“If you don’t mind, sir, His Highness is my responsibility.” Alfred was edging his way down the path. “I’ll just hurry after-“
“Go ahead.” Hugh waved his hand.
Alfred, smiling and bobbing his head in servile thanks, broke into a run. The Hand half-expected to see the chamberlain break his head at the same time, but Alfred managed to keep his feet under him and pointed the same direction as his nose. His long arms swinging, hands flapping at his sides, he loped down the path after the prince.
Hugh lagged behind, deliberately slowing his steps, pausing, waiting for something uncertain and unknown. He’d felt the same when a storm was approaching-a tension, a prickling of the skin. Yet there was no rain smell in the air, no acrid whiff of lightning. The winds always blew high along the coast—
The sound of the crack splitting the air was so loud that Hugh’s first thought was of an explosion, his next that elves had discovered his ship. But the subsequent crash and the shrill, agonized scream, cut off abruptly, informed Hugh of what had really happened.
He felt an overwhelming sense of relief.
“Help, Sir Hugh! Help!” Alfred’s voice, blown apart by the wind, was barely heard. “A tree! A tree … fallen … my prince!”
Not a tree, thought Hugh. A branch. Most likely a big one, from the sound. Sheared off by the wind, it had come crashing down across the path. He’d seen such a thing many times before in this wood, narrowly missed being struck himself.
He did not run. It was as if the black monk at his shoulder laid a restraining hand on his arm and whispered, “There is no need for haste.” The shards of broken hargast branch were sharp as arrow points. If Bane was still alive, he wouldn’t be for long. There were plants in this forest that would ease the pain, put the boy to sleep, and, though Alfred would never know it, speed the child to an easy death.
Hugh continued walking slowly down the path. Alfred’s cries for help had ceased. Perhaps he’d realized how futile it was. Perhaps he’d discovered the prince already dead. They’d take the body to Aristagon and leave it there, as Stephen had wanted. It would appear as if the elves had badly abused the boy before killing him, and that would inflame the humans. King Stephen would have his war, much good it would do him.
But that wasn’t Hugh’s concern. He’d take the bumbling Alfred along to help, and at the same time worm out of the chamberlain the dark plot he was undoubtedly aiding and abetting. Then, with Alfred in tow, the Hand would communicate with the king from a safe hiding place and demand his fee be doubled. He’d—
Rounding a bend in the path, Hugh saw that Alfred hadn’t been far wrong when he said a tree had fallen. A huge limb, big as most trees itself, had cracked in the wind and split the trunk of the ancient hargast in two when it came down. The tree must have been rotten, to have separated like that. Coming nearer, Hugh could see within what was left of the trunk the tunnels of the insects that had been the old tree’s true killer.
Though it was lying on the ground, the limb’s branches that had remained intact towered above Hugh. The branches that had struck the ground had shattered and cut a wide swath of devastation through the forest; its crystalline remains completely obliterated the path. The dust it had raised still hung in the air. Hugh searched among the branches but could see nothing. He climbed over the split trunk. When he reached the other side, he stopped to stare.
The boy who should have been dead was sitting on the ground rubbing his head, looking dazed and very much alive. His clothing was rumpled and dirty, but it had been rumpled and dirty when he entered the forest. There weren’t, Hugh noted, his eyes scanning the boy, any shards of bark or filaments in his hair. He had blood on his chest and on his torn shirt, but nowhere else on his body. The Hand glanced at the split trunk and then turned his measuring gaze on the path. Bane was sitting squarely in the spot where the branch must have fallen. He was surrounded by the sharp, deadly shards.
Yet he wasn’t dead.
“Alfred?” Hugh called.
And then he saw the chamberlain, crouched on the ground near the boy, his back to the assassin, intent on doing something that Hugh could not see. At the sound of a voice, Alfred’s body twitched in startlement and he jerked to his feet as though someone had yanked him up by a rope attached to his shirt collar. Hugh saw now what the chamberlain had been doing. He was binding a cut on his hand.
“Oh, sir! I’m so thankful you’re here-“
“What happened?” Hugh demanded.
