SOMEWHERE, PRYAN

Haplo and the dog walked up the path. The Patryn kept close watch on the city walls, but saw no one. He listened carefully, and heard nothing except the sighing of the wind through the rocks, like a whispering breath. He was alone upon the sun-baked mountainside.

The path led him straight to a large metal door formed in the shape of a hexagon and inscribed with runes—the city’s gate. Smooth white marble walls towered high above him. Ten of his people could have stood on each other’s shoulders and the topmost person would not have been able to see over the wall’s edge. He put his hand on it. The marble was slick, polished to a high finish. A spider would have difficulty climbing up the side. The city’s gate was sealed shut. The magic guarding it and the walls made the sigla on Haplo’s body crawl and itch. The Sartan were in absolute control. No one could enter their city without their permission and knowledge.

“Hail the guard!” shouted Haplo, craning his neck, peering up to the top of the walls.

His own words came back to him.

The dog, disturbed by the eerie sound of its master’s echo, threw back its head and howled. The mournful wail reverberated from the walls, disconcerting even Haplo, who laid a quieting hand on the dog’s head. He listened when the echoes died, but heard nothing.

He had little doubt now. The city was empty, abandoned.

Haplo thought about a world where the sun shone constantly and the impact of this new world on those accustomed to regular periods of day and night. He thought about the elves and humans, perched in trees like birds, and the dwarves, burrowing into the moss, desperate for a reminder of their subterranean homes. He thought about the tytans and their horrible, pathetic search.

He looked back at the slick and gleaming walls, resting his hand against the marble wall. It was oddly cool, beneath the glaring sun. Cool and hard and impenetrable, like the past to those who had been shut out of paradise. He didn’t understand completely. The light, for example. It was much like the Kicksey-Winsey on Arianus. What was its purpose? Why was it there? He had solved that mystery—or rather, it had been solved for him. He felt certain he would solve the mystery of the stars of Pryan. He was, after all, about to enter one.

Haplo glanced back at the hexagonal gate. He recognized the rune structure embossed on its shining silver frontage. One rune was missing. Supply that sigil, and the gate would swing open. It was a simple construct, elementary Sartan magic. They had not gone to a lot of trouble. Why should they? No one but the Sartan knew the rune-magic.

Well, almost no one.

Haplo ran his hand up and down the smooth-sided wall. He knew Sartan magic, he could open the gate. He preferred not to, however. Using their rune structures made him feel clumsy and inept, like a child tracing sigla in the dust. Besides, it would give him great satisfaction to break through these supposedly impenetrable walls using his own magic. Patryn magic. The magic of the Sartan’s bitter enemies.

Lifting his hands, placing his fingers on the marble, Haplo began to draw the runes.

 

“Hush.”

“I wasn’t saying anything.”

“No, I mean hold still. I think I hear something.”

The four ceased all movement, freezing in place, ceasing to breathe. The jungle, too, held still. No breeze stirred the leaves, no animal slithered past, no bird called. At first they heard nothing. The silence was heavy, oppressive as the heat. The shadows of the thick trees gathered around them, more than one shivered, wiped cold sweat from their foreheads.

And then they heard a voice.

“And so I said to George, ‘George!’ I said, ‘the third movie was a bummer. Cute little furry things. Those of us with any sense had a wild desire to have them all stuffed—’ ”

“Wait,” came another voice, rather timid and weak. “Did you hear something?” The voice grew more excited. “Yes, I think I did. I think she’s coming!”

“Father!” cried Aleatha, and dashed headlong down the path.

The others followed and burst into the clearing; the elf and the two humans with weapons drawn and ready. They came to a halt, looking and feeling rather foolish at finding nothing more dangerous than the old human and the middle-aged elf.

“Father!” Aleatha made a dart toward Lenthan, only to find her way blocked by the old man.

Zifnab had risen from his seat against the tree and stood before them, his face grave and solemn. Behind him, Lenthan Quindiniar stood with arms outstretched, his face illuminated by a radiance that was not of the flesh, but of the soul.

“My dear Elithenia!” he breathed, taking a step forward. “How lovely you look. Just as I remember!”

The four followed the line of his gaze and saw nothing but dark and shifting shadows.

