Dragon Wing (The Death Gate Cycle #1)

by Margaret Weis

  The door to the room slammed open. The dog, looking over, wagged its tail furiously, but continued to keep its grip on Alfred.

  “So you’re leaving us behind, are you, Sartan?” inquired Haplo. “Just like the old days, huh?”

  CHAPTER 55

  CASTLE SINISTER, HIGH REALM

  IN A ROOM DOWN THE CORRIDOR, LIMBECK FINALLY PUT HIS PEN TO PAPER.

  “My people …” he began.

  Haplo had long imagined meeting a Sartan, meeting someone who had sealed his people in that hellish place. He imagined himself angry, but now even he could not believe his fury. He stared at this man, this Alfred, this Sartan, and he saw the chaodyn attacking him, he saw the dog’s body lying broken, bleeding. He saw his parents dead. It was suddenly hard to breathe. He was suffocating. Veins, red against fiery yellow, webbed his vision, and he had to close his eyes and fight to catch his breath.

  “Leaving again!” He gasped for air. “Just like you jailers left us to die in that prison!”

  Haplo forced the last word out between gritted teeth. Bandaged hands raised like striking talons, he stood quite close to Alfred and stared into the face of the Sartan that seemed surrounded by a halo of flame. If this Alfred smiled, if his lips so much as twitched, Haplo would kill him. His lord, his purpose, his instructions-he couldn’t hear any of them for the pounding waves of rage in his head.

  But Alfred didn’t smile. He didn’t blench in fright or draw back or even move to defend himself. The lines of the aged, careworn face deepened, the mild eyes were shadowed and red-rimmed, shimmering with sorrow.

  “The jailer didn’t leave,” he said. “The jailer died.”

  Haplo felt the dog’s head press against his knee, and reaching down, he caught hold of the soft fur and gripped it tightly. The dog gazed up with worried eyes and pressed closer, whimpering. Haplo’s breathing came easier, clear sight returned to his eyes, clear thought to his mind.

  “I’m all right,” said Haplo, drawing a shivering breath. “I’m all right.”

  “Does this mean,” asked Bane, “that Alfred’s not leaving?”

  “No, he’s not leaving,” said Haplo. “Not now, at least. Not until I’m ready.”

  Master of himself once more, the Patryn faced the Sartan. Haplo’s face was calm, his smile quiet. His hands rubbed slowly, one against the other, displacing slightly the bandages that covered the skin. “The jailer died? I don’t believe that.”

  Alfred hesitated, licked his lips. “Your people have been … trapped in that place all this time?”

  “Yes, but you knew that already, didn’t you? That was your intent!”

  Limbeck, hearing nothing of what was happening two doors down from him, continued writing;

  “My people, I have been in the realms above. I have visited the realms our legends tell us are heaven. And they are. And they aren’t. They are beautiful. They are rich-rich beyond belief. The sun shines on them throughout the day. The firmament sparkles in their sky. The rain falls gently, without malice. The shadows of the Lords of Night soothe them to sleep. They live in houses, not in cast-off parts of a machine or in a building the Kicksey-Winsey decided it didn’t need at the moment. They have winged ships that fly through the air. They have tamed winged beasts to take them anywhere they want. And all of this they have because of us.

  “They lied to us. They told us that they were gods and that we had to work for them. They promised us that if we worked hard, they would judge us worthy and take us up to live in heaven. But they never intended to make good that promise.”

  “That was never our intent!” Alfred answered. “You must believe that. And you must believe that I-we-didn’t know you were still there! It was only supposed to be a short time, a few years, several generations-“

  “A thousand years, a hundred generations-those that survived! And where were you? What happened?”

  “We … had our own problems.” Alfred’s gaze lowered, his head bowed.

  “You have my deepest sympathy.”

  Alfred glanced up swiftly, saw the Patryn’s curled lip, and, sighing, looked away.

  “You’re coming with me,” said Haplo. “I’m going to take you back to see for yourself the hell your people created! And my lord will have questions for you. He’ll find it hard to believe-as I do-that ‘the jailer died.’ “

  “Your lord?”

  “A great man, the most powerful of our kind who has ever lived. He has plans, many plans, which I’m certain he’ll share with you.”

