Drugar stood in the hatchway, whetting his knife against the wood. The heavy-footed dwarves are clumsy when it comes to stalking prey. Drugar knew it was impossible for him to sneak up on anything. He would let his victims get a long head start before he went in after them.
35
“I was right. It’s the same! What does it mean? What does it all mean?”
Before him stood a city crafted of starlight. At least, that’s how it appeared until Haplo drew closer. Its radiant beauty was incredible. He might not have believed in it, might have feared it was a hick of a mind gone stir-crazy from being cooped up with the mensch for lord knew how long. Except that he had seen it all before.
Only not here. In the Nexus.
But there was a difference, a difference that Haplo found grimly ironic. The city in the Nexus was dark—a star, perhaps, whose light had died. Or had never been born.
“What do you think, dog?” he said, patting the animal’s head. “It’s the same, isn’t it? Same exactly.”
The city was built up off the jungle floor, rising from behind an enormous wall, rising taller than the tallest trees. A towering, pillared, crystal spire balanced on a dome formed of marble arches stood in the city’s center. The top of the spire must be one of the highest points in this world, thought Haplo, gazing up. It was from this center spire that the light beamed most brightly. The Patryn could barely look at it for the dazzling gleam. Here, in the spire, the light had been deliberately concentrated, sent beaming out into the sky.
“Like the light of a guide fire,” he said to the dog. “Only who or what is it supposed to be guiding?”
The animal glanced about uneasily, not interested. The skin of its neck twitched, causing the dog to lift its hind leg and start to scratch, only to decide that maybe the itch wasn’t the problem. The dog didn’t know what the problem was. It knew only that there was one. It whined, and Haplo petted it to keep it still. The center spire was framed by four other spires, duplicates of the first, and stood on the platform holding the dome. On a level beneath that, stood eight more identical spires. Gigantic marble steppes lifted up from behind these spires. Similar to land steppes that had undoubtedly been their models, they supported buildings and dwelling places. And finally, at each end of the guard wall stood another pillar. If this city was built on the same plan as the city in the Nexus—and Haplo had no reason to think otherwise—there would be four such pillars, located at the cardinal direction points.
Haplo continued on through the jungle, the dog trotting along at his heels. Both moved easily and silently amid the tangled undergrowth, leaving no trace of their passage except the faint, swiftly fading glow of runes on the leaves. And then the jungle ended, abruptly, as if someone had plowed it under. Ahead, drenched in bright sunlight, a path cut into jagged rock. Keeping to the shadows of the trees, Haplo leaned out, put his hand on the stone. It was real, hard, gritty, warm from the sun, not an illusion as he had first suspected.
“A mountain. They built the city on the top of a mountain.” He gazed upward, saw the path snake across the rock.
The trail was smooth, clearly marked, and anyone walking it would be highly visible to eyes watching from the city walls.
Haplo took a swig of water from the skin, shared it with the dog, and gazed thoughtfully, intently, at the city. The Patryn thought back to the crude homes of the mensch, made of wood, perched in trees.
“There’s no question. The Sartan built this. And they may be up there now. We may be walking into a couple of thousand of them.”
He bent down, examined the path, though he knew it was a futile gesture. Wind whistling mournfully through the boulders would blow away any trace he might have found of people passing.
Haplo took out the bandages he had stuffed into a pocket and began to wind them slowly and deliberately around his hands. “Not that this disguise will do us much good,” he advised the dog, who appeared disturbed at the thought. “Back on Arianus, that Sartan who called himself Albert caught onto us quickly enough. But we were careless, weren’t we, boy?”
The dog didn’t seem to think so, but decided not to argue.
“Here, we’ll be more alert.”
Haplo hefted the waterskin, stepped out of the jungle and onto the rock-strewn path that wound among boulders and a few scrubby pine trees clinging tenaciously to the sides. He blinked in the brilliant sunlight, then started forward.
“Just a couple of travelers, aren’t we, boy? A couple of travelers … who saw their light.”
“It’s quite kind of you to come with me,” said Lenthan Quindiniar.
“Tut, tut. Think nothing of it,” answered Zifnab.
“I don’t believe I could have made it alone. You have a really remarkable way of moving through the jungle. It’s almost as if the trees step aside when they see you coming.”
“More like they run when they see him coming,” boomed a voice from far below the moss.
“That’ll be enough from you!” growled Zifnab, glaring down, stomping at the ground with his foot.
“I’m getting extremely hungry.”
“Not now. Come back in an hour.”
“Humpf.” Something large slithered through the undergrowth.
“Was that the dragon?” Lenthan asked, looking slightly worried. “He won’t harm her, will he? If they should happen to meet?”
“No, no,” said Zifnab, peering about. “He’s under my control. Nothing to fear. Absolutely nothing. You didn’t happen to notice which way he went? Not that it matters.” The old man nodded, beard wagging. “Under my control. Yes. Absolutely.”
He glanced nervously over his shoulder. The two men sat, resting, on the branches of an ancient tree, overgrown with moss, that stood in a cool, shady clearing, sheltered from the sweltering sun.
“And thank you for bringing me to this star. I truly appreciate it,” continued Lenthan. He looked about him in quiet satisfaction, hands resting on his knees, gazing at the twisted trees and clinging vines and flitting shadows. “Do you think she’s far from here? I’m feeling rather tired.”
Zifnab observed Lenthan, smiled gently. His voice softened. “No, not far, my friend.” The old man patted Lenthan’s pale, wasted hand. “Not far. In fact, I don’t think we need travel any farther. I think she will come to us.”
“How wonderful!” A flush of color crept into the elf’s pallid cheeks. He stood up, searching eagerly, but almost immediately sank back down. The color in the cheeks faded, leaving them gray and waxy. He gasped for air. Zifnab put his arm around the elf’s shoulders, held him comfortingly.
Lenthan drew a shivering breath, attempted a smile. “I shouldn’t have stood up so fast. Made me extremely dizzy.” He paused, then added, “I do believe I’m dying.”
Zifnab patted Lenthan’s hand. “There, there, old chap. No need to jump to conclusions. Just one of your bad spells, that’s all. It will pass …”
“No, please. Don’t lie to me.” Lenthan smiled wanly. “I’m ready. I’ve been lonely, you see. Very lonely.”
The old man dabbed at his eyes with the tip of his beard. “You won’t be lonely again, my friend. Not ever again.”
Lenthan nodded, then sighed.
“It’s just that I’m so weak. I’ll need my strength to travel with her when she comes. Would … would you mind terribly if I leaned up against your shoulder? Just for a little while? Until everything stops spinning around?”
“I know just how you feel,” said Zifnab. “Confounded ground won’t stay put like it did when we were young. I blame a lot of it on modern technology. Nuclear reactors.”
The old man settled back against the tree’s broad trunk, the elf leaned his head on the wizard’s shoulder. Zifnab prattled on, something about quarks. Lenthan liked the sound of the old man’s voice, though he wasn’t listening to the words. A smile on his lips, he watched the shadows patiently and waited for his wife.