The dwarf swallowed the saliva that seemed to be choking him. “No!” he cried wildly. “That’s wrong! It was done on purpose! They must pay!” If wouldn’t have mattered. It wouldn’t have made any difference. Our people were doomed, nothing could have saved them.
“Drakar!” cried the dwarf, raising his head to heaven. The knife shook in his hand. “Don’t you see? Without this, I have nothing left!”
“Now!” Roland lunged forward, Paithan moved swiftly behind. Grabbing hold of Rega, the human wrenched his sister free from the dwarfs grip and tossed her across the clearing. Aleatha held the stumbling, shaken Rega in her arms. Paithan caught hold of Drugar’s knife hand, twisted the wrist. Roland snatched the dagger from the clutching fingers, turned it point first, and held the sharp edge against the vein beneath the dwarf’s ear.
“I’ll see you in hell—”
The ground beneath their feet heaved and shook, tossing them about like the dolls of an irate child. A gigantic head crashed up through the moss, rending trees, ripping vines. Flaring red eyes glared down, gleaming teeth parted, black tongue flicked.
“I was afraid of this!” gasped Zifnab. “The spell’s broken. Run! Run for your lives!”
“We can … fight!” Paithan groped for his sword, but it was all he could do to try to keep his balance on the quaking moss.
“You can’t fight a dragon! Besides, I’m the one he truly wants. Isn’t that right?” The old man turned slowly, faced the creature.
“Yes!” hissed the dragon, hatred dripping like venom from its fanged tongue.
“Yes, you, old man! Keeping me prisoner, binding me with magic. But not now, not anymore. You’re weak, old man. You should never have summoned that elf woman’s spirit. And all for what? To tease a dying man.” Desperately, keeping his eyes averted from the terror of the dragon, Zifnab’s voice rose in song.
The dragon’s head inched nearer. The old wizard glanced up involuntarily, saw the fiery eyes, and faltered.
“Those aren’t the words!” cried Roland. “Look at the dragon! The spell’s not working! We’ve got to run while we’ve got the chance!”
“We can’t leave him to fight alone,” said Paithan. He whipped around. The old man’s brows bristled in anger. “I brought you people here for a reason! Don’t throw your lives away, or you’ll undo all that I have worked for! Find the city!” he shouted, waving his arms. “Find the city!”
He began to run. The dragon’s head darted out, caught of the old man by the skirt of his robes, sending him .Crashing onto the ground. Zifnab’s hands scrabbled in the dirt in a desperate effort to pull himself free.
“Fly, you fools!” he cried, and the dragon’s jaws closed over him.
37
Haplo explored the deserted city at his leisure, taking his time, studying it carefully to make a clear and accurate report back to his lord. Occasionally he wondered what was transpiring with the mensch outside the walls, but dismissed the matter from his mind for lack of interest. What he found—or failed to find—inside the city walls was of far more importance. Within the walis, the city was different from its sibling located in the Nexus. The differences explained much, but left some questions still unanswered.
Just inside the city gate stood a wide, paved, circular plaza. Haplo traced a blue, glowing series of runes in the air with his hand and stood back to watch. Images, memories of the past held fast within the stone, came to a semblance of life, populating the area with ghosts. The plaza was suddenly crowded with faint reflections of people, shopping, bartering, exchanging the news of the day. Elves, humans, and dwarves jostled between the rows of stalls. Walking among them, Haplo could distinguish the occasional white-robed, saintly figure of a Sartan.
It was market day in the plaza—market days would be a more proper term, for Haplo witnessed the passage of time, flowing like a swift stream before his eyes. All was not peaceful and serene within the white walls. Elves and humans clashed, blood was spilled in the bazaar. Dwarves rioted, tearing down the stalls, wrecking the wares. The Sartan were too few and helpless. with their magic, to find an antidote for the poison of racial .hatred and prejudice.
And then there came moving among the people gigantic creatures—taller than most buildings, eyeless, wordless, strong, and powerful. They restored order, guarded the streets. The mensch lived in peace, but it was enforced peace—tenuous, unhappy.
As time passed, the images became less clear to Haplo. He strained his eyes, but couldn’t see what was happening and he realized that it wasn’t his magic failing him, but the magic of the Sartan that had held the city together. It dwindled—fading and tunning, like colors in a rain-soaked painting. At length, Haplo could see nothing at all in the square. It was empty, the people gone.
“And so,” he said to the dog, waking it; the bored animal having dozed off during the picture show, “the Sartan destroyed our world, divided it up into its four elements. They brought the mensch to this world, traveling through Death’s Gate, as they brought the mensch to Arianus. But here, as in Arianus, they ran into problems. In Arianus—the Air World—the floating continents had everything needed for the mensch to survive except water. The Sartan constructed the great Kicksey-winsey, plan-llttng to align the islands and pump water up into them from the perpetual storm that rages below.
“But something happened. The Sartan, for some mysterious reason, abandoned their project and abandoned the mensch at the same time. On this world, on Pryan, the Sartan arrived and discovered that the world was practically—from their viewpoint—uninhabitable. Overgrown with jungle life, it had no stone readily available, no metal easily forged, a sun that shone constantly. They built these cities and kindly brought the mensch to .;five within their protective walls, even providing them artificial, magical time cycles of day and night, to remind them of home.”
The dog licked its paws, coated with the soft white dust that filled the city, letting its master ramble, sometimes cocking an ear to indicate it was paying attention.
“But the mensch didn’t react with the proper gratitude.” Haplo whistled to the dog. Leaving the ghostly square, he walked the city streets. “Look, signs in elven. Buildings done in the elvish style—minarets, arches, delicate filigree. And here, human dwellings—solid, massive, substantial. Built to lend a false feeling of permanence to their brief lives. And somewhere, probably below us, I would guess we would find the dwelling places of the dwarves. All meant to live together in perfect harmony.
“Unfortunately, the members of the trio weren’t given the same musical score. Each sang his own tune in opposition to the rest.”
Haplo paused, staring around intently. “This place is different from the city in the Nexus. The city the Sartan left us—for what reason they alone know—is not divided. The signs are in the language of the Sartan. Obviously they intended to come back and occupy the city in the Nexus. But why? And’why put another almost identical city on Pryan? Why did the Sartan leave? Where did they go? What caused the mensch to flee the cities? And what do the tytans have to do with anything?”
The city’s central spire of glittering, reflective glass towered above him, visible no matter where one walked. Welling out from it was the brilliant, white light—starlight. Its brilliance increased as the strange, magical twilight slowly began to creep over the city itself.