The elf who appeared to be the leader motioned the other two to look around the ship. One ran aft, staring over the side at the wings, possibly to assess the damage that had caused this ship to tumble out of control. The other ran back to the stern.
The elves were armed, but they didn’t carry their weapons in hand. They were, after all, on a ship made by their own kind.
Seeing his men deployed, the elven commander finally deigned to notice the child.
“What is a human brat doing on board a ship of my people?” The commander stared down his long aquiline nose at the boy. “And where is the captain of this vessel?”
He spoke human well, but with a twist to his mouth, as if the words tasted bad and he was glad to be rid of them. His voice was lilting and musical, his tone imperious and condescending. Bane was angry, but knew how to hide it.
“I am crown prince of Volkaran and Uylandia. King Stephen is my father.” Bane thought it best to begin this way, at least until he had the elves convinced that he was someone important. Then he would tell them the truth, tell them that he was of truly great importance-greater than they could imagine.
The elf captain was keeping one eye on his men, giving Bane half his attention. “So, my people have captured a human princeling, have they? I don’t know what they think they’ll get for you.”
“An evil man captured me,” Bane said, tears coming readily to his eyes. “He was going to murder me. But you’ve rescued me! You’ll be heroes. Take me to your king, that I may extend my thanks. This could be the beginning of the peace between our people.”
The elf who had been inspecting the wings returned, his report on his lips. Overhearing the boy’s speech, he looked at his captain. Both laughed simultaneously.
Bane sucked in his breath. Never in his life had anyone laughed at him! What was happening? The enchantment should be working. He was positive Trian hadn’t been able to break the spell. Why wasn’t his enchantment working on the elves?
And then Bane saw the talismans. Worn around the elves’ necks, the talismans were created by the elven wizards to protect their people against human war magic. Bane didn’t understand this, but he knew a warding talisman when he saw it and knew that, inadvertently, it was shielding the elves from the enchantment.
Before he could react, the captain grabbed hold of him and tossed him through the air like a bag of garbage. He was caught by the other elf, whose strength belied the slender body. The elf captain gave a careless command, and the elf, holding the boy at arm’s length as if he were a skunk, walked over to the ship’s rail.
Bane did not speak elven, but he understood the command given by the elf captain’s gesture.
He was to be tossed overboard.
Bane tried to scream, fear choked off his breath. He fought and struggled. The elf held him by the scruff of the neck and seemed to be highly amused at the child’s frantic efforts to free himself. Bane possessed the power of magic, but he was untrained, not having been brought up in his father’s house. He could feel magic run through him like adrenaline, he lacked the knowledge to make it work.
There was someone who could tell him, however.
Bane grasped hold of the feather amulet. “Father!”
“He can’t help you now,” laughed the elf.
“Father!” Bane cried again.
“I was right,” said the elf captain to his cohort. “There is someone else aboard-the brat’s father. Go search.” He gestured to the third elf, who came running back from the stern.
“Go ahead, get rid of the little bastard,” the captain grunted.
The elf holding Bane held the boy over the rail and then dropped him.
Bane tumbled through the air. He sucked in his breath to let it out in a howl of terror, when a voice commanded him abruptly to be silent. The voice came as it always did to the child, speaking words that he heard in his mind, words audible only to himself.
“You have the ability to save yourself, Bane. But first you must conquer fear.”
Falling rapidly, seeing below him floating pieces of debris from the elven ship and below that the black clouds of the Maelstrom, Bane went stiff and rigid with fright.
“I … I can’t, father,” he whimpered.
“If you can’t, then you will die, which will be all to the best. I have no use for a son who is a coward.”
All his short life, Bane had striven to please the man who spoke to him through the amulet, the man who was his true father. To win the powerful wizard’s approval was his dearest wish.
“Shut your eyes,” was Sinistrad’s next command.
Bane did so.
“Now we are going to work the magic. Think to yourself that you are lighter than the air. Your body is not solid flesh, but airy, buoyant. Your bones are hollow, like a bird’s.”
The prince wanted to laugh, but something inside told him if he did so he would never be able to control it and would drop to his death. Swallowing the wild, hysterical giggling, he tried to do as his father commanded. It seemed ludicrous. His eyes wouldn’t slay shut, but kept flying open to watch in panic-stricken desperation for a bit of debris to cling to until he could be rescued. The wind rushing past made his eyes tear, however, and he couldn’t see clearly. A sob welled up in his throat.
“Bane!” Sinistrad’s voice flicked through the child’s mind like a whip.
Gulping, Bane squinched his eyes tightly shut and tried to picture himself a bird.
At first it was difficult and seemed impossible. Generations of wizards long dead plus the boy’s own inherent skill and intelligence came to Bane’s aid. The trick was to banish reality, to convince the mind that its body did not weigh sixty-some rock, that it weighed nothing or less than nothing. It was a skill most young human wizards must study years to attain, yet Bane was having to learn it in seconds. Mother birds teach the young to fly by tossing them out of the nest. Bane was acquiring the art of magic in the same way. Shock and sheer terror jolted his natural talent into taking over and saving him.
My flesh is made of cloud. My blood is fine mist. My bones are hollow and filled with air.
