“The answers have to be there,” Haplo said to the dog. The animal’s ears pricked, it whimpered and gazed backward, toward the gate. The dog and its master could hear the faint sound of voices—mensch voices—and the roar of a dragon.
“C’mon,” said Haplo, his gaze never leaving the spire of light. The dog hesitated, tail wagging. The Patryn snapped his fingers. “I said come.” Ears down, head drooping, the dog did as it was commanded. The two continued on down the empty street, moving deeper into the heart of the city. Clutching the old man in its jaws, the dragon dove back down beneath the moss. The four waited above, paralyzed with shock and fright. From down below, came a terrible scream—as of a person being torn apart.
And then silence, horrible, ominous.
Paithan stirred, seemed to wake from a dream. “Run! It’ll be after us, next!”
“Which way?” Roland demanded.
“There! The way the old man showed us!”
“It could be a trick …”
“All right,” snarled the elf. “Wait here and ask the dragon for directions!” He grabbed hold of his sister.
“Father!” Aleatha cried, hanging back. She crouched near the corpse resting peacefully on the moss.
“Now’s the time to think of the living, not the dead,” Paithan returned.
“Look! Here’s a path! The old man was right.”
Grabbing Aleatha, practically dragging her, Paithan plunged into the jungle. Roland started to follow when Rega demanded, “What about the dwarf?”
- Roland glanced back at Drugar. The dwarf crouched defensively in the center of the glade. His eyes, shadowed by the overhanging brows, gave no hint of what he might be feeling or thinking.
“We bring him,” said Roland grimly. “I don’t want him sneaking around behind us and I don’t have time to kill him! Grab our weapons!” Roland caught hold of the dwarf’s thick arm, jerked him to his feet and propelled him toward the path. Rega gathered up the weapons, cast a final, fearful glance down the hole into which the dragon had disappeared, then ran after the others.
The path, though overhung with vines and plants, was wide and clear and easy to follow. They could still see, as they ran along it, the stumps of giant trees that had been leveled and gashes—now covered over by bark—where huge limbs had been hacked off to form a clear, broad trail. Each thought to himself of the immense force expended to fell such mighty trees, each thought of the powerful tytans. They didn’t speak their fear out loud, but all wondered if they might be running from the jaws of one dreadful death into the arms of another.
Their fear lent them unnatural strength. Whenever they grew tired, they felt the ground rumble beneath their feet and stumbled on. But soon the heat and the heavy, stagnant air sapped even adrenaline-pumped will. Aleatha tripped over a vine, fell, and did not get back up. Paithan started to try to lift her. Shaking his head, he sank down onto the ground himself. Roland stood above the two elves, staring down at them, unable to speak for his heavy breathing. He had dragged the dwarf the entire distance. Weighted down by his thick boots and heavy leather armor, Drugar toppled over onto the ground and lay like a dead thing. Rega tottered up behind her brother. Tossing the weapons to the trail, she slumped onto a tree stump and laid her head across her arms, almost sobbing for breath.
“We have to rest,” said Paithan in response to Roland’s mute, accusing glare that urged them to keep on running. “If the dragon catches us … it catches us.” He helped his sister to a sitting position. Aleatha leaned against him, eyes closed.
Roland flung himself down on the moss. “She all right?” Paithan nodded, too weary to reply. For long moments they sat where they had fallen, sucking in air, trying to calm the pounding of their hearts. They kept glancing fearfully behind them, expecting to see the gigantic scaled head and sharp teeth diving down at them. But the dragon didn’t appear and, eventually, they no longer felt the rumbling of the ground.
“I guess what it really wanted was the old man,” said Rega softly, the first words any of them had spoken in a long time.
“Yeah, but when it gets hungry, it’ll be looking for fresh meat,” said Roland.
“What did that old fool mean about a city, anyway? If there really is one, and it wasn’t another of his crazy jabberings, it would mean shelter.”
“This path has to lead somewhere,” Paithan pointed out. He licked dry lips.
“I’m thirsty! The air smells peculiar, tastes like blood.” He looked back at Roland, his gaze going from the human to the dwarf who lay at his feet. “How’s Blackbeard?”
Roland reached out a hand, prodded the dwarf’s arm. Drugar rolled over, sat up. Hunching back against a tree, he glared at them from beneath the shaggy, shadowing brows.
“He’s fine. What do we do with him?”
“Kill me now,” -said Drugar gruffly. “Go on. It is your right. I would have killed you.”
Paithan stared at the dwarf, but the elf wasn’t seeing Drugar. He was seeing humans, trapped between the river and the tytans. Elves shooting them down with arrows. His sister, locking herself in her room. His house, burning.
“I’m sick of killing! Hasn’t there been death enough without us meting it out?
Besides, I know how he feels. We all do. We all saw our people butchered.”
“It wasn’t our fault!” Rega reached out a tentative hand, touched the dwarf on the thick arm. Drugar glowered at her suspiciously, drew away from her touch. “Can’t you understand, it wasn’t our fault!”
“Maybe it was,” said Paithan, suddenly very, very weary. “The humans let the dwarves fight alone, then turned on each other. We elves turned our arrows on the humans. Maybe, if we had all joined together, we could have defeated the tytans. We didn’t, and so we were destroyed. It was our fault. And it’s starting to happen all over again.”
Roland flushed guiltily, and averted his eyes.
“I used to think love would be enough,” continued Paithan softly, “that it was some type of magical elixir we could sprinkle over the world and end all the hatred. I know now, it’s not hue. Love’s water is clear and pure and sweet, but it isn’t magic. It won’t change anything.” He rose to his feet. “We better get going.”
Roland came after him. One by one, the others followed, all except Drugar. He had understood the words of the conversation, but the meaning rattled around in the empty shell that had become his soul.
“You are not going to kill me?” he demanded, standing alone in the clearing. The others paused, glanced at each other.
“No,” said Paithan, shaking his head.
Drugar was baffled. How could you talk of loving someone who was not of your race? How could a dwarf love someone who was not a dwarf? He was a dwarf, they were elves and humans. And they had risked their lives to save his. That, first, was inexplicable. Next, they were not going to take his life after he had almost taken theirs. That was incomprehensible.
“Why not?” Drugar was angry, frustrated.
“I think,” said Paithan slowly, considering, “we’re just too tired.”
“What am I going to do?” Drugar demanded.
Aleatha smoothed back her straggling hair, dragging it out of her eyes. “Come with us. You don’t want to be … left alone.”
The dwarf hesitated. He had held onto his hate for so long, his hands would feel empty without it. Perhaps it would be better to find something other than death to fill them. Perhaps that was what Drakar was trying to prove to him. Drugar clumped along down the path after the others.
Silver, arched spans, graceful and strong, stood ranged round the bottom of the spire. Atop those arches were more arches, extending upward—silver layer upon silver layer—until they came together at a sparkling point. Between the arches, white marble walls and clear crystal windows were alternately placed to provide both support and interior lighting. A silver hexagonal door, marked with the same runes as the gate, allowed entrance. As before, though he knew the rune that was the key, Haplo forged his own way, moving swiftly and silently through the marble walls. The dog crept along behind. The Patryn entered a vast circular chamber—the base of the spire. The marble floor echoed his booted footsteps, shattering the silence that had lasted for who knew how many generations. The vast room contained nothing but a round table, surrounded by chairs.