“Your husband,” said Paithan, when he could catch his bretath. “He might come up, might catch us—”
“No!” Rega murmured, clinging to him fiercely. “No, he’s down there with the dwarf. He’s going to wait … to keep an eye on Drugar. Besides”—she drew a deep breath, moved back slightly so that she could look into Paithan’s face—“it wouldn’t matter if he did catch us. I’ve made a decision. There’s something I have to tell you.”
Paithan ran his hand through her dark hair, entangling his fingers in the thick, shining mass. “You’ve decided to run away with me. I know. It will be for the best. He’ll never find us in my country—”
“Please listen to me and don’t interrupt!” Rega shook her head, nuzzling it beneath Paithan’s hand like a cat wanting to be stroked. “Roland isn’t my husband.” The words came out in a gasp, forced up from the pit of her stomach. Paithan stared at her, puzzled. “What?”
“He’s … my brother. My half-brother.” Rega had to swallow, to keep her throat moist enough to talk.
Paithan continued to hold her, but his hands were suddenly cold. He recalled the conversation in the glade; it took on a new and more sinister meaning.
“Why did you lie to me?”
Rega felt his hands tremble, felt the chill in his fingers, saw his face pale and grow cold as his hands. She couldn’t meet his intense, searching gaze. Her eyes lowered, sought her feet.
“We didn’t lie to you,” she said, trying to make her voice light. “We lied to everyone. Safety, you see. Men don’t … bother me if they think … I’m married …” She felt him stiffen, and looked at him. Her words dried up, cracked. “What’s wrong? I thought you’d be pleased! Don’t … don’t you believe me?”
Paithan shoved her away. Tripping over a vine, Rega stumbled and fell. She started to get up, but the elf stood over her, his frightening gaze pinned her to the moss.
“Believe you? No! Why should I? You’ve lied to me before! And you’re lying now. Safety! I overheard you and your brother”—he spit the word—“talking. I heard about your little scheme to seduce me and then blackmail me! You bitch!” Paithan turned his back on her, stalked over to the path that led into town. He set his foot on it; kept walking, determined to leave the pain and the horror of this trip behind him. He didn’t move very fast, however, and his walk slowed further when he heard a rustling in the undergrowth and the sound of light footfalls hurrying after him.
A hand touched his arm. Paithan continued walking, didn’t look around.
“I deserved that,” said Rega. “I am … what you said. I’ve done terrible things in my life. Oh, I could tell you”—her grip on Paithan tightened—“I could tell you that it wasn’t my fault. You might say life has been like a mother to Roland and me: every time we turn around, it smacks us in the face. I could tell you that we live the way we do because that’s how we survive. But it wouldn’t be true.
“No, Paithan! Don’t look at me. I want to say one more thing and then you can go. If you know about the plan we had to blackmail you, then you know that I didn’t go through with it. I wasn’t being noble. I was being selfish. Whenever you look at me, I feel … ugly. I meant what I said. I do love you. And that’s why I’m letting you go. Good-bye, Paithan.” Her hand slid from his arm. Paithan turned, captured the hand and kissed it. He smiled ruefully into the brown eyes. “I’m not such a prize, you know. Look at me. I was ready to seduce a married woman, ready to carry you off from your husband. I love you, Rega. That was my excuse. But the poets say that when you love someone, you want only the best for the other person. That means you come out ahead in our game, because you wanted the best for me.” The elf’s smile twisted. “And so did I.”
“You love me, Paithan? You truly love me?”
“Yes, but—”
“No.” Her hand covered his lips. “No, don’t say anything else. I love you and if we love each other, nothing else matters. Not then, not now, not whatever comes.”
Doom and destruction. The old man’s words echoed in Paithan’s heart. He ignored the voice. Taking Rega in his arms, he shoved his fear firmly back into the shadows, along with various other nagging doubts such as “where will this relationship lead?” Paithan didn’t see why that question needed to be answered. Right now their love was leading to pleasure, and that was all that mattered.
“I warned you, elf!”
Roland had apparently grown tired of waiting. He and the dwarf stood before them. The human yanked his raztar from his belt. “I warned you to keep away from her! Blackbeard, you’re a witness—”
Rega, snuggled in Paithan’s embrace, smiled at her brother. “It’s over, Roland. He knows the truth.”
“He knows?” Roland stared, amazed.
“I told him,” sighed Rega, looking back up into Paithan’s eyes.
“Well, that’s great! That’s just dandy!” Roland hurled the raztar blades-down into the moss, rage conveniently masking his fear. “First we lose the money from the weapons, now we lose the elf. Just what are we supposed to live on—” The boom of a huge, snakeskin drum rolled through the jungle, scaring the birds, sending them flapping and shrieking up from the trees. The drum boomed out again and yet again. Roland hushed, listening, his face gone pale. Rega tensed in the elf’s arms, her gaze going to the direction of the town.
“What is it?” asked Paithan.
“They’re sounding the alarm. Calling out the men to defend the village against an attack!” Rega looked around fearfully. The birds had risen into the air with the sound of the drum, but they had ceased their raucous protest. The jungle was suddenly still, deathly quiet.
“You wanted to know what you were going to live on?” Paithan glanced at Roland. “That might not be much of an issue.”
No one was paying any attention to the dwarf, or they would have seen Drugar’s lips, beneath the beard, part in a rictus grin.
23
They ran down the trail, heading for the security of the village. The path was clear, well traveled, and flat. Adrenaline pumped, lending them impetus. They were in sight of the village when Roland came a halt.
“Wait!” he gasped. “Blackbeard.”
Rega and Paithan stopped, hands and bodies coming together, leaning on each other for support.
“Why—?”
“The dwarf. He couldn’t keep up,” said Roland, catching his breath. “They won’t let him inside the gates without us to vouch for him.”
“Then he’d just go back to the tunnels,” said Rega. “Maybe that’s what he did anyway. I don’t hear him.” She crowded closer to Paithan. “Let’s keep moving!”
“Go ahead,” said Roland harshly. “I’ll wait.”
“What’s got into you?”
“The dwarf saved our lives.”
“Your hus—brother’s right,” said Paithan. “We should wait for him.” Rega shook her head, frowning. “I don’t like it. I don’t like him. I’ve seen him look at us, sometimes, and I—”
The sound of booted feet and heavy breathing interrupted her. Drugar stumbled along the path, head down, feet and arms pumping. He was watching the path, not where he was going, and would have plowed right into Roland, if the man hadn’t reached out a restraining hand.
The dwarf looked up, dizzily, blinking back the sweat that was running into his eyes. “Why … stopped?” he demanded when he could spare breath to talk.
“Waiting for you,” said Roland.
“All right, he’s here. Let’s get going!” said Rega, glancing around uneasily. The sound of the drumbeats pounded like their hearts, the only sounds in the jungle.
“Here, Blackbeard, I’ll give you a hand,” offered Roland.
“Leave me alone!” Drugar snarled, jerking back. “I can keep up.”
“Suit yourself.” Roland shrugged, and they started off again, pace slightly slower, to accommodate the dwarf.