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“The chamberlain’s worthless,” grunted Hugh. Leaning back comfortably against the brick wall of their prison, he drew out his pipe and stuck the stem between his teeth. “The first sign of danger, and he faints dead away. You saw him back there during the riot.”

“That’s odd, isn’t it?”

“He’s odd!” stated Hugh.

Haplo could remember Alfred’s eyes trying desperately to pierce the cloth covering the Patryn’s hands, almost as if the chamberlain knew what was beneath. “I wonder where he got to? Did you see?” Hugh shook his head. “All I saw was Gegs. I had the kid. But the chamberlain’s bound to turn up. Or rather stumble up. He won’t leave His Highness.” The Hand nodded at Bane, who was talking away at the misery-stricken Limbeck. Haplo followed Hugh’s gaze and focused on the Geg.

“There’s always Limbeck and his WUPP’s. They’d fight to save us, or, if not us, their leader.”

Hugh glanced at him dubiously. “Do you think so? I always heard Gegs had the fighting spirit of a flock of sheep.”

“That may be true now, but it didn’t used to be so. Not in the old days. Once, long ago, the dwarves were a fierce, proud people.”

Hugh, returning his gaze to Limbeck, shook his head.

The Geg sat huddled in a corner, his shoulders slumped, arms dangling limply between his knees. The child was talking at him; the Geg was completely oblivious of the conversation.

“He’s been walking along with his head in the clouds,” said Haplo. “He didn’t see the ground coming and got hurt in the fall. But he’s the one to lead his people.”

“You’re really caught up in this revolution of theirs,” observed Hugh. “Some might wonder why you care.”

“Limbeck saved my life,” answered Haplo, lazily scratching the ears of the dog that was stretched out at his side, its head resting in his lap. “I like him and his people. As I said, I know something about their past.” The mild face darkened. “I hate seeing what they’ve become. Sheep, I believe, was how you put it.”

Hugh sucked thoughtfully, silently on his empty pipe. The man sounded good, but Hugh found it difficult to believe this Haplo was that concerned about a bunch of dwarves. A quiet, unassuming man, you tended to ignore him, forget he was around. And that, said Hugh to himself, might be a very big mistake. Lizards that blend in with the rocks do so to catch flies.

“Somehow we’ve got to get some backbone into your Limbeck, then,” remarked Hugh. “If we’re going to save ourselves from the elves, we’ll need the Gegs to help us.”

“You can leave him to me,” said Haplo. “Where were you headed, before you got caught up in all this?”

“I was going to return the kid to his father, his real father, the mysteriarch.”

“Damn nice of you,” commented Haplo.

“Hunh,” Hugh grunted, his lips twisting in a grin.

“These wizards who live in the High Realm. Why was it they left the world below? They must have enjoyed a large amount of power among the people.”

“The answer to that depends on who you ask. The mysteriarchs claim they left because they’d advanced in culture and wisdom and the rest of us hadn’t. Our barbaric ways disgusted them. They didn’t want to bring up their kids in an evil world.”

“And what do you barbarians say to all this?” asked Haplo, smiling. The dog had rolled over on its back, all four feet in the air, its tongue lolling out of its mouth in foolish pleasure.

“We say”—Hugh sucked on the empty pipe, his words coming out between the stem and his teeth—“that the mysteriarchs were afraid of the growing power of the elven wizards and beat it. They left us in the lurch, no doubt of it. Their leaving was the cause of our downfall. If it hadn’t been for the revolt among their own people, the elves’d be our masters still.”

“And so these mysteriarchs wouldn’t be welcome, if they returned?”

“Oh, they’d be welcome. Welcomed with cold steel, if the people had their way. But our king maintains friendly relations, or so I’ve heard. People wonder why.” His gaze shifted back to Bane.

Haplo knew the changeling’s story. Bane himself had proudly explained it to him. “But the mysteriarchs could come back if one of them was the human king’s son.”

Hugh made no response to the obvious. He removed the pipe from his mouth, tucked it back in his doublet. Crossing his arms over his chest, he rested his chin on his breast and closed his eyes.

Haplo rose to his feet, stretched. He needed to walk, needed to work the kinks out of his muscles. Pacing the cell, the Patryn thought about all he’d heard. He had very little work to do, it seemed. This entire realm was overripe and ready to fall. His lord would not even have to reach out his hand to pluck it. The fruit would be found lying, rotting, on the ground at his feet. Surely this was the clearest possible evidence that the Sartan were no longer involved in the world? The child was the question. Bane had evinced a magical power, but that might be expected of the son of a mysteriarch of the Seventh House. Long ago, before the Sundering, the magics of those wizards had reached the lower level of both Sartan and Patryns. After all this time, they had likely grown in power.

Or Bane could be a young Sartan—clever enough not to reveal himself. Haplo looked over to where the boy sat talking earnestly to the distraught Geg. The Patryn made an almost imperceptible sign with his wrapped hand. The dog, who rarely took his eyes from his master, immediately trotted over to Limbeck and gave the Geg’s limp hand a swipe with his tongue. Limbeck looked up and smiled wanly at the dog, who, tail wagging, settled down comfortably at the Geg’s side.

Haplo drifted over to the opposite end of the vat to stare in seeming absorption at one of the air shafts. He could now hear clearly every word being said.

“You can’t give up,” said the boy. “Not now! The fight’s just beginning!”

“But I never meant there to be a fight,” protested poor Limbeck. “Gegs attacking each other! Nothing like that has ever happened before in our history, and it’s all my fault!”

“Oh, stop whining!” said Bane. Scratching at an itch on his stomach, he looked around the vat and frowned. “I’m hungry. I wonder if they’re going to starve us. I’ll be glad when the Welves get here. I—”

The boy fell suddenly silent, as if someone had bidden him hold his tongue. Haplo, glancing surreptitiously over his shoulder, saw Bane holding the feather amulet, rubbing it against his cheek. When he spoke again, his voice had changed.

“I’ve got an idea, Limbeck,” said the prince, scooting forward to be very near the Geg. “When we leave this place, you can go with us! You’ll see how well the elves and the humans live up above while you Gegs slave down here below. Then you can come back and tell your people what you’ve seen and they’ll be furious. Even this king of yours will have to go along with you. My father and I will help you raise an army to attack the elves and the humans—”

“An army! Attack!” Limbeck stared at him, horrified, and Bane saw that he had gone too far.

“Never mind about that now,” he said, brushing aside world warfare. “The important thing is that you get to see the truth.”

“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!”