“The only thing in our favor is this: down through the generations, the dwarves have continued to do exactly what the Sartan taught them to do. The dwarves have never deviated from their original instructions, but passed them on religiously from father to son, mother to daughter. And so the dwarves have not only kept the Kicksey-winsey alive, but they’ve kept it from running amuck, so to speak.”
“It’s all... so strange,” said Stephen with a distrustful glance at the glimmerglamps and the catwalks and the hooded silent figure of the Sartan, holding a dark eyeball in its hand. “Strange and terrifying. I don’t understand any of it.”
“In fact,” Queen Anne added quietly, “my husband and I are beginning to wonder if we haven’t made a mistake. Perhaps we should just let the world go along as it is. We’ve gotten on well enough before now.”
“But we haven’t,” Limbeck argued. “Your two races have fought wars over water for as long as any of you can remember. Elf fought elf. Human fought human. Then we all fought each other and came close to destroying everything we have. I may not be able to see anything else clearly, but I can see this. If we’ve no need to fight over water, we’ve got a chance to find true peace.” Limbeck fished about in his coat, came out with a small object, and held it up. “I have this—the book of the Sartan. Haplo gave it to me. He and I have gone over it. We believe the machine will work, but we can’t guarantee it. The best I can say is that if anything does start to go wrong, we can always shut the Kicksey-winsey down and then see if we can fix it.”
“What about you, Prince?” Stephen turned to Rees’ahn. “What about your people? What do they think?”
“The Kenkari have informed them that drawing the continents together is the will of Krenka-Anris. No one would dare oppose the Kenkari—openly at least,” the prince said with a rueful smile. “Our people are prepared. We have already started to evacuate the cities. The only ones we have not been able to warn are the emperor and those holed up in the Imperanon with him. They refuse to allow the Kenkari inside; they have even fired arrows at them, which has never happened in all the history of our people. My father is undoubtedly mad.” Rees’ahn’s face hardened. “I have little sympathy for him. He murdered his own people to obtain their souls. But there are those inside the Imperanon who are innocent of wrongdoing, who support him out of misguided loyalty. I wish there was some way of warning them. But they refuse to talk to us even under a flag of truce. They’ll have to take their chances.”
“You’re all agreed to do this, then?” Haplo asked, looking at each in turn. Rees’ahn said he was. Limbeck’s beard wagged in hearty enthusiasm. Stephen looked at his queen, who hesitated, then nodded once, briefly. “Yes, we’re agreed,” he said at last. “The High Froman is right. It seems to be the one chance we have for peace.”
Haplo pushed himself away from the statue, against which he’d been leaning.
“Then it’s settled. Two days from this day we start up the machine. You, Prince Rees’ahn, and you, Your Majesties, should go back to your kingdoms, try to keep the people from panicking. Your representatives can remain here.”
“I will go back to the Mid Realms. Trian will be present in my stead,” Stephen said.
“And I will leave behind Captain Bothar’el, a friend of yours, I believe, High Froman,” said Prince Rees’ahn.
“Wonderful, wonderful!” Limbeck clapped his hands. “Then we’re all set.”
“If that is all you need me for,” Haplo said, “I will go back to my ship.”
“Are you all right, Haplo?” the female dwarf asked, regarding him anxiously. He smiled down at her, his quiet smile. “Yes, I’m all right. Just tired, that’s all. Come on, dog.”
The mensch bade him farewell, speaking to him with obvious deference, concern evident on their faces. He held himself straight and tall; his step was firm, but it was apparent to all observers—including the one unseen observer—that he was exerting all his strength to keep moving. The dog padded behind, its own worried eyes on its master.
The others shook their heads, spoke of him in anxious tones. Marit’s lip curled in scorn. She watched him leave, not using his magic but heading for the open Factree door like any mensch.
Marit considered following him, immediately abandoned the idea. Away from the mensch, he would certainly sense her presence. She’d heard all she needed to hear anyway. She lingered only a moment, to listen to the mensch, for they were talking about Haplo.
“He is a wise man,” Prince Rees’ahn was saying. “The Kenkari are greatly impressed with him. They urged me to ask him if he would act as intermediary ruler over us all during this period of transition.”
“Not a bad idea,” Stephen admitted thoughtfully. “The rebellious barons might agree to a third party settling the disputes that must inevitably arise between our people. Especially since he looks human, if you don’t count those odd pictures on his skin. What do you think, High Froman?” Marit didn’t wait to hear what the dwarf thought. Who cared? So Haplo was going to rule over Arianus. Not only had he betrayed his lord, but he had supplanted him!
Moving far away from the mensch, into the very darkest regions of the Factree, Marit stepped back through the circle of her magic.
If she had waited a moment, this is what she would have heard:
“He will not do it,” said Limbeck softly, looking after Haplo. “I’ve already asked him to stay here and help our people. We have much to learn if we are to take our place among you. But he refused. He says he must go back to his world, to wherever it is he came from. He must rescue a child of his who is trapped there.”
“A child,” said Stephen, his expression softening. He took hold of his wife’s hand. “Ah, then, we will say no more to him of his staying. Perhaps in saving one child he will make up in some small measure for the child who was lost.” But Marit heard none of this. It might have made no difference if she had. Once on board her ship, as violent storm winds buffeted the vessel, she placed her hand over the mark on her forehead and closed her eyes. A vision of Xar came to her mind.
“Husband”—she spoke aloud—“what the dragon-snake says is true. Haplo is a traitor. He gave the Sartan book to the mensch. He plans to help the mensch start this machine. Not only that, but the mensch have offered him the rulership of Arianus.”
“Then Haplo must die,” came back Xar’s thought, his response immediate.
“Yes, Lord.”
“When the deed is done, Wife, send me word. I will be on the world of Pryan.”
“Sang-drax has convinced you to travel to that world,” said Marit, not altogether pleased.
“No one convinces me to do what I do not choose to do, Wife.”
“Forgive me, Lord.” Marit’s skin burned. “You know best, of course.”
“I am going to Pryan in company with Sang-drax and a contingent of our people. While there, I hope to be able to enslave the tytans, use them to aid our cause. And I have other matters to pursue on Pryan. Matters in which Haplo may be helpful.”
“But Haplo will be dead—” Marit began, and then stopped, overwhelmed with horror.
“Indeed, he will be dead. You will bring me Haplo’s corpse, Wife.” Marit’s blood chilled. She should have expected this, should have known Xar would make such a demand. Of course, her lord must interrogate Haplo, find out what he knew, what he’d done. Far easier to interrogate his corpse than his living person. The memory of the lazar came to her; she saw its eyes, which were dead, yet dreadfully alive...