The Hand of Chaos

33

“My mother’s coming for me tonight,” said Bane, twiddling the feather he held in his hand. “It’s all arranged. I just spoke to her.”

“That is excellent news, Your Highness,” said Sang-drax. “Do you know the details?”

“She’s coming in the front gate, disguised as an elf woman. An illusion spell. Not all that difficult. I could do it, if I wanted.”

“I’m certain you could, Your Highness.” Sang-drax bowed. “Is the assassin accompanying her?”

“Yes. Hugh the Hand. I thought he was dead,” Bane added. He frowned, shivered.

“He certainly looked dead. But Mother said no, he was only hurt real bad.”

“Appearances can be deceiving, Your Highness, especially when Sartan are involved.”

Bane didn’t understand this, didn’t care. His head was filled with his own concerns, plots, and schemes. “You’ll tell Count Tretar? Tell him to be ready?”

“I leave this moment on just such an errand, Your Highness.”

“You’ll tell everyone who needs to know?” Bane persisted.

“Everyone, Highness,” Sang-drax said, with a bow and a smile.

“Good,” said Bane, making the feather spin and twist in his hands.

“Still here?” Sang-drax said, peering in the cell’s grate.

“Easy, boy,” Haplo said to the dog, who was barking with such ferocity it had nearly barked itself hoarse. “Don’t waste your breath.” The Patryn lay on the bed, his hands beneath his head.

“I am truly amazed. Perhaps we misjudged you. We thought you reckless, full of fire and spirit, eager to advance the cause of your people. Have we”—Sang-drax lounged against the cell door—“frightened you into a stupor?” Patience, Haplo counseled, clenching the hands concealed beneath his head. He’s goading you.

“I should have thought,” Sang-drax continued, “that by now you would have engineered the female dwarfs escape.”

“And Jarre’s unfortunately killed while attempting to break out of prison. And the emperor’s extremely sorry, but it can’t be helped. And the dwarves are extremely sorry, but they’ll have to destroy the machine anyway.” Haplo settled himself more comfortably.

“Go play rune-bone with Bane, Sang-drax. You could probably beat a child at your games.”

“The game is going to get interesting tonight, Haplo,” said Sang-drax softly.

“And you, I think, will be one of the major players.” Haplo didn’t move, stared at the ceiling. The dog, standing near its master, had lost its bark but kept up a constant rumbling growl in its chest.

“Bane’s going to have a visitor. His mother.”

Haplo lay still, kept his eyes focused above him. He was getting to know that ceiling very well by now.

“Iridal is a strong-willed woman. She’s not coming to bring her baby cookies and weep over him. No, she’s coming with the intent of taking him with her when she leaves. Of spiriting him away, hiding him from you, you bad man. And she’ll succeed, I have no doubt. And where will you go to look for dear little Bane? Mid Realm? High Realm? Low? How long will your search take, master? And what will Bane be doing all mis time? He has his own plans, as you well know, and they don’t include either you or ‘Grandfather.’ ”

Haplo reached out his hand, petted the dog.

“Well, well.” Sang-drax shrugged. “Just thought you might be interested in the information. No, don’t thank me. I hate to see you bored, that’s all. Shall we expect you tonight?”

Haplo made an appropriate remark.

Sang-drax laughed. “Ah, my dear friend. We are the ones who invented that*.” He produced a sheet of parchment, slid it under the cell door. “Just in case you don’t know where the boy’s room is, I’ve drawn you a map. The dwarfs room is right down the hall. Oh, by the way, the emperor is refusing to give in to Limbeck’s demands. He’s going to execute Jarre and send down an army to finish off her people. Such an entertaining man, that emperor. We’ve really grown quite fond of him.”

The serpent-elf made a graceful bow. “Until tonight, master. We do so look forward to the pleasure of your company. The party just wouldn’t be the same without you.”

Still laughing, Sang-drax sauntered off.

Haplo, fists clenched, lay on the bed and stared at the ceiling. The Lords of Night drew their cloaks over the world of Arianus. In the Imperanon, artificial suns banished the darkness, flambeaux lit the hallways, chandeliers were lowered from the ceiling of the ballrooms, candelabra flamed in the drawing rooms. The elves ate, drank, danced, and were as merry as possible with the dark shadows of their watching weesham, carrying their little boxes, in attendance. What the geir were doing with the souls they collected now was a subject of whispered speculation, though not at the dinner table. The gaiety was brighter than usual this night. Since the Kenkari had proclaimed their edict refusing to accept any more souls, the mortality rate among young elven royalty had markedly declined.

