Dragon Wing (The Death Gate Cycle #1)

by Margaret Weis

  “The truth,” repeated Limbeck.

  “Yes,” said Bane, sensing that the Geg was, at last, impressed. “The truth. Isn’t that what’s important? You and your people can’t go on living a lie. Wait. I just got an idea. Tell me about this Judgment that’s supposed to come to the Gegs.”

  Limbeck appeared thoughtful, his misery fading. It was as if he’d put on his spectacles. Everything that was blurry, he could now see clearly-see the sharp lines and crisp edges. “When the Judgment is given and we are found worthy, we will ascend to the realms above.”

  “This is it, Limbeck!” said Bane, awed. “This is the Judgment! It’s all happened just like the prophecy said. We came down and found you worthy and now you’re going to ascend into the upper realms!”

  Very clever, kid, said Haplo to himself. Very clever. Bane no longer held the feather. Daddy was no longer prompting. That last had been Bane’s own idea, seemingly. A remarkable child, this changeling. And a dangerous one.

  “But we thought the Judgment would be peaceful.”

  “Was that ever said?” Bane countered. “Anywhere in the prophecy?”

  Limbeck turned his attention to the dog, patting its head, attempting to avoid answering while he tried to accustom himself to this new vision.

  “Limbeck?” pushed Bane.

  The Geg continued to stroke the dog, who lay still beneath his hands. “New vision,” he said, looking up. “That’s it. When the Welves come, I know just what to do.”

  “What?” asked Bane eagerly.

  “I’ll make a speech.”

  Later that evening, after their jailors brought them food, Hugh called a meeting. “We don’t want to end up prisoners of the elves,” explained the assassin. “We’ve got to fight and try to get away, and we can-if you Gegs will help us.”

  Limbeck wasn’t listening. He was composing.

  ” ‘Welves and WUPP’s, wadies and gentle … No, no. Too many ‘wahs.’ ‘… Distinguished visitors from another realm’ -that’s better. Drat, I wish I could write this down!” The Geg paced up and down in front of his companions, mulling over his speech and pulling distractedly on his beard. The dog, trotting along behind him, looked sympathetic and wagged its tail.

  Haplo shook his head. “Don’t look for help there.”

  “But, Limbeck, it wouldn’t be much of a battle!” Bane protested. “The Gegs outnumber the elves. We’ll take them completely by surprise. I don’t like elves. They threw me off their ship. I nearly died.”

  “Distinguished visitors from another realm-“

  Haplo pursued his argument. “The Gegs are untrained, undisciplined. They don’t have any weapons. And even if they could get weapons, we don’t dare trust them. It’d be like sending in an army of children-ordinary children,” Haplo added, seeing Bane bristle.

  “The Gegs aren’t ready yet.” He put an unconscious emphasis on the word that caught Hugh’s attention.

  “Yet?”

  “When father and I return,” struck in Bane, “we’re going to whip the Gegs into shape. We’ll take on the elves and we’ll win. Then we’ll control all the water in the world and we’ll have power and be rich beyond belief.”

  Rich. Hugh twisted his beard. A thought occurred to him. If it came to open war, any human with a ship and the nerve to fly the Maelstrom could make his fortune in one run. He would need a watership. An elven watership and a crew to man it. It would be a shame to destroy these elves.

  “What about the Gegs?” suggested Haplo.

  “Oh, we’ll take care of them,” answered Bane. “They’ll have to fight a lot harder than what I’ve seen so far. But-“

  “Fight?” repeated Hugh, interrupting Bane in mid-dictatorship. “Why are we talking about fighting?” Reaching into his pocket, he drew forth his pipe and clamped his teeth down on it. “How are you at singing?” he asked Haplo.

  CHAPTER 37

  THE RESTING PLACE, LOW REALM

  JARRE’S HAND SLID NERVELESSLY FROM ALFRED’S. SHE COULD NOT MOVE; THE

  strength seeped from her body. She shrank back against the archway, leaning on it for support. Alfred never seemed to notice. He walked ahead, leaving the Geg, shaken and trembling, to wait for him.

