Elven Star

26

The dragonship skimmed over the tops of the trees. Haplo flew in the direction according to what he’d been told were the human landholdings. Zifnab peered out the window, anxiously watching the landscape slide away beneath them.

“The gulf!” the old man cried out suddenly. “We’re close. Ah, dear, dear.”

“What’s going on?”

Haplo could make out a line of elves drawn up in military formation along the shore. He sailed out farther over the water. Smoke from distant fires obscured his view momentarily. A gust of wind blew the smoke apart, and Haplo could see a burning city, masses of people swarming onto the beach. A few hundred feet from shore, a boat was sinking, to judge by the number of black dots visible in the water.

“Terrible, terrible,” Zifnab ran a trembling hand through his sparse white hair. “You’ll have to fly lower. I can’t see.”

Haplo was interested in having a closer look himself. Maybe he’d been wrong about the peaceful situation in this realm. The dragonship swooped low. Many on the shore, feeling the dark shadow pass over them, looked up, pointed. The crowd wavered, some starting to run from what might be a new threat, others muling about aimlessly, realizing that there was no place to go. Wheeling Dragon Wing around, Haplo made another pass. Elven archers on a boat in the middle of the gulf lifted their bows, turned their arrows on the ship. The Patryn ignored them, soared low to get a better view. The runes protecting his ship would protect them against the puny weapons of this world.

“There! There! Turn! Turn!” The old man clutched at Haplo, almost dragging him off his feet. Zifnab pointed into a densely wooded area, not far from the shoreline where the crowds of people were massed. The Patryn steered the ship in the direction indicated.

“I can’t see a thing, old man.”

“Yes! Yes!” Zifnab was hopping up and down in anxiety. The dog, sensing the excitement, leapt about the deck, barking frantically.

“The grove, down there! Not much room to land, but you can make it.” Not much room. Haplo bit back the words he would have liked to use to describe his opinion of their landing site—a small clearing, barely visible beneath a tangle of trees and vines. He was about to tell the wizard that it would be impossible to set his ship down, when a closer, grudging look revealed that—if he altered the magic and pulled the wings in tight—there might be a chance.

“What do we do once we get down there, old man?”

“Pick up Paithan, the two humans, and the dwarf.”

“You still haven’t told me what’s going on.”

Zifnab turned his head, regarded Haplo with a shrewd look. “You must see for yourself, my boy. Otherwise, you wouldn’t believe.”

At least that’s what Haplo thought he said. He couldn’t be sure, over the dog’s barking. Undoubtedly I’m about to put my ship down in the middle of a raging battle. Coming in low, he could see the small group in the clearing, see their faces staring up at him.

“Hold on!” he shouted to the dog … and the old man, if he was listening. “It’s going to be rough!”

The ship smashed through the tops of the trees. Limbs dragged at them, snapped and broke apart. The view out the window was obscured by a mass of green, the ship lurched and pitched. Zifnab fell forward, ended up spraddled-legged against the glass. Haplo hung on to the steering stone. The dog spread its legs, fighting for purchase on the canting deck.

A grinding crash, and they broke through, swooping into the clearing. Wrestling with the ship, Haplo caught a glimpse of the mensch he was going to rescue, huddled together at one edge of the jungle, apparently uncertain if this was salvation or more trouble.

“Go get them, old man!” Haplo told the wizard. “Dog, stay.” The animal had been about to bound gleefully after Zifnab, who had unpeeled himself from the window and was tottering toward the ladder leading to the upper deck.

The dog obediently sank back down, gazing upward with intense eagerness, tail wagging. Haplo silently cursed himself and this crazy situation. He would have to keep his hands bare to fly and was wondering how he would explain the sigla tattooed on his skin when a sudden blow against the hull sent a shudder through the ship.

Haplo almost lost his footing. “No,” he muttered to himself. “It couldn’t be.” Holding his breath, every sense alert, the Patryn held perfectly still and waited.

The blow came again, stronger, more powerful. The hull shivered, the vibrations tore into the magic, tore into the wood, tore into Haplo. The rune structure was unraveling.