The parties lasted far into the night, but eventually even the young must sleep... or least retire to more private pleasures. The flambeaux were put out, the chandeliers doused and raised back up into the ceilings, the candelabra were dispersed among the guests to aid them in finding their way either home or back to their chambers.

An hour had passed since the last few elves had left the palace, staggering homeward, arm in arm, trilling an obscene song, ignoring the patient and sober weesham who trotted sleepily behind. The main gate was never closed; it was extraordinarily heavy, mechanically operated, and made a terrible screeching sound that could be heard as far away as Paxaua. The emperor, out of bored curiosity, had ordered it shut once. The experience was a dreadful one, it had taken him a cycle to fully recover his loss of hearing.

The gate was not shut, but the guards who patrolled the main entrance were alert and careful, far more interested in the skies than the ground. All knew that the human invasion force, when it came, would come from the air. Lookouts stood on the towers, keeping watch for raiders whose dragons might succeed in breaking through the elven fleet.

Wearing rich and colorful elven clothing—a high-waisted dress, decorated in jewels and ribbons, with puffed sleeves that came to her wrists, and long, flowing skirts of several layers of filmy silk, covered by a cloak of royal blue satin—Iridal slipped out of the shadows of the Imperanon’s walls and walked rapidly to the guardhouse that stood just inside the main gate. Guards making their rounds on the walls above gave her a swift, cursory glance and dismissed her from their thoughts. Those standing inside the main gate eyed her, but made no move to accost her, leaving that to the porter. He opened the door, in response to the knock.

“How may I assist you, my lady?”

Iridal could barely hear him above the blood surging in her ears. Her heart beat rapidly. She was almost faint from it, yet it didn’t seem to be working properly—didn’t seem to be pumping blood to her limbs. Her hands were ice cold and her feet almost too numb to walk.

The guard’s casual response and uninterested gaze gave her confidence, however. The illusion was working. He did not see a human woman clad in elven clothes that were too small, fit too tight. He saw an elf maiden with delicate features, almond eyes, porcelain skin.

“I wish to enter the palace,” said Iridal faintly, in elven, hoping her fear would be mistaken for maidenly confusion.

“Your business?” the porter asked crisply.

“I ... that is... my aunt is very sick. I’ve been summoned to her bedside.” Several of the guards, standing nearby, looked at each other with sly grins; one made a whispered comment having to do with surprises that lurked between the sheets belonging to “sick aunts.” Iridal, hearing the whispers if not the words, thought it in character to draw herself up, favor the offender with an imperious stare from the confines of her satin-lined hood. And, in doing so, she flashed a quick, searching glance around the gate area.

She saw nothing, and the heart that had beat too rapidly before now seemed to stop altogether. She wished desperately she knew where Hugh was, what he was doing. Perhaps he was—even now—stealing inside the gate, underneath the long noses of the elven guards. It took all Iridal’s willpower to keep from looking for him, hoping to catch even the slightest glimpse of movement in the torchlight, hear the tiniest sound. But Hugh was a master of stealthy movement, had adapted himself swiftly and completely to the chameleonlike costume of the Unseen. The Kenkari had been impressed.

The whispering behind Iridal hushed. She was forced to turn her attention back to the porter.

“Have you a pass, my lady?”

She had, written out by the Kenkari. She presented it. All was in order. He handed it back.

“Your aunt’s name?”

Iridal supplied it. The Kenkari had supplied her.

The porter disappeared into his guardhouse, wrote the name down in a book kept for the purpose. Iridal might have been worried by this, fearing he would check on her, but the Kenkari had assured her that this was a formality. The porter would have been hard pressed checking up on the whereabouts of the hundreds who came and went during a single nighttime.

“You may enter, my lady. I trust your aunt’s health improves,” said the porter politely.

“Thank you,” Iridal replied and swept past him, beneath the massive gate and the towering walls.

The footsteps of the guards echoed on ramparts above her. She was daunted by the immensity of the Imperanon, which was enormous beyond anything she could-have imagined. The main building towered above her, blotting the mountaintops from sight. Innumerable wings branched off from it, wrapped around the base of the mountain.