A tingling sensation spread through the prince’s body. It seemed as if the magic was changing him into a cloud, for he felt weightless and airy. As this feeling increased, so did his confidence in the illusion he was spinning around himself, and the magic in turn increased, growing stronger and more powerful. Opening his eyes, Bane saw to his delight that he was no longer falling. Lighter than a snowflake, he was drifting in the sky.
“I’ve done it! I’ve done it!” He laughed gleefully, flapping his arms like a bird.
“Concentrate!” Sinistrad snapped. “This is not play! Break the concentration and you lose the power!”
Bane sobered. His father’s words had not affected him so much as the sudden frightening sensation he’d experienced of growing heavier again. Resolutely he set his mind to its task of keeping him afloat among the wispy clouds.
“What do I do now, father?” he asked, more subdued.
“Remain where you are for the moment. The elves will rescue you.”
“But they tried to kill me!”
“Yes, but now they will see that you possess the power and they will want to take you to their wizards. That will lead you to their court. You may as well spend some time there before you return to me. You might gather useful information.”
Bane gazed upward, trying to see what was happening on the ship. All that was visible to him from his angle was the underside of the hull and the half-spread wings. The dragonship was still falling, however.
Bane relaxed, floating in the air, and waited for it to come to him.
CHAPTER 27
DEEPSKY, DESCENDING
HUGH AND ALFRED CROUCHED AT THE FOOT OF THE STAIRS. THEY COULD HEAR THE elves searching the ship; they heard the elf captain’s conversation with Bane.
“Little bastard,” Hugh muttered beneath his breath.
Then they heard Bane scream.
Alfred paled.
“You want him, you better help rescue him,” Hugh said to the chamberlain. “Keep close behind me.”
Clambering up the ladder, Hugh threw open the hatch. Sword in hand, he surged out onto the deck with Alfred right behind him. The first thing he saw was the elf hurling Bane over the side of the ship. Alfred cried out in horror.
“Never mind!” shouted Hugh, looking about swiftly for something to use as a weapon. “Cover my back-By the ancestors! No you don’t!”
Alfred’s eyes were rolling up into his head. His face was ashen as he swayed on his feet. Hugh reached out a hand, grabbed him to shake him furiously, but it was too late. The chamberlain keeled over and landed on the deck in a pathetic heap.
“Damn!” Hugh swore viciously.
The elves were stiff and weary from their fight with the rebels. They had not expected to find humans on board a dragonship and they were slow to react. Hugh grabbed for the spar, just as one of the elf fighters attempted to reach it first. The Hand was quicker. Lifting it, he snatched it up with all the force he could manage and thwacked the elf across the face. The fighter toppled, striking his head against the hatch when he fell. Presumably he would be out for a while. Hugh dared not finish him off, for he had two other elves in front of him.
Elves are not particularly skilled swordsmen. They prefer the bow and arrow, which demonstrates skill and judgment, not merely brute strength-all they consider swordplay. The short blades elves carry at their sides are generally used for close fighting or to dispatch victims already wounded by arrows.
Knowing the elves’ dislike for the blade, Hugh swung his sword wildly, forcing them to keep out of his reach. He edged backward-hopping from plank to plank-until he ran into the bulwarks, the elves pressing him, but not moving in to attack. Not yet. Whatever they lack in technique, elves make up for in patience and wariness. It was taking all Hugh’s waning strength just to keep the blade in his hand. The elves could see that he was sick and weak. Feinting, jabbing, they drained his energy. They could afford to wait until weariness forced him to drop his guard.
Hugh’s arms ached, his head throbbed. He knew that he could not hold out long. Somehow, this must end. Movement caught his eye.
“Alfred!” Hugh bellowed. “That’s it! Take them from behind!”
It was an old trick, and no human fighter worth his codpiece would have fallen for it. As it was, the elven captain kept his eyes fixed on Hugh, but the other warrior lost his nerve and turned his head. What he saw was not a menacing human bearing down on him, but Alfred sitting up and looking about him dazedly.
Hugh was on the elf in a flash, slashing the sword out of his hand and bashing the warrior in the face with his fist. This move left him open to attack from the captain, but he couldn’t help that. The elf captain leapt forward to strike. His feet slipped on the slanting deck; the clumsy stroke missed Hugh’s heart and tore through the muscles of his sword arm. Hugh spun on his heel, caught the captain across the jaw with the hilt of the blade and sent the elf sprawling on his back on the deck, his weapon flying from his hand.
Hugh sank to his knees, fighting dizziness and nausea.
“Sir Hugh! You’re injured! Let me help-” Hands touched his arm, but Hugh jerked away.
“I’m all right,” he snapped. Staggering to his feet, he glared at the chamberlain, who flushed and hung his head.
“I … I’m sorry I let you down,” he stammered. “I don’t know what comes over me-“
Hugh cut him off, gesturing at the elves. “Toss this scum overboard before they come to.”
Alfred went so pale that Hugh thought he was going to faint again. “I can’t do that, sir. Throw a helpless man … to his death.”
“They threw that kid of yours to his death!” Hugh raised his sword, holding it above the neck of the unconscious elf. “Then I’ll have to get rid of them here. I can’t take a chance on them coming around.”
