Margaret Weis - Dragon Wing

Well, there’s no use wasting brain power speculating. I’ll find out soon enough. Bane—dog faithfully trotting along at the boy’s side—had recently passed him in the hallway, searching for Alfred. Perhaps that conversation will give me a clue. Meanwhile, there’s Limbeck to check up on. Pausing before the door of the Geg’s room, Haplo glanced up and down the hall. No one was in sight. He traced a sigil upon the door and the wood disappeared—at least to his eyes. To the Geg, sitting disconsolately at a desk, the door seemed as solid as ever. Limbeck had asked his host for writing materials and seemed to be absorbed in his favorite pastime—speech-composing. But Haplo saw that very little composing was being accomplished. Spectacles pushed up on his forehead, the Geg sat, head in hand, staring into a tapestry-covered stone wall that for him was a multicolored blur.

“ ‘My fellow Workers United . . .’ No, that’s too restricting. ‘My fellow WUPP’s and Gegs . . .’ But the High Froman might be there. High Froman, Head Clark, fellow WUPP’s, brother Gegs . . . brother and sister Gegs, I have seen the world above and it is beautiful’ “—Limbeck’s voice softened—“ ‘more beautiful and wondrous than anything you can imagine. And I . . . I . . .’ No!” He tugged violently on his own beard. “There,” he said, wincing at the pain and blinking the tears from his eyes. “As Jarre would say, I’m a drugal. Now, maybe I can think better. ‘My dear WUPP’s . . .’ No, there I go again. I’ve left out the High Froman . . .”

Haplo removed the sigil, and the door took shape and form again. He could hear, as he continued down the corridor, Limbeck reciting to his crowd of one. The Geg knows what he has to say, thought Haplo. He just can’t bring himself to say it.

“Oh, Alfred, here you are!” It was Bane’s voice, coming to Haplo through the dog. “I’ve been searching all over for you.” The child sounded petulant, put-out.

“I’m sorry, Your Highness, I was looking for Sir Hugh . . .” He wasn’t the only one.

Stopping at the next door, Haplo glanced inside. The room was empty—Hugh was gone. Haplo was not particularly surprised. If Hugh was even still alive, it was only because Sinistrad intended to make him suffer. Or, better yet, use him to make Iridal suffer. This jealousy Sinistrad was exhibiting over his wife was strange, considering he obviously didn’t care for her.

“She’s his possession,” said Haplo to himself, turning back down the hallway and heading for Limbeck’s room. “If Hugh’d been discovered making off with the spoons, Sinistrad would probably have been just as mad. Well, I tried to protect him. Pity. He was a bold fellow. I could have used him. Now, however, while Sinistrad is preoccupied with Hugh, would be an excellent time for the rest of us to leave.”

“Alfred . . .” Bane was speaking in sugared tones. “I want to have a talk with you.”

“Certainly, Your Highness.”

The dog settled itself on the floor between them.

Time to leave, Haplo repeated. I’ll collect Limbeck, we’ll get back to the elf ship and take it, and leave this mensch wizard stranded on his realm. I don’t have to put up with his meddling.

I’ll transport the Geg back to Drevlin. Once that’s done, I will have accomplished my lord’s goals, except for bringing him back someone from this world to train as a disciple. I’d considered Hugh, but he’s out, apparently. Still, my lord should be satisfied. This world is wobbling about on the brink of disaster. If all goes well, I can nudge it over the edge. And I believe that I can safely say that there are no longer any Sartan.

“Alfred,” said Bane, “I know you’re a Sartan.” Haplo came to a dead stop.

It must be a mistake. He hadn’t heard right. He’d been thinking the word and therefore heard it when in reality the boy had said something else. Holding his breath, almost wishing impatiently he could still the pounding of his heart so that he could hear more clearly, Haplo listened.

Alfred felt the world slide out beneath his feet. Walls expanded, the ceiling seemed to be falling down on top of him, and he thought for an awful, blessed moment that he might faint. But this time his brain refused to shut down. This time he would have to face the peril and deal with it as best he could. He knew he should be saying something, denying the boy’s statement, of course, but he honestly didn’t know whether or not he could talk. His face muscles were paralyzed.

“Come, Alfred,” said Bane, regarding him with smug self-assurance, “there’s no use denying it. I know it’s true. Do you want to know how I know?” The child was enjoying this immensely. And there was the dog, its head raised, watching him intently, as if it understood every word and it, too, was awaiting his reaction. The dog! Of course, it was understanding every word!

And so was its master.

“You remember the time when the tree fell on me,” Bane was saying. “I was dead. I knew I was dead because I was floating away and I looked back and saw my body lying on the ground, with the crystal pieces sticking right through me. But suddenly it was like a great big mouth opened and sucked me back. And I woke up and there weren’t any crystals hurting me anymore. I looked down, and there on my chest I saw this.” Bane held up the piece of paper he had removed from his father’s desk. “I asked my father about it. He said it was a sigil, a rune. A rune of healing.”

Deny it. Laugh lightly. What an imagination you have, Your Highness! You dreamed it, of course. That bump on your head.

“And then there was Hugh,” Bane continued. “I know that I gave him enough hethbane to kill him. When he fell over, all in a heap, he was dead, just like me. You brought him back to life!”

Come, now, Your Highness. If I was a Sartan, what would I be doing earning my living as a servant? No, I’d live in a grand palace and you mensch would all flock to see me and fall at my feet and beg me to give you this and give you that and raise you up and cast your enemies down and offer me whatever I wanted except peace.

“And now that I know you’re a Sartan, Alfred, you’ve got to help me. And the first thing we’re going to do is kill my father.” Bane reached into his tunic, pulled out a dagger that Alfred recognized as belonging to Hugh. “Look, I found this in my father’s desk. Sinistrad’s going to go down to the Low Realm and send the Gegs to war and fix the Kicksey-Winsey and make it align all the isles, and then he’ll control the water supply. All the wealth and power will go to him, and that’s not fair! It was my idea! I was the one who figured out how the machine worked. And of course, Alfred, you probably know all about running the machine, since you and your people built it, and you can help me with that too.”

The dog, with its far-too-intelligent eyes, was looking at Alfred, looking straight through him. Too late to deny. He’d missed his chance. He’d never been quick-thinking, quick-reacting. That was why his brain had taken to shutting down when confronted with danger. It couldn’t cope with the constant war that raged inside him, the instinctive urge to use his wondrous powers to protect himself and others versus the terrible knowledge that if he did so he would be exposed for the demigod he was—and wasn’t.

“I cannot help you, Your Highness. I cannot take a life.”

“Oh, but you’ll have to. You won’t have any choice. If you don’t, I’ll tell my father who you are, and once my father finds out, he’ll try to use you himself.”

“And, Your Highness, I will refuse.”

“You can’t! He’ll try to kill you if you don’t obey him! Then you’ll have to fight, and you’ll win, because you’re stronger.”