CHAPTER 38

DEEPSKY

SEVEN FIELDS, LOCATED ON THE FLOATING CONTINENT OF ULYNDIA, was the subject of legend and song—particularly song, for it was a song that had, in reality, won the famous Battle of Seven Fields for the humans. Eleven years ago, by human time, the elven prince Rees’ahn and his followers heard the song that changed their lives, brought memories of an era when the Paxar elves had built a great kingdom, founded on peace.

Agah’ran—king at the time of the Battle of Seven Fields, now self-proclaimed emperor—had termed Rees’ahn a traitor, driven his son into exile, tried several times to have him killed. The attempts failed. Rees’ahn grew stronger, as the years passed. More and more elves—either swayed by the song or swayed by their own sense of outrage at the atrocities performed in the name of the Tribus empire—gathered around the prince’s standard.

The rebellion of the dwarves on Drevlin had proved “a gift of the ancestors” for the rebels, as the elves term it. Songs of thanksgiving had been offered in Prince Rees’ahn’s newly built fortress on Kirikari. The emperor had been forced to split his army, fight a war on two fronts. The rebels had immediately redoubled their attacks, and now their holdings extended far beyond the borders of the Kirikari Outtands.

King Stephen and Queen Anne were glad to see the Tribus elves pushed back, but were somewhat nervous to note the rebel elves moving closer to human lands. An elf was an elf, as the saying goes, and who knew but that these sweet-tongued rebels might start singing a different tune?

King Stephen had opened negotiations with Prince Rees’ahn and had, so far, been extremely pleased with what he heard. Rees’ahn not only promised to respect human sovereignty over the lands they already possessed, but offered to open up other continents in the Mid Realm to human occupation. Rees’ahn promised to stop the practice of using human slaves to power his elven dragonships. Humans would be hired to serve on these ships that made the vital water run to Drevlin. As part of the crew, the humans would receive their fair share of the water and be permitted to sell it in the markets of Volkaran and Ulyndia.

Stephen, in turn, agreed to end his own piratical attacks on elven shipping, promised to send armies, wizards, and dragons to fight with the rebels. Together, they would bring about the downfall of the Tribus empire.

Matters had reached this stage in the negotiations when it was decided that the principals should meet face to face, hammer out the final terms and details. If a concerted push was going to be made against the imperial army, it had better come now. Cracks had been discovered in the seemingly impregnable fortress that was the Tribus empire. These cracks, so rumor had it, were spreading, widening. The defection of the Kenkari was the battering ram that would allow Rees’ahn to break down the gates and storm the Imperanon.

Human assistance was vital to the prince’s plans. Only by joining together could the two races hope to defeat the strength of the imperial armies. Rees’ahn knew this; so did King Stephen and Queen Anne. They were prepared to agree to terms. Unfortunately, there were powerful factions among the humans who were deeply mistrustful of the elves. These barons were arguing publicly against Stephen’s proposed alliance, bringing up old injuries, reminding the humans of how they had suffered under elven rule.

Elves are sneaky and cunning, said the barons. This is all a trick. King Stephen’s not selling us to the elves. He’s giving us away!

Bane was explaining the political situation—as the child had heard it from Count Tretar—to a grimly silent and disinterested Hugh.

“The meeting between Rees’ahn and my father, the king, is an extremely critical one. Quite delicate,” said Bane. “If anything—the least, little thing—should go wrong, the entire alliance would collapse.”

“The king’s not your father,” Hugh said, the first words he’d spoken, almost since their journey had begun.

“I know that,” said Bane, with his sweet smile. “But I should get used to calling him that. So I won’t slip up, make a mistake. Count Tretar advised it. And I’m to cry at the funeral—not too much, or people won’t think I’m brave. But a few tears will be expected of me, don’t you think?”