“Prince Bane has been extremely fortunate, sir. A terrible tragedy has been averted. The branch came crashing down, just barely missing His Highness.”
Hugh, watching Bane closely, saw the puzzled glance the boy gave his chamberlain. Alfred did not notice-his eyes were on his injured hand. He had been attempting, without much success apparently, to wrap a strip of cloth around the wound.
“I heard the boy scream,” Hugh said.
“Out of fright, sir,” explained Alfred. “I ran-“
“Is he hurt?” Hugh glowered at Bane, pointed to the blood on the child’s chest and the front of his shirt.
Bane peered down at himself. “No, I-“
“My blood, sir,” interrupted Alfred. “I was running to help His Highness and I fell and cut my hand.”
Alfred exhibited the cut. It was deep. Blood was dropping onto the broken remnants of the tree limb. Hugh watched the prince to gauge his reaction to Alfred’s statement, saw the boy’s frowning gaze fixed intently on his chest. Hugh looked to see what had captured the boy’s attention, but saw only a smeared patch of blood.
Or was it? Hugh started to lean down, examine it closer, when Alfred, with a groan, toppled over and collapsed onto the ground. Hugh nudged the chamberlain with the toe of his boot, but got no response. Alfred had, once again, fainted.
Glancing up, Hugh saw Bane trying to wipe the blood off his skin with the tail of his shirt. Well, whatever was there was gone now. Ignoring the comatose Alfred, Hugh faced the prince.
“What really happened, Your Highness?”
Bane gazed up at him with dazzled eyes. “I don’t know, Sir Hugh. I remember a cracking sound, and then”-he shrugged- “that’s all.”
“The branch fell on top of you?”
“I don’t remember. Honest.”
Scrambling to his feet, moving carefully amidst the shards that were sharp as glass, Bane brushed off his clothes and started over to help Alfred.
Hugh dragged the chamberlain’s limp body off the path and propped him up against a tree trunk. A few slaps on the cheeks and he began to come around, blinking up at Hugh dizzily.
“I’m … I’m most sorry, sir,” Alfred mumbled, attempting to stand and failing miserably. “It’s the sight of blood. I never could stomach-“
“Don’t look at it, then!” Hugh snapped, seeing Alfred’s horrified gaze go to his hand, his eyes start to roll back in his head.
“No, sir. I … won’t!” The chamberlain squeezed his eyelids tightly shut.
Kneeling down beside him, Hugh bandaged the hand, taking the opportunity to examine the wound. It was a clean, deep slice.
“What cut you?”
“A piece of bark, I think, sir.”
Like hell! That would have made a ragged cut. This was made by a sharp knife—
There came another cracking sound and a crash.
“Blessed Sartan! What was that?” Alfred’s eyes flew open, and he shivered so that Hugh had to grasp his hand and hold it steady to wind the bandage around it.
“Nothing,” Hugh snapped. He was completely perplexed and he didn’t like the feeling, any more than he’d liked the feeling of relief over not having to kill the prince. He didn’t like any of this. That tree had fallen on Bane as surely as rain fell from the sky. The prince should be dead.
What in hell was going on?
Hugh gave the cloth a sharp tug. The sooner he got rid of this kid, the better. Any feeling of reluctance he had once experienced at the thought of murdering a chil
d was rapidly freezing over.
“Ouch!” Alfred yelped. “Thank you, sir,” he added meekly.
“On your feet. Head for the ship,” Hugh ordered.
Silently, none of the three looking at each other, they continued down the path.
CHAPTER 23
PITRIN’S EXILE, MID REALM
“IS THAT IT?” THE PRINCE GRASPED HOLD OF HUGH’S ARM AND POINTED AT THE
dragon’s head that could be seen floating above the leaves. The main body of the ship was still hidden from their view by the tall hargast trees surrounding it.
“That’s it,” Hugh answered.
The boy stared, awed. It took a shove from Hugh’s hand to start him moving along the path.
