46
The elven dragonship hung motionless in the thin, chill air. having reached the floating chunks of ice known as the firmament, it had come to a halt, no one daring to proceed further. Ice floes ten times larger than the vessel loomed above them. Smaller boulders circled the more massive chunks; the air glistened with tiny droplets of frozen water. The sun’s glare off the floebergs dazzled the eye; no one could look at them directly without being blinded. How thick the firmament was, how far it reached, was anyone’s guess. No one, except the mysteriarchs and the Sartan, had ever flown this high and returned to give an account of their journey. Maps had been drawn from speculation, and now everyone on board ship knew them to be inaccurate. No one had guessed the mysteriarchs had passed through the firmament to build their realm on the other side.
“Natural defense barrier,” said Hugh, peering with narrowed eyes at the awful beauty outside the porthole. “No wonder they’ve kept their wealth undisturbed all these years.”
“How do we get through it?” asked Bane. The child was standing on tiptoe to see.
“We don’t.”
“But we have to!” The prince’s voice shrilled. “I have to get to my father!”
“Kid, one of the ice boulders—even a little one—hits us, and our bodies will be just another star twinkling in the daytime sky. Maybe you better tell daddy to come get you.”
Bane’s face smoothed, the flush of anger faded. “Thank you for the suggestion, Sir Hugh.” His hand clasped around the feather. “I’ll do just that. And I’ll be certain to tell him all you’ve done for me. All of you.” His glance encompassed everyone from Alfred to a beauty-dazed Limbeck, to Haplo’s dog.
“I’m certain he’ll reward you ... as you deserve.” Skipping across the deck, Bane plunked himself down in a corner of the hold and, closing his eyes, apparently began to commune with his father.
“I didn’t like that little pause he put in between ‘reward’ and ‘deserve,’” remarked Haplo. “What’s to keep this wizard from snatching his kid and sending us up in flames?”
“Nothing, I suppose,” answered Hugh, “except that he wants something and it’s not just his little boy. Otherwise, why go to all this trouble?”
“Sorry, you’ve lost me.”
“Alfred, come here. Look, you said that this Sinistrad came to the castle at night, switched babies, and then left. How’d he manage that with guards all around?”
“The mysteriarchs have the power to transport themselves through the air. Trian explained it thus to His Majesty the king: the spell is done by means of sending the mind on ahead of the body. Once the mind is firmly established in a particular location, it can call for the body to join it. The only requirement to the spell-caster is that he must have previously visited the place, so that he can mentally call up an accurate picture of where he’s going. The mysteriarchs had often visited the Royal Palace on Uylandia, which is nearly as old as the world.”
“But he couldn’t, for example, send himself to the Low Realm or the elven palace on Aristagon?”
“No, sir, he couldn’t. Not mentally, at least. None of them could. The elves hated and feared the mysteriarchs and never allowed them in their kingdom. The wizards couldn’t travel to the Low Realm that way either, since they’d never been there before. They’d have to rely on other means of transport . . . Oh, I see your point, sir!”
“Uh-huh. First Sinistrad tried to get my ship. That failed, and now he has this one. If he—”
“Hush, company,” murmured Haplo.
The door to the brig opened and Captain Bothar’el, flanked by two crew members, entered. “You”—he pointed to Hugh—“come with me.” Shrugging, the Hand did as he was told, not sorry to get a glimpse of what was going on above. The door slammed shut behind them, the guard locked it, and Hugh followed the elf up the ladder to the top deck. It was not until he arrived on the bridge that he noticed Haplo’s dog trotting at his heels.
“Where did that come from?” The captain glared at the animal irritably. The dog gazed up at him, brown eyes shining, tongue lolling, tail wagging.
“I don’t know. He followed me, I guess.”
“Midshipman, get that thing off the bridge. Take it back to its master and tell him to keep an eye on it or I’ll toss it overboard.”
“Yes, sir.”
The midshipman bent down to pick up the dog. The animal’s demeanor changed instantly. Its ears flattened and the tail ceased wagging and began a slow and ominous brush from side to side. The lips parted in a snarl, a low growl rumbled in the chest.
“If you are fond of those fingers,” the animal seemed to say, “you better keep them to yourself.”
The midshipman took the dog’s advice. Putting his hands behind his back, he looked questioningly and fearfully at his captain.
“Dog . . .” tried Hugh experimentally. The animal’s ears lifted slightly. It glanced at him, keeping one eye fixed on the midshipman but letting Hugh know it considered him a friend.
“Here, dog,” ordered Hugh, clumsily snapping his fingers. The dog turned his head, asking him if he was sure about this. Hugh snapped his fingers again, and the dog, with a parting snarl at the hapless elf, ambled over to Hugh, who patted it awkwardly. It sat down at his feet.
“It’ll be all right. I’ll watch him—”
“Captain, the dragon is closing on us,” reported a lookout.
“Dragon?” Hugh looked at the elf.
Captain Bothar’el, in answer, pointed.
Hugh walked over to the ship’s porthole and stared out. Threading its way through the firmament, the dragon was barely visible, appearing as a river of silver flowing among the floebergs—a river of silver with two flaming red eyes.
“Do you know its type, human?”
“A quicksilver.” Hugh had to pause, to think of the elven word.
“Silindistani.”
“We can’t outrun it,” said Captain Bothar’el. “Look at its speed! It is well-named. We’ll have to fight.”
“I don’t think so,” offered Hugh. “My guess is we’re about to meet the boy’s father.”
Elves dislike and distrust dragons intensely. The elf wizards’ magic cannot control them and the knowledge that humans can has always throbbed like a rotting tooth in the elven mouth. The elves aboard the ship were nervous and ill-at-ease in the presence of the quicksilver dragon. It wound and writhed and twisted its long, shining body around their vessel. The elves shifted their heads constantly to keep the creature in view, or jumped in startlement whenever the head shot up in a place where it had not been two seconds earlier. Such nervous reactions appeared to amuse the mysteriarch standing on the bridge. Though the wizard was graciousness itself, Hugh could see the glint beneath the lashless eyelids, and a small smile flickered occasionally across the thin and bloodless lips.
“I am eternally in your debt, Captain Bothar’el,” said Sinistrad. “My child means more to me than all the treasures of the High Realm.” Looking down at the boy, who was clinging to his hand and gazing up at him in unfeigned admiration, Sinistrad enlarged his smile.
“I was glad to be of service. As the boy explained, we are now considered outlaws by our people. We must find and join the rebel forces. He promised us payment—”
“Oh, and you will receive it, in abundance, I assure you. And you must see our enchanting realm and meet our people. We have so few guests. We become quite weary of each other. Not that we encourage visitors,” Sinistrad added delicately. “But this is a special circumstance.” Hugh glanced at Haplo, who had been brought to the bridge with the other “guests” upon Sinistrad’s arrival. The assassin would have liked very much to get some indication of what Haplo thought of all this. They couldn’t speak, of course, but even a raised eyebrow or a quick wink would tell Hugh that Haplo wasn’t swallowing this honeyed fruit either. But Haplo was staring at Sinistrad so intently the man might have been counting the pores in the wizard’s long nose.