“Now what do we do?” Roland demanded, glaring at Aleatha in anger. He gestured ahead of them, at the murky water that blocked that path. “I told you she shouldn’t have come, elf. We’ll have to leave her behind.”
“No one’s leaving me behind!” returned Aleatha, but she hung back behind the others, taking care not to get too near the dark, stagnant pool. She spoke her own tongue, but she understood the humans. The elves and humans might have spent their time on board ship fighting, but at least they’d learned to insult each other in each other’s language.
“Maybe there’s a way around it,” said Paithan.
“If there is”—Rega wiped sweat from her face—“it’ll take us days to cut through the jungle to find it! I don’t know how those old men are making it through this tangle so swiftly.”
“Magic,” muttered Roland. “And it was probably magic got them over this filthy water. It’s not going to help us, though. We’ll have to wade it or swim it.”
“Swim!” Aleatha recoiled, shuddering.
Roland said nothing, but he flashed her a glance—and that glance said it all. Pampered, spoiled brat …
Tossing her hair, Aleatha ran forward and, before Paithan could stop her, waded into the pond.
She sank to her shins. The water spread out in sullen, oily ripples—ripples suddenly parted by a sinuous shape sliding rapidly on top of the water toward the elf woman.
“Snake!” Roland cried, plunging into the water in front of Aleatha, slashing wildly with his raztar.
Paithan dragged Aleatha back onto the bank. Roland fought furiously, churning up the water. Losing sight of his prey, he stopped, staring around.
“Where did it go? Do you see it?”
“I think it went over there, into the reeds.” Rega pointed. Roland clamored out, keeping a sharp watch, his raztar ready. “You idiot!” He could barely speak for rage. “It could have been poisonous! You nearly got yourself killed!”
Aleatha stood shivering in her wet clothes, her face deathly pale, gaze defiant. “You’re not … leaving me behind,” she said, barely able to talk for her chattering teeth. “If you can cross … so can I!”
“We’re wearing leather boots, leather clothes! We have a chance—Oh, what’s the use!” Grabbing hold of Aleatha, Roland lifted her—gasping and spluttering—in his arms.
“Put me down!” Aleatha squirmed, kicked. She spoke human inadvertently, without thinking.
“Not yet. I’ll wait until I reach the middle,” muttered Roland, wading into the water.
Aleatha stared into the water, remembering, and shuddered. Her hands stole around his neck, clasping him closely. “You won’t, will you?” she said, clinging to him.
Roland glanced at the face so near his. The purple eyes, wide with terror, were dark as wine and far more intoxicating. Her hair floated around him, tickling his skin. Her body was light in his arms, warm and trembling. Love flashed through him, surging in his blood, more painful than any poison the snake might have inflicted.
“No,” he said, his voice harsh from being forced past the ache of desire constricting his throat. His grip on her tightened.
Paithan and Rega waded in after them.
“What was that?” Rega gasped and whirled around.
“Fish, I think,” said Paithan, moving swiftly to her. He took her arm and Rega smiled up at him, hopeful.
The elf’s face was grave, solemn, offering her protection, nothing more. Rega’s smile waned. They continued the crossing in silence, both keeping their gaze fixed on the water. The pond, fortunately, wasn’t deep, coming no higher than their knees at the middle point. Reaching the opposite bank, Roland climbed out, deposited Aleatha on the ground.
He had started to continue down the path, when he felt a timid touch on his arm.
“Thank you,” said Aleatha.
The words were difficult for her to say. Not because they were in human, but because she found it hard to talk around this man, who roused such pleasing and such confusing emotions in her. Her gaze went to his sweetly curved lips, she recalled his kiss and the fire that swept through her body. She wondered if it would happen a second time. He was standing quite near her now. She had only to move closer, not even half a step… .
Then she remembered. He hated her, despised her. She heard his words: I hope you rot here … fool bitch … little idiot. His kiss had been an insult, mockery.
Roland looked into the pale face turned up to his, saw it freeze in disdain. His own desire changed to ice in his bowels. “Don’t mention it, elf. After all, what are we humans but your slaves?”
He strode off, plunging into the jungle. Aleatha came after. Her brother and Rega walked apart, separate and alone, behind. Each one of the four was unhappy. Each was disappointed. Each had the resentful, angry idea that if only the other would say something—anything—then everything would be put right. Each had determined, however, that it was not his or her place to speak first.
The silence between them grew until it seemed to become a living entity, keeping company at their side. Its presence was so powerful that, when Paithan thought he heard a sound behind them—a sound as of heavy boots wading through water—he kept quiet, refusing to mention it to the others.
36
Haplo and the dog walked up the path. The Patryn kept close watch on the city walls, but saw no one. He listened carefully, and heard nothing except the sighing of the wind through the rocks, like a whispering breath. He was alone upon the sunbaked mountainside.
The path led him straight to a large metal door formed in the shape of a hexagon and inscribed with runes—the city’s gate. Smooth white marble walls towered high above him. Ten of his people could have stood on each other’s shoulders and the topmost person would not have been able to see over the wall’s edge. He put his hand on it. The marble was slick, polished to a high finish. A spider would have difficulty climbing up the side. The city’s gate was sealed shut. The magic guarding it and the walls made the sigla on Haplo’s body crawl and itch. The Sartan were in absolute control. No one could enter their city without their permission and knowledge.
“Hail the guard!” shouted Haplo, craning his neck, peering up to the top of the walls.
His own words came back to him.
The dog, disturbed by the eerie sound of its master’s echo, threw back its head and howled. The mournful wail reverberated from the walls, disconcerting even Haplo, who laid a quieting hand on the dog’s head. He listened when the echoes died, but heard nothing.
He had little doubt now. The city was empty, abandoned.
Haplo thought about a world where the sun shone constantly ~ and the impact of this new world on those accustomed to regular periods of day and night. He thought about the elves and humans, perched in trees like birds, and the dwarves, burrowing into the moss, desperate for a reminder of their subterranean homes. He thought about the tytans and their horrible, pathetic search.
He looked back at the slick and gleaming walls, resting his hand against the marble wall. It was oddly cool, beneath the glaring sun. Cool and hard and impenetrable, like the past to those who had been shut out of paradise. He didn’t understand completely. The light, for example. It was much like the Kicksey-winsey on Arianus. What was its purpose? Why was it there? He had solved that mystery—or rather, it had been solved for him. He felt certain he would solve the mystery of the stars of Pryan. He was, after all, about to enter one.
Haplo glanced back at the hexagonal gate. He recognized the rune structure embossed on its shining silver frontage. One rune was missing. Supply that sigil, and the gate would swing open. It was a simple construct, elementary Sartan magic. They had not gone to a lot of trouble. Why should they? No one but the Sartan knew the rune-magic.