The Hand of Chaos

36

Hugh the Hand was awakened in the dawn by the impression that someone stood over him. He roused himself, found Count Tretar.

“Remarkable,” said the count. “What they tell of you is not exaggerated. A true professional, a cold and callous killer, if ever there was one. I fancy there are not many men who could sleep soundly the night before they intend to murder a king.”

Hugh sat up, stretched. “More than you might imagine. How well did you sleep?” Tretar smiled. “Rather poorly. But I trust that tomorrow I will rest easier. The dragon has been obtained. Sang-drax has a human friend who is quite helpful in such matters—”

“Name wouldn’t happen to be Ernst Twist, would it?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact it is,” said the count.

Hugh nodded. He still had no idea what was going on, but the knowledge that Twist was involved didn’t surprise him.

“The dragon is tethered on the grounds outside the Imperanon’s walls. Couldn’t permit the beast inside. The emperor would be in a state of nervous prostration for a week. I’ll take you and the boy there myself. His Highness is anxious to get started.”

Tretar glanced over at Bane, who was dressed and fidgeting with impatience. The dog lay at the boy’s side.

Hugh studied the animal, wondered what was wrong with it. Ears drooping, it looked desperately unhappy. As he watched, he saw it raise its head, stare hopefully at the door, as if expecting a summons.

Then, not hearing anything, it sighed and sank back down. Obviously, the dog was waiting for its master.

It might, thought Hugh, have a long wait.

“Here are the clothes you wanted,” Tretar was saying. “We took them off one of the slaves.”

“What about my weapons?” asked Hugh. He examined the leather breeches, soft-soled boots, patched shirt, and worn cloak. Nodding in satisfaction, he began to dress.

Tretar regarded him with a disdainful air, his nose wrinkled at the smell.

“Your weapons wait for you in company with the dragon.” Hugh was careful to seem casual, at ease, hide his disappointment. It had been a fleeting hope, a half-formed plan, made before he gave in to exhaustion. He hadn’t really expected the elves to give him the weapons. If they had... But, they hadn’t.

He shrugged the hope off. One way out, he told himself. Be thankful you have that.

He lifted his pipe from the table by the couch on which he’d slept. He’d persuaded the elves to bring him some stregno, enjoyed a pipe before bed. He tucked the pipe into his belt, indicated he was ready.

“Something to eat?” Tretar offered, gesturing to honey cakes and fruit. Hugh glanced at it, shook his head. “What you elves eat isn’t eating.” Truth told, his stomach was clenched so tight he didn’t think he could keep anything down.

“Are we finally going now?” Bane demanded grumpily. He tugged at the dog. The animal clambered reluctantly to its feet, stood looking woeful. “Cheer up,” the boy ordered, giving the animal a playful smack on the nose.

“How’s your mother this morning?” Hugh asked.

“Fine,” Bane answered, looking at him with a sweet smile. He toyed with the feather he wore around his neck, held it up for Hugh to see. “She’s sleeping.”

“You’d tell me that, with that same look on your face, if she was dead,” Hugh said. “But I’ll know if anything happens to her. I’ll know, you little bastard.”

Bane’s smile froze, twitched at the comers. Then he tossed his curls. “You shouldn’t call me that,” he said slyly. “You insult my mother.”

“No, I don’t,” Hugh replied. “You’re no child of hers. You are your father’s creation.” He walked past Bane, out the door.

At the count’s command, three elven guards, heavily armed, surrounded Hugh the Hand, escorted him down the hall. Bane and Tretar followed, walking side by side.

“You must see to it, Your Highness, that he’s publicly charged with the murders, executed before he can talk,” Tretar said in an undertone. “The humans must not suspect that we elves have had anything to do with this.”

“They won’t, my lord,” said Bane, two bright red spots burning in his pale cheeks. “Once I have no more use for the assassin, I’ll have him executed. And this time, I’ll see to it that he stays dead. He couldn’t come back to life once his body’s been cut apart, do you think?”

Tretar had no idea what Bane was talking about, but he didn’t suppose it mattered. Looking down at the prince, who was gazing up at the count with limpid eyes and a curve of the rose-tinted lips, Tretar almost found it in his heart to pity the wretches who would so shortly be Bane’s subjects. Count Tretar’s own personal dragonship was to carry Hugh and Bane up into the mountains, where the dragon was being held in thrall.

In the Imperial Harbor, another dragonship—one of the large ones that made the journey through the Maelstrom into Drevlin—was being hurriedly made ready to sail.

Human slaves, stumbling over their chains, were herded aboard. Elven mariners swarmed over the ship, testing lines, raising and lowering the sails. The captain ran on board, clutching together the flapping folds of his hastily put-on uniform. A ship’s wizard, rubbing sleep from his eyes, dashed on board after.

Tretar’s own small dragonship spread its wings, prepared to take to the air. Hugh watched the bustle on board the larger ship until he grew bored, was turning away when his attention was caught by a familiar figure. Two familiar figures, Hugh amended, startled. The first he recognized as Sang-drax. The second, walking along beside the elf, was—of all things—a female dwarf.

“Jarre,” said Hugh, coming up with the name, after some thought. “That girlfriend of Limbeck’s. I wonder what the devil she’s doing, mixed up in all this?”

His wonder was brief and it passed swiftly, for Hugh wasn’t much interested in the dwarf. He stared hard at Sang-drax, however, wished that he might be granted the time to settle his score with the treacherous elf. But that wasn’t going to be possible.

The count’s ship sailed into the air, headed for the mountain peaks. Tretar was taking no chances with Hugh. An elven soldier stood with his sword at the Hand’s throat during the entire short journey, just in case the human might have some desperate plan to seize control of the ship.

The elves needn’t have troubled. Any attempt to escape would be futile, endanger Iridal’s life, and all for nothing. Hugh realized that now, should have realized it during the night when he was concocting foolhardy, desperate schemes.

There was only one way, one way to alert Stephen to his danger, deliver Bane alive into the king’s hands, keep him alive so that the elves wouldn’t harm Iridal. The last was chancy, but Hugh had to take the risk. Iridal would want him to take the risk.

Most important, this would open her eyes to the truth.

Hugh had formed his plan. It was firm in his mind. He was confident it would work. He relaxed, at peace with himself for the first time in a long time. He was looking forward to the night.

To what would be, for him, endless night.