  “And that’s why you’re here,” Alfred murmured. “His plans? No, I won’t go with you.” The Sartan shook his head. “Not voluntarily.” Deep within the mild eyes, a spark kindled.

  “Then I’ll use force. I’ll enjoy that!”

  “I’ve no doubt. But if you’re trying to conceal your presence in this world”-his gaze fixed on the bandaged hands-“then you know that a fight between us, a duel of that magnitude and magical ferocity, could not be hidden and would be disastrous to you. The wizards in this world are powerful and intelligent. Legends exist about Death Gate. Many, like Sinistrad or even this child”-Alfred’s hand stroked Bane’s hair-“could figure out what had occurred and would eagerly start to search for the entry into what is held to be a wondrous world. Is your lord prepared for that?”

  “Lord? What lord? Look here, Alfred!” Bane burst out impatiently. “None of us are going anywhere as long as my father’s alive!” Neither of the two men answered him or even looked at him. The boy glared at them. Adults, absorbed in their own concerns, they had, as usual, forgotten his.

  “At last our eyes have been opened. At last we can see the truth.” Limbeck found his spectacles irritating and pushed them back up on top of his head. “And the truth is that we no longer need them …”

  “I don’t need you!” Bane cried. “You weren’t going to help me anyway. I’ll do it myself.” Reaching into his tunic, he drew out Hugh’s dagger and gazed at it admiringly, running his finger carefully over the rune-carved blade. “Come on,” he said to the dog, still standing beside Haplo. “You come with me.”

  The dog looked at the boy and wagged his tail but did not move.

  “Come on!” Bane coaxed. “Good dog!”

  The dog cocked his head, then turned to Haplo, whining and pawing. The Patryn, intent on the Sartan, shoved the dog aside. Sighing, with a final, pleading glance back at its master, the dog-head down, ears flat-padded slowly over to Bane’s side.

  The child shoved the dagger in his belt and patted the dog’s head. “That’s a good boy. Let’s go.”

  “And so, in conclusion …” Limbeck paused. His hand trembled, his eyes misted over. A blot of ink fell upon the paper. Pulling his spectacles down from on top of his head, he adjusted them on his nose and then sat unmoving, staring at the blank spot where the final words would be written.

  “Can you truly afford to fight me?” Alfred persisted.

  “I don’t think you’ll fight,” answered Haplo. “I think you’re too weak, too tired. That kid you pamper is more-“

  Reminded, Alfred glanced around.

  “Bane? Where is he?”

  Haplo made an impatient gesture. “Gone somewhere. Don’t try to-“

  “I’m not ‘trying’ anything! You heard what he asked me. He has a knife. He’s gone to murder his father! I’ve got to stop-!”

  “No, you don’t.” Haplo caught hold of the Sartan’s arm. “Let the mensch murder each other. It doesn’t matter.”

  “It doesn’t matter to you at all?” Alfred gave the Patryn a peculiar, searching look.

  “No, of course not. The only one I care about is the leader of the Gegs’ revolt, and Limbeck’s safely shut up in his room.”

  “Then where’s your dog?” asked Alfred.

  “My people”-Limbeck’s pen slowly and deliberately wrote down the words-“we are going to war.”

  There. It was done. Pulling off his spectacles, the Geg tossed them down upon the table, put his head in his hands
, and wept.

  CHAPTER 56

  CASTLE SINISTER, HIGH REALM

  SlNlSTRAD AND HUGH WERE SEATED IN THE STUDY OF THE MYSTERIARCH.

  It was nearly midday. Light streamed in through a crystal window. Seeming to float on the mist outside the window were the glittering spires of the city of New Hope-the city that, according to what Iridal had told him, might as well be called No Hope. Hugh wondered if the buildings had been placed there for his benefit. Outside, coiled around the castle, dozing in the sun, was the quicksilver dragon.

  “Let us see, what would be best?” Sinistrad tapped thoughtfully on the desk with his thin fingers. “We will transport the child back to Djern Volkain on the elven ship-taking care, of course, to make certain that the ship is seen by the humans. Then, when Stephen and Anne are discovered dead, it will be blamed on elves. Bane can tell them some rigmarole about how he was captured and escaped and the elves followed him and killed his loving parents as they tried to rescue him. You can make it appear that the elves murdered them, I suppose?”