Iridal thought of the vast numbers of guards patrolling the palace, imagined them all to be standing outside her son’s room, and suddenly her task appeared hopeless. How could she have ever dreamed they would succeed?

We will, she told herself. We have to.

Firmly suppressing her doubts, she kept walking. Hugh had warned her not to hesitate. She had to appear as if she knew where she was going. Her steps did not falter, not even when a passing elven soldier, catching a glimpse of her face by torchlight, informed her that he was off duty in an hour, if she cared to wait.

Keeping the map well in mind, Iridal veered to her right, bypassing the main building. Her path took her into the part of the royal dwellings set farther back into the mountains. She walked underneath archways, past barracks and various other outbuildings. Turning a corner, she ascended a tree-lined avenue, continued past what had once been splashing fountains of water (a blatant display of the emperor’s wealth) but which were now shut off “for repairs.” She was growing worried. She couldn’t remember any of this from the map. She didn’t think she should have come this far, was tempted to turn around and retrace her steps, when she finally saw something she recognized from the map.

She was on the outskirts of the Imperial garden. The garden, whose terraces ran up the mountainside, was beautiful, though not as lush as in past days, before the water had been rationed. It looked exquisite to Iridal, however, and she paused a moment to relax in relief. Apartments for the imperial guests surrounded the garden, a series of eight buildings. Each building had a central door, that provided admittance. Iridal counted six buildings over; Bane was in the seventh. She could almost look to his window. Pressing the feather amulet tightly in her hand, Iridal hastened forward. A footman opened a door to her knock, asked to see her pass. Iridal, standing in the open doorway, fumbled for the pass in the folds of her skirt, dropped it.

The footman bent to pick it up.

Iridal felt, or thought she did, the hem of her gown stir, as though someone had crept by her, slipping through the narrow confines of the open door. She took back the pass—which the footman did not bother to examine—hoped he had not noticed how her hand shook. Thanking him, she entered the building. He offered the use of a candle boy, to escort her through the halls. Iridal declined, stating that she knew the way, but she did accept a lighted flambeau.

She continued down the long hall, certain that the footman was staring at her the entire distance, though in reality he had gone back to exchanging the latest court gossip with the candle boy. Leaving the main corridor, Iridal ascended a flight of carpeted stairs, entered another corridor that was empty, illuminated here and there by light shining from flambeaux mounted in wall sconces. Bane’s room was at the very end.

“Hugh?” she whispered, pausing, staring into the shadows.

“I’m here. Hush. Keep going.”

Iridal sighed in relief. But the sigh changed to an inaudible gasp when a figure detached itself from the wall and advanced on her.

It was an elf, a male elf, clad in the uniform of a soldier. She reminded herself that she had every right to be here, guessed that this man must be on an errand similar to the one she’d made up. With a coolness that she would have never believed herself capable of, she drew her hood over her face and was about to sweep past the elf, when he reached out a hand, detained her. Iridal drew back with a show of indignation. “Really, sir, I—”

“Lady Iridal?” he said to her softly.

Astonished, frightened, Iridal retained her composure. Hugh was nearby, though she trembled to think what he might do. And then she knew. His hands materialized in the air behind the elf. A dagger flashed.

Iridal couldn’t speak. Her magical powers failed her.

“It is you,” said the elf, smiling. “I see through the illusion now. Don’t be afraid. Your son sent me.” He held up a feather, twin to the one Iridal wore.

“I am Captain Sang-drax...”

The dagger blade held still, but did not reverse. Hugh’s hand raised, made a sign to Iridal that she should find out what the elf wanted. Sang-drax. She vaguely remembered the name, mentioned as someone they could trust if they were in trouble. Were they in trouble?

“I’ve frightened you. I’m sorry, but I didn’t know of any other way to stop you. I came to warn you that you are in danger. The man with the blue skin—”

“Haplo!” Iridal gasped, forgetting caution.

“Yes, Haplo. He was the one who brought your son to the elves. Did you know that? For his own evil purposes, you may be certain. He has discovered your plan to rescue Bane and he means to stop you. He may be here at any moment. We haven’t a second to lose!”

Sang-drax took hold of Iridal’s hand, urged her down the hall. “Quickly, my lady, we must reach your son before Haplo does.”

“Wait!” Iridal cried, pulled back.

The dagger’s blade still gleamed in the torchlight, behind the elf. Hugh’s hand was raised, admonishing caution.