Hugh did not answer. The boy sat in front of him, perched securely on the pommel of the dragon saddle, enjoying the excitement of the ride from the elven lands of Aristagon into the human-occupied territory of Ulyndia. Hugh could not help recalling that the last time he’d made this journey, Iridal— Bane’s mother—sat in the very same place, cradled securely in his arms. It was the thought of her that kept him from snatching up Bane and tossing the boy into the open skies.

Bane must have known this, for every once in a while, the boy would twist around, twiddle the feather amulet he wore in Hugh’s face.

“Mother sends her love,” he would say slyly.

The one drawback to Hugh’s plan was that the elves might take out their anger at him on their prisoner, on Iridal. Though now the Kenkari knew she was alive—at least Hugh hoped they knew—perhaps they could save her.

He had the dog to thank for that.

The moment they’d come within sight and smell of the dragon, the dog, yelping wildly, took one look at the beast, tucked its tail between its legs, and fled.

Count Tretar suggested letting the dog go, but Bane had thrown a red-in-the-face, feet-kicking tantrum, screamed he wouldn’t go anywhere without the dog. Tretar sent his men in pursuit.

The Hand had taken advantage of the diversion to whisper a few words to Tretar’s ever-present weesham. If the weesham was more loyal to the Kenkari than to the count, the Kenkari now knew that Iridal had been taken prisoner.

The weesham had said nothing, but the man had given Hugh a significant look that seemed to promise he would carry the message to his masters.

It had taken some time for the elves to capture the dog. Muzzling it, they had been forced to wrap its head up in a cloak before they could wrestle it onto the dragon, lash it securely onto the back of the saddle among the packs and bundles.

The dog spent the first half of the flight howling dismally, then—exhausted—it had fallen asleep, for which Hugh was devoutly grateful.

“What’s that down there?” Bane asked excitedly, pointing to a land mass floating in the clouds below.

“Ulyndia,” said Hugh.

“We’re almost there?”

“Yes, Your Highness”—spoken with a sneer—”we’re almost there.”

“Hugh,” said Bane, after a moment of intense thought, to judge by his expression, “when you’ve done this job for me, when I’m king, I want to hire you to do another.”

“I’m flattered, Your Highness,” said Hugh. “Who else do you want me to assassinate? How about the elven emperor? Then you’d rule the world.”

Bane blithely ignored the sarcasm. “I want to hire you to kill Haplo.”

Hugh grunted. “He’s probably already dead. The elves must’ve killed him by now.”

“No, I doubt it. The elves couldn’t kill him. Haplo’s too clever for them. But I think you could. Especially if I told you all his secret powers. Will you, Hugh? I’ll pay you well.” Bane turned, looked at him directly. “Will you kill Haplo?”

A chill hand twisted Hugh’s gut. He’d been hired by all manner of men, to kill all manner of men, for all manner of reasons. But he’d never seen such malevolence, such bitter, jealous hatred in any man’s eyes as he now saw in the child’s beautiful blue ones.

Hugh couldn’t, for a moment, respond.

“There’s just one thing you must do,” Bane continued, his gaze straying to the slumbering dog. “You must tell Haplo, when he’s dying, that Xar is the one who wants him dead. Will you remember that name? Xar is the one who says that Haplo must die.”

“Sure,” said Hugh, shrugging. “Anything for the customer.”

“You’ll take the contract, then?” Bane brightened.

“Yeah, I’ll take it,” Hugh agreed. He’d agree to anything to shut the kid up.

Hugh sent the dragon into a descending spiral, flying slowly, taking his time, allowing himself to be seen by the pickets he knew would be posted.

“There’re more dragons coming,” Bane announced, peering ahead through the clouds.

Hugh said nothing.

Bane watched for a while, then he turned, frowning, to look suspiciously at the assassin. “They’re flying this way. Who are they?”

“Outriders. His Majesty’s guard. They’ll stop us, question us. You remember what you’re supposed to do, don’t you? Keep that hood over your head. Some of these soldiers might recognize you.”

“Oh, yes,” said Bane. “I know.”

At least, thought Hugh, I don’t have to worry about the kid giving us away. Deceit’s his birthright.