  The air around Hugh stirred, a cold breath swept over him, and icy fingers seemed to touch his shoulder. Iridal was working her own magic against her husband. She was here. She was listening.

  “Sure, nothing’s easier. Will the boy cooperate?” asked Hugh, tensing, yet doing his best to seem at ease. Now that she was faced with inescapable truth, what would she do? “The kid seems less than enthusiastic.”

  “He will cooperate. I have only to make him understand that this is to his advantage. Once he knows how he can profit by this action, he will be eager to undertake it. The boy is ambitious, and rightfully so. After all, he is my son.”

  Invisible to all eyes, Iridal stood behind Hugh, watching, listening. She felt nothing at hearing Sinistrad plot murder; her mind, her senses, had gone numb. Why did I bother to come? she asked herself. There’s nothing I can do. It’s too late for him, for me. But not too late for Bane. How did the ancient saying go? “A little child shall lead them.” Yes, there is hope for him. He is still innocent, unspoiled. Perhaps someday he will save us.

  “Ah, here you are, father.”

  Bane entered the study, coolly ignoring Sinistrad’s glaring frown. The child’s color was heightened, and he seemed to glow with an inner radiance. His eyes gleamed with a feverish luster. Walking behind the boy, its nails clicking against the stone floor, the dog appeared worried and unhappy. Its eyes went to Hugh, pleading; its gaze shifted to a point behind the assassin, staring at Iridal so intently that she felt a panicked qualm and wondered if her spell of invisibility had ceased to work.

  Hugh shifted uneasily in his chair. Bane was up to something. Probably-from that beatific expression on his face-no good.

  “Bane, I’m busy. Leave us,” said Sinistrad.

  “No, father. I know what you’re talking about. It’s about me going back to Volkaran, isn’t it? Don’t make me, father.” The child’s voice was suddenly sweet and soft. “Don’t make me go back to that place. No one likes me there. It’s lonely. I want to be with you. You can teach me magic, like you taught me to fly. I’ll show you all I know about the great machine, and I can introduce you to the High Froman-“

  “Stop whining!” Sinistrad rose to his feet. His robes rustled around him as he moved out from behind his desk to confront his son. “You want to please me, don’t you, Bane?”

  “Yes, father …” The boy faltered. “More than anything. That’s why I want to be with you! Don’t you want to be with me? Isn’t that why you brought me home?”

  “Bah! What nonsense. I brought you home so that we could put into action the second phase of our plan. Certain things have changed now, but only for the better. As for you, Bane, as long as I am your father, you will go where I tell you to go and do what I tell you to do. Now, leave us. I will send for you later.”

  Sinistrad turned his back on the child.

  Bane, a strange smile on his lips, thrust his hand into his tunic. It came out holding a knife.

  “I guess you won’t be my father long, then!”

  “How dare you-” Sinistrad whirled around, saw the dagger in the child’s hand, and sucked in a seething breath. Pale with fury, the mysteriarch raised his right hand, prepared to cast the spell that would dissolve the child’s body where he stood. “I can get more sons!”

  The dog leapt, hit Bane square in the back, and knocked the child to the floor. The dagger flew from the boy’s hand.

  Something unseen struck Sinistrad; invisible hands clutched at his. Raging, he grappled with his wife, whose spell crumbled as she fought, revealing her to her husband.

  Hugh was on his feet. Snatching up his dagger from the floor, he watched for his opportunity. He’d free her, free her child.

  The wizard’s body crackled with blue lightning. Iridal was flung aside in a thunderous shock wave that hurled her, dazed, against the wall. Sinistrad turned upon his child, only to find the dog standing above the terrified boy.

  Teeth bared, hackles raised, it growled low in its throat.

  Hugh struck, driving the dagger deep into the wizard’s body. Sinistrad screamed in fury and in pain. The assassin jerked his dagger free. The body of the mysteriarch shimmered and faded and Hugh thought his foe was dead. Suddenly, the wizard returned, only now his body was that of an enormous snake.

