“I seem to have run into the door . . .”
“Tilt your head back. I’ll sing you a rune of healing.” I should call the dog! Alfred trembled. I should never permit this. I am worse than Haplo. He spied on strangers. I’m spying on my own kind. I have only to say the word, call it, and the dog will come to me.
Alfred looked back. “Dog—” he began.
Samah was watching him with disdainful amusement, Ramu with disgust. But both were watching him.
“What were you saying about the dog?” Orla asked, looking anxious. Alfred sighed, closed his eyes. “Only that I ... I sent it home.”
“Where you should be right now,” Orla told him.
“Yes,” said Alfred. “I’m ready to leave.” He had reached the outer door of the Council hall, when he heard, through the dog’s ears, father and son start to talk.
“That man is dangerous.” Ramu’s voice.
“Yes, my son. You are right. Very dangerous. Therefore we must never relax our vigilance over him again.”
“You think that? Then why did you let him go? We should do to him what we did to the others.”
“We cannot now. The other Council members, especially your mother, would never agree. This is all part of his clever plan, of course. Let him think he has fooled us. Let him relax, think himself unwatched, unsuspected.”
“A trap?”
“Yes,” Samah answered complacently, “a trap to catch him in the act of betraying us to his Patryn friend. Then we will have enough evidence to convince even your mother that this Sartan with the mensch name means to encompass our downfall.”
Alfred sank onto a bench, just outside the Hall of the Council of Sartan.
“You look terrible,” said Orla. “I think your nose must be broken. Are you faint? If you don’t feel able to walk, I can—”
“Orla.” Alfred looked up at her. “I know this is going to sound ungrateful, but could you please leave me?”
“No, I couldn’t possibly—”
“Please. I need to be alone,” he said gently.
Orla studied him. Turning, she looked back toward the hall, stared into the shadowy interior intently, as if she could see within. Perhaps she could. Perhaps, though her ears did not hear the voices inside the hall, her heart did. Her face grew grave and sad.
“I’m sorry,” she said, and left him.
Alfred groaned and rested his head in his shaking hands.
24
Events have hurtled down on us like boulders from the mountaintop. Some seemed likely to flatten us, but we managed to duck and so survived.[43] We spent several more days on Phondra, for we had a great deal of planning to do, as you may well imagine. Many factors had to be determined: how many people were to be in each sun-chaser, what we could and could not take with us, how much food and water would be necessary for the duration of the journey, and a lot of other details that I won’t bother to put down. It was bad enough having to listen and worry about them all.
Alake and I have finally been allowed to sit in on the royal meetings. It was an extremely proud moment for us.
During the first meeting, Alake and I concentrated on being serious, solemn, and earnest. We paid strict attention to every word and we were ready with our opinions, despite the fact that no one ever asked us for them. But by the next afternoon, when my father and Dumaka were busy drawing—for the sixth time—a diagram of one of the sun-chasers in the dirt to determine how many water barrels could be safely stowed in the hold, Alake and I began to discover that being a ruler was, as she put it, a royal pain. Here we were, stuck inside the longhouse, which was hot and stuffy, forced to listen to Eliason drone on about the merits of fish oil and why casks of it were considered an absolute necessity by the elves. Outdoors (we could see plainly through the slats in the log walls) the most interesting things were going on.
Alake’s quick eye caught sight of Haplo, pacing restlessly about the camp. Devon walked with him. Our elf friend had almost completely recovered from his accident. The scars on his neck were healing. Other than an extremely raspy voice, he was back to being his old self. (Well, almost. I guess he will never be the merry, carefree Devon we once knew, but then I suppose none of us will ever be the same again.)
Devon spent most of his time with Haplo. They never seemed to say much to each other, but each seemed glad of the other’s company. At least, I assume Haplo liked having the elf around. It’s hard to tell what Haplo’s thinking. For example, he’s been in an extremely dark humor these past few days, which is odd, considering everything worked out the way he wanted. But then, I got the distinct feeling he was impatient, in a hurry to be gone, and was fed up with the delay.
I was watching the two of them walk past, thinking regretfully that if Alake and I had been spying, as usual, we would have left long before this (or fallen asleep!), when I saw Haplo suddenly stop in midstride, look in our direction. His face was grim. Turning, nearly bowling over the startled elf, he headed for the longhouse.
I perked up, having the feeling something was about to happen. Alake had seen him coming, too, and was smoothing her hair and adjusting her ear-jangles. She sat up straight and pretended to look deeply interested in the subject of fish oil, when only a moment before she’d been rolling her eyes and trying not to yawn. It was enough to make a cat laugh. As it was, I snorted and caught a stern, reproving look from my mother.
The doorkeeper entered, apologized for interrupting, and announced that Haplo had something to say. Of course, he was graciously received. (He’d been invited to attend these meetings, but he had better sense.) He began by saying he hoped we were making progress, reminding us again that we didn’t have much time. I thought his look, as he said this, was dark.
“What are you discussing?” he asked, his gaze going to the diagram on the floor.
None of the others seemed inclined to answer, so I told him. “Fish oil.”
“Fish oil,” Haplo repeated. “Every day, the Sartan grow stronger, your sun drifts farther, and you sit here yammering about fish oil.” Our parents looked ashamed. My father ducked his head, chewed on his beard. My mother sighed loudly. Eliason, his pale skin flushed, started to say something, floundered, and fell silent.
“It is hard to leave our homelands,” said Dumaka finally, staring down at the diagram of the boat.
At first, I couldn’t figure out what that had to do with fish oil, but then it occurred to me that all of the arguing and discussion over petty details were just our parents’ way of stalling, of refusing to face the inevitable. They knew they had to leave, but they didn’t want to. I felt suddenly like bursting into tears.
“I think we were hoping for a miracle,” said Delu.
“The only miracle you’re going to get is the one you make yourselves,” Haplo answered irritably. “Now, look, here is what you take and how you take it.” He told them. Squatting down on the floor near the diagram, he explained everything. He told us what to take, how to pack it, what each man, woman, and child could carry, how much room to allot, what we’d need when we reached Surunan, what we could leave behind because we could make it when we got there. He told what we’d need in case of war.
We listened, dazed. Our parents presented feeble arguments.
“But what about—”
“Not necessary.”
“But we should take—”
“No, you should not.”
In less than an hour, everything was settled.
“Be ready to sail for your homes tomorrow. Once there, send out the word for your people to start gathering at the appointed locations.” Haplo stood up, brushed the dirt off his hands. “The dwarves will sail the sun-chasers to Phondra and Elmas. Allow a full cycle at each city or village for loading everyone on board.
“The fleet will reassemble at Gargan in”—Haplo made a swift calculation in his head—“fourteen cycles’ time. We should travel together; there’s safety in numbers. Any who lag behind”—a stern glance at the elves—“will be left behind. Understood.”
43
The next several pages of Grundle’s journal chronicle events previously related. Since-with one exception—they correspond with Haplo’s account, these passage will be deleted. The exception is Devon’s attempted suicide, which Grundle describes as an “accident while picking sugarfruit.” It is interesting to note that even in her own private writings, she loyally perpetuates the deception.