He started to cut the slender neck, but a strange reluctance halted him. A voice came to him from out of a vast and horrifying darkness.
All your life you served us.
“Please, sir!” Alfred caught hold of his arm. “Their ship is still attached to ours.” He pointed to where the remnants of the elven vessel nosed alongside the dragonship, the grappling hooks holding it fast. “I could transfer them back there. At least they’d have a chance of being rescued.”
“Very well.” Too sick and tired to argue, Hugh gave in with an ill grace. “Do what you want. Just get rid of them. What do you care about elves. anyway? They murdered your precious prince.”
“All life is sacred,” said Alfred softly, leaning down to lift the unconscious elf captain by the shoulders. “We learned that. Too late. Too late.”
At least that’s what Hugh thought he said. The wind was whistling through the rigging, he was sick and in pain, and who cared anyway?
Alfred performed the task in his usual bumbling fashion-tripping over the planks, dropping the bodies, once nearly hanging himself when he became entangled in one of the wing cables. Eventually he managed to haul the unconscious elves to the ship’s rail and heaved them onto their own ship with a strength the Hand found difficult to credit in the tall, gangling man.
But then, there was a lot about Alfred that was inexplicable. Was I really dead? Did Alfred bring me back to life? And, if so, how? Not even the mysteriarchs have the ability to restore the dead.
“All life is sacred… . Too late. Too late.”
Hugh shook his head and was immediately sorry. He thought his eyeballs must burst out of their sockets.
Alfred returned to find Hugh trying to knot a clumsy bandage around his arm.
“Sir Hugh?” Alfred began timidly.
Hugh did not look up from his work. Gently the chamberlain took over, tying the bandage deftly.
“I think you should come and see something, sir.”
“I know. We’re still falling. But I can pull us out. How close are we to the Maelstrom?”
“It’s not just that, sir. It’s the prince. He’s safe!”
“Safe?” Hugh stared at him, thinking the man had gone mad.
“It’s very peculiar, sir. Although not so peculiar, I suppose, considering who he is and who his father is.”
Who the hell is he? Hugh wanted to ask, but now was not the time. Sick and hurting, he made his way across the deck, whose movements were becoming more and more erratic as they drew nearer the storm. Looking down below, he could not repress a low whistle of amazement.
“His father is a mysteriarch of the High Realm,” said Alfred. “I suppose he taught the boy to do that.”
“They communicate through the amulet,” said the Hand, recalling his failing vision focusing on the boy clasping the feather in his hand.
“Yes.”
Hugh could see the boy’s upturned face, looking at them triumphantly, evidently quite pleased with himself.
“I’m supposed to rescue him, I suppose. A kid who tried to poison me. A kid who wrecked my ship. A kid who tried to turn us all over to the elves!”
“After all, sir,” replied Alfred, gazing at Hugh steadily, “you did agree to murder him-for money.”
Hugh glanced back down at Bane. They were nearing the Maelstrom. He could see the stinging clouds of dust and debris floating above it and hear the dull booming of the thunder. A cool, moist wind smelling of rain was causing the tail rudder to flap wildly. Right now, Hugh should be examining the snapped cables, trying to rig them so that he could extend the wings and regain the upper air before the ship drifted too close, before the winds of the storm could prevent them from rising. And the pounding in his head was making him sick.
Turning, Hugh left the rail.
“I don’t blame you,” said Alfred. “He is a difficult child-“
“Difficult!” Hugh laughed, then paused, eyes closed, as the deck canted away beneath his feet. When he was himself again, he drew a deep breath. “Take that spar and hold it out to him. I’ll try to
maneuver the ship closer. We’re risking our own lives doing this. Chances are we’ll get caught by the winds and sucked into the storm.”
“Yes, Sir Hugh.” Alfred ran to get the spar-for once, his feet and his body all going the same direction.
The Hand dropped through the hatch into the steerage way and stood staring at the mess. “Why am I doing this?”, he asked himself. It’s simple, was the response. You’ve got a father who will pay to have his son not come back and another father who will pay to get hold of the kid.
That makes sense, Hugh admitted. All, of course, provided we don’t wind up in the Maelstrom. Looking out the crystal window, he could see the boy floating among the clouds. The dragonship was falling down to meet him, but unless Hugh could alter their course, they would miss him by over a wing’s length.
Gloomily the Hand surveyed the wreckage, prodding his aching mind to function and delineate between the various ropes that were twisting and slithering across the deck like snakes. Finding those he needed, he untangled them and laid them out straight so that they could run easily through the hawseholes. Once the cables were arranged, he cut them loose from the harness with his sword and wound them around his arms. He had seen men suffer broken bones from doing this. If he lost control, the heavy wing would fly out suddenly, jerk the rope, and snap his arms like a twig.
Seating himself, his feet braced against the deck, Hugh began to pay out the line slowly. One length of cable ran swiftly and smoothly through the hawsehole. The wing began to lift and the magic to activate. But the cable on Hugh’s right arm remained limp and lifeless, straggling across the deck. He wiped sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. The wing was stuck, jammed.
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