“How could he find out?” Iridal swallowed. “No one knew, except my son—” Sang-drax’s expression was grave. “Haplo suspected something was up. Your son is brave, madam, but brave men have been known to break down under torture—”

“Torture! A child!” Iridal was aghast.

“This Haplo is a monster. He will stop at nothing. Fortunately, I managed to intervene. The boy was more frightened than hurt. But he will be very glad to see you. Come. I will carry the light.” Sang-drax took the flambeau from her, drew her forward, and this time Iridal went with him.

The hand and the dagger had both vanished.

“It is a pity,” Sang-drax added, “that we have no one to stand guard while we make your son ready for his journey. Haplo might arrive at any moment. But I dared not trust any of my men—”

“You need not concern yourself,” Iridal said coolly. “I have a companion.” Sang-drax appeared astonished, impressed. “One as gifted in magic as yourself, apparently. No, don’t tell me. The less I know the better. There is the room. I will take you to your son, but then I must leave you two for a moment. The boy has a friend, a dwarf-maid named Jarre. She’s due to be executed and, brave child that he is, he will not escape without taking her with him. You remain with your son, I will bring the dwarf.”

Iridal agreed. They reached the room at the end of the hall. Sang-drax tapped on the door in a peculiar manner.

“A friend,” he said in a low voice. “Sang-drax.” The door opened. The room was dark, an odd circumstance if Iridal had thought about it. But at that moment, she heard a choked cry.

“Mother! Mother, I knew you’d come for me!”

Iridal sank to her knees, held out her arms. Bane flung himself into her embrace.

Golden curls and a tear-wet cheek pressed against hers.

“I’ll be back,” Sang-drax promised.

Iridal heard him only vaguely, paid little attention as the door shut gently behind herself and her son.

It was night in the dungeons of the Unseen. No lights burned here, except for a single glowlamp provided for the benefit of the soldier on duty. And the light was far from Haplo, at the opposite end of the long row of prison cells. Peering through the grate, he could barely see it—a flicker of brightness that seemed, from this distance, no larger than a candle flame.

No sound broke the stillness, except the occasional hacking cough of some wretch in another part of the prison and a moan from another whose political views had come into question. Haplo was so accustomed to these sounds he no longer heard them.

He stared at the cell door.

The dog stood near, ears up, eyes bright, tail wagging slowly. It sensed something was happening and whined softly, urging its master to action. Haplo reached out his hand, touched the door that he could barely see in the darkness, felt the iron cold and rough from rust beneath his fingers. He traced a sigil on the door, spoke a word, watched it flare blue, then red. The iron melted in the heat of his magic. Haplo stared at the hole he’d created, visible until the magic’s glow faded. Two, three more sigla. The hole expanded, and he could walk out, free.

“Free...” Haplo muttered.

The serpents had forced him into taking this action, maneuvered him into it, impelled him, driven him.

“I’ve lost control,” he said. “I’ve got to get it back. That means beating them at their own game. Which is going to be interesting, considering I don’t know the damn rules!”

He glared at the hole he’d made.

Now was the time to make his move.

“A move they’re expecting me to make,” he said bitterly. He was alone down here at the end of the cell block. No guards, not even the Unseen in their magical fool—the-eye getup. Haplo had spotted them the first day, been mildly impressed by mensch ingenuity. But they weren’t around. They had no need to follow him. Everyone knew where he must go. Hell, they’d given him a map!

“I’m surprised the bastards didn’t leave the key in the lock,” he muttered. The dog whined, pawed at the door.

Haplo drew two more sigla, spoke the words. The iron melted away. He stepped through the hole. The dog trotted excitedly after.

Haplo glanced at the runes tattooed on his skin. They were dark, dark as the night that cloaked him. Sang-drax wasn’t around, and, for Haplo, no other danger existed in this palace. He walked from the cell, the dog at his heels, walked past the soldier on duty, who didn’t notice him.[66]

Hugh the Hand took up his position across the hallway opposite Bane’s room. The hail was a T-shape, with the boy’s room at the cross-point, the stairs they had come up forming the base at the far end, and another hallway running perpendicular. By posting himself at the cross-point, Hugh could see the stairs and all three sections of hall.

