The dragon’s head was painted black, with flaring red eyes and white teeth, bared in a fighting snarl. It hovered over them, glaring straight ahead with a baleful gaze, looking so threatening that both Alfred and Bane found it difficult to keep from staring at it as they drew nearer. (The third time Alfred stepped in a hole and stumbled to his knees, Hugh ordered him to keep his eyes on the ground.)
The small path they had been following through the woods took them into a natural cut made in a cliff. Emerging on the other side, they came out into a small canyon bowl. The wind could hardly be felt at all in here; the sheer sides of the cliff cut it off. In the center floated the dragonship, its head and tail jutting out over the canyon walls, its body held in place by many stout ropes tied to the trees beneath it. Bane gasped in delight, and Alfred, staring up at the airship, let the prince’s pack slip unnoticed from his fingers.
Sleek and graceful, the dragon’s neck, topped with a spiky mane that was both functional and decorative, curved back to meet the hull of the ship that was the dragon’s body. The sun of late afternoon sparkled off glittering black scales and glinted in the red eyes.
“It looks like a real dragon!” Bane sighed. “Only more powerful.”
“It should look like a real dragon, Your Highness,” said Alfred, an unusually stern note in his voice. “It is made from the skin of real dragons, and the wings are the wings of real dragons, slaughtered by the elves.”
“Wings? Where are the wings?” Bane craned his neck, nearly falling over backward.
“They’re folded back along the body. You can’t see them now. But you will when we take off.” Hugh hurried them forward. “Come on. I want to leave tonight, and there’s a lot of work to do first.”
“What makes it stay up there, if not the wings?” asked Bane.
“The magic,” Hugh grunted. “Now, keep moving!”
The prince surged forward, stopping only once to try to jump up and grab hold of one of the guy ropes. Failing, he scampered down to stand beneath the belly of the ship, staring upward until he grew dizzy.
“So this, sir, is how you come to know so much about the elves,” said Alfred in a low voice.
Hugh flicked him a glance, but the chamberlain’s face was bland and only slightly troubled-looking.
“Yeah,” the assassin answered. “The ship needs its magic renewed once every cycle, plus there are always minor repairs. A torn wing, or sometimes the skin pulls away from the frame.”
“Where did you learn to fly one? I’ve heard it takes enormous skill.”
“I was a slave on a watership for three years.”
“Blessed Sartan!” Alfred stopped and stared at him.
Hugh cast him an irritated glance, and the chamberlain, recalling himself, stumbled forward.
“Three years! I never heard of anyone surviving that long! And even after that, you can still do business with them? I would think you would hate them all!”
“How would hating benefit me? The elves did what they had to do, and so did I. I learned how to sail their ships. I learned to speak their language fluently. No, as I’ve discovered, hate generally costs a man more than he can afford.”
“And what about love?” Alfred asked softly.
Hugh didn’t even bother to reply.
“Why a ship?” The chamberlain thought it wise to change the subject. “Why risk it? The people on Volkaran would tear you apart if they discovered it. Wouldn’t a dragon suit your needs just as well?”
“Dragons tire. You have to rest them, feed them. They can be wounded, take sick, drop dead. Then there’s always the chance the enchantment will slip and you’re left either fending off the beast, or arguing with it, or soothing its hysterics. With this ship, the magic lasts a cycle. If it gets hit, I get it repaired. With this ship, I’m always in control.”
“And that’s what counts, isn’t it?” said Alfred, but he said it well under his breath.
The chamberlain needn’t have bothered. Hugh’s attention was completely absorbed in his ship. Passing underneath it, he carefully and closely inspected every single part of it from head to tail (prow to stern). Bane trotted along behind, asking questions with every breath.