“Everybody below!” the Patryn snapped. “Hurry up. It’s not going to take the tytans long to figure out they’re not as frightened of the dragon as they think they are!”
Wearily, they made their way forward, stumbled down the hatch to the bridge. Haplo was about to turn and follow when he saw Paithan, standing at the railing, staring through the smoke, blinking back tears. His hands clenched the wood.
“Come on, or you’re riding out here!” Haplo threatened.
“The house … can you see it?” Paithan wiped his eyes with an impatient gesture.
“It’s gone, elf, burning! Now will you—” Haplo paused. “There was someone in there. Your sister.”
Paithan nodded, slowly turned away. “I guess it was better that way than … the other.”
“We’re likely to find out if we don’t get out of here ourselves! Sorry, but I’ve got no time for condolences.” Haplo grabbed hold of the elf, hustled him down below.
Inside, it was deathly quiet. The magic protected the ship from the smoke and flame, the dragon outside guarded it from the tytans. The humans and elves and the dwarf had taken refuge in whatever open spaces they could find, huddled together, their eyes fixed on Haplo. He glanced around grimly, not liking his passengers, not liking the situation. His gaze flicked over the dog, lying nose on paws on the deck.
“You happy?” he muttered.
The animal thumped its tail wearily on the boards.
Haplo put his hands on the steering stone, hoping he had strength enough left to take the ship aloft. The sigla began to glow blue and red on his skin, the runes on the stone lit in response. A violent shudder shook the vessel, the boards creaked and shivered.
“Tytans!”
This was the end. He couldn’t fight them, didn’t have the strength. My Lord will know, when I fail to return, that something must have gone wrong. The Lord of the Nexus will be wary, when he comes to this world. Green scales covered the window, almost completely blocking the view. Haplo started, recovered. He knew now what was causing the ship to quake and creak like a rowboat in a storm—a large, scaly body, winding itself round and round. A fiery eye glared through the window at the Patryn.
“Ready when you are, sir,” the dragon announced.
“Ignition! Blast off!” said the old man, settling himself on the deck, his battered hat sliding down over one ear. “The vessel needs a new name!
Something more appropriate to a starship. Apollo? Gemini? Enterprise. Already taken. Millennium Falcon. Trade-marked. All rights reserved. No! Wait, I have it! Dragon Star! That’s it! Dragon Star!”
“Shit,” muttered Haplo, and put his hands back on the steering stone. The ship rose slowly, steadily, into the air. The mensch stood up, stared out the small portholes that lined the hull, watched their world fall away from them.
The dragonship flew over Equilan. The elven city could not be seen for the smoke and flames devouring it and the trees in which it had been built. The dragonship flew over the Kithni Gulf, red with human blood. It flew over Thillia—charred, blackened. Here and there, crouched alongside the broken roads, a dazed, lone survivor could be seen, wandering forlornly through a dead land.
Rising steadily, gaining altitude, the ship passed over the dwarven homeland—dark, deserted.
The ship sailed into the green-blue sky, left the ruined world behind, and headed for the stars.
32
The first part of the voyage to the stars was relatively peaceful. Awed and frightened by the sight of the ground sliding beneath them, the mensch—elven and human—huddled together, pathetically eager for each other’s company and support. They talked repeatedly of the catastrophe that had struck them. Wrapped in the warm blanket of shared tragedy, they attempted to draw even the dwarf into their circle of good fellowship. Drugar ignored them. He sat morose and melancholy in a corner of the bridge, moving from it infrequently, and then only under the duress of dire need. They spoke eagerly about the star to which they were sailing, about their new world and new life. Haplo was amused to observe that, once they were actually on their way to a star, the old man became extremely evasive in describing it.
“What is it like? What causes the light?” asked Roland.
“It is a holy light,” said Lenthan Quindiniar in mild rebuke. “And shouldn’t be questioned.”
“Actually, Lenthan’s right … sort of,” said Zifnab, appearing to grow extremely uncomfortable. “The light is, one might say, holy. And then there’s night.”
“Night? What’s night?”
The wizard cleared his throat with a loud harrumph and glanced around as if for help. Not finding any, he plunged ahead. “Well, you remember the storms you have on your world? Every cycle at a certain time it rains? Night’s similar to that, only every cycle, at a certain time, the light… well… it disappears.”
“And everything’s dark!” Rega was appalled.
“Yes, but it’s not frightening. It’s quite comforting. That’s the time when everyone sleeps: Makes it easy to keep your eyelids shut.”
“I can’t sleep in the dark!” Rega shuddered, and glanced at the dwarf, sitting silently, ignoring them all. “I’ve tried it. I’m not sure about this star. I’m not sure I want to go.”
“You’ll get used to it.” Paithan put his arm around her. “I’ll be with you.” The two snuggled close. Haplo saw looks of disapproval on the faces of the elves, who were watching the loving couple. He saw the same expressions mirrored on the faces of the humans.
“Not in public,” Roland said to his sister, jerking her away from Paithan. There was no further conversation among the mensch about the star. Trouble, Haplo foresaw, was coming to paradise.
The mensch found that the ship was smaller than it had first appeared. Food and water supplies disappeared at an alarming rate. Some of the humans began to remember they had been slaves, some of the elves recalled that they had been masters.
The convivial get-togethers ended. No one discussed their destination—at least as a group. The elves and humans met to talk over matters, but they met separately now and kept their voices low.
Haplo sensed the growing tension and cursed it and his passengers. He didn’t mind divisiveness. He was, in fact, intent on encouraging it. But not on his ship.
Food and water weren’t a problem. He had laid in stores for himself and the dog—making certain he had a variety this time—and he could easily replicate what he had. But who knew how long he would have to feed these people and put up with them? Not without a certain amount of misgiving, he had set his course based on the old man’s instructions. They were flying toward the brightest star in the heavens. Who knew how long it would take them to reach it?
Certainly not Zifnab.
“What’s for dinner?” asked the old wizard, peering down into the hold, where Haplo stood, pondering these questions. The dog, standing at Haplo’s side, looked up and wagged his tail. Haplo glanced at it irritably.
“Sit down!” he muttered.
Noting the relatively small amount of supplies remaining, Zifnab appeared slightly crestfallen, also extremely hungry.
“Never mind, old man. I can take care of the food!” said Haplo. It would mean using his magic again, but at this point, he didn’t suppose it mattered. What interested him more was their destination and how long it would be before he could rid himself of his refugees. “You know something about these stars, don’t you?”
“I do?” Zifnab was wary.
“You claim you do. Talking to them about”—he jerked a thumb in the direction of the main part of the ship where the mensch generally gathered—“this ‘new’ world …”
“New? I didn’t say anything about ‘new,’” Zifnab protested. The old man scratched his head, knocking his hat off. It tumbled down into the hold, landed at Haplo’s feet.