Consequently, they did not make very good time. Hugh did not push them, did not push himself. They were not far from the wooded inlet on the isle’s edge, where he kept his ship moored, and he felt a reluctance to reach it-a reluctance that angered him, but one for which he refused to account.
The walking was pleasant, for Bane and Hugh, at least. The air was cold, but the sun shone and kept the chill from being bitter. There was little wind. They met more than the usual number of travelers on the road, taking advantage of this brief spell of good weather to make whatever pressing journeys had to be made during the winter. The weather was also fine for raiding, and Hugh noted that everyone kept one eye on the road and one on the sky, as the saying went.
They saw three of the dragon-headed, sail-winged elven ships, but they were far distant, traveling to some unknown destination on the kiratrack side. That same day, a flight of fifty dragons passed directly overhead. They could see the dragonknights in their saddles, the bright winter sun gleaming off helm and breastplate, javelin and arrow tips. This detail had a wizardess with them, flying in the center, surrounded by knights. She carried no visible weapons, only her magic, and that was in her mind. The dragonknights were headed toward the kiratrack as well. The elves weren’t the only ones who would take advantage of clear, windless days.
Bane watched the elven ships with wide-eyed, openmouthed, boyish awe. He had never seen one, he said, and was bitterly disappointed that they didn’t come closer. A scandalized Alfred had, in fact, been forced to restrain His Highness from pulling off his hood and using it as a flag to wave them this direction. Travelers along the road had not been at all amused by this stunt. Hugh took grim delight in watching the peasants scatter for cover before Alfred managed to put a damper on His Highness’s enthusiasm.
That night, as they gathered around the fire after their frugal meal, Bane went over to sit beside Hugh, instead of his usual place near the chamberlain. Squatting down, he made himself comfortable.
“Will you tell me about the elves, Sir Hugh?”
“How do you know I have anything to tell?” Hugh fished his pipe and the pouch of sterego out of his pack. Leaning back against a tree, his -feet stretched out to the flames, he shook the dried fungus out of the leather pouch and into the round, smooth bowl.
Bane gazed not at the assassin but at a point somewhere to Hugh’s right, over his shoulder. His blue eyes lost their focus. Hugh thrust a stick into the fire and used it to light his pipe. Puffing on it, he watched the boy with idle curiosity.
“I see a great battle,” said Bane dreamily. “I see elves and men fighting and dying. I see defeat and despair, and then I hear men singing and there is joy.”
Hugh sat still for so long that his pipe went out. Alfred shifted position uncomfortably and put his palm on a hot coal. Stifling a cry of pain, he wrung his injured hand.
“Your Highness,” he said miserably, “I have told you-”
“No, never mind.” Casually Hugh knocked the ash out of his pipe, filled it, and lit it again. He puffed on it slowly, his gaze fixed on the boy. “You just described the Battle of Seven Fields.”
“You were there,” said Bane.
Hugh blew a thin trail of smoke into the air. “Yes, and so was nearly every other human male near my age, including your father, the king.” Hugh took a long drag on the pipe. “If this is what you’re calling clairvoyance, Alfred, I’ve seen better acts in a third-rate inn. The boy must have heard the story from his father a hundred times.”
Bane’s face underwent a swift and startling change-the happiness dissolved into stark, searing pain. Biting his lips, he lowered his head and brushed his hand across his eyes.
Alfred fixed Hugh with an odd look-one that was almost pleading. “I assure you, Sir Hugh, that this gift of His High-ness’s is quite real and should not be taken lightly. Bane, Sir Hugh does not understand magic, that is all. He is sorry. Now, why don’t you get yourself a sweetmelt from the pack.”