Far below, Hugh could see the shoreline of Ulyndia, the plains known as Seven Fields. Usually empty and desolate, the vast expanse of coralite was alive with the movement of men and beasts. Neat rows of small tents formed lines across the fields—the elven army on one side, the human army on the other.

Two large, brightly colored tents stood in the center. One flew the elven flag of Prince Rees’ahn—bearing the emblem of a raven, a lily, and a lark rising, in honor of the human woman, Ravenslark, who had wrought the miracle of song among the elves. The other tent flew King Stephen’s flag—the Winged Eye. Hugh marked this tent, noted the deployment of troops around it, calculated his best way in.

He wouldn’t have to worry about a way out.

Elven dragonships floated at anchor off the coastline. The humans’ dragons were penned further inland, upwind of the elven ships, which used the skins and scales of dead dragons in their making. A live dragon, catching a whiff, would become so enraged that it might overthrow its enchantment, create a damnable row.

The King’s Own, Stephen’s personal guard, was flying picket detail. Two of the giant battle dragons, each with its own contingent of troops riding on its back, were keeping watch over the ground. The smaller, swift-flying, two-man dragons scanned the skies. It was two of these that had spotted Hugh, were bearing down on him.

Hugh checked his dragon’s descent, commanded it to hover in the air, wings barely moving, drifting up and down on the thermals rising from the land beneath it. The dog, waking up, lifted its head and started howling.

Though Hugh’s action in drawing up his mount was a sign of peaceful intent, the King’s Own was taking no chances. The two soldiers on the lead dragon had bows out, arrows nocked and aimed—one at Hugh, one at the dragon. The soldier riding the second dragon approached only when he was certain that the other guards had Hugh well covered. But Hugh noted a smile cross the man’s stern face when he saw—and heard— the dog.

Hugh hunkered down, touched his hand to his forehead in a show of humble respect.

“What is your business?” the soldier demanded. “What do you want?”

“I am a simple peddler, Your Generalship.” Hugh shouted to be heard over the dog’s howling and the flap of dragon wings. He gestured to the bundles behind him. “My son and I have come to bring wondrous things of much value to Your Generalship’s most illustrious and courageous soldiers.”

“You’ve come to fleece them out of their pay with your shoddy merchandise, is what you mean to say.”

Hugh was indignant. “No, General, sir, I assure you. My merchandise is of the finest—pots and pans to be used for cooking, trinkets to brighten the pretty eyes of those who wept when you left.”

“Take your pots and pans, your son, your dog, and your glib tongue elsewhere, peddler. This is not a market. And I am not a general,” the soldier added.

“I know this is not a market,” said Hugh meekly. “And if you are not a general it is only because those of authority do not esteem you properly, as they should. But I see the tents of many of my comrades already set up down below. Surely King Stephen would not begrudge an honest man such as myself, with a small son to support and twelve more like him at home, to say nothing of two daughters, the chance to earn an honest living.”

The King’s Own might have doubted the existence of the twelve sons and two daughters, but he knew he’d lost this round. He’d known it before he started. The news of the peaceful meeting of two armies on the plains of Seven Fields was like the sweet smell of rotting pua fruit—it had drawn every conceivable sort of fly. Whores, gamblers, peddlers, weapons makers, water vendors—all flew to suck up their share. The king could either attempt to drive them away, which would mean bloodshed and bitter feelings among the populace, or he could put up with them, keep an eye on them.

“Very well,” said the soldier, waving his hand. “You can land. Report to the overseer’s tent with a sample of your wares and twenty barls for your seller’s license.”

“Twenty barls! An outrage,” growled Hugh.

“What did you say, peddler?”

“I said I am most appreciative of your great kindness, General. My son adds his respects. Add your respects to the great general, my son.”

Bane, blushing prettily, bowed his head, brought his small hands to his face, as was proper for a peasant child in the presence of illustrious nobility. The soldier was charmed. Waving off the bowmen, he steered his dragon away, went off in pursuit of still another rider, who looked to be a tinker, just approaching.