  The snake’s head darted at Hugh. The assassin drove his knife again into the reptilian body, but too late. The snake sank its fangs into the back of Hugh’s neck. The assassin cried out in agony, the poison surging through his body. He managed to retain his grip on the knife, and the snake-twisting and coiling-drove the blade deeper. It lashed out in its death throes, wrapped its tail around the assassin’s legs, and both crashed to the floor.

  The snake disappeared. Sinistrad lay dead, his legs wrapped around the feet of his killer.

  Hugh stared at the corpse and tried feebly to rise. The assassin felt no pain, but he had no strength left in him, and he collapsed.

  “Hugh.”

  Weakly he turned his head. It was pitch dark in the cell. He couldn’t see.

  “Hugh! You were right. Mine is the sin of not doing. And now it is too late … too late!”

  There was a crack in the wall. A thin shaft of light gleamed brightly; he could smell fresh air, perfumed with the scent of lavender. Slipping his hand through the bars of his cell, Hugh held it out to her. Reaching out as far as she could from behind her own walls, Iridal touched the tips of his fingers.

  And then the black monk came and set Hugh free.

  CHAPTER 57

  CASTLE SINISTER, HIGH REALM

  A LOW RUMBLING SOUND CAUSED THE STONES OF THE PALACE TO QUIVER ON THEIR foundation. It grew louder, like thunder heard in the distance, marching toward them, shaking the ground. The castle shifted; stone quaked and shuddered. A triumphant howl split the air.

  “What the … ?” Haplo stared around him.

  “The dragon’s free!” murmured Alfred, eyes widening in awe. “Something’s happened to Sinistrad!”

  “It’ll kill every living thing in this castle. I’ve fought dragons before. They’re numerous in the Labyrinth. You?”

  “No, never.” Alfred glanced at the Patryn, caught the bitter smile. “It will take both of us to fight it, in the might of our power.”

  “No.” Haplo shrugged. “You were right. I don’t dare reveal myself. I’m not permitted to fight, not even to save my life. I guess it’s up to you, Sartan.”

  The floor shook. A door down the corridor opened and Limbeck looked out. “This is more like home,” he shouted cheerfully over the rumbling and thudding and cracking. Walking easily across the trembling floor, he waved a sheaf of papers. “Do you want to hear my spee-“

  The outer walls split asunder. Alfred and Limbeck were flung from their feet, Haplo slammed up against a door that gave way behind him with a crash. A gleaming red eye the size of the sun peered through the ruptured wall at the victims trapped inside. The rumbling changed to a roar. The head re
ared back, jaws opening. White teeth flashed.

  Haplo staggered to his feet. Limbeck was lying flat on his back, his spectacles smashed on the stone floor. Groping for them, the Geg stared up helplessly at the red-eyed silver blur that was the dragon. Near Limbeck lay Alfred, fainted.

  Another roar shook the building. A silver tongue flickered like lightning. If the dragon destroyed them, Haplo would lose not only his life but also his purpose for coming here. No Limbeck to lead the revolution among the Gegs. No Limbeck to start the war that would lead to worldwide chaos.

  Haplo ripped the bandages from his hands. Standing over the fallen, he crossed his arms and raised sigla-tattooed fists above his head. He wondered, briefly, where the dog had gone. He couldn’t hear anything from it, but then, he couldn’t hear much of anything at all over the bellowings of the dragon.

  The creature dived for him, mouth open wide to snatch up the prey.

  Haplo was right: he’d fought dragons before-dragons in the Labyrinth, whose magical powers made this quicksilver look like a mudworm. The hardest part was standing there, braced to take the blow, when every instinct in the body shrieked for him to run.

  At the last instant, the silver head veered aside, jaws snapping on empty air. The dragon pulled back, eyeing the man suspiciously.

  Dragons are intelligent beings. Coming out of enthrallment leaves them furious and confused. Their initial impulse is to strike back at the magus who ensorceled them. But even raging, they do not attack mindlessly. This one had experienced many types of magical forces in its lifetime, but never anything quite like what it faced now. It could feel, if it could not see, power surround the man like a strong metal shield.

  Steel, the dragon could pierce. It might even pierce this magic, if it had time to work on it and unravel it. But why bother? There were other victims. It could smell hot blood. Casting Haplo a last curious, baleful glance, the dragon slid out of his view.