Haplo turned in upon himself, centered himself, body reacting instinctively to a danger his mind told him was impossible. On the deck above, he could hear feet pounding, the old man’s shrill voice, screeching, yelling something. Another blow shook the ship. Haplo heard the old man cry out for help, but ignored his pleas. The Patryn was tasting, smelling, listening, stretching out with all his senses. The rune’s magic was being unraveled, slowly, surely. The blows hadn’t hurt his ship, not yet. But they had weakened his magic. The next strike or the one after would break through, deal damage, destroy. The only magic strong enough, powerful enough to oppose his own was the rune-magic of the Sartan.

A trap! The old man baited me! I was fool enough to fly right into the net!

Another blow rocked the ship; Haplo thought he heard wood splinter. The dog’s teeth bared, the fur rose on its neck.

“Stay, boy,” said Haplo, stroking the head, bidding it stay with the pressure of his hand. “This is my fight.”

He had long wanted to meet, to battle, to kill a Sartan.

Haplo vaulted up to the top deck. The old man was scrambling to his feet. Leaping for him, Haplo was brought to a halt by the look of sheer terror on Zifnab’s face. The old man was yelling frantically, pointing up, over Haplo’s head.

“Behind you!”

“Oh, no, I’m not falling for that—”

Another blow threw Haplo to his knees. The blow had come from behind. He steadied himself, glanced around.

A creature, standing some thirty feet tall, was bashing what appeared to be a small tree trunk into the hull of the dragonship. Several creatures, standing near it, were watching. Others were completely ignoring the attack, advancing with single-minded purpose on the small group crouched at the edge of the glade.

Several planks on the hull had already been staved in, protecting sigla smashed, useless, broken.

Haplo traced the runes in the air, watched them multiply with lightning speed, and zip away from him toward their target. A ball of blue flame exploded on the tree branch, jarring it from the creature’s hands. The Patryn wouldn’t kill, not yet. Not until he found out what these beings were. He knew what they weren’t. They weren’t Sartan. But they were using Sartan magic.

“Nice shot!” yelled the old man. “Wait here. I’ll get our friends.” Haplo couldn’t him to look, but he heard feet clattering off behind him. Presumably the wizard was going to try to bring the elf and his trapped companions on board. Seeing in his mind’s eye more of these beings descending on them, Haplo wished the old man luck. The Patryn couldn’t help. He had his own problems.

The creature stared dazedry at its empty hands, as if trying to comprehend what had happened. Slowly it turned its head toward its assailant. It had no eyes, but Haplo knew it could see him, perhaps see him better than he himself could see the creature. The Patryn felt waves of sensing streak out from the being, felt them touch him, sniff at him, analyze him. The creature wasn’t using magic now. It was relying on its own senses, odd as those might be. Haplo tensed, waiting for an attack, his mind devising the rune structure that would entrap the creature, paralyze it, leave it subject to the Patryn’s interrogation.

Where is the citadel? What must we do?

The voice startled Haplo, speaking to his mind, not his ears. It wasn’t threatening. The voice sounded frustrated, desperate, almost wistfully eager. Other creatures in the grove, hearing the silent question of their companion, had ceased their murderous pursuit to turn to watch.

“Tell me about the citadel,” said Haplo cautiously, spreading his hands in a gesture of appeasement. “Perhaps I can—”

Light blinded him, concussive thunder blasted him from his feet. Lying face down on the deck, dazed and stunned, Haplo fought to retain consciousness, fought to analyze and understand.

The magical spell had been crude—a simple elemental configuration calling upon forces present in nature. A child of seven could have constructed it, a child of seven should have been able to protect himself against it. Haplo hadn’t even seen it coming. It was as if the child of seven had cast the spell using the strength of seven hundred. His own magic had shielded him from death, but the shield had been cracked. He was hurt, vulnerable.

Haplo enhanced his defenses. The sigla on his skin began to glow blue and red, creating an eerie light that shone through his clothing. He was vaguely aware that the being had retrieved its tree trunk and lifted it high, preparing to smash it down on him. Rolling to a standing position, he cast his spell. Runes surrounded the wood, caused the trunk to disintegrate in the creature’s hand. Behind him came shouts and the thudding of feet, panting breath. His diversion of the creature’s attention must have given the old man time to rescue the elf and his friends. Haplo felt, more than saw or heard, one of them come creeping up to him.

