CHAPTER 10

WOMBE, DREVLIN LOW REALM

HAPLO OFTEN USED THE DOG TO LISTEN JN ON THE CONVERSATIONS of others, hearing their voices through the animal’s ears. It never occurred to him, however, to listen to conversations anyone might be having with his dog. The animal had been ordered to keep an eye on the boy, alert Haplo to any misdeed— as in the case of the attempt to open the hatch. Beyond that, Haplo didn’t care what Bane said or thought.

Though he had to admit that Bane’s innocent-seeming question about obedience to the Lord of the Nexus had disturbed him. There had been a time—and Haplo knew it well— when he would have answered such a question immediately, without reservation, with a clear conscience.

Not now. Not anymore.

It was useless to tell himself that he’d never actually gone so far as to disobey his lord. True obedience is in the heart, as well as the mind. And in his heart, Haplo had rebelled. Evasions and half-truths were not as bad as outright refusals and lies, but they were not as good as open honesty, either. For a long time now, ever since Abarrach, Haplo had not been honest with his lord. The knowledge had once made him feel guilty, uncomfortable.

“But now,” Haplo said to himself, staring out the window into the rapidly intensifying storm, “I begin to wonder. Has my lord been honest with me?”

The storm broke over the ship. The vessel rocked on its moorings in the violent wind, but otherwise held fast, secure. The constantly flashing lightning lit the landscape brighter during the height of the storm than the sun did during the calm. Haplo put his questions about his lord out of his mind. That was not his problem, at least not now. The Kicksey-winsey was. He walked from window to window, studying what he could see of the great machine.

Bane and the dog wandered onto the bridge. The dog smelled strongly of sausage. Bane was obviously bored and out of sorts.

Haplo ignored them both. He was certain now that his memory was not playing him false. Something was definitely wrong….

“What are you looking at?” Bane demanded, yawning, plunking himself down on a bench. “There’s nothing out there except—”

A jagged bolt of lightning struck the ground near the ship, sending rock fragments exploding into the air. Heart-stopping thunder crashed around them. The dog cowered down against the floor. Haplo instinctively fell back from the window, though he was in his place again an instant later, staring out intently.

Bane ducked his head, covered it with his arms. “I hate this place!” he yelled. “I— What was that? Did you see that?”

The child jumped to his feet, pointing. “The rocks! The rocks moved!”

“Yeah, I saw it,” Haplo said, glad to have confirmation. He’d been wondering if the lightning had affected his vision.

Another near strike. The dog began to whimper. Haplo and Bane pressed their faces close to the glass, stared out into the storm.

Several coralite boulders were behaving in a most extraordinary manner. They had detached themselves from the ground, seemingly, and were trundling across it at a great rate, heading straight—there could be no mistaking that now—for Haplo’s ship.

“They’re coming to us!” Bane said in awe.

“Dwarves,” Haplo guessed, but why dwarves should risk coming Outside, particularly Outside during a storm, was difficult to fathom.

The boulders were beginning to circle the ship, searching for a way to enter. Haplo ran back to the hatch, Bane and the dog at his heels. He hesitated a moment, reluctant to break the rune-magic’s protective seal. But if the mobile rocks were really dwarves, they were in danger of being struck by lightning every second they were out in the storm.

Desperation drove them to this, Haplo decided. Something, he guessed, to do with the change in the Kicksey-winsey. He placed his hand on a sigil drawn in the center of the hatch, began tracing it backward. Immediately, its glowing blue fire started to fade and darken. Other sigla touching it began to darken as well. Haplo waited until those runes on the hatch had dwindled to almost nothing, then he threw the bolt and flung the door wide.

A blast of wind nearly knocked him down. Rain drenched him instantly.

“Get back!” he shouted, flinging an arm up to protect his face from slashing hailstones.

Bane had already scrambled backward, out of the way, nearly falling over the dog in the process. The two huddled a safe distance from the open door.

Haplo braced himself, peered out into the storm. “Hurry!” he cried, though he doubted if anyone could hear him above the boom of the thunder. He waved his arm to attract attention.

The blue glow that illuminated the inside of the vessel was still shining brightly, but Haplo could see it starting to grow dim. The circle of protection was broken. Before long, the sigla guarding the entire ship would weaken.

“Hurry!” he shouted again, this time remembering to speak dwarven.

The lead boulder, coming around the ship a second time, saw the blue light shining from the open hatchway and headed straight for it. The other two boulders, catching sight of their leader, scurried after. The lead boulder slammed against the side of the hull, went through a few moments’ wild gyrating, then the rock was suddenly flung upward and over and the bespectacled face of Limbeck, panting and flushed, emerged.

The ship had been built to sail in water, not through the air, and the hatch, therefore, was located some distance off the ground. Haplo had added a rope ladder for his own convenience, and he tossed this out to Limbeck.

