The animal was looking straight at him. It wasn’t threatening. It appeared to have found a friend. Its ears went up, its tail wagged, it opened its mouth in a wide grin.
“What’s the matter with you?” Haplo demanded. “Get back here.” The dog fell back obediently, though it continued to eye Hugh, its head cocked to one side, as if it couldn’t quite figure out what this new game was but would go along since they were all old comrades.
Haplo continued to walk up the hall. Though he flicked a glance sideways in Hugh’s direction, the Patryn appeared to be looking for something ... or someone... else.
Hugh drew the dagger, lunged forward, moving swiftly, silently, with lethal skill.
Haplo made a slight motion with his hand. “Take him, dog.” The dog leapt, mouth open, teeth flashing. Strong jaws closed over Hugh’s right arm, the weight of the animal’s body crashing into his knocked him to the floor.
Haplo kicked the dagger out of Hugh’s hand, stood over him.
The dog began licking Hugh’s hand, wagging its tail.
Hugh made a move to stand.
“I wouldn’t, elf,” said Haplo calmly. “He’ll rip your throat out.” But the beast that was supposed to rip out Hugh’s throat was sniffing and pawing at him in friendly fashion.
“Get back,” Haplo ordered, dragging the dog away. “I said get back.” He stared at Hugh, whose face was hidden by the hood of the Unseen. “You know, elf, if it wasn’t impossible, I’d say he knows you. Just who the hell are you, anyway?”
Leaning down, the Patryn took hold of Hugh’s mask, ripped it from the man’s head.
Haplo staggered backward, the shock a paralyzing one.
“Hugh the Hand!” he breathed, awed. “But you’re... dead!”
“No, you are!” Hugh grunted.
Taking advantage of his enemy’s startlement, Hugh lashed out with his foot, aimed a blow at Haplo’s groin.
Blue fire crackled around Hugh. He might have driven his foot into one of the ’lectric zingers on the Kicksey-winsey. The jolt knocked him backward, almost head over heels. Hugh lay stunned, nerves twitching, head buzzing. Haplo bent over him. “Where’s Iridal? Bane knew she was coming. Did the kid know about you? Damn it, of course he did.” He answered himself. “That’s the plan. I—”
A muffled explosion came from the end of the hall, from behind the closed door of Bane’s room.
“Hugh! Help—” Iridal screamed. Her voice was cut off in a strangled choke. Hugh twisted to his feet.
“It’s a trap,” warned Haplo quietly.
“Of your making!” Hugh snarled, tensing to fight, though every nerve in his body jumped and burned.
“Not mine.” Haplo rose slowly, faced the man calmly. “Bane’s.” Hugh stared intently at the Patryn.
Haplo met his gaze. “You know I’m right. You’ve suspected all along.” Hugh lowered his eyes, turned, moved at a groggy, staggering run for the door.
34
Haplo watched Hugh go, intended to follow him, but first looked around warily. Sang-drax was here somewhere; the runes on the Patryn’s skin were reacting to the presence of the serpent. Undoubtedly Sang-drax was waiting in that very room. Which meant that—
“Haplo!” A voice shrieked. “Haplo, come with us!” Haplo turned. “Jarre?”
Sang-drax had the dwarf maid by the hand, was urging her along down the corridor toward the stairs.
Behind Haplo, wood splintered. Hugh had broken down the door. The Patryn heard the assassin crash into the room with a roar. He was met with shouts, orders in elven, a clash of steel against steel.
“Come with me, Haplo!” Jarre reached out to him. “We’re escaping!”
“We dare not stop, my dear,” warned Sang-drax, dragging the dwarf along. “We must flee before the confusion ends. I’ve promised Limbeck I’d see you reached home safely.”
Sang-drax wasn’t looking at Jarre. He was looking at Haplo. The serpent’s eyes gleamed red.
Jarre would never reach Drevlin alive.
Sang-drax and the dwarf ran down the stairs; the dwarf stumbling in her haste, her heavy boots clumping and clattering.
“Haplo!” he heard her howl.
He stood in the hall, swearing in bitter frustration. If he could have, he would have split himself in two, but that was impossible, even for a demigod. He did the next best thing.
“Dog, go to Bane! Stay with Bane!” he commanded.
Waiting only to see the dog take off, dashing for Bane’s room—over which an ominous silence had now settled—Haplo started down the corridor in pursuit of Sang-drax.
A trap!
Haplo’s warning echoed inside Hugh.
You’ve suspected all along.
Too damn right. Hugh reached Bane’s room, found the door locked. He kicked it. The flimsy tik wood splintered, tore at Hugh’s flesh as he dashed through it. He had no plan of attack, there wasn’t time to form one. But experience had taught him that reckless, unexpected action could often overwhelm an enemy—especially one complacent with success. Hugh abandoned stealth and disguise, made as much noise, wrought as much havoc as possible. The elven guards who had been hiding inside the room knew Iridal had an accomplice; her call for help had proclaimed as much. Once they had subdued the mysteriarch, they lay in wait for the man, jumped him when he came smashing through the door. But after a few seconds, the elves began wondering if they were grappling with one man or a legion of demons.
The room had been dark, but, now that the door was shattered, light from the flambeaux in the hallway partially illuminated the scene. The flickering light only added to the confusion, however. Hugh’s mask was torn off. His head and hands were visible, his body was still camouflaged by the elven magic. It seemed to the startled elves that a disembodied human head loomed over them. Hands carrying death flashed out of nowhere.
Hugh’s slashing dagger caught one elf across the face, stabbed another in the throat. He groin-kicked an elf guard, who crumpled with a groan. A battering fist felled another.
The elves, caught flat-footed by the ferocity of the attack, and not exactly certain if they fought a living man or a specter, the elves fell back in confusion.
Hugh ignored them. Bane—his face pale, eyes wide, curls disheveled—crouched beside his mother, who lay unconscious on the floor. The Hand swept aside furniture and bodies. He had very nearly scooped up both mother and child, seemed likely to walk out with them, when a cold voice spoke.
“This is ridiculous. He’s one man. Stop him.”
Shamed, shaken from their terror, the elven soldiers returned to the attack. Three jumped Hugh from behind, grasped his flailing arms and pinned them to his side. Another struck him a blow across the face with the flat of his sword, two more carried his feet out from underneath him. The fight was over. The elves bound Hugh’s arms and wrists and ankles with bowstrings. He lay on his side, his knees hunched to his chest. He was groggy and helpless. Blood ran down the side of his head, dripped from a cut mouth. Two elves stood watchful guard over him, while the others went to fetch light and assist fallen comrades.
Candles and flaring flambeaux illuminated a scene of destruction. Hugh had no idea what sort of spell Iridal had cast before she’d been struck down, but black scorch marks were burned into the walls, several ornate tapestries were still smoldering, and two elves with severe burns were being carried from the room.
Iridal lay on the floor, eyes closed, her body limp. But she was breathing. She was alive. Hugh could see no sign of a wound, wondered what had felled her. His gaze shifted to Bane, who knelt beside his mother’s unmoving form. Hugh recalled Haplo’s words, and, though he didn’t trust the Patryn, he didn’t trust Bane either. Had the child betrayed them?
Hugh stared at Bane hard. Bane stared back, his face impassive, revealing nothing, neither innocence nor guilt. But the longer the child looked at Hugh, the more nervous Bane grew. His gaze shifted from Hugh’s face to a point just above Hugh’s shoulder. Suddenly Bane’s eyes grew wide, he gave a strangled cry.