  The chamber he entered was vast; Jarre couldn’t recall ever seeing such a huge open space in her life-a space not inhabited by some whirly, clanging, or thumping part of the Kicksey-Winsey. Made of the same smooth, flawless stone as the tunnels, the walls of the chamber glowed with a soft white light that began to shine from them when Alfred set his foot inside the archway. It was by this light that Jarre saw the coffins. Set into the walls, each covered by glass, the coffins numbered in the hundreds and held the bodies of men and women. Jarre could not see the people closely-they were little more than silhouettes against the light. But she could tell that they were of the same race as Alfred and the other gods who had come to Drevlin. The bodies were tall and slender and lay resting with arms at their sides.

  The floor of the chamber was smooth and wide, and the coffins encircled it in rows that extended up to the high domed ceiling. The chamber itself was completely empty. Alfred moved slowly, looking all around him in wistful recognition, as does someone returning home after a long absence.

  The light in the room grew brighter, and Jarre saw that there were symbols on the floor, similar in shape and design to the runes that had lit their way. There were twelve sigla, each carved singular and alone, never touching or overlapping. Alfred moved carefully among these, his gangly, ungainly form weaving its way across the empty chamber in a solemn dance, the lines and movements of his body appearing to imitate the particular sigil over which he was passing.

  He made a complete circuit of the chamber, drifting across the floor, dancing to silent music. He glided close to each rune but never touched it, gliding away to another, honoring each in turn, until finally he came to the center of the chamber. Kneeling, he placed his hands upon the floor and began to sing.

  Jarre could not understand the words he sang, but the song filled her with a joy that was bittersweet because it did nothing to lighten the terrible sadness. The runes on the floor glittered brightly, almost blinding in their radiance during Alfred’s song. When he ceased, their gleaming light began to fade and, within moments, was gone.

  Alfred, standing in the center, sighed. The body that had moved so beautifully in the dance stooped, the shoulders rounded. He looked over at Jarre and gave her a wistful smile,

  “You’re not still frightened?” He made a weak gesture toward the rows of coffins. “Nobody here can harm you. Not anymore. Not that they would have anyway-at least, not intentionally.” He sighed and, turning in his place, looked long around the room. “But how much harm have we done unintentionally, meaning the best? Not gods, but with the power of gods. And yet lacking the wisdom.”

  He walked, slowly and with head bowed, over to a row of coffins that stood very near the entrance, near Jarre. Alfred placed his hand on one of the crystal windows, his fingers stroking it with an almost caressing touch. Sighing, he rested his forehead against another coffin up above. Jarre saw that the coffin he touched was empty. The others around it held bodies in them, and she noticed-her attention called to these because of him-that they seemed all to be young. Younger than he is, she thought, her gaze going to the bald head, the domed forehead carved with lines of anxiety, worry, and care that were so pronounced a smile only deepened them.

  “These are my friends,” he said to Jarre. “I told you about them as we were coming down here.” He smoothed the crystal closure with one hand. “I told you that they might not be here. I told you that they might have gone. But I knew in my heart what I told you wasn’t true. They would be here. They will be here forever. Because they’re dead, you see, Jarre. Dead before their time. I am alive long after!”

  He closed his eyes, then covered his face with his hand. A sob wrenched the tall, ungainly body that leaned against the coffins. Jarre didn’t understand. She hadn’t listened to anyt
hing about these friends, and she could not and did not want to think about what she was seeing. But the man was grieving and his grief was heartbreaking to witness. Looking at the young people with their beautiful faces, serene and unmarred and cold as the crystal behind which they lay, Jarre understood that Alfred did not grieve for one but for many, himself among them.

  Wrenching herself from the archway, she crept forward and slipped her hand into his. The solemnity, the despair, the sorrow of the place and of this man had affected Jarre deeply-just how deeply, she would not come to know until much later in her life. During that future time of great crisis when it seemed to her that she was losing all that was most valuable to her, everything he said-the story of Alfred and his losses and those of his people-would come back to her.

  “Alfred. I’m sorry.”

  The man looked down at her, the tears glistening on his eyelashes. Squeezing her hand, he said something that she did not understand, for it was not in her language, nor in any other language that had been spoken for long ages in the realm of Arianus.

