“We’re going off on a trip? Well, of course we are.” Zifnab reached out, gingerly patted Haplo’s arm. “That’s why we’re here. Nice young man you’ve got,” he added, speaking to the dog, “but addled.” The wizard hopped over the rail and proceeded across the top deck, moving toward the bridge with surprising speed and agility for one of “advanced years.”
“Damn!” swore Haplo, bounding after him. “Dog!” The animal leapt ahead, sped across the deck. Zifnab had already disappeared down the ladder leading to the bridge. The dog jumped after him. Haplo followed. Sliding down the ladder, he ran after and onto the bridge, Zifnab was staring curiously at the rune-covered steering stone. The dog stood beside him, watching. The old man stretched out a hand to touch. The dog growled, and Zifnab quickly snatched his hand back.
Haplo paused in the hatchway, considering. He was a passive observer, not supposed to directly interfere with life in this world. But now he had no choice. The old man had seen the runes. Not only that, he had unraveled them. He knew, therefore, who the Patryn was. He couldn’t be allowed to spread that knowledge further. Besides, he was—he must be—a Sartan.
“Circumstances on Arianus prevented me from avenging myself on our ancient enemy. Now, I’ve got another Sartan, and this time it won’t matter. No one will miss crazy Zifnab. Hell, that Quindiniar woman will probably give me a medal!
Haplo stood in the hatchway, his body blocking the bridge’s only exit. “I warned you. You shouldn’t have come down here, old man. Now you’ve seen what you shouldn’t have seen.” He began to unwind the bandages. “Now you’re going to have to die. I know you’re a Sartan. They’re the only ones who have the power to unravel my magic. Tell me one thing. Where are the rest of your people?”
“I was afraid of this,” said Zifnab, gazing at Haplo sadly. “This is no way for a savior to behave, you know that.”
“I’m no savior. In a way, you might say I’m the opposite. I’m supposed to bring trouble, chaos, to prepare for the day • when My Lord will enter this world and claim it for his own. We will rule who, by rights, should have ruled long ago. You must know who I am, now. Take a look around you, Sartan. Recognize the runes? Or maybe you’ve known who I was all along. After all, you predicted my coming. I’d like to know how you did that.” Unwinding the bandages, revealing the sigla tattooed on his hands, Haplo advanced on the old man.
Zifnab did not back up, did not retreat before him. The old man stood his ground, facing the Patryn with an air of quiet dignity. “You’ve made a mistake,” he said, his voice quiet, his .eyes suddenly sharp and shrewd. “I’m not a Sartan.”
“Uh, huh.” Haplo tossed the bandages onto the deck, rubbing the runes on his skin. “Just the fact that you’re denying it proves my point. Except the Sartan were never known to lie. But then, they were never known to go senile either.” Haplo grabbed hold of the old man’s arm, feeling the bones fragile and brittle in his grasp. “Talk, Zifnab, or whatever your real name is. I have the power to rupture the bones, one by one, inside your flesh. It’s an extremely painful way to die. I’ll start on the hands, work my way down your body. By the time I reach your spine, you’ll be begging me for release.”
At his feet, the dog whined and rubbed against the Patryn’s knee. Haplo ignored the animal, his grip tightened around Zifnab’s wrist. He placed his other hand, palm down, directly over the old man’s heart.
“Tell me the truth, and I’ll end it quickly. What I do to bones, I can do to organs. The heart bursts. It’s painful, but fast.”
*
Haplo had to give the old man credit. Stronger men than Zifnab had trembled in the Patryn’s grasp. The old man was calm. If he was afraid, he controlled his fear well.
“I am telling you the truth. I’m not a Sartan.”
Haplo’s grip tightened. He made ready to speak the first rune, the rune that would send a jolt of agony through the frail body. Zifnab held perfectly still.
“As for how I undid your magic, there are forces in this universe of which you have no knowledge.” The eyes, never leaving Haplo’s face, narrowed. “Forces that have remained hidden because you have never searched for them.”
“Then why don’t you use these forces to save your life, old man?”
“I am.”
Haplo shook his head in disgust and spoke the first rune. The sigla on his hand glowed blue. The power flowed from his body into the old man’s. Haplo could feel wrist bones burst and turn to mush in his grip. Zifnab gave a suppressed groan.
Haplo barely saw, out of the corner of his eye, the dog hurtling through the air toward him. He had time to raise his arm to block the attack. The force of the blow knocked him to the deck, slammed the air from his body. He lay gasping, trying to catch his breath. The dog stood over him, licking his face.
“Dear, dear. Are you hurt, my boy?” Zifnab leaned over him solicitously, offering a hand to help him up—the same hand Haplo had crushed. Haplo stared at it, saw the wrist bones standing out clearly beneath the stretched, aged skin. They appeared whole and intact. The old man had not spoken any runes, traced any in the air. Haplo, studying the field of magic around him, could detect no sign that it had been disturbed. But he had felt the bone break!
Shoving the old man’s hand aside, Haplo regained his feet. “You’re good,” he acknowledged. “But how long can you keep it up? An old geezer like you.” He took a step toward the old man and halted. The dog stood between them.
“Dog! Get!” ordered Haplo.
The animal held its ground, gazed up at its master with unhappy, pleading eyes.
Zifnab, smiling gently, patted the black-furred head. “Good boy. I thought so.” He nodded wisely, solemnly. “I know all about the dog, you see.”
“Whatever the devil that means!”
“Precisely, dear boy,” said the old man, beaming at him. “And now that we’re all nicely acquainted, we’d best be on our way.” Zifnab turned around, hovered over the steering stone, rubbing his hands eagerly. “I’m really curious to see how this works.” Reaching into a pocket of his mouse-colored robes, he pulled out a chain to which nothing was attached, and stared at it. “My ears and whiskers! We’re late.”
Haplo glared at the dog. “Get!”
The dog slunk down on its belly, crawled across the deck and took refuge in a corner. Head lying on its paws, the animal whimpered. Haplo took a step toward the old man.
“Let’s get this show on the road!” Zifnab stated emphatically, snapping shut nothing and slipping the chain back in his pocket. “Paithan’s in danger—”
“Paithan.” Haplo paused.
“Quindiniar’s son. Fine lad. You can ask him those questions you’ve been wanting to ask: all about the political situation among the humans, what it would take to make the elves go to war, how to stir up the dwarves. Paithan knows all the answers. Not that it will make much difference now.” Zifnab sighed, shook his head. “Politics don’t matter to the dead. But we’ll save some of them. The best and the brightest. And, now, we really must be going.” The old man gazed around with interest. “How do you fly this contraption anyway?”
Irritably scratching the tattoos on the back of his hand, Haplo stared at the old wizard.
A Sartan—he has to be! That’s the only way he could heal himself. Unless he didn’t heal himself. Maybe I made a mistake in the rune-twining, maybe I only thought I crushed his wrist. And the dog, protecting him. That doesn’t mean much. The animal takes strange likings. There was that time on Arianus when the mutt saved the life of that dwarven woman I was going to have to kill. Destroyer, savior …