“Let’s get one thing straight. I don’t know any more about these dragon-snakes than you do. Less, maybe.”
“They spoke to you,” Grundle informed him.
Haplo ignored her.
“Shush, Grundle,” whispered Alake.
“What we do to protect ourselves is mostly common sense. You”—Haplo shifted his gaze to the elf—“better keep pretending to be a girl. Cover your face and head and don’t take the scarf off, no matter what. And keep your mouth shut. Keep quiet and let me do the talking. That goes for all of you,” Haplo added with a meaningful glare at the dwarf.
Grundle snorted and tossed her head. She had placed the battle-ax between her legs and was nervously rapping the haft on the deck. The ax reminded Haplo of something.
“Are there any more weapons aboard? Small ones. Like knives?” Grundle sniffed in scorn. “Knives are for elves. Dwarves don’t use such puny weapons.”
“But there are knives on board,” offered Alake. “In the galley.”
“Cooking knives,” muttered Haplo. “Are they sharp, small? Could Devon hide one in his belt? Could you hide one . . . somewhere.” He gestured at Alake’s tight, form-fitting clothes.
“Of course they’re sharp!” stated Grundle indignantly. “I’d like to see the day a dwarf would craft a dull knife! But they could be sharp as this ax and still not penetrate the hide of those foul beasts.”
Haplo was silent, trying to think of the easiest, gentlest way to say what he had in mind. There was, he decided at last, no easy, gentle way. “I wasn’t thinking about using them on the dragon-snakes.” He said nothing more, hoping they’d get the idea.
They did . . . after a moment.
“You mean,” said Alake, her black eyes large and wide, “that we’re to use them ... on ... on ...” She swallowed.
“Yourselves,” said Haplo, deciding to be brisk, matter-of-fact. “Death can sometimes come as a friend.”
“I know,” said Alake, shivering. “I saw how my people died.”
“And I saw the elf the dragon-snakes tortured,” Devon added. Grundle said nothing, for a change. Even the feisty dwarf looked subdued. Devon drew a deep breath. “We understand what you are saying and we’re grateful, but I’m not sure we could . . .”
You could, Haplo told him silently. When the horror and the agony and the torment become more than you can bear, you’ll be desperate to end it. But how can I say that to them? Haplo wondered bitterly. They’re children. Beyond a splinter in the foot or a fall and a bump on the head, what do they know of pain and suffering?
“Could you . . .” Devon licked his lips. He was trying very hard to be brave.
“Could you . . . show us how?” He flicked a glance to the girls on either side of him. “I don’t know about Alake and Grundle, but I never had to ... do anything like this.” He smiled ruefully. “I’m pretty certain I’d botch it up.”
“We don’t need knives,” said Alake. “I wasn’t going to say anything, but I have certain herbs with me. A small amount is used to ease pain, but if you chew a whole leaf—”
“—it eases you right into the next life,” Grundle concluded. She regarded the human with grudging admiration. “I didn’t know you had it in you, Alake.” A thought seemed to occur to her, however. “But what do you mean, you weren’t going to tell us?”
“I would have,” Alake replied. “I would have given you the choice. As I said,” she added softly, lifting her black eyes to Haplo, “I saw how my people died.” He realized, then, that she was in love with him.
The knowledge did nothing to make him feel any better. In fact, it made him feel worse. It was just one more damn thing he had to worry about. But why should he? What difference did it make to him whether he broke the heart of this wretched human or not? She was, after all, only a mensch. But he could tell by the way she looked at him that he’d have to revise his notion of her being a child.
“Good. Good for you, Alake,” he said, sounding as cold and dispassionate as possible. “You’ve got these herbs hidden where the dragon-snakes won’t find them.”
“Yes, they’re in my—”
“Don’t!” He raised his hand. “Don’t say. What none of the rest of us know, the creatures can’t wring out of us. Keep the poison safe and keep it secret.” Alake nodded solemnly. She continued to gaze at him, her eyes warm and liquid. Don’t do this to yourself. It’s impossible, Haplo wanted to tell her. Perhaps I should tell her. Perhaps that would be best. But how can I explain?
How can I explain that to fall in love in the Labyrinth is to inflict a deliberate wound on yourself? Nothing good can come of love. Nothing but death and bitter sorrow and empty loneliness.
And how can I explain that a Patryn could never seriously love a mensch? There were instances, according to what Haplo knew about the pre-Sundering days, when Patryns, men and women both, had found pleasure among the mensch. Such liaisons were safe[24] and amusing. But that had been long ago. His people took life more seriously now.
Alake lowered her eyes, her lips were parted in a shy smile. Haplo realized that he had been staring at her and, undoubtedly, she was getting the wrong impression.
“Go on, now. Clear out,” he said gruffly. “Go back to your cabins and make yourself ready. I don’t think we have long to wait. Devon, you might take one of those knives, just to be on the safe side. You, too, Grundle.”
“I’ll show you where to find them,” Alake offered. She smiled at Haplo as she left, cast him a sidelong glance from beneath her long eyelashes, then led the way out the door.
Devon followed after her. The elf studied Haplo on the way out, and the elf’s eyes were suddenly cool and shadowed. He said nothing, however. It was Grundle who stopped on the threshold, jaw outthrust, side whiskers bristling.
“You hurt her”—the dwarf raised a small, threatening fist—“and, snakes or no snakes, I’ll kill you.”
“I think you have other matters to concern you,” said Haplo quietly.
“Humpf!” Grundle snorted, and shook her whiskers at him. Turning her small back, she stumped off, battle-ax bouncing on her shoulder.
“Damn!” Haplo slammed shut the door.
The Patryn paced his small cabin, making plans, discarding them, making others. He had just come to the point of admitting to himself that this was all nonsense, that he was trying futilely to control what he had no control over, when his room was suddenly plunged into darkness.
Haplo stopped in his tracks, blind, disoriented. The submersible hit something, the jolt sent him flying. He crashed up against one of the walls. A grinding sound coming from below led him to guess the ship had run aground. The vessel rocked, shifted, listed to one side, then seemed to settle itself. All movement, all sound, ceased.
Haplo stood absolutely still, holding his breath, listening. His cabin was no longer dark. The sigla on his skin glowed a bright blue, bathing himself and every object in the small cabin with an eerie, shimmering light. Haplo had only once before seen the runes react this strongly to danger and that had been in the Labyrinth, when he’d accidentally stumbled upon the cave of a blood dragon, the most feared of all the fearsome creatures in that hellish place.
He’d turned tail and run then, run until his leg muscles burned and cramped and his lungs ached, run until he’d been literally sobbing with pain and exhaustion, and then he’d run some more. His body was telling him to run for it now. . . .
He stared at the glowing sigla, felt the almost-maddening tingling sensation pricking him to action. But the dragon-snakes had not threatened him. They had done just the reverse, promising him—or seeming to promise him—revenge on an ancient enemy.
24
By safe, Haplo means that no children could come of such a dalliance, since the various races are not genetically compatible.