30
Haplo regained consciousness to find himself surrounded—not by tytans—but by everyone he’d met in this world, plus what appeared to be half the elven army. Groaning, he glanced at the dog.
“This is all your doing.”
The dog wagged its tail, tongue lolling, grinning, relishing the praise, not realizing it wasn’t. Haplo stared at those hovering above him. They stared back—their gazes suspicious, dubious, expectant. The old man, alone, regarded him with intense anxiety.
“Are … are you all right?” asked the human woman—he couldn’t remember her name. Her gaze went to his shoulder. Timidly, she reached out a hand. “Can we do … anything!”
“Don’t touch!” Haplo said, through clenched teeth. The woman’s hand darted back. Of course, that was an open invitation for the elf female to kneel down beside him. Sitting up painfully, he thrust her aside with his good hand.
“You!” he said, looking at Roland. “You’ve got to help me … put this back!” Hap!o indicated his dislocated shoulder, hanging at an odd angle from the rest of his body.
Roland nodded, crouched down on his knees. His hands moved to take off Haplo’s shirt, the leather vest he wore over it. The Patryn caught hold of the human’s hand in his own.
“Just set the shoulder.”
“But the shirt’s in the way—”
“Just the shoulder.”
Roland looked into the man’s eyes, looked hurriedly away. The human began to gently probe the injured area. More elves moved closer to watch; Paithan among them. He had been standing on the fringes of the group surrounding Haplo, conversing with another elf dressed in the torn and bloody remnants of what must have been an elegant dress uniform. Hearing Haplo’s voice, the two elves broke off their conversation.
“Whatever/s underneath that shirt of yours must be something special,” said the elf woman, Aleatha. “Is it?”
Roland cast her a dark glance. “Don’t you have somewhere else to go?”
“Sorry,” she answered coolly, “I didn’t understand what you said. I don’t speak human.”
Roland scowled. He’d been speaking elven. He hied to ignore her. It wasn’t easy. She was leaning over Haplo, exposing the full curve of her round breasts.
For whose benefit, the Patryn wondered. He would have been amused if he hadn’t been so angry at himself. Looking at Roland, Haplo thought that this time Aleatha might have met her match. The human was strictly business. The human’s strong hands grasped Haplo’s arm firmly.
“This is going to hurt.”
“Yeah.” Haplo’s jaw ached from gritting his teeth. It didn’t need to hurt. He could use the magic, activate the runes. But he was damn sick and tired of revealing his power to one-fourth the known universe! “Get on with it!”
“I think you should hurry,” said the elf standing near Paithan. “We’ve beaten them back, but it’s only for the time being, I’m afraid.” Roland glanced around. “I need one of you men to hold him—”
“I can do it,” answered Aleatha.
“This is important,” Roland snapped. “I don’t need some female who’s going to pass out—”
“I never faint … without a good reason.” Aleatha favored him with a sweet smile. “How’s your cheek? Does it hurt?”
Roland grunted, keeping his eyes on his patient. “Hold him fast, brace him back against this tree so that he doesn’t twist when I pop the bone in place.”
Aleatha grasped hold of him, ignoring Haplo’s protests.
“I don’t need anyone to hold me!” He brushed aside the woman’s hands. “Wait a minute, Roland. Not yet. Let me ask …” He twisted his head, hying to see the elf in the elegant uniform, interested in what he had said. “Beat them!
What—How? …”
Pain flashed through his arm, shoulder, down his back, up his head. Haplo sucked in a breath that caught and rattled in his throat.
“Can you move it now?” Roland sat back on his haunches, wiped sweat from his face.
The dog, whimpering, crept to Haplo’s side and licked his wrist. Gingerly, biting his teeth against the agony, Haplo moved his arm in the shoulder socket.
“I should bandage it,” protested Roland, seeing Haplo struggling to stand. “It could go back out again, real easy. Everything’s all stretched inside.”
“I’ll be all right,” Haplo said, holding his injured shoulder, fighting back the temptation to use the runes, complete the healing. When he was alone … and that would be soon, if all went well! Alone and away from this place! He leaned back against the tree trunk, closed his eyes, hoping the man and the elf woman would take the hint and leave him to himself. He heard footsteps walking away, he didn’t care where. Paithan and the elflord had resumed their conversation.
“… scouts reported that conventional weapons had no effect on them. The humans’ defeat in Thillia made that obvious. Humans using our magical weapons proved somewhat more effective, but were eventually beaten. That’s to be expected. They can use the magic that is in the weapon, but they can’t enhance it, as we can. Not that enhancing helped us much. Our own wizards were completely at a loss. We threw everything we had at them and only one proved successful.”
“The dracos, my lord?” said Paithan.
“Yes, the dracos.”
What the devil was a draco? Haplo opened his eyes, peered through half-closed lids. The elflord held one in his hands, apparently. Both he and Paithan were studying it intently. So did Haplo. The draco was similar in appearance to a railbow, except that it was considerably larger. The projectiles it fired were carved out of wood, fashioned to resemble small dragons.
“It’s effectiveness doesn’t appear to be in the wounds the draco inflicts. Most didn’t get close enough to the tytans to inflict any,” the lord added ruefully. “It’s —the look of the draco itself that frightens them. Whenever we loose the dracos, the monsters don’t try to fight. They simply turn and run!” The elflord glared at the weapon in frustration, shaking it slightly. “I wish I knew what it was about this particular weapon that frightens them off! Maybe we could defeat them!”
Haplo stared at the draco, eyes narrowed. He knew why! He presumed that when it was fired at the enemy, it came to life—elven weapons sometimes operated that way. It would appear to the tytans’ senses as if they were being attacked by a small dragon. He recalled the sensation of overwhelming terror emanating from the rytan when the dragon had appeared in the glade. So, the dragons could conceivably be used to control the monsters.
My lord will find that most interesting, thought Haplo, smiling quietly and rubbing his shoulder.
A nudge at his belt drew his attention. Looking down, he saw the dwarf, Blackbeard or Drugar or whatever he was called. How long has he been standing there? Haplo hadn’t noticed, and he cursed himself for not noticing. One tended to forget the dwarf and, from the look in the dark eyes, that tendency could be fatal.
“You speak my language.” It wasn’t a question. Drugar already knew the answer. Haplo wondered briefly, how?
“Yes.” The Patryn didn’t think it necessary to He.
“What are they saying?” Drugar nodded a shaggy head at Paithan and the elflord. “I speak human, but not elven.”
“They’re talking about that weapon the elf’s holding in his hand. It apparently has some effect on the tytans. It makes them run away.” The dwarf’s brows beetled, his eyes seemed to sink back into his head, practically invisible except for the sparkling hate in their black depths. The Patryn knew and appreciated hatred—hatred kept those trapped in the Labyrinth alive. He had been wondering why Drugar was traveling with people the dwarf made no secret of despising. Haplo thought suddenly that he understood.