, but not for long. The tytans hit them with elemental magic.”

“But they are here, they are alive!”

“Yeah. The elves retreated, the tytans apparently didn’t go after them.” Haplo saw the elflord cast a glance around the group assembled in the coppice, saw him draw Paithan farther into the trees, apparently for private conversation.

“Dog,” Haplo said. The animal lifted its head. A gesture from its master sent the dog padding swiftly, silently after the two elves.

“Pah!” The dwarf spit on the ground at his feet.

“You don’t believe them?” Haplo asked, interested. “You know what elemental magic is?”

“I know,” grunted Drugar, “though we do not use it ourselves. We use”—he pointed a stubby finger at the Patryn’s sigla—covered hands—“that magic.”

Haplo was momentarily confounded, stared dumbly at the dwarf.

Drugar didn’t appear to notice the man’s discomfiture. Fumbling at his throat, the dwarf drew out an obsidian disk worn on a leather thong, and held it up for the Patryn’s inspection. Haplo leaned over it, saw carved on the rare stone a single rune—a Sartan rune. It was crudely drawn; by itself it possessed little power. Yet he had only to look on his arms to see its counterpart tattooed on his own skin.

“We cannot use them as you do.” The dwarf stared at Haplo’s hands, his gaze hungry and yearning. “We do not know how to put them together. We are like little children: We can speak words, but we don’t know how to string the words into sentences.”

“Who taught you ... the rune magic?” Haplo asked when he had recovered sufficiently from his shock to be able to speak.

Drugar lifted his eyes, stared far off, into the jungle. “Legend says ... they did.”

Haplo was confused, thought at first he meant the elves. The dwarf’s black eyes were focused higher, almost to the tops of the trees, and the Patryn understood. “The tytans.”

“Some of us believed they would come to us again, help us build, teach us. Instead ...” Drugar’s voice rumbled to silence, like thunder fading in the distance.

Another mystery to ponder, to consider. But not here. Not now. Alone ... and far away. Haplo saw Paithan and the elflord returning, the dog trotting along unnoticed at their heels. Paithan’s face reflected some internal struggle; an unpleasant one, to judge by his expression. The elflord walked straight to Aleatha who, after assisting Roland with Haplo, had been left standing aloof, alone, at the edge of the copse.

“You’ve been ignoring me!” she stated.

Lord Durndrun smiled faintly. “I’m sorry, my dear. The gravity of the situation—”

“But the situation’s over,” said Aleatha lightly. “And here am I, in my ‘warrior maid’ costume, dressed to kill, so to speak. But I’ve missed the battle seemingly.” Raising her arms, she presented herself to be admired. “Do you like it? I’ll wear it after we’re married, whenever we have a fight. Though I dare say your mother won’t approve—”

The elflord blenched, covered his pain by averting his face. “You look charming, my dear. And now I have asked your brother to take you home.”

“Well, of course. It’s almost dinnertime. We’re expecting you. After you’ve cleaned up—”

“There won’t be time, I’m afraid, my dear.” Taking the woman’s hand. Lord Durndrun pressed it to his lips. “Good-bye, Aleatha.” It seemed he meant to release her hand, but Aleatha caught hold of his, held him fast.

“What do you mean, saying ‘good-bye’ in that tone?” She tried to sound teasing, but fear tightened, strained her voice.

“Quindiniar.” Lord Durndrun gently removed the woman’s hand from his.

Paithan stepped forward, caught Aleatha by the arm. “We’ve got to go—”

Aleatha shook herself free. “Good-bye, My Lord,” she said coldly. Turning her back, she stalked off into the jungle.

“Thea!” Paithan called, worried. She ignored him, kept going. “Damn, she shouldn’t be wandering around alone—” He looked at Roland.

“Oh, all right,” muttered the man, and plunged into the trees.

“Paithan, I don’t understand. What’s going on?” asked Rega.

“I’ll tell you later. Somebody wake up the old man.” Paithan gestured irritably to Zifnab, who lay comfortably beneath a tree, snoring loudly. The elf glanced back at Lord Durndrun. “I’m sorry. My Lord. I’ll talk to her. I’ll explain.”

The elflord shook his head. “No, Quindiniar. It’s best you don’t. I’d rather she didn’t know.”

“My Lord, I think I should come—”

“Good-bye, Quindiniar,” Lord Durndrun said firmly, cutting off the young man’s words. “I’m counting on you.” Gathering his weary troops around him with a gesture, the lord turned and led his small force back into the jungle.

Zifnab, assisted by the toe of Rega’s boot, woke with a snort. “What? Huh? I heard every word! Just resting my eyes. Lids get heavy, you know.” Joints popping and creaking, he rose to his feet, sniffing the air. “Dinnertime. The cook said something about tangfruit. That’s good. We can dry ’em and eat the leftovers on our journey.”