Hugh released the dragon from its hovering position. They began to descend.

“We did it!” cried Bane gleefully, yanking off his hood.

“There was never much doubt,” Hugh muttered. “And put that back on. From now on, you wear it until I tell you to take it off. All we need is for someone to recognize you before we’re ready to move.”

Bane glowered at him, rebellious blue eyes cold. But the boy was intelligent, he knew what Hugh said made sense. Sullenly, he drew the hood of his shabby cloak up over his head and face. Turning his back, he sat stiff and rigid, chin on his hands, watching the panorama spread out below.

“Probably sitting there imagining all the ways he’ll have me tortured,” Hugh said to himself. “Well, Your Highness, my last pleasure in this life will be in disappointing you.”

He was granted another pleasure, too. The dog had howled itself hoarse and could now only utter a pathetic croak.

Far below the Mid Realm, flying on a different track, the phantom dragon sped swiftly toward its destination—almost too swiftly for the comfort of its passengers. Since neither was concerned with comfort, only with speed, Haplo and Iridal bowed their heads before the wind that whistled shrilly past diem, held on tightly to the dragon and to each other, and fought to see for the wind-induced tears that blinded their eyes.

Krishach needed no guidance, or perhaps it obtained its guidance from the minds of its passengers. There was no saddle, no reins. Once the two had reluctantly and cringingly mounted, the phantom dragon leapt into the air and soared through the crystal walls of the Aviary. The walls had not parted, but had melted into a glistening curtain of water, allowing them to pass through with ease. Haplo, looking back, saw the crystal harden again behind them, as if touched by an icy breath.

Krishach flew over the Imperanon. Elven soldiers stared up at them in astonishment and terror, but before any could raise his bow, the phantom dragon had swept past, soared into the open skies.

Haplo and Iridal, leaning close together to be heard, discussed their destination. Iridal wanted to fly immediately to Seven Fields.

Haplo intended to fly to the dragonship.

“The dwarfs life is in the most immediate danger. Hugh plans to kill the king tonight. You’ll have time to set me down on Sang-drax’s ship, then you can fly to Seven Fields. Besides, I don’t want to be left by myself with this demon beast.”

“I don’t think either of us will be left with it,” Iridal said, with a shudder. It took all her nerve and resolve to hold onto the folds of chill, dead flesh, to withstand the dread cold, so horribly different from the warmth of living dragons. “When we no longer need him, Krishach will be more than eager to return to his rest.”

Iridal was silent a moment, then looked back at Haplo. Her eyes were softer, sadder. “If I find Bane and take him with me to the High Realms, will you come after him?”

“No,” said Haplo quietly. “I don’t need him any longer.”

“Why not?”

“The book the Kenkari gave me.”

“What’s in it?” she asked.

Haplo told her.

Iridal listened, first amazed, then perplexed, then disbelieving. “They’ve known, all this time… and done nothing. Why? How could they?”

“Like they said—hate, fear.”

Iridal was thoughtful, eyes on the empty sky around them. “And that lord of yours. What will he do, when he comes to Arianus? He will come, won’t he? Will he want Bane back?”

“I don’t know,” said Haplo shortly, not liking to think about it. “I don’t know what my lord intends. He doesn’t tell me his plans. He expects me to obey his orders.”

Iridal looked back at him. “But you’re not, are you?”

No, I’m not, Haplo admitted, but he admitted it only to himself, saw no reason to discuss it with a mensch. Xar will understand. He’ll have to understand.

“My turn to ask questions,” Haplo said, changing the subject. “Hugh the Hand looked extremely dead when I saw him last. How’d he manage to come back to life? You mysteriarchs find a way?”

“You know better than that. We are only ‘mensch.’ ” Iridai smiled faintly. “It was Alfred.”

I thought as much, Haplo said to himself. Alfred brought the assassin back from the dead. This from the Sartan who swore he would never be caught dead practicing the black art of necromancy. “Did he tell you why he resurrected Hugh?” he asked aloud.