“Who’s he talking to?” asked Roland, in an awed undertone.

Paithan’s eyes filled with tears, he bowed his head. Rega, stealing near, took the elf’s hand in hers and held on fast.

“Let me past!” cried Aleatha angrily. “He needs me!”

Zifnab put out his arm, grasped her in a firm grip, startling in the seemingly frail old arms.

“No, child. Not anymore.”

Aleatha stared at him, wordless, then at her father. Lenthan’s arms were open wide, he reached out, as if to grasp the hands of some dear one approaching him.

“It was my rockets, Elithenia,” he said with shy pride. “We traveled all this way because of my rockets. I knew you would be here, you see. I could look up into the sky and see you shining above me, pure and bright and steadfast.”

“Father,” whispered Aleatha.

He didn’t hear her, didn’t notice her. His hands closed, grasping convulsively. Joy filled his face, tears of pleasure streamed down his cheeks.

Lenthan drew his empty arms to his chest, clasped the still air, and fell forward onto the moss.

Aleatha broke past Zifnab. Kneeling beside her father, she lifted him in her arms. “I’m sorry. Papa,” she said, weeping over him. “I’m sorry!”

Lenthan smiled up at her. “My rockets.”

His eyes closed, he sighed, relaxed in his daughter’s arms. It seemed to those watching that he had just fallen into a restful sleep.

“Papa, please! I was lonely, too. I didn’t know. Papa. I didn’t know! But now we’ll be together, we’ll have each other!”

Paithan gently drew away from Rega, knelt down, lifted Lenthan’s limp hand, pressed his fingers over the wrist. He let the hand drop to the ground. Putting his arm around his sister, he held her close.

“It’s too late. He can’t hear you, Thea.” The elf eased the body of his father from his sister’s grasp, rested the corpse gently upon the ground. “Poor man. Crazy to the end.”

“Crazy?” Zifnab glowered at the elf. “What do you mean crazy? He found his wife among the stars, just as I promised him he would. That’s why I brought him here.”

“I don’t know who’s crazier,” Paithan muttered.

Aleatha kept her gaze fixed upon her father. She had ceased crying with sudden abruptness, drawn a deep, quivering breath. Wiping her hands across her eyes and nose, she rose to her feet.

“It doesn’t matter. Look at him. He’s happy, now. He was never happy before, none of us were.” Her voice grew bitter. “We should have stayed and died—”

“I am glad you feel that way,” said a deep voice. “It will make the end easier.”

Drugar stood on the path, his left hand grasping Rega tightly by the arm. The dwarf’s right hand held his dagger to the woman’s stomach.

“You bastard! Let her go—” Roland took a step forward.

The dwarf thrust the knife’s point deeper, making a dark indentation in the woman’s soft leather clothing.

“Have you ever seen anyone with a belly wound?” Drugar glowered round at them. “It’s a slow, painful way to die. Especially here, in the jungle, with the insects and the animals ...”

Rega moaned, trembling in her captor’s grip.

“All right.” Paithan raised his hands. “What do you want?”

“Put your weapons on the ground.”

Roland and the elf did as they were told, tossing the raztar and a bladewood sword onto the path at Drugar’s feet. Reaching out with a thick boot, he kicked at the weapons, knocked them back behind him.

“You, old man, no magic,” growled the dwarf.

“Me? I wouldn’t dream of it,” said Zifnab meekly. The ground shook slightly beneath his feet, a worried expression crossed the wizard’s face. “Oh, dear. I ... I don’t suppose any of you ... have seen my dragon?”

“Shut up!” Drugar snarled. Jerking Rega alongside, he entered the clearing. He kept the knife pressed against her, his eyes watching every move. “Over there.” He motioned with his head to the tree. “All of you. Now!”

Roland, hands in the air, backed up until he was halted by the trunk. Aleatha found herself pressed up against the human’s strong body. Roland took a step forward, moving his body between the dwarf and Aleatha. Paithan joined him, also shielding his sister.

Zifnab stared down at the ground, shaking his head, muttering, “Oh, dear. Oh, dear.”

“You, too, old man!” Drugar shouted.

