If it wasn’t Trian, who was it?
Someone from the queen, no doubt. Hugh cursed the wizard and his king long and hard beneath his breath. The bungling fools had let slip their plans. Now, undoubtedly, Hugh had to contend with some baron or earl attempting to rescue the child. The Hand would have to rid himself of this nuisance, which meant laying a trap, cutting a throat, hiding a body. The kid would probably recognize the man, know him to be a friend. He would grow suspicious. Hugh would have to convince the prince that the friend had been an enemy; that his enemy was truly his friend. It looked to be a lot of bother, and all because Trian and his guilt-ridden king had been careless.
Well, thought Hugh grimly, it’ll cost them.
The dragon began spiraling down, without guidance from Hugh, and the Hand guessed that they had reached their destination. The magical cloud disappeared and Hugh glimpsed a patch of forest, dark black against the blue-glowing coralite, and then a large cleared area and the sharply defined and delineated shapes that were never found in nature but were created by man.
It was a small village, nestled in a valley of coralite and surrounded by heavy forests. Hugh knew of many such towns that used the hills and trees to hide themselves from elven attack. They paid the penalty by being well off the major airlanes, but if it came to a question of living well or living at all, some people gladly chose poverty.
Hugh knew the value of life. Measuring it against good living, he considered them fools.
The dragon circled the sleeping village. Seeing a glade in the forest, Hugh guided the beast to a smooth landing. As he unpacked their gear from the dragon’s back, he wondered where their shadow had set down. He did not spend much time considering the question. The Hand had laid his snare. It required only baiting.
The dragon left them immediately after it was unloaded. Rising into the air, it disappeared above the treetops. Casually, taking his time, Hugh shouldered the packs. Motioning to the prince to follow, he was heading off into the woods when he felt a tug at his sleeve.
“What is it, Your Highness?”
“Can we talk out loud now?” The child’s eyes were wide.
Hugh nodded.
“I can carry my own pack. I’m stronger than I look. My father says someday I’m going to grow up to be as tall and strong as he is.”
Stephen said that, did he? To a kid he knew would never grow up. If I had that bastard in front of me, it’d be a pleasure to twist his neck.
Silently Hugh handed Bane the pack. They reached the edge of the forest and plunged into the deep shadows beneath the hargast trees. Soon they would be lost to sight and hearing, their feet making no sound on the thick carpet of fine dustlike crystals.
The Hand felt another tug at his sleeve.
“Sir Hugh,” said Bane, pointing, “who’s that?”
Startled, the Hand glanced around. “There’s no one there, Your Highness.”
“Yes, there is,” said the child. “Don’t you see him? It’s a Kir monk.”
Hugh halted and stared at the boy.
“It’s all right if you don’t see him,” added Bane, shifting his pack to lie more comfortably across his small shoulders. “I see lots of things other people don’t. But I’ve never seen a Kir monk walk with anyone before. Why is he with you?”
“Let me carry it, Your Highness.” Hugh took the pack from the prince and, propelling the child in front of him with a firm grip of his hand, resumed walking.
Damn Trian! The blasted wizard must have let something else slip. The kid had picked up on it and now his imagination was running wild. He might even guess the truth. Well, there was nothing to be done about it now. It only made the assassin’s job that much more difficult-and therefore that much more expensive.
The two spent what was left of the night in a water harvester’s warming shed. The sky was lightening; Hugh could see the faint glimmer of the firmament that presaged dawn. The edges of the Lords of Night glistened a fiery red. Now he could determine the direction in which they were moving and could at last orient himself. Inspecting the contents of his pack before leaving the monastery, he’d ascertained that he had all the proper navigational equipment-his own having been taken from him in Yreni prison. He removed a small leather-bound book and silver baton topped by a quartz sphere. The baton had a spike on the end and Hugh shoved it into the ground.