  “This is why we failed,” he said in that ancient language. “We thought of the many … and forgot the one. And so I am alone. And left perhaps to face by myself a peril ages old. The man with the bandaged hands.” He shook his head. “The man with the bandaged hands.”

  He left the mausoleum without looking back. No longer afraid, Jarre walked with him.

  Hugh woke at the sound. Starting up, pulling his dagger from his boot, he was on the move before he had completely thrown off sleep. It took him but an instant to collect himself, his eyes blinking back the blur of waking, adjusting to the dim glow of glimmerglamps shining from the never-sleeping Kicksey-Winsey. There was the sound again. He was heading in the right direction; it had come from behind one of the grilles located on the side of the vat.

  Hugh’s hearing was acute, his reflexes quick. He had trained himself to sleep lightly, and he was, therefore, not pleased to discover Haplo, fully awake, calmly standing near the air shaft as if he’d been there for hours. The sounds-scuffling and scraping-could now be heard clearly. They were getting closer. The dog, fur bristling around its neck, stared up at the shaft and whined softly.

  “Shhst!” Haplo hissed, and the dog quieted. It walked around in a nervous circle and came back to stand beneath the shaft again. Seeing Hugh, Haplo made a motion with his hand. “Cover that side.”

  Hugh did not hesitate, but obeyed the silent command. To argue about leadership now would have been foolhardy, with some unknown something creeping toward them in the night and the two of them with only their bare hands and one dagger to fight it. He reflected, as he took up his stance, that not only had Haplo heard and reacted to the sound, he had moved so softly and stealthily that Hugh, who had heard the sound, had not heard Haplo.

  The scuffling grew louder, nearer. The dog stiffened and bared its teeth. Suddenly there came a thump and a muffled “Ouch!”

  Hugh relaxed. “It’s Alfred.”

  “How in the name of the Mangers did he find us?” Haplo muttered.

  A white face pressed against the grillwork from the inside.

  “Sir Hugh?”

  “He has a wide range of talents,” remarked Hugh.

  “I’d be interested in hearing about them,” returned Haplo. “How do we get him out?” He peered inside the grillwork. “Who’s that with you?”

  “One of the Gegs. Her name’s Jarre.”

  The Geg poked her head beneath Alfred’s arm. The space they were in was, seemingly, a tight fit, and Alfred was forced to scrunch up until he practically doubled in two to make room.

  “Where’s Limbeck?” Jarre demanded. “Is he all right?”

  “He’s over there, asleep. The grille’s bolted fast on this side, Alfred. Can you work any of the bolts out from yours?”

  “I’ll see, sir. It’s rather difficult … without any light. Perhaps if I used my feet, sir, and kicked-“

  “Good idea.” Haplo backed out of the way, the dog trotting at his heels.

  “It’s about time his feet were good for something,” said Hugh, moving to the side of the vat. “It’s going to make one hell of a clatter.”

  “Fortunately, the machine’s doing an excellent job of clattering itself. Stand back, dog.”

  “I want to see Limbeck!”

  “In just a moment, Jarre,” came Alfred’s mollifying voice. “Now, if you’ll just scoot over there and give me some room.”

  Hugh heard a thud and saw the grillwork shiver slightly. Two more kicks, a groan from Alfred, and the grille popped off the side of the vat and fell to the ground.

  By now, Limbeck and Bane were both awake and had come over to stare curiously at their midnight callers. Jarre slid out feet-first. Landing on the floor of the vat, she raced to Limbeck, threw her arms around him, and hugged him tight.

  “Oh, my dear!” she said in a fierce whisper. “You can’t imagine where I’ve been! You can’t imagine it!”

  Limbeck, feeling her trembling in his arms, somewhat bewilderedly smoothed her hair and gingerly patted her on the back.

  “But, never mind!” said Jarre, returning to the serious business at hand. “The newssingers say the High Froman’s going to turn you over to the Welves. Don’t worry. We’re going to get you out of here now. This air shaft Alfred found leads to the outskirts of the city. Where we’ll go once we leave here, I’m not quite certain, but we can sneak out of Wombe tonight and-“

  “Are you all right, Alfred?” Hugh offered to help extricate the chamberlain from the shaft.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Tumbling out of the air shaft, Alfred attempted to put his weight on his legs, and crumpled over in a heap on the ground. “That is, perhaps not,” he amended from where he sat on the floor of the vat, a pained expression on his face. “I am afraid I’ve damaged something, sir. But it’s not serious.” Standing on one foot, with Hugh’s help, he leaned back against the vat. “I can walk.”