“I’ll help—” offered a voice, speaking in elven.

“Get below!” the Patryn snarled, enraged, the interruption unweaving an entire fabric of runes. He didn’t see whether the elf obeyed him or not. Haplo didn’t care.

He was intent upon the creature, analyzing it. It had ceased using its potent magic, turned again to brute force. Dull-witted, stupid, Haplo decided. Its reactions had been instinctive, animal-like, unthinking. Perhaps it couldn’t consciously control the magic—He started to stand up. The blast of wind hit him with hurricane force. Haplo struggled against the spell, creating dense and complex rune constructs to surround him, protect him.

He might have built a wall of feathers. The raw power of the crude magic seeped through minuscule cracks in the sigla and blew them to tatters. The wind battered him to the deck. Branches and leaves hurtled past him, something struck him in the face, nearly knocking him senseless. He fought against the pain, clinging to the wooden rails with his hands, the gusts pummeling, hammering. He was helpless against the magic, he couldn’t reason with it, speak to it. His strength was seeping from him rapidly, the wind increasing in force.

A grim joke among the Patryns purports that there are only two kinds of people in the Labyrinth: the quick and the dead, and advises, “When the odds are against you, run like heli.”

It was definitely time to get out of here.

Every move taking a supreme effort against the force of the wind, Haplo managed to turn his head and look behind him. He spotted the open hatch, saw the elf crouched, waiting there, his head poking up. Not a hair on the elf’s head was ruffled. The full force of the magic was being expended against Haplo alone.

That might end soon.

Haplo released his hold on the rail. The wind blew him across the deck, toward the hatch. Making a desperate lunge, he grabbed the rim of the hatch as he slithered past, and held on. The elf grasped him by the wrists and fought to drag him below. The wind fought them. Blinding, stinging, it howled and pounded at them like a live thing who sees its prey about to escape. The elf’s grip loosened, suddenly broke. The elf disappeared. Haplo felt his hold on the rim weakening. Inwardly cursing, he concentrated all his strength, all his magic into just hanging on. Down below, he heard the dog barking frantically, and then hands had hold of him again—not slender elf hands, but strong human hands. Haplo saw a human face—grim, determined, flushed red with the effort the man was expending. Haplo, with his failing energy, wove his magic around the man. Red and blue sigla from the runes on his own arms and hands twisted and twined around the human’s arms, lending him Haplo’s strength.

Muscles bunched, jerked, heaved, and Haplo was flying head first down the hatch.

He landed heavily on top of the human, heard the breath leave the man’s body in a whoosh and a grunt of pain.

Haplo was on his feet, moving, reacting, ignoring the part of his mind that was trying to draw his attention to his own injuries. He didn’t glance at the human who had saved his life. He rudely shoved aside the old man who was yammering something in his ear. The ship shuddered; he heard timber cracking. The creatures were venting their rage against it or perhaps endeavoring to crack open the shell protecting the fragile life inside.

The steering stone was the only object in Haplo’s line of sight. All else disappeared, was swallowed up in the black fog that was slowly gathering about him. He shook his head, fought the darkness back. Sinking to his knees before the stone, he placed his hands upon it, summoning from the deep well within him the strength to activate it.

He felt the ship shudder beneath him, but it was a different type of shudder than the one the creatures were inflicting. Dragon Wing rose slowly off the ground.

Haplo’s eyes were gummed almost completely shut with something, probably his own blood. He peered through them, struggled to see out the window. The creatures were behaving as he had anticipated. Amazed, startled by the ship’s sudden lift into the air, they had fallen back away from it. But they weren’t frightened. They weren’t fleeing from it in panic. Haplo felt their senses reaching out, smelling, listening, seeing without eyes. The Patryn fought back the black haze and concentrated his energy on keeping the ship floating up higher and higher.

He saw one of the creatures lift its arm. A giant hand reached out, grabbed hold of one of the wings. The ship lurched, throwing everyone to the deck. Haplo held onto the stone, concentrated his magic. The runes flared blue, the creature snatched its hand back as if in pain. The ship soared into the air. Looking out from beneath his gummed eyelashes, Haplo saw green treetops and the hazy blue-green sky and then everything was covered by a dense black, pain-tinged fog.