“Where was I? What did you do to me?” Jarre demanded, eyeing him suspiciously. Her face paled, she looked frightened. “The .. the elf... he hurt me.” Her expression grew puzzled. “Only he wasn’t an elf. He was a horrible monster, with red eyes ...”
“I know,” said Haplo.
“Is he gone? He is gone, isn’t he?” she said, brightening with hope. “You drove him away.”
Haplo regarded her in silence.
She shook her head, hope dimming. “He’s not?”
“No, he’s here. Down below. And there’s more of them. Many more. The elf, Sang-drax, was only one of them. They’re able to enter your world the same way I enter it.”
“But how—” she wailed.
“Hush!” Haplo raised his hand.
The sound of feet, many feet, heavily booted feet, pounded down below—in the dwarves’ secret entrance. Deep voices, shouting and clamoring in anger, echoed through the tunnels. The heavily booted feet began climbing up the ladder that led into the Factree.
The noise was like the rumble of the storms that swept Drevlin, swelling from beneath the Factree floor. Haplo cast a swift glance toward the elves, even as he raced over to the dwarves. The elven soldiers were on their feet, grabbing for weapons, their officers shouting orders. The expected dwarven attack was underway. The elves were prepared.
Haplo reached the tunnel entrance and was nearly bowled over by a surge of dwarves, leaping out at him. The elves were hastily overturning cots, throwing up barricades. The Factree doors flew open, a gust of rain-laden wind blew inside. Lightning flashed and the crack of thunder nearly drowned out the shouting dwarves. Someone cried in elven that the entire dwarven community was in arms. An officer yelled back that this was what he’d been waiting for, now they could exterminate the little “Gegs.”
Limbeck charged past Haplo. At least Haplo assumed it was Limbeck. The dwarfs face was contorted with hatred and fury and the lust to kill. Haplo would not have recognized the dwarf had it not been for the spectacles, planted firmly on his nose and tied around his head with a long piece of string. He was carrying a wicked-looking battle-ax in one hand and, unaccountably, a feather duster in the other. Limbeck dashed past Haplo, leading his fellow dwarves in a mad, frenzied dash that would take them headlong into the advancing ranks of the disciplined elves.
“Avenge Jarre!” shouted Limbeck.
“Avenge Jarre!” answered the dwarves in a single, rumbling, dire voice.
“I don’t need avenging!” Jarre yelled shrilly, from where she stood at the base of the statue of the Manger. “It wasn’t the elves! Limbeck!” she howled, wringing her hands. “Don’t be a druz!”
Well, it worked once before, Haplo thought, and was extending his arm to unleash the spell that would freeze everyone in his or her place. But the chant died on his lips. He looked at his arm, saw the runes flare a brilliant, vibrant blue, saw it intertwined with red, felt his skin flame with warning. The statue of the Manger came to life, began to move.
Jarre screamed, lost her balance on the swiveling base, and tumbled down the dais on which the statue stood. Limbeck had not heard her shout, but he heard her scream. He stopped in midrush, turned toward the sound, saw Jarre, scrambling to her feet, and the statue of the Manger, opening slowly. The fear and terror and horror that flowed out of the tunnel ahead of the serpents acted more effectively than any of Haplo’s spells to stop the dwarven advance. The dwarves stumbled to a halt, stared fearfully at the hole. Defiance and fury seeped out of them, leaving them cold and shivering husks. The elves, farther away from the tunnel entrance, couldn’t see precisely what was going on, but they could see the giant statue moving on its base, could hear the rumble it made. And they, too, could feel the fear. They crouched behind their barricades, gripped their weapons, looked questioningly and nervously at their officers, who were grim and uneasy themselves.
“It won’t work, Sang-drax,” Haplo shouted. Through the dog’s ears, Haplo could hear Hugh’s voice, talking to Trian. He could hear the words of Iridal’s bitter sorrow. “You’re defeated! Bane’s dead. The alliance will hold. Peace will come. There’s nothing you can do now!”
Oh, yes there is, said Sang-drax, whispering inside Haplo’s head. Watch!
Jarre half stumbled, half ran to Limbeck.
“We’ve got to escape!” she shrieked, plummeting into him, nearly knocking him flat. “Tell everyone. We have to leave. A... a horrible monster is coming. It lives down there! Haplo said—”
Limbeck knew a horrible monster was coming, something dark and evil and hideous. He knew he should run, knew he should order everyone to run for their lives, but he couldn’t manage to get the words out. He was too frightened. And he couldn’t see clearly. His spectacles had misted over from the sweat dripping down his brow. And he couldn’t take them off. The string was knotted around his head and he didn’t dare let loose of the battle-ax he was holding to unknot the string.
Dark shapes, dreadful beings, poured up out of the hole.
It was... They were...
Limbeck blinked, rubbed at his spectacles with his shirtsleeves.
“What... what is it, Jarre?” he demanded.
“Oh, Limbeck!” She drew in a shivering breath. “Limbeck... it’s us!”
43
An army of dwarves marched up out of the tunnel beneath the statue.
“Not bad, Sang-drax,” Haplo muttered in grudging admiration. “Not bad at all. Confuse the hell out of everyone.”
The serpents resembled the dwarves of Drevlin in every aspect—in clothes, in appearance, in the weapons they carried. They were shouting their hatred of the elves, urging their fellows to launch the attack. The true dwarves were beginning to waver. They were afraid of the newcomers, but their fear was starting to merge with their fear of the elves and soon they wouldn’t be able to tell one fear from the other.
And they wouldn’t be able to tell one dwarf from another.
Haplo could. He could see the red-eyed glint that gave away the serpents, but how could he explain all this to the true dwarves, how could he warn them, convince them? The two dwarven armies were about to join together. They would attack the elves, defeat them, drive them from Drevlin. And then the serpents, disguised as dwarves, would attack the machine, the Kicksey-winsey, on which the lives of all of the races on Arianus depended.
A brilliant stroke. So what if the humans and elves allied? So what if Rees’ahn and Stephen overthrew the Tribus empire? Word would come to them that the dwarves were wrecking the Kicksey-winsey, about to deprive the Mid Realm of water. The humans and elves would have no choice but to fight the dwarves to save it. ...
Chaos. Endless conflict. The serpents would grow powerful, invincible.
“Don’t believe them! They’re not us!” Jarre cried shrilly. “They’re not dwarves. And they’re not elves, either. They’re the ones who hurt me! Look at them. Limbeck. Look at them!”
Limbeck tried to wipe the mist from his spectacles.
Frustrated, Jarre grabbed hold of the spectacles, gave them a tug that broke the string. Snatching them off Limbeck’s nose, she threw them on the floor.
“What have you done?” Limbeck roared in anger.
“Now you can see, you druz! Look at them! Look!”
Limbeck peered myopically ahead. The army of dwarves was now only a dark blur, congealed together into a long, flowing mass. The mass heaved and writhed and glared at him from countless pairs of gleaming red eyes.
“A giant snake!” Limbeck shouted, raising his battle-ax. “We’re being attacked by a giant snake!”
“We are?” Lof asked confusedly, looking up and down and in front and behind him. “Where?”
“Here,” said Haplo.
Drawing the elven sword, stolen from the Imperanon, the Patryn lunged at the red-eyed dwarf standing nearest him. The runes etched on the sword flared, the metal glowed. A cascade of blue and red flame flowed from die blade toward the dwarfs head.