Hugh released the dragon from its hovering position. They began to descend.
“We did it!” cried Bane gleefully, yanking off his hood.
“There was never much doubt,” Hugh muttered. “And put that back on. From now on, you wear it until I tell you to take it off. All we need is for someone to recognize you before we’re ready to move.”
Bane glowered at him, rebellious blue eyes cold. But the boy was intelligent, he knew what Hugh said made sense. Sullenly, he drew the hood of his shabby cloak up over his head and face. Turning his back, he sat stiff and rigid, chin on his hands, watching the panorama spread out below.
“Probably sitting there imagining all the ways he’ll have me tortured,” Hugh said to himself. “Well, Your Highness, my last pleasure in this life will be in disappointing you.”
He was granted another pleasure, too. The dog had howled itself hoarse and could now only utter a pathetic croak.
Far below the Mid Realm, flying on a different track, the phantom dragon sped swiftly toward its destination—almost too swiftly for the comfort of its passengers. Since neither was concerned with comfort, only with speed, Haplo and Iridal bowed their heads before the wind that whistled shrilly past diem, held on tightly to the dragon and to each other, and fought to see for the wind-induced tears that blinded their eyes.
Krishach needed no guidance, or perhaps it obtained its guidance from the minds of its passengers. There was no saddle, no reins. Once the two had reluctantly and cringingly mounted, the phantom dragon leapt into the air and soared through the crystal walls of the Aviary. The walls had not parted, but had melted into a glistening curtain of water, allowing them to pass through with ease. Haplo, looking back, saw the crystal harden again behind them, as if touched by an icy breath.
Krishach flew over the Imperanon. Elven soldiers stared up at them in astonishment and terror, but before any could raise his bow, the phantom dragon had swept past, soared into the open skies.
Haplo and Iridal, leaning close together to be heard, discussed their destination. Iridal wanted to fly immediately to Seven Fields. Haplo intended to fly to the dragonship.
“The dwarfs life is in the most immediate danger. Hugh plans to kill the king tonight. You’ll have time to set me down on Sang-drax’s ship, then you can fly to Seven Fields. Besides, I don’t want to be left by myself with this demon beast.”
“I don’t think either of us will be left with it,” Iridal said, with a shudder. It took all her nerve and resolve to hold onto the folds of chill, dead flesh, to withstand the dread cold, so horribly different from the warmth of living dragons. “When we no longer need him, Krishach will be more than eager to return to his rest.”
Iridal was silent a moment, then looked back at Haplo. Her eyes were softer, sadder. “If I find Bane and take him with me to the High Realms, will you come after him?”
“No,” said Haplo quietly. “I don’t need him any longer.”
“Why not?”
“The book the Kenkari gave me.”
“What’s in it?” she asked.
Haplo told her.
Iridal listened, first amazed, then perplexed, then disbelieving. “They’ve known, all this time... and done nothing. Why? How could they?”
“Like they said—hate, fear.”
Iridal was thoughtful, eyes on the empty sky around them. “And that lord of yours. What will he do, when he comes to Arianus? He will come, won’t he? Will he want Bane back?”
“I don’t know,” said Haplo shortly, not liking to think about it. “I don’t know what my lord intends. He doesn’t tell me his plans. He expects me to obey his orders.”
Iridal looked back at him. “But you’re not, are you?” No, I’m not, Haplo admitted, but he admitted it only to himself, saw no reason to discuss it with a mensch. Xar will understand. He’ll have to understand.
“My turn to ask questions,” Haplo said, changing the subject. “Hugh the Hand looked extremely dead when I saw him last. How’d he manage to come back to life? You mysteriarchs find a way?”
“You know better than that. We are only ‘mensch.’” Iridal smiled faintly. “It was Alfred.”
I thought as much, Haplo said to himself. Alfred brought the assassin back from the dead. This from the Sartan who swore he would never be caught dead practicing the black art of necromancy. “Did he tell you why he resurrected Hugh?” he asked aloud.
“No, but I’m certain it was because of me.” Iridal sighed, shook her head.
“Alfred refused to speak of it. He denied he’d done it, in fact.”
“Yeah, I can imagine. He’s good at denial. ‘For every person brought back to life, another dies untimely.’ That’s what the Sartan believe. And Hugh’s restored life means King Stephen’s untimely death, unless you can reach him and stop him, stop your son.”
“I will,” said Iridal. “I have hope now.” They fell silent, the strain of shouting over the noise of the wind was too exhausting. The dragon had flown out of sight of land. Haplo soon lost any point of reference. All he could see was empty blue sky—above them, below, around them. A cloudy haze obscured the sparkle of the Firmament, and they were yet too far away to sight the swirling gray-black clouds of the Maelstrom.
Iridal was absorbed in her own thoughts, her plans and hopes for her son. Haplo remained alert, scanning the skies, keeping constant watch. He was the first to see the black speck beneath them. He focused on it, noted that Krishach turned its empty eye sockets that direction.
“I think we’ve found them,” he said, at last able to make out the curved head, broad wingspan of a dragonship.
Iridal looked down. The phantom dragon’s speed had slowed; Krishach began descending in large and lazy spirals.
“Yes, that’s a dragonship,” Iridal agreed, studying it. “But how will you know if it’s the right one or not?”
“I’ll know,” said Haplo grimly, with a glance at the sigla tattooed on his skin. “Can they see us, do you think?”
“I doubt it. Even if they did, we would appear, from this distance, to be riding an ordinary dragon. And a ship that size wouldn’t be alarmed by a single dragon.”
The dragonship didn’t appear to be alarmed, nor did it look to be in any hurry. It was traveling at a leisurely pace, the broad wings catching and riding the strengthening air currents. Far below, the darkening of the sky presaged the Maelstrom.
He could make out details of the dragonship—see the carving on the head, the painted wings. Tiny figures moved on the deck. And there was an insignia on the ship’s hull.
“The imperial crest,” Iridal said. “I think this is the ship you seek.” Haplo’s skin had begun to itch and burn. The sigla were starting to glow a faint, soft blue.
“It is,” he said.
Iridal, hearing the conviction in his voice, glanced at him, wondering how he could be so certain. Her eyes widened at the sight of his glowing skin, but she said nothing, turned back to watch the dragonship.
Surely they must see us now, Haplo thought. And if I know Sang-drax is down there, then he knows I’m up here.
It might have been Haplo’s imagination, but he could almost swear he saw the brightly dressed form of the serpent-elf, standing below, staring up at him. Haplo thought he could hear faint screams, too; cries of someone in terrible pain.
“How close can we get?” Haplo asked.
“Flying an ordinary dragon—not very,” Iridal answered. “The wind currents would be too dangerous, to say nothing of the fact that they will soon start firing arrows and perhaps magic at us. But with Krishach... ?” She shrugged helplessly. “I doubt if either wind currents, arrows, or magic will have much effect on Krishach.”