It wasn’t a real dragon’s head, just a carved and painted facsimile. But elven artisans are skilled at their craft and the head looked more real and much more fierce than many live dragons flying the skies. It was about the size of a real dragon’s head, for Hugh’s was a small one-man ship meant for sailing between the isles and continents of Mid Realm. The figureheads of the gigantic airships the elves flew into battle or used to descend into the Maelstrom were so large that a seven-foot human could walk into one of the snarling mouths without bothering to duck.
The dragon’s head was painted black, with flaring red eyes and white teeth, bared in a fighting snarl. It hovered over them, glaring straight ahead with a baleful gaze, looking so threatening that both Alfred and Bane found it difficult to keep from staring at it as they drew nearer. (The third time Alfred stepped in a hole and stumbled to his knees, Hugh ordered him to keep his eyes on the ground.)
The small path they had been following through the woods took them into a natural cut made in a cliff. Emerging on the other side, they came out into a small canyon bowl. The wind could hardly be felt at all in here; the sheer sides of the cliff cut it off. In the center floated the dragonship, its head and tail jutting out over the canyon walls, its body held in place by many stout ropes tied to the trees beneath it. Bane gasped in delight, and Alfred, staring up at the airship, let the prince’s pack slip unnoticed from his fingers.
Sleek and graceful, the dragon’s neck, topped with a spiky mane that was both functional and decorative, curved back to meet the hull of the ship that was the dragon’s body. The sun of late afternoon sparkled off glittering black scales and glinted in the red eyes.
“It looks like a real dragon!” Bane sighed. “Only more powerful.”
“It should look like a real dragon, Your Highness,” said Alfred, an unusually stern note in his voice. “It is made from the skin of real dragons, and the wings are the wings of real dragons, slaughtered by the elves.”
“Wings? Where are the wings?” Bane craned his neck, nearly falling over backward.
“They’re folded back along the body. You can’t see them now. But you will when we take off.” Hugh hurried them forward. “Come on. I want to leave tonight, and there’s a lot of work to do first.”
“What makes it stay up there, if not the wings?” asked Bane.
“The magic,” Hugh grunted. “Now, keep moving!”
The prince surged forward, stopping only once to try to jump up and grab hold of one of the guy ropes. Failing, he scampered down to stand beneath the belly of the ship, staring upward until he grew dizzy.
“So this, sir, is how you come to know so much about the elves,” said Alfred in a low voice.
Hugh flicked him a glance, but the chamberlain’s face was bland and only slightly troubled-looking.
“Yeah,” the assassin answered. “The ship needs its magic renewed once every cycle, plus there are always minor repairs. A torn wing, or sometimes the skin pulls away from the frame.”
“Where did you learn to fly one? I’ve heard it takes enormous skill.”
“I was a slave on a watership for three years.”
“Blessed Sartan!” Alfred stopped and stared at him.
Hugh cast him an irritated glance, and the chamberlain, recalling himself, stumbled forward.
“Three years! I never heard of anyone surviving that long! And even after that, you can still do business with them? I would think you would hate them all!”
“How would hating benefit me? The elves did what they had to do, and so did I. I learned how to sail their ships. I learned to speak their language fluently. No, as I’ve discovered, hate generally costs a man more than he can afford.”
“And what about love?” Alfred asked softly.
Hugh didn’t even bother to reply.
“Why a ship?” The chamberlain thought it wise to change the subject. “Why risk it? The people on Volkaran would tear you apart if they discovered it. Wouldn’t a dragon suit your needs just as well?”
“Dragons tire. You have to rest them, feed them. They can be wounded, take sick, drop dead. Then there’s always the chance the enchantment will slip and you’re left either fending off the beast, or arguing with it, or soothing its hysterics. With this ship, the magic lasts a cycle. If it gets hit, I get it repaired. With this ship, I’m always in control.”
“And that’s what counts, isn’t it?” said Alfred, but he said it well under his breath.
The chamberlain needn’t have bothered. Hugh’s attention was completely absorbed in his ship. Passing underneath it, he carefully and closely inspected every single part of it from head to tail (prow to stern). Bane trotted along behind, asking questions with every breath.
“What does that cable do? Why? What makes it work? Why don’t we hurry up and take off? What are you doing?”
“Because, Your Highness, if we discovered something broken up there”-Hugh pointed at the sky-“it would be of no use fixing it.”
