“Elven weapons”—Drugar spoke into his thick beard—“drive them away! Elven weapons could have saved my people!”
As if in response, Paithan’s grim voice rose, “But it didn’t drive them far, Durndrun.”
The lord shook his head. “No, not far. They came back, attacked us from behind, using that deadly elemental magic of theirs—hurling fire, rocks dragged from the Mother-knows-where. They took care not to come within sight of us and, when we fled, they didn’t follow.”
“What do they say?” Drugar asked. His hand was beneath his beard; Haplo could see the fingers moving, grasping at something.
“The weapons stopped them, but not for long. The tytans hit them with elemental magic.”
“But they are here, they are alive!”
“Yeah. The elves retreated, the tytans apparently didn’t go after them.” Haplo saw the elflord cast a glance around the group assembled in the coppice, saw him draw Paithan farther into the trees, apparently for private conversation.
“Dog,” Haplo said. The animal lifted its head. A gesture from its master sent the dog padding swiftly, silently after the two elves.
“Pah!” The dwarf spit on the ground at his feet.
“You don’t believe them?” Haplo asked, interested. “You know what elemental magic is?”
“I know,” grunted Drugar, “though we do not use it ourselves. We use”—he pointed a stubby finger at the Patryn’s sigla-covered hands—“that magic.” Haplo was momentarily confounded, stared dumbly at the dwarf. Drugar didn’t appear to notice the man’s discomfiture. Fumbling at his throat, the dwarf drew out an obsidian disk worn on a leather thong, and held it up for the Patryn’s inspection. Haplo leaned over it, saw carved on the rare stone a single rune—a Sartan rune. It was crudely drawn; by itself it possessed little power. Yet he had only to look on his arms to see its counterpart tattooed on his own skin.
“We cannot use them as you do.” The dwarf stared at Haplo’s hands, his gaze hungry and yearning. “We do not know how to put them together. We are like little children: We can speak words, but we don’t know how to string the words into sentences.”
“Who taught you … the rune magic?” Haplo asked when he had recovered sufficiently from his shock to be able to speak.
Drugar lifted his eyes, stared far off, into the jungle. “Legend says … they did.”
Haplo was confused, thought at first he meant the elves. The dwarf’s black eyes were focused higher, almost to the tops of the trees, and the Patryn understood. “The tytans.”
“Some of us believed they would come to us again, help us build, teach us. Instead …” Drugar’s voice rumbled to silence, like thunder fading in the distance.
Another mystery to ponder, to consider. But not here. Not now. Alone … and far away. Haplo saw Paithan and the elflord returning, the dog trotting along unnoticed at their heels. Paithan’s face reflected some internal struggle; an unpleasant one, to judge by his expression. The elflord walked straight to Aleatha who, after assisting Roland with Haplo, had been left standing aloof, alone, at the edge of the copse.
“You’ve been ignoring me/’ she stated.
Lord Durndrun smiled faintly. “I’m sorry, my dear. The gravity of the situation—”
“But the situation’s over,” said Aleatha lightly. “And here am I, in my ‘warrior maid’ costume, dressed to kill, so to speak. But I’ve missed the battle seemingly.” Raising her arms, she presented herself to be admired. “Do you like it? I’ll wear it after we’re married, whenever we have a fight. Though I dare say your mother won’t approve—”
The elflord blenched, covered his pain by averting his face. “You look charming, my dear. And now I have asked your brother to take you home.”
“Well, of course. Ifs almost dinnertime. We’re expecting you. After you’ve cleaned up—”
“There won’t be time, I’m afraid, my dear.” Taking the woman’s hand. Lord Durndrun pressed it to his lips. “Good-bye, Aleatha.” It seemed he meant to release her hand, but Aleatha caught hold of his, held him fast.
“What do you mean, saying ‘good-bye’ in that tone?” She tried to sound teasing, but fear tightened, strained her voice.
“Quindiniar.” Lord Durndrun gently removed the woman’s hand from his. Paithan stepped forward, caught Aleatha by the arm. “We’ve got to go—” Aleatha shook herself free. “Good-bye, My Lord,” she said coldly. Turning her back, she stalked off into the jungle.
“Thea!” Paithan called, worried. She ignored him, kept going. “Damn, she shouldn’t be wandering around alone—” He looked at Roland.
“Oh, all right,” muttered the man, and plunged into the trees.
“Paithan, I don’t understand. What’s going on?” asked Rega.
“I’ll tell you later. Somebody wake up the old man.” Paithan gestured irritably to Zifnab, who lay comfortably beneath a tree, snoring loudly. The elf glanced back at Lord Durndrun. “I’m sorry. My Lord. I’ll talk to her. I’ll explain.”
The elflord shook his head. “No, Quindiniar. It’s best you don’t. I’d rather she didn’t know.”
“My Lord, I think I should come—”
“Good-bye, Quindiniar,” Lord Durndrun said firmly, cutting off the young man’s words. “I’m counting on you.” Gathering his weary troops around him with a gesture, the lord turned and led his small force back into the jungle. Zifnab, assisted by the toe of Rega’s boot, woke with a snort. “What? Hoh? I heard every word! Just resting my eyes. Lids get heavy, you know.” Joints popping and creaking, he rose to his feet, sniffing the air. “Dinnertime. The cook said something about tangfruit. That’s good. We can dry ’em and eat the leftovers on our journey.”
Paithan gave the old man a troubled look, switched his gaze to Haplo. “Are you coming?”
“Go on. I’ve got to take it easy. I’d only slow you down.”
“But the tytans—”
“Go on,” said Haplo, in pain, beginning to lose patience. Taking hold of Rega’s hand, the elf followed after Roland and his sister, who already had a considerable head start.
“I have to go!” said Drugar and hurried to catch up with Paithan and Rega. Once he was even with them, however, he fell about a pace behind, keeping them constantly in his sight.
“I suppose I’ll be forced to walk all that way!” muttered Zifnab peevishly, tottering off. “Where’s that dratted dragon? Never around when I want him, but the moment I don’t, there he is, leaping up, threatening to eat people or making rude remarks about the state of my digestion.” Turning, he peered around at Haplo. “Need any help?”
The Labyrinth take me if I see you again! Haplo told the old man’s retreating back. Crazy old bastard.
Beckoning to the dog, the Patryn motioned the animal close and rested his hand on its head. The private conversation, held between Paithan and the elflord, overheard by the dog, came to Haplo clearly.
It wasn’t much—the Patryn was disappointed. The elflord had said simply that the elves didn’t have a chance. They were all going to die.
“You’re a real bitch, aren’t you?” said Roland.
He’d had a difficult time catching up with the elf woman. He didn’t like crossing the narrow, swinging, ropevine bridges that stretched from treetop to treetop. The jungle floor was far beneath him, the bridge swayed alarmingly whenever he moved. Aleatha, accustomed to walking the bridges, moved across them with ease. She could, in fact, have escaped Roland completely, but that would have meant walking the jungle alone.
Hearing him right behind her, she turned and faced him.
“Kitkninit.[30] You are wasting your breath conversing with me. You even talk like a barbarian!” Aleatha’s hair had come completely undone; it billowed around her, swept back by the speed of her movement along the bridge. A flush of exertion stained her cheeks.