  “You couldn’t walk when you had two good feet.”

  “It’s nothing, sir. My knee-“

  “Guess what, Alfred!” interrupted Bane. “We’re going to fight the elves!”

  “I beg your pardon, Your Highness!”

  “We’re not going to have to escape, Jarre,” Limbeck was explaining. “At least I’m not. I’m going to make a speech to the Welves and ask for their help and cooperation. Then the Welves will fly us to the realms above. I’ll see the truth, Jarre. I’ll see it for myself!”

  “Make a speech to the Welves!” Jarre gasped, her breath completely taken away by this astounding revelation.

  “Yes, my dear. And you’ve got to spread the word among our people. We’ll need their help. Haplo will tell you what to do.”

  “You’re not going to … fight anyone, are you?”

  “No, my dear,” said Limbeck, stroking his beard. “We’re going to sing.”

  “Sing!” Jarre stared from one to another in blank astonishment. “I … I don’t know much about elves. Are they fond of music?”

  “What’d she say?” Hugh demanded. “Alfred, we’ve got to get this plan moving! Come here and translate for me. I have to teach her that song before morning.”

  “Very well, sir,” said Alfred. “I assume, sir, you are referring to the song of the Battle of Seven Fields?”

  “Yes. Tell her not to worry about what the words mean. They’ll have to learn to sing it in human. Have her memorize it line by line and say it back to us to make sure she’s got the words. The song shouldn’t be too difficult for them to learn. Kids sing it all the time.”

  “I’ll help!” Bane volunteered.

  Haplo, squatting on the ground, stroked the dog, watched and listened, and said nothing.

  “Jarre? Is that her name?” Hugh approached the two Gegs, Bane dancing at his side. The man’s face was dark and stern in the flickering light. Bane’s blue eyes gleamed with excitement. “Can you rally your people, teach them this song, and have them there at the ceremon
y?” Alfred translated. “This king of yours said the Welves will be here this day at noon. That doesn’t give you much time.”

  “Sing!” Jarre murmured, staring at Limbeck. “Are you really going? Up there?”

  Taking off his spectacles, Limbeck rubbed them on his shirt sleeve and put them on again. “Yes, my dear. If the Welves don’t mind-“

  ” ‘The Welves don’t mind,’ ” Alfred translated to Hugh, giving him a meaningful glance.

  “Don’t worry about the Welves, Alfred,” interposed Haplo. “Limbeck’s going to make a speech.”

  “Oh, Limbeck!” Jarre was pale, biting her lip. “Are you sure you should go up there? I don’t think you should leave us. What will WUPP do without you? You going off like that-it will seem like the High Froman’s won!”

  Limbeck frowned. “I hadn’t thought about that.” Removing his spectacles, he began to clean them again. Instead of putting them back on, he absentmindedly stuck them in his pocket. He looked at Jarre and blinked, as if wondering why she was all blurry. “I don’t know. Perhaps you’re right, my dear.”

  Hugh ground his teeth in frustration. He didn’t know what had been said, but he could see the Geg was having second thoughts, and that was going to lose him his ship and probably his life. He looked impatiently at Alfred to help, but the chamberlain, limping on one foot, appeared undignified and storklike, also very sad and unhappy. Hugh was just admitting to himself that he might have to rely on Haplo when he saw the man, with a signal of his hand, send the dog forward.

  Gliding across the floor of the vat, the animal came to Limbeck and thrust its muzzle in the Geg’s hand. Limbeck started at the unexpected touch of the cold nose, and jerked his hand away. But the dog remained, looking up at him intently, the bushy tail slowly brushing from side to side. Limbeck’s nearsighted gaze was drawn slowly and irresistibly from the dog to its master. Hugh glanced swiftly back at Haplo to see what message he was giving, but the man’s face was mild and tranquil, with that quiet smile.