Dragon Wing – Death Gate Cycle 1. Margaret Weis & Tracy Hickman

“So you trade with the enemy-”

Hugh shrugged. “In my business, everyone’s an enemy.”

Trian licked his lips. The discussion was obviously leaving a bitter taste in his mouth, but that’s what happens, thought Hugh, when you drink with kings.

“The elves have been known to capture humans and taunt us by leaving the bodies where they may easily be discovered,” Trian said in a low voice. “You should arrange matters so that it appears-”

“I know how to arrange matters.” Hugh placed his hand on the wizard’s shoulder and had the satisfaction of feeling the young man flinch. “I know my business.” Reaching down, he picked up the coins, studied them again, then dropped two into a small inner pocket of the doublet. The remainder he tucked away carefully into his money pouch and stored that in a pack. “Speaking of business, how will I contact you for the rest of my pay, and what assurance do I have that I’ll find it and not a feathered shaft in my ribs when I return?”

“You have our word, the word of a king. As for the feathered shaft”-now it was Trian who experienced satisfaction-“I assume you can take care of yourself.”

“I can,” said Hugh. “Remember that.”

“A threat?” Trian sneered.

“A promise. And now,” said the Hand coolly, “we’d best get going. We’ll need to do our traveling by night.”

“The dragon will take you to where your ship is moored-”

“-and then return and tell you the location?” Hugh raised an eyebrow. “No.”

“You have our word-”

Hugh smiled. “The word of a man who hires me to murder his child.”

The young wizard flushed in anger. “Do not judge him! You cannot understand-” Biting his tongue, he silenced himself.

“Understand what?” Hugh flashed him a sharp, narrow-eyed glance.

“Nothing. You said yourself you have no interest in politics.” Trian swallowed. “Believe what you want of us. It makes little difference.”

Hugh eyed him speculatively, decided that no more information would be forthcoming. “Tell me where we are and I will find my way from here.”

“Impossible. This fortress is secret! We worked many years to make it a safe retreat for His Majesty.”

“Ah, but you have my word,” Hugh mocked. “It seems we’re at an impasse.”

Trian flushed again, his teeth clenched over his lip so tightly that, when at last he spoke, Hugh could see white marks upon the flesh.

“What of this? You provide me with a general location-say the name of an isle. I’ll instruct the dragon to take you and the prince to a town on that isle and leave you. That’s the best I can do.”

Hugh considered this, then nodded in agreement. Knocking the ashes from the pipe, he tucked the long, curved stem with its small rounded bowl into the pack and inspected the remainder of the pack’s contents. He evidently approved what he saw, for he cinched it tightly.

“The prince carries his own food and clothing, enough for”- Trian faltered, but forced the words out-“for a … a month.”

“It shouldn’t take that long,” said the Hand easily, throwing the fur cloak over his shoulders. “Depending on how close this town is to where we’re bound. I can hire dragons-”

“The prince must not be seen! There are few who know him, outside of the court, but if by chance he were recognized-”

“Relax. I know what I’m doing,” Hugh said softly, but there was a warning in the black eyes that the wizard thought best to heed.

Hugh hefted the pack and started for the door. Movement glimpsed from the corner of an eye drew his attention. Outside, in the courtyard, he saw the king’s executioner bow in apparent response to some unheard command and then quit his post. The block alone remained standing in the courtyard. It gleamed with a white light strangely inviting in its coldness and purity and promise of escape. The Hand paused. It was as if he felt, for a brief instant, the invisible filament, cast out by Fate, wrap itself around his neck. It was tugging him away, dragging him on, entangling him in the same vast web in which Trian and the king were already struggling.