“No, but I’m certain it was because of me.” Iridal sighed, shook her head. “Alfred refused to speak of it. He denied he’d done it, in fact.”

“Yeah, I can imagine. He’s good at denial. ‘For every person brought back to life, another dies untimely.’ That’s what the Sartan believe. And Hugh’s restored life means King Stephen’s untimely death, unless you can reach him and stop him, stop your son.”

“I will,” said Iridal. “I have hope now.”

They fell silent, the strain of shouting over the noise of the wind was too exhausting. The dragon had flown out of sight of land. Haplo soon lost any point of reference. All he could see was empty blue sky—above them, below, around them. A cloudy haze obscured the sparkle of the Firmament, and they were yet too far away to sight the swirling gray-black clouds of the Maelstrom.

Iridal was absorbed in her own thoughts, her plans and hopes for her son. Haplo remained alert, scanning the skies, keeping constant watch. He was the first to see the black speck beneath them. He focused on it, noted that Krishach turned its empty eye sockets that direction.

“I think we’ve found them,” he said, at last able to make out the curved head, broad wingspan of a dragonship.

Iridal looked down. The phantom dragon’s speed had slowed; Krishach began descending in large and lazy spirals.

“Yes, that’s a dragonship,” Iridal agreed, studying it. “But how will you know if it’s the right one or not?”

“I’ll know,” said Haplo grimly, with a glance at the sigla tattooed on his skin. “Can they see us, do you think?”

“I doubt it. Even if they did, we would appear, from this distance, to be riding an ordinary dragon. And a ship that size wouldn’t be alarmed by a single dragon.”

The dragonship didn’t appear to be alarmed, nor did it look to be in any hurry. It was traveling at a leisurely pace, the broad wings catching and riding the strengthening air currents. Far below, the darkening of the sky presaged the Maelstrom.

He could make out details of the dragonship—see the carving on the head, the painted wings. Tiny figures moved on the deck. And there was an insignia on the ship’s hull.

“The imperial crest,” Iridal said. “I think this is the ship you seek.”

Haplo’s skin had begun to itch and burn. The sigla were starting to glow a faint, soft blue.

“It is,” he said.

Iridal, hearing the conviction in his voice, glanced at him, wondering how he could be so certain. Her eyes widened at the sight of his glowing skin, but she said nothing, turned back to watch the dragonship.

Surely they must see us now, Haplo thought. And if I know Sang-drax is down there, then he knows I’m up here.

It might have been Haplo’s imagination, but he could almost swear he saw the brightly dressed form of the serpent-elf, standing below, staring up at him. Haplo thought he could hear faint screams, too; cries of someone in terrible pain.

“How close can we get?” Haplo asked.

“Flying an ordinary dragon—not very,” Iridal answered. “The wind currents would be too dangerous, to say nothing of the fact that they will soon start firing arrows and perhaps magic at us. But with Krishach… ?” She shrugged helplessly. “I doubt if either wind currents, arrows, or magic will have much effect on Krishach.”

“Take me as close as possible then,” said Haplo. “I’ll jump for it.”

Iridal nodded, though it was the phantom dragon who responded. Haplo was near enough now that he could see elves pointing upward, some racing to grab weapons or alter course. One elf stood alone, unmoving in the middle of the turmoil. Haplo’s skin shone a bright blue, streaked with red.

“It was this evil I sense that made the Kenkari give up the book, wasn’t it?” said Iridal suddenly, shuddering. “This is what they encountered in the dungeons.”

Krishach was clearly visible to the elves by now. They must have seen that they were not facing an ordinary, living dragon. Many began to cry out in terror. Those who held bows dropped them. Several broke ranks and ran for the hatches.

“But what is this evil?” Iridal cried above the rushing wind, the flap of the dragonship’s sails, the horrified shouts of the crew. “What do I see?”

“What we all must see, eventually, if we have the courage to look into the darkness,” answered Haplo, tense, ready to jump. “Ourselves.”