“Where . . . ?”
Alfred had seen his gesture and was slipping and sliding across the unsteady deck. “Here, sir. I had to use it to cut you free.” Hugh grabbed hold of the weapon and nearly dropped it. If Alfred had handed him an anvil, it could have seemed no heavier than his sword in his weak and shaking hand. The hooks were dragging the ship to a stop, keeping it floating in the air next to the disabled elven vessel. There was a sharp pull and the ship sagged downward—the elves were scaling the ropes, coming aboard. Up above, Hugh could hear Bane chattering excitedly.
Gripping the sword, Hugh left the steerage way, padded soft-footed into the corridor to stand beneath the hatch. Alfred stumbled behind, the man’s loud, clumsy footfalls making Hugh cringe. He cast the chamberlain a baleful glance, warning him to be silent. Then, slipping his dagger from the top of his boot, the assassin held it out.
Alfred blenched, shook his head, and put his hands behind his back. “No,” he said through trembling lips. “I couldn’t! I can’t...take a life!” Hugh looked up above, where booted feet could be heard walking across the deck.
“Not even to save your own?” he hissed.
Alfred lowered his eyes. “I’m sorry.”
“If you’re not now, you’re soon going to be,” muttered Hugh, and began to silently climb the ladder.
26
Bane watched the three elves propel themselves hand over hand across the ropes, their thin, shapely legs grasping it with heels and knees. Beneath them was nothing but empty air and, far below, the dark and awesome, perpetually raging storm. The elves were expert at boarding, however, and did not pause or look down. Reaching the deck of the small dragonship, they swung their legs over the sides and landed lightly on their feet. Having never seen elves before, the prince studied them as intently as they were ignoring him. The elves were nearly the same height as average humans, but their slender bodies made them appear taller. Their features were delicate, yet hard and cold, as if they had been carved out of marble. Smooth-muscled, they were extremely well-coordinated and walked with ease and grace even on the listing ship. Their skin was nut-brown, their hair and eyebrows white, tinted with silver that glistened in the sun. They wore what appeared to be vests and short skirts made like finely stitched tapestries, decorated with fanciful pictures of birds and flowers and animals. Humans often made fun of the elves’ bright-colored garb—to their regret, most discovering too late that it was, in reality, elven armor. Elven wizards possess the power to magically enhance ordinary silken thread, making it as hard and tough as steel.
The elf who appeared to be the leader motioned the other two to look around the ship. One ran aft, staring over the side at the wings, possibly to assess the damage that had caused this ship to tumble out of control. The other ran back to the stern.
The elves were armed, but they didn’t carry their weapons in hand. They were, after all, on a ship made by their own kind.
Seeing his men deployed, the elven commander finally deigned to notice the child.
“What is a human brat doing on board a ship of my people?” The commander stared down his long aquiline nose at the boy. “And where is the captain of this vessel?”
He spoke human well, but with a twist to his mouth, as if the words tasted bad and he was glad to be rid of them. His voice was lilting and musical, his tone imperious and condescending. Bane was angry, but knew how to hide it.
“I am crown prince of Volkaran and Uylandia. King Stephen is my father.” Bane thought it best to begin this way, at least until he had the elves convinced that he was someone important. Then he would tell them the truth, tell them that he was of truly great importance—greater than they could imagine. The elf captain was keeping one eye on his men, giving Bane half his attention. “So, my people have captured a human princeling, have they? I don’t know what they think they’ll get for you.”
“An evil man captured me,” Bane said, tears coming readily to his eyes. “He was going to murder me. But you’ve rescued me! You’ll be heroes. Take me to your king, that I may extend my thanks. This could be the beginning of the peace between our people.”
The elf who had been inspecting the wings returned, his report on his lips. Overhearing the boy’s speech, he looked at his captain. Both laughed simultaneously.
Bane sucked in his breath. Never in his life had anyone laughed at him! What was happening? The enchantment should be working. He was positive Trian hadn’t been able to break the spell. Why wasn’t his enchantment working on the elves?
And then Bane saw the talismans. Worn around the elves’ necks, the talismans were created by the elven wizards to protect their people against human war magic. Bane didn’t understand this, but he knew a warding talisman when he saw it and knew that, inadvertently, it was shielding the elves from the enchantment.
Before he could react, the captain grabbed hold of him and tossed him through the air like a bag of garbage. He was caught by the other elf, whose strength belied the slender body. The elf captain gave a careless command, and the elf, holding the boy at arm’s length as if he were a skunk, walked over to the ship’s rail.
Bane did not speak elven, but he understood the command given by the elf captain’s gesture.
He was to be tossed overboard.
Bane tried to scream, fear choked off his breath. He fought and struggled. The elf held him by the scruff of the neck and seemed to be highly amused at the child’s frantic efforts to free himself. Bane possessed the power of magic, but he was untrained, not having been brought up in his father’s house. He could feel magic run through him like adrenaline, he lacked the knowledge to make it work.
There was someone who could tell him, however.
Bane grasped hold of the feather amulet. “Father!”
“He can’t help you now,” laughed the elf.
“Father!” Bane cried again.
“I was right,” said the elf captain to his cohort. “There is someone else aboard—the brat’s father. Go search.” He gestured to the third elf, who came running back from the stern.
“Go ahead, get rid of the little bastard,” the captain grunted. The elf holding Bane held the boy over the rail and then dropped him. Bane tumbled through the air. He sucked in his breath to let it out in a howl of terror, when a voice commanded him abruptly to be silent. The voice came as it always did to the child, speaking words that he heard in his mind, words audible only to himself.
“You have the ability to save yourself, Bane. But first you must conquer fear.”
Falling rapidly, seeing below him floating pieces of debris from the elven ship and below that the black clouds of the Maelstrom, Bane went stiff and rigid with fright.
“I ... I can’t, father,” he whimpered.
“If you can’t, then you will die, which will be all to the best. I have no use for a son who is a coward.”
All his short life, Bane had striven to please the man who spoke to him through the amulet, the man who was his true father. To win the powerful wizard’s approval was his dearest wish.
“Shut your eyes,” was Sinistrad’s next command.
Bane did so.
“Now we are going to work the magic. Think to yourself that you are lighter than the air. Your body is not solid flesh, but airy, buoyant. Your bones are hollow, like a bird’s.”
The prince wanted to laugh, but something inside told him if he did so he would never be able to control it and would drop to his death. Swallowing the wild, hysterical giggling, he tried to do as his father commanded. It seemed ludicrous. His eyes wouldn’t slay shut, but kept flying open to watch in panic-stricken desperation for a bit of debris to cling to until he could be rescued. The wind rushing past made his eyes tear, however, and he couldn’t see clearly. A sob welled up in his throat.
“Bane!” Sinistrad’s voice flicked through the child’s mind like a whip. Gulping, Bane squinched his eyes tightly shut and tried to picture himself a bird.