“Why not my people?” demanded Drugar, angrily. “Why didn’t he save them?”
“And ours,” Rega said, lips trembling. “He let our people all die-”
“Everyone knows elves are the blessed race,” snapped Roland, casting Paithan a bitter glance.
Paithan flushed, faint red staining the delicate cheek bones. “I didn’t mean that! It’s just-”
“Look, be quiet a minute! All of you!” Haplo ordered. Now that his pain had eased and he was able to think clearly, he decided he was going to have to be honest with these mensch, not because he was any great believer in honesty, but because lying looked as if it was going to be a damn nuisance. “The old man’s got it wrong. I’m not a god.”
The elf and the humans began babbling at once, the dwarf’s scowl grew darker. Haplo raised a tattooed hand for silence. “What I am, who I am, doesn’t matter. Those tricks you saw me do were magic. Different from your own wizards’, but magic just the same.”
He shrugged, wincing. His head throbbed. He didn’t think the mensch would use this information to figure out he was the enemy-the ancient enemy. If this world was in any way similar to Arianus, the people had forgotten all about the dark demigods who had once sought to rule them. But if they figured it out and came to realize who he was, that was their hard luck. Haplo was too hurt and too tired to care. It would be easy to get rid of them before they did his cause any harm. And right now, he needed answers to his questions.
“Which way?” he demanded, not the most pressing question, but one that should keep everyone occupied.
The elf lifted some sort of device, fiddled with it, and pointed. Haplo steered the ship in the direction indicated. They left the Kithni Gulf and the slaughter on its banks far behind. The dragonship cast its shadow over the trees beneath them, sailing through the variegated shades of green-a dark reflection of the real ship.
The humans and the elf remained standing, huddled together in the same spot, staring with rapt fascination out the window. Every once in a while, one of them would cast Haplo a sharp, darting glance. But he noted that they would occasionally look at each other with the same suspicion. The three had not moved since coming aboard, not even when arguing, but held themselves tense, rigid. They were probably afraid that any sort of movement might send the ship spinning out of control, crashing to the trees below. Haplo could have reassured them, but he didn’t. He was content to let them stay where they were, frozen to the deck, where he could keep an eye on them.
The dwarf remained crouched in his corner. He, too, had not moved. But Drugar kept his dark-eyed gaze fixed on Haplo, never once looking out the window. Knowing that dwarves always preferred being underground when they could, the Patryn understood that flying through the air like this must be a traumatic experience for the dwarf. Haplo didn’t notice fear or uneasiness in Druger’s expression, however. What he saw, oddly enough, was confusion and bitter, smoldering anger. The anger was directed, seemingly, at Haplo.
Reaching out his hand, ostensibly to stroke the dog’s silky ears, the Patryn turned the animal’s head, aiming the intelligent eyes at the dwarf. “Watch him,” Haplo instructed softly. The dog’s ears pricked, the tail brushed slowly side to side. Settling down at Haplo’s feet, the animal laid its head on its paws, gaze fixed, focused.
That left the old man. A snore told Haplo he