“Why?”
“Because we’d be dead.”
Bane subsided for a second or two, then began again. “What’s its name? I can’t read the letters. Dra … Dragon …”
“Dragon Wing.”
“How big is it?”
“Fifty feet.” Hugh peered up at the dragonskin covering the hull. The blue-black scales glistened with rainbow colors when the sun struck them. Walking beneath them, the length and breadth of the keel, Hugh satisfied himself that no scales were missing.
Coming around to the front, Bane practically tripping at his heels, he gazed intently at two large crystal panes set into what would be the dragon’s breast. These panes, designed to look like the breastplates of a dragon’s armor, were, in reality, windows. Hugh, seeing scratches across one, frowned. A branch must have fallen and struck it.
“What’s behind those?” asked Bane, noting Hugh studying them intently.
“The steerage. That’s where the pilot sits.”
“Can I go in there? Will you teach me to fly?”
“It takes months and months of study to learn to fly, Your Highness,” responded Alfred, seeing that Hugh was too busy to reply. “Not only that, but the pilot has to be physically strong in order to operate the wings.”
“Months?” Bane appeared disappointed. “But what’s there to learn? You just get up there and”-he waved a hand-“fly.”
“You have to know how to get where you’re going, Your Highness,” said the chamberlain. “In deepsky, so I’ve been told, there are no landmarks, very few points of reference. It is sometimes difficult to tell up from down. You must know how to use the navigational equipment on board, as well as being familiar with the skyroutes and the airlanes-“
“That stuff’s not hard to learn. I’ll teach you,” said Hugh, seeing the child’s face fall.
Bane brightened. Twitching the feather amulet back and forth, he skipped along after Hugh, who was walking the full length of the hull, examining the seams where metal and bone had melded to the epso [12] keel. There were no cracks. Hugh would have been surprised to find any. He was a skilled and careful pilot. He’d seen, firsthand, what happened to those who weren’t, to those who didn’t take care of their ships.
He moved on to the stern. The hull arched gracefully upward, fo
rming the afterdeck. A single dragon’s wing-the ship’s rudder-hung from the back of the hull. Cables attached to the end of the rudder swung limply in the wind. Grasping the rope. Hugh swung his legs onto the bottom rib of the rudder. Hand over hand, he climbed up the cable.
“Let me come! Please!” On the ground below, Bane jumped for the cable, flapping his arms as though he might fly up without help.
“No, Your Highness!” said a pale-faced Alfred, grasping the prince by the shoulder and firmly holding on to him. “We’ll be going up there all too soon, as it is. Let Sir Hugh get on with his work.”
“All right,” said Bane with cheerful good grace. “Say, Alfred, why don’t we go looking for some berries to take with us?”
“Berries, Your Highness?” said Alfred, in some astonishment. “What kind of berries?”
“Just … berries. To eat with supper. I know they grow in woods like this. Drogle told me.” The child’s blue eyes were wide open-as they tended to be when he was proposing something; the blue irises glinted in the midday sun. His hand toyed with the feather amulet.
“A stableboy is hardly a fit companion for Your Highness,” Alfred remonstrated. He cast a glance at the tempting stretches of cable, tied to the trees within easy reach and seemingly just made to be climbed by small boys. “Very well, Your Highness, I will take you searching for berries.”
“Don’t wander far,” warned Hugh’s voice above them. “Don’t worry, sir,” returned Alfred in hollow tones. The two traipsed off into the woods-the chamberlain sliding down into ravines and careening off trees, the boy dashing into thickets and losing himself among the heavy undergrowth. “Berries,” muttered the Hand.
Thankful they were gone, he concentrated on his ship. Grabbing hold of the deck railing, he pulled himself up and over onto the upper deck. Open planking-one plank placed about every three feet-made walking possible, but not simple. Hugh was used to it and stepped from plank to plank, making a mental note not to let the clumsy Alfred up here. Below the planks ran what appeared to the landlubber’s eye to be an overwhelming and confusing number of control cables. Lying down flat on the deck, Hugh inspected the ropes for fraying and wear.
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