“Humpf!” Calandra sniffed, twitching away from her brother’s touch.
“Let her marry the fellow, Cal—”
“Let her!” Calandra exploded. “I’ll have little enough to say about it, you can be sure of that! Oh, it’s all very well for you to stand there and grin, Paithan Quindiniar, but you won’t be here to face the scandal. This marriage will be the talk of the season. I hear the dowager’s taken to her bed over the news. I’ve no doubt she’ll drag in the queen. And I’ll be the one to deal with it. Father, of course, is less than useless.”
“What’s that, my dear?” came a mild voice behind them. Lenthan Quindiniar stood in the doorway, the old man beside him.
“I said you’ll be less than useless in dealing with Aleatha and this insane notion of hers—marrying Lord Durndrun,” Calandra snapped, in no mood to humor her parent.
“But why shouldn’t they get married? If they love each other—”
“Love! Thea?” Paithan burst out laughing. Noting the confused look on his father’s face and the scow! on his sister’s, the young elf decided it was high time to hit the bridges. “I’ve got to run. Quintin’ll think I’ve fallen through the moss or been eaten by a dragon.” Leaning over, the elf kissed his sister on her cold and withered cheek. “You will let Thea have her way in this, won’t you?”
“I don’t see that I’ve much choice. She’s been having her way in everything since Mother died. Remember what I’ve told you and have a safe trip.” Calandra pursed her lips, pecked Paithan’s chin. The kiss was nearly as sharp as a bird’s beak, and he had to restrain himself from rubbing his skin.
“Father, good-bye.” The elf shook hands. “Good luck with the rockets.” Lenthan brightened visibly. “Did you see the ones we set off last night?
Brilliant bursts of fire above the treetops. I attained real altitude. I’ll bet people could see the blasts all the way to “niillia.”
“I’m sure they could, sir,” agreed Paithan. He turned to the old man.
“Zifnab—”
“Where?” The old man whipped about.
Paithan cleared his throat, kept a straight face. “No, no, sir. I mean you. Your name.” The elf held out his hand. “Remember? Zifnab?”
“Ah, pleased to meet you, Zifnab,” said the old man, shaking hands. “You know, though, that name sure sounds familiar. Are we related?”
Calandra gave him a shove with her hand. “You better get going, Pait.”
“Tell Thea good-bye for me!” Paithan said.
His sister snorted, shook her head, her face grim.
“Have a good trip, Son,” said Lenthan in a wistful tone. “You know, sometimes I think maybe I should go out on the road. I think I might enjoy it… .” Seeing Calandra’s eyes narrow, Paithan struck in hastily, “You let me handle the travel for you. Father. You’ve got to stay here and work on your rockets. Leading the people forth, and all that.”
“Yes, you’re right,” said Lenthan with an air of self-importance. “I had better get started working on that, right now. Are you coming, Zifnab?”
“What? Oh, you talking to me? Yes, yes, my dear fellow. Be along in a jiffy. You might want to increase the amount of sinktree ash. I think we’ll achieve greater lift.”
“Yes, of course! Why didn’t I think of that!” Lenthan beamed, waved vaguely at his son, and hurried into the house.
“Probably won’t have any eyebrows left,” muttered the old man. “But we’ll achieve greater lift. Well, you’re off, are you?”
“Yes, sir.” Paithan grinned, and whispered confidentially, “Mind you don’t let any of that death, doom, and destruction start without me.”
“I won’t.” The old man gazed at him with eyes that were suddenly, unnervingly, shrewd and cunning. He jabbed a gnarled finger in Paithan’s chest. “Doom will come back with you!”
8
Haplo walked slowly around the ship, inspecting it carefully to make certain all was in readiness for his flight. He did not, as had the original builders and masters of the dragonship, inspect the guide ropes and the rigging, the cables that controlled the gigantic wings. He looked intently at the wooden hull, but he wasn’t checking the caulking. He ran his hands over the skin on the wings, but he wasn’t searching for rips or tears. He studied, instead, strange and elaborate symbols that had been carved, burned, stitched, and painted on the wings and the outside of the ship.
Every conceivable inch was covered with the fantastic designs—whorls and spirals; straight lines and curved; dots and dashes; zigzags, circles, and squares. Passing his hand over the sigla, the Patryn murmured to himself, reciting the runes. The sigla would not only protect his ship, the sigia would fly it.
The elves who had built the vessel—named Dragon Wing in honor of Haplo’s journey to the world of Arianus—would not—have recognized their handiwork. Haplo’s own ship had been destroyed on his previous entry through Death’s Gate. He had commandeered the elven ship on Arianus. Due to pursuit by an ancient foe, he had been forced to leave Arianus in haste and had inscribed only those runes absolutely necessary to his survival (and that of his young passenger) through Death’s Gate. Once safely in the Nexus, however, the Patryn had been able to expend both time and magic on modifying the vessel to his own specifications. The ship, designed by the elves of the Tribus Empire, had originally utilized elven magic combined with mechanics. Being extraordinarily strong in his own magic, the Patryn did away completely with the mechanics. Haplo cleared the galley of the confused tangle of rigging and the harnesses worn by the slaves who operated the wings. He left the wings themselves outspread, and embroidered and painted runes on the dragonskin to provide lift, stability, speed, and protection. Runes strengthened the wooden hull; no force existed that was strong enough to crush it or stave it in. Sigla etched into the glass windows of the bridge prevented the glass from cracking while, at the same time, permitting an unobstructed view of the world beyond. Haplo moved inside through the aft hatch, walked the ship’s passageways until he came to the bridge. Here, he gazed about in satisfaction, sensing the full power of the runes come to a focus, converge at this point. He had junked all the elaborate machines devised by the elves to aid in navigation and steering. The bridge, located in the dragon’s “breast,” was now a large, spacious chamber, empty except for a comfortable chair and a round, obsidian globe resting on the deck.
Haplo walked over to the globe, crouched down to inspect it critically. He was careful not to touch it. The runes carved into the obsidian’s surface were so extremely sensitive that even a whisper of breath across them might activate the magic and launch the vessel prematurely.
The Patryn studied the sigla, going over the magic in his mind. The flight, navigation, and protection spells were complex. It took him hours to run through the entire recitation, and he was stiff and sore from lack of movement at the condusion. But he was satisfied, he had not found a single flaw. Haplo stood up, grunting, and flexed his aching muscles. Seating himself in the chair, he looked out upon the city he would soon be leaving. A tongue swiped wetly across his hand.
“What is it, boy?” Haplo glanced down at a nondescript, gangly black dog with white markings. “Think I forgot you?”
The dog grinned and wagged its tail. Bored, it had fallen asleep during the inspection of the steering stone and was pleased to have its master pay attention to it again. White eyebrows, slanting above clear brown eyes, gave the animal an unusually intelligent expression. Haplo stroked the dog’s silky ears, gazed unseeing out at the world spread before him… .
… The Lord of the Nexus walked the streets of his world—a world built for him by his enemies, precious to him because of that very fact. Every finely chiseled marble pillar, every towering granite spire, every graceful minaret or sleek temple dome was a monument to the Sartan, a monument to irony. The lord was fond of walking among them and laughing silently to himself. The lord did not often laugh aloud. It is a noticeable trait among those imprisoned in the Labyrinth that they rarely laugh and when they do, the laughter never brightens their eyes. Even those who have escaped the hellish prison and have entered the wondrous realm of the Nexus do not laugh. Upon their arrival through the Last Gate, they are met by the Lord of the Nexus, who was the first to escape. He says to them only two words.