Sang-drax had let Iridal into her son’s room, had crept back out, shutting the door. Hugh was careful to remain quiet and unmoving, blending into the shadows and the wall behind him. It was impossible that the captain should see him, but Hugh was disconcerted to note the eyes of the elf shift almost right to him. He was also puzzled to note the eyes had a red cast to them, and he was reminded of Ernst Twist, reminded that Ciang had said something about Twist—a human—recommending this Sang-drax.

And Ernst Twist had just happened to be with Ciang. And Sang-drax had just happened to befriend Bane. Coincidence? Hugh didn’t believe in coincidence, any more than he believed in luck. Something was wrong here....

“I’m going to get the dwarf,” said Sang-drax, and if it hadn’t been impossible, Hugh might have supposed the elf was talking to him. Sang-drax pointed down the hallway to Hugh’s left. “Wait here. Keep an eye out for Haplo. He’s coming.” The elf turned and ran lightly and swiftly down the hall. Hugh flicked a glance back down the corridor. He’d just looked that direction, seen no one. The hall was empty.

Except it wasn’t empty now.

Hugh blinked, stared. A man was walking down the hall that had been empty seconds before, almost as if the elfs words had magicked him into being. And the man was Haplo.

Hugh had no difficulty recognizing the Patryn—the deceptive, unassuming, self-effacing air; the calm, confident walk; the quiet watchfulness. When Hugh had last seen Haplo, however, the man’s hands had been bandaged. Now Hugh knew why. Iridal had said something about blue skin, but she had said nothing about the blue skin glowing faintly in the dark. Some type of magic, Hugh supposed, but he couldn’t worry about magic now. His main concern was the dog. He’d forgotten about the dog.

The animal was looking straight at him. It wasn’t threatening. It appeared to have found a friend. Its ears went up, its tail wagged, it opened its mouth in a wide grin.

“What’s the matter with you?” Haplo demanded. “Get back here.” The dog fell back obediently, though it continued to eye Hugh, its head cocked to one side, as if it couldn’t quite figure out what this new game was but would go along since they were all old comrades.

Haplo continued to walk up the hall. Though he flicked a glance sideways in Hugh’s direction, the Patryn appeared to be looking for something ... or someone... else.

Hugh drew the dagger, lunged forward, moving swiftly, silently, with lethal skill.

Haplo made a slight motion with his hand. “Take him, dog.” The dog leapt, mouth open, teeth flashing. Strong jaws closed over Hugh’s right arm, the weight of the animal’s body crashing into his knocked him to the floor.

Haplo kicked the dagger out of Hugh’s hand, stood over him.

The dog began licking Hugh’s hand, wagging its tail.

Hugh made a move to stand.

“I wouldn’t, elf,” said Haplo calmly. “He’ll rip your throat out.” But the beast that was supposed to rip out Hugh’s throat was sniffing and pawing at him in friendly fashion.

“Get back,” Haplo ordered, dragging the dog away. “I said get back.” He stared at Hugh, whose face was hidden by the hood of the Unseen. “You know, elf, if it wasn’t impossible, I’d say he knows you. Just who the hell are you, anyway?”

Leaning down, the Patryn took hold of Hugh’s mask, ripped it from the man’s head.

Haplo staggered backward, the shock a paralyzing one.

“Hugh the Hand!” he breathed, awed. “But you’re... dead!”

“No, you are!” Hugh grunted.

Taking advantage of his enemy’s startlement, Hugh lashed out with his foot, aimed a blow at Haplo’s groin.

Blue fire crackled around Hugh. He might have driven his foot into one of the ’lectric zingers on the Kicksey-winsey. The jolt knocked him backward, almost head over heels. Hugh lay stunned, nerves twitching, head buzzing. Haplo bent over him. “Where’s Iridal? Bane knew she was coming. Did the kid know about you? Damn it, of course he did.” He answered himself. “That’s the plan. I—”

A muffled explosion came from the end of the hall, from behind the closed door of Bane’s room.

“Hugh! Help—” Iridal screamed. Her voice was cut off in a strangled choke. Hugh twisted to his feet.

“It’s a trap,” warned Haplo quietly.

“Of your making!” Hugh snarled, tensing to fight, though every nerve in his body jumped and burned.

“Not mine.” Haplo rose slowly, faced the man calmly. “Bane’s.” Hugh stared intently at the Patryn.

Haplo met his gaze. “You know I’m right. You’ve suspected all along.” Hugh lowered his eyes, turned, moved at a groggy, staggering run for the door.