“What?” Zifnab raised his head and blinked. “I say, might I have a word with you?” The wizard tottered forward, head bent confidentially. “I think we’re in for a bit of a problem. It’s the dragon—”

The knife slashed across Rega’s leather pants, slitting them open, revealing her flesh beneath. She gasped and shuddered. The dwarf pressed the dagger’s blade against bare skin.

“Get back, old man!” Paithan shouted, panic cracking his voice.

Zifnab regarded Drugar sadly. “Perhaps you’re right. I’ll just join the others, there, by the tree ...” The old man shuffled over. Roland grabbed him, nearly hauling him off his feet.

“Now what?” Paithan asked.

“You are all going to die,” said Drugar, speaking with an impassive calm that was terrible to hear.

“But why? What did we do?”

“You killed my people.”

“You can’t blame us!” Rega cried desperately. “It wasn’t our fault!”

“With the weapons, we could have stopped them,” said Drugar. Froth formed on his lips, his eyes bulged from beneath the black brows. “We could have fought! You kept them from us! You wanted us to die!”

Drugar paused, listening. Something stirred inside, whispering to him. They kept faith. They brought the weapons. They arrived late, but that wasn’t their fault. They didn’t know the dire need.

The dwarf swallowed the saliva that seemed to be choking him. “No!” he cried wildly. “That’s wrong! It was done on purpose! They must pay!”

It wouldn’t have mattered. It wouldn’t have made any difference. Our people were doomed, nothing could have saved them.

“Drakar!” cried the dwarf, raising his head to heaven. The knife shook in his hand. “Don’t you see? Without this, I have nothing left!”

“Now!” Roland lunged forward, Paithan moved swiftly behind. Grabbing hold of Rega, the human wrenched his sister free from the dwarfs grip and tossed her across the clearing. Aleatha held the stumbling, shaken Rega in her arms.

Paithan caught hold of Drugar’s knife hand, twisted the wrist. Roland snatched the dagger from the clutching fingers, turned it point first, and held the sharp edge against the vein beneath the dwarf’s ear.

“I’ll see you in hell—”

The ground beneath their feet heaved and shook, tossing them about like the dolls of an irate child. A gigantic head crashed up through the moss, rending trees, ripping vines. Flaring red eyes glared down, gleaming teeth parted, black tongue flicked.

“I was afraid of this!” gasped Zifnab. “The spell’s broken. Run! Run for your lives!”

“We can ... fight!” Paithan groped for his sword, but it was all he could do to try to keep his balance on the quaking moss.

“You can’t fight a dragon! Besides, I’m the one he truly wants. Isn’t that right?” The old man turned slowly, faced the creature.

“Yes!” hissed the dragon, hatred dripping like venom from its fanged tongue. “Yes, you, old man! Keeping me prisoner, binding me with magic. But not now, not anymore. You’re weak, old man. You should never have summoned that elf woman’s spirit. And all for what? To tease a dying man.”

Desperately, keeping his eyes averted from the terror of the dragon, Zifnab’s voice rose in song.

 

In all the times I’d wander,

For rumors I grew fonder

Of the man who didn’t squander

His good ale or his good cheer.

 

Says Earl, he is no thinker

But no wisdom there be deeper,

“There’s nothing so great in this whole world

Like drinkin’ addled[29] beer.”

 

The dragon’s head inched nearer. The old wizard glanced up involuntarily, saw the fiery eyes, and faltered.

 

I’ve been roamin’ five and ... er ...

Let’s see. I’ve seen war and king and ... uh ...

Da—de—dum ... dum

who’ve yet to ... er ... do something with a girl.

I get no kick from champagne ...

 

“Those aren’t the words!” cried Roland. “Look at the dragon! The spell’s not working! We’ve got to run while we’ve got the chance!”

“We can’t leave him to fight alone,” said Paithan.

He whipped around. The old man’s brows bristled in anger. “I brought you people here for a reason! Don’t throw your lives away, or you’ll undo all that I have worked for! Find the city!” he shouted, waving his arms. “Find the city!”

He began to run. The dragon’s head darted out, caught hold of the old man by the skirt of his robes, sending him crashing onto the ground. Zifnab’s hands scrabbled in the dirt in a desperate effort to pull himself free.

“Fly, you fools!” he cried, and the dragon’s jaws closed over him.