Bane peered down at himself. “No, I-”
“My blood, sir,” interrupted Alfred. “I was running to help His Highness and I fell and cut my hand.”
Alfred exhibited the cut. It was deep. Blood was dropping onto the broken remnants of the tree limb. Hugh watched the prince to gauge his reaction to Alfred’s statement, saw the boy’s frowning gaze fixed intently on his chest. Hugh looked to see what had captured the boy’s attention, but saw only a smeared patch of blood.
Or was it? Hugh started to lean down, examine it closer, when Alfred, with a groan, toppled over and collapsed onto the ground. Hugh nudged the chamberlain with the toe of his boot, but got no response. Alfred had, once again, fainted.
Glancing up, Hugh saw Bane trying to wipe the blood off his skin with the tail of his shirt. Well, whatever was there was gone now. Ignoring the comatose Alfred, Hugh faced the prince.
“What really happened, Your Highness?”
Bane gazed up at him with dazzled eyes. “I don’t know, Sir Hugh. I remember a cracking sound, and then”-he shrugged- “that’s all.”
“The branch fell on top of you?”
“I don’t remember. Honest.”
Scrambling to his feet, moving carefully amidst the shards that were sharp as glass, Bane brushed off his clothes and started over to help Alfred.
Hugh dragged the chamberlain’s limp body off the path and propped him up against a tree trunk. A few slaps on the cheeks and he began to come around, blinking up at Hugh dizzily.
“I’m . . . I’m most sorry, sir,” Alfred mumbled, attempting to stand and failing miserably. “It’s the sight of blood. I never could stomach-”
“Don’t look at it, then!” Hugh snapped, seeing Alfred’s horrified gaze go to his hand, his eyes start to roll back in his head.
“No, sir. I … won’t!” The chamberlain squeezed his eyelids tightly shut.
Kneeling down beside him, Hugh bandaged the hand, taking the opportunity to examine the wound. It was a clean, deep slice.
“What cut you?”
“A piece of bark, I think, sir.”
Like hell! That would have made a ragged cut. This was made by a sharp knife-
There came another cracking sound and a crash.
“Blessed Sartan! What was that?” Alfred’s eyes flew open, and he shivered so that Hugh had to grasp his hand and hold it steady to wind the bandage around it.
“Nothing,” Hugh snapped. He was completely perplexed and he didn’t like the feeling, any more than he’d liked the feeling of relief over not having to kill the prince. He didn’t like any of this. That tree had fallen on Bane as surely as rain fell from the sky. The prince should be dead.
What in hell was going on?
Hugh gave the cloth a sharp tug. The sooner he got rid of this kid, the better. Any feeling of reluctance he had once experienced at the thought of murdering a child was rapidly freezing over.
“Ouch!” Alfred yelped. “Thank you, sir,” he added meekly.
“On your feet. Head for the ship,” Hugh ordered.
Silently, none of the three looking at each other, they continued down the path.
CHAPTER 23
PITRIN’S EXILE, MID REALM
“IS THAT IT?” THE PRINCE GRASPED HOLD OF HUGH’S ARM AND POINTED AT THE
dragon’s head that could be seen floating above the leaves. The main body of the ship was still hidden from their view by the tall hargast trees surrounding it.
“That’s it,” Hugh answered.
The boy stared, awed. It took a shove from Hugh’s hand to start him moving along the path.
It wasn’t a real dragon’s head, just a carved and painted facsimile. But elven artisans are skilled at their craft and the head looked more real and much more fierce than many live dragons flying the skies. It was about the size of a real dragon’s head, for Hugh’s was a small one-man ship meant for sailing between the isles and continents of Mid Realm. The figureheads of the gigantic airships the elves flew into battle or used to descend into the Maelstrom were so large that a seven-foot human could walk into one of the snarling mouths without bothering to duck.