Paithan gave the old man a troubled look, switched his gaze to Haplo. “Are you coming?”

“Go on. I’ve got to take it easy. I’d only slow you down.”

“But the tytans—”

“Go on,” said Haplo, in pain, beginning to lose patience.

Taking hold of Rega’s hand, the elf followed after Roland and his sister, who already had a considerable head start.

“I have to go!” said Drugar and hurried to catch up with Paithan and Rega. Once he was even with them, however, he fell about a pace behind, keeping them constantly in his sight.

“I suppose I’ll be forced to walk all that way!” muttered Zifnab peevishly, tottering off. “Where’s that dratted dragon? Never around when I want him, but the moment I don’t, there he is, leaping up, threatening to eat people or making rude remarks about the state of my digestion.”

Turning, he peered around at Haplo. “Need any help?”

The Labyrinth take me if I see you again! Haplo told the old man’s retreating back. Crazy old bastard.

Beckoning to the dog, the Patryn motioned the animal close and rested his hand on its head. The private conversation, held between Paithan and the elflord, overheard by the dog, came to Haplo clearly.

It wasn’t much—the Patryn was disappointed. The elflord had said simply that the elves didn’t have a chance. They were all going to die.

“You’re a real bitch, aren’t you?” said Roland.

He’d had a difficult time catching up with the elf woman. He didn’t like crossing the narrow, swinging, ropevine bridges that stretched from treetop to treetop. The jungle floor was far beneath him, the bridge swayed alarmingly whenever he moved. Aleatha, accustomed to walking the bridges, moved across them with ease. She could, in fact, have escaped Roland completely, but that would have meant walking the jungle alone.

Hearing him right behind her, she turned and faced him.

“Kitkninit.[28] You are wasting your breath conversing with me. You even talk like a barbarian!” Aleatha’s hair had come completely undone; it billowed around her, swept back by the speed of her movement along the bridge. A flush of exertion stained her cheeks.

“Like hell you kitkninit. You were quick enough to follow my instructions when I told you to hold onto our patient.”

Aleatha ignored him. She was tall, almost as tall as Roland. Her stride—in the leather pants—was long and unencumbered.

They left the bridge, striking a trail through the moss. The path was narrow and difficult to traverse, made no easier by the fact that Aleatha increased Roland’s difficulty whenever possible. Drawing aside branches, she let them go, snapping them in his face. Taking a sharp turn, she left him floundering in a bramble bush. But if Thea was hoping to make Roland angry, she didn’t succeed. The human seemed to take a perverse pleasure in the trouble she was causing him. When they emerged onto the sweeping lawn of the Quindiniar mansion, she discovered Roland strolling along easily by her side.

“I mean,” he said, picking up the conversation where he had left off, “you treated that elf pretty badly. It’s obvious the guy would give his life for you. In fact, he’s going to—give his life, that is—and you treat him like he’s—”

Aleatha whirled, turning on him. Roland caught her wrists, her nails inches from his face. “Listen, lady! I know you’d like to tear my tongue out so you don’t have to hear the truth. Didn’t you see the blood on his uniform? That came from dead elves! Your people! Dead! Just like mine! Dead!”

“You’re hurting me.” Aleatha’s voice was cool, calming Roland’s fever. He flushed, and slowly released her wrists. He could see the livid marks of his hand—the marks of his fear—imprinted on the fair skin.

“I’m sorry. Forgive me. It’s just—”

“Please excuse me,” said Aleatha. “It’s late, and I must dress for dinner.”

She left him and walked over the smooth expanse of green moss, heading for the house. Horn calls rose again, sounding flat and lifeless in the still, muggy air. Roland was still standing in the same place, staring after the woman, when the others caught up with him.

“That’s the signal for the city guard to turn out,” said Paithan. “I’m part of it. I should go fight with them.” But he didn’t move. He stared down at the house, at Dragon Wing behind it.

“What’d the elflord tell you?” Roland asked.

“Right now, people think that our army’s driven the tytans off, defeated them. Durndrun knows better. That was only a small force. According to our scouts, after the monsters attacked the dwarves, they split up—half went vars to deal with Thillia, half went est, to the Fartherness Reaches. The two armies of tytans are rejoining for an all—out assault on Equilan.”

Paithan put his arm around Rega, drew her close. “We can’t survive. The lord ordered me to take Aleatha and my family and flee, to get out while we can. He meant, of course, to travel overland. He doesn’t know about the ship.”

“We’ve got to get out of here tonight!” said Roland.

“If that Haplo plans to take any of us. I don’t trust him,” said Rega.

“Which means I run away, leave my people to perish ...” murmured Paithan.

No, said Drugar silently, his hand on his knife. No one will leave. Not this night, not ever.

“When the dog barks,” announced the old man, panting, toddling up from behind. “That’s the signal. When the dog barks.”