The dwarf, nearly flattened against the hull by the wind, began to clamber up, glancing down worriedly at two other boulders, which had crashed into the ship’s side. One dwarf managed to extricate himself from his protective shell, but the other was apparently having difficulty. A piteous wail rose above the roar of the wind and the crashing thunder.

Limbeck, looking extremely irritated, checked an impatient exclamation and started back down, moving slowly and ponderously, to rescue his fellow warrior.

Haplo glanced around swiftly; the blue glow was growing dimmer every moment.

“Get up here!” he called to Limbeck. “I’ll take care of it!”

Limbeck couldn’t hear the words, but he caught the meaning. He began to climb again. Haplo jumped lightly to the ground. The sigla on his body flared blue and red, protecting him from the cutting hailstones and—he hoped fervently— from the lightning.

Half blinded by the rain in his face, he studied the contraption in which the dwarf was trapped. Another dwarf had his hands under the bottom of the thing and was obviously, from the puffing and grunting, attempting to raise it. Haplo added his strength—enhanced by his magic—to the dwarfs. He heaved the boulder up into the air with such force that the dwarf lost his grip and fell flat on his face in a puddle.

Haplo jerked the Geg to his feet, to keep him from drowning, and caught hold of the trapped dwarf, who was staring about dazedly, awestruck by his sudden deliverance. Haplo hustled the two up the ladder, cursing the slowness of the thick-legged dwarves. Fortunately, an extremely close lightning strike impelled all of them to faster action. Thunder rumbling around them, they scaled the ladder in record time, tumbled headfirst inside the ship.

Haplo brought up the rear, shut the hatch, and sealed it, swiftly redrawing the sigla. The blue glow began to brighten. He breathed easier.

Bane, with more thoughtfulness than Haplo would have credited the boy with, arrived with blankets, which he distributed to the dripping dwarves. Out of breath from exertion and fright and amazement at seeing Haplo’s skin shining blue, none was able to talk. They wrung water from their beards, sucked in deep breaths, and stared at the Patryn in considerable astonishment. Haplo wiped water from his face, shook his head when Bane offered a blanket to him.

“Limbeck, good to see you again,” Haplo said, with a quiet, friendly smile. The warmth of the sigla was rapidly causing the rain water on his body to evaporate.

“Haplo…” said Limbeck, somewhat dubiously. His spectacles were covered with water. Taking them off, he started to dry them on his white handkerchief, only to pull a sodden mass out of his pocket. He stared at the sopping wet handkerchief in dismay.

“Here,” said Bane helpfully, offering his shirttail, which he tugged out of leather breeches.

Limbeck accepted the assistance, carefully cleaned his spectacles on Bane’s shirt. Putting them on, he took a long look at the child, then at Haplo, then at the child again.

It was odd, but Haplo could have sworn that Limbeck was seeing them both for the first time.

“Haplo,” said Limbeck gravely. He glanced again at Bane, hesitated, seemed uncertain how to address the boy who had been presented to the Geg as first a god, then a human prince, then the son of an extremely powerful human wizard.

“You remember Bane,” said Haplo easily. “Crown prince and heir to the throne of the Volkaran Isles.”

Limbeck nodded, an expression of extreme cunning and shrewdness on his face. The great machine outside may have been at a standstill, but wheels were turning inside the dwarfs head. His thoughts were so obvious on his face that Haplo could have spoken them aloud.

So this is the story, is it? and How will this affect me?

Haplo, accustomed to the vague, impractical, idealistic dwarf he’d left behind, was surprised at this change in Limbeck, wondered what it portended, didn’t particularly like it. Any type of change, even change for the good, was disruptive. Haplo saw in these first few moments of their meeting that he was going to have to deal with a completely new and different Limbeck.

“Your Highness,” said Limbeck, having apparently, by the crafty smile on his face, come to the conclusion that this situation would suit him fine.

“Limbeck is High Froman, Your Highness,” said Haplo, hoping Bane would take the hint and treat Limbeck with the respect he deserved.

“High Froman Limbeck,” said Bane, in a tone of cool politeness used by one royal ruler to an equal. “I am pleased to see you once again. And who are these other Gegs you have brought with you?”

“Not Gegs” said Limbeck sharply, his face darkening. ” ‘Geg’ is a slave word. An insult! Demeaning!” He slammed his clenched hand into his fist.

Taken aback by the dwarfs vehemence, Bane looked swiftly to Haplo for an explanation. Haplo himself was startled, but, remembering some of his conversations with Limbeck in the past, thought he understood what was going on. Indeed, Haplo might even be held partially accountable.

“You must understand, Your Highness, that Limbeck and his people are dwarves—a proper and ancient term for their race, just as you and your people are known as humans. The term ‘Gegs’—”

“—was given to us by the elves,” said Limbeck, tugging at his spectacles, which were starting to steam over due to the moisture rising from his beard. “Pardon me, Your Highness, but might I— Ah, thank you.”

He wiped his spectacles again on Bane’s proffered shirttail.

“I’m sorry I snapped at you, Your Highness,” Limbeck said coolly, placing the spectacles around his ears and staring at Bane through them. “You, of course, had no way of knowing that this word has now become a deadly insult to us dwarves. Hasn’t it?”

He looked to his fellows for support. But Lof was gaping at Haplo, whose blue glow was just beginning to fade. The other dwarf was staring nervously at the dog.

“Lof,” Limbeck snapped. “Did you hear what I just said?”

Lof jumped, looked extremely guilty, nudged his companion.

Their leader’s voice was stern. “I was saying that the term ‘Geg’ is an insult to us.”

Both dwarves instantly attempted to appear mortally offended and deeply wounded, though it was quite obvious that they didn’t have slightest idea what was going on.

Limbeck frowned, seemed to start to say something, then sighed and fell silent.

“May I talk to you? Alone?” he asked Haplo suddenly.

“Sure,” said Haplo, shrugging.

Bane flushed, opened his mouth-Haplo forestalled him with a look.

Limbeck eyed the boy. “You’re the one who came up with a diagram on the Kicksey-winsey. You figured out how it worked, didn’t you, Your Highness?”

“Yes, I did,” said Bane, with a becoming modesty.

Limbeck took off his spectacles, reached absently for the handkerchief. Pulling it out, he rediscovered the sodden mass. He shoved the spectacles back on his nose. “You come along, too, then,” he said.

Turning to his compatriots, he issued orders. “You stay here, keep watch. Let me know when the storm starts to lift.”

The two nodded solemnly, moved to stand by the window.

“It’s the elves I’m worried about,” Limbeck explained to Haplo. They were walking toward the front of the ship and Haplo’s living quarters. “They’ll spot your ship and come out to investigate. We’ll need to be getting back to the tunnels before the storm ends.”

“Elves?” Haplo repeated in astonishment. “Down here? On Drevlin?”

“Yes,” said Limbeck. “That’s one of the things I need to talk to you about.” He settled himself on a stool in Haplo’s cabin, a stool that had once belonged to the dwarves on Chelestra.

Haplo almost said something to that effect, checked himself. Limbeck wasn’t worried about dwarves on other worlds. He was having trouble enough with this one, apparently.

“When I became High Froman, the first thing I ordered done was to shut the Liftalofts down. The elves came for their water shipment… and didn’t get any. They decided to fight, figured they’d scare us with their bright steel and magic.

” ‘Run, Gegs,’ they yelled at us, ‘run away before we step on you like the bugs you are!’

“They played right into my hands,” Limbeck said, removing his spectacles and twirling them about by the ear bow. “Quite a few dwarves didn’t agree with me that we should fight. Especially the clarks. They didn’t want to upset things, wanted our lives to go on as before. But when they heard the elves call us ‘bugs’ and speak to us as if we truly had no more brains or feelings than insects, even the most peace-loving graybeard was ready to gnaw on elf ears.

“We surrounded the elves and their ship. There were hundreds, maybe a thousand dwarves there that day.” Limbeck looked back with a dreamy, wistful expression, and Haplo saw, for the first time since he’d met the dwarf, a hint of the idealistic Limbeck of old acquaintance.

“The elves were mad, frustrated, but there was nothing they could do. We outnumbered them and they were forced to surrender to us. They offered us money.

“We didn’t want their money—what was that to us? And we didn’t want any more of their castoffs and garbage.”

Due to the severe water shortage in the Mid Realms, water is an extremely valuable commodity. Both human and elven monetary systems are based on water. In human lands, 1 bar is equivalent to 1 barrel of water and may be exchanged for such at the king’s treasury or on any of the royal waterfarms scattered throughout the Volkaran and Uylandian isles.

“What did you want?” Haplo asked, curious.

“A city,” said Limbeck with pride. His eyes shone. He appeared to have forgotten about the spectacles that dangled loosely from his hand. “A city up there, in the Mid Realms. Above the storm. A city where our children could feel sunshine on their faces and see trees and play Outside. And elven dragonships to take us there.”

“Would your people like that? Wouldn’t they miss… er… this?” Haplo waved vaguely at the lightning-blasted landscape, the shining skeletal arms of the Kicksey-winsey.

“We don’t have much choice,” said Limbeck. “There are far too many of us crowded down here. Our population is growing, but the tunnels are not. Once I began studying the matter, I found out that the Kicksey-winsey has been destroying more housing than it’s been providing. And there are mountain ranges, up there, in the Mid Realms. Our people could tunnel and build. In time, they’d learn to be happy there.”

He sighed and fell silent, staring at the floor that he couldn’t see without his spectacles.

“What happened? What did the elves say?”

Limbeck stirred restlessly, glanced up. “They lied to us. I suppose it was my fault. You know how I was then—trusting, naive.”

Limbeck put his spectacles back on, glared at Haplo as if daring him to argue. He didn’t.

“The elves promised that they would agree to all our terms,” Limbeck went on. “They would come back, they said, with ships ready to take our people to the Mid Realms. They came back, all right.” His voice was bitter.

“With an army.”

“Yes. Fortunately, we were forewarned. Do you remember that elf who brought you from High Realm? Captain Bothar’el?”

Haplo nodded.

“He’s joined up with the rebel elves; I forget the name of their leader. Anyway, Bothar’el came down here to warn us that the Tribus elves were setting sail in force to crush our resistance. I don’t mind telling you, my friend, that I was devastated.

“What could we do”—Limbeck thumped himself on the chest—”against the might of the elven empire? We knew nothing about fighting. It was our numbers alone forced them to surrender the first time. We were just lucky they didn’t attack us then or about half the dwarves would have run off.

“No dwarf living had ever raised a weapon in anger against a fellow being. It seemed we didn’t have a chance, we must surrender. But Bothar’el said no, we must not surrender. He showed us the way.

“Of course”—Limbeck’s eyes glittered behind the thick glass with sudden, hard cunning—”this Bothar’el and that rebel leader of his have their own reasons for wanting us to fight. I soon figured that out. Instead of concentrating all their forces on the rebel elves, the Tribus elves are forced to split their army, send half of it down here to fight us. The Tribus figured it would be a short war, then they’d be back to fighting their own people and maybe the humans, too. So, you see, my friend, it paid Bothar’el and his rebels to help us keep the Tribus army occupied.

“When the Tribus elves arrived in their huge dragonships, we were nowhere to be seen. They took over the Liftalofts— there was no help for that. Then they tried to come down into the tunnels, but they soon found out that was a mistake.

“Up until then, most of my people didn’t care whether or not the elves took over. They had their jobs on the Kicksey-winsey and their families to care for. The clarks, in fact”—

Limbeck sneered—”tried to make peace with the elves! The clarks sent out a delegation to meet them. The elves murdered them, every one. Then we got angry.”

Haplo, having seen dwarves fight on other worlds, could well imagine what happened after that. Dwarves are fiercely bound to one another. What happens to one dwarf happens to all is the dwarven philosophy.

“Those elves who were left alive fled,” Limbeck continued, with a dour smile. “I thought at first that they might leave Drevlin altogether, but I should have known better. They made a stand around the Liftalofts. Some of my people wanted to continue fighting, but Bothar’el warned that this was just what the elves wanted us to do, to come out in the open, where we’d be at the mercy of their snips’ wizards and their magical weapons. So we let them have the Liftalofts and the water. They’ve taken over the Factree, too. But they don’t come down into the tunnels anymore.”

“I’ll bet not,” Haplo agreed.

“And we’ve made life difficult for them ever since,” continued Limbeck. “We sabotaged so many of their dragonships that they don’t dare land them on Drevlin. They have to transport their people down here through the Liftalofts. They’re forced to keep a large army down here, to protect their water supply, and they have to replace their soldiers pretty often, though I think that has more to do with the Maelstrom than with us.

“The elves hate the storm, so Bothar’el told us. They hate being cooped up inside, and the constant noise of both the storm and the Kicksey-winsey drives some of them crazy. They have to keep sending in new men. They’ve brought in slaves—captured rebel elves, with their tongues cut out, or any of our people they can catch—to operate their part of the Kicksey-winsey.

A magical song, sung by the rebel elves, has the effect of causing those elves who hear it to remember long-forgotten values once honored by all elves. Those who hear this song come to see the corruption of the Tribus empire and it causes them to renounce their allegiance, join the rebellion. Thus rebel elves, captured alive, have their tongues cut out or are otherwise silenced.

“We attack them in small groups, harry them, make nuisances of ourselves, force them to keep a lot of elves down here, instead of the small, skeleton force they planned. But now…”

Limbeck frowned, shook his head.

“But now you’re at a standstill,” Haplo filled in. “You can’t retake the Liftalofts, the elves can’t ferret you and your people out. Both sides are dependent on the Kicksey-winsey, so both must keep it going.”

“True enough,” said Limbeck, taking off his spectacles, rubbing the red marks, where the nosepieces pinched. “That’s how it’s been.”

“Been?” said Hapto, noting the emphasis on the word. “What’s changed?”

“Everything,” said Limbeck grimly. “The elves have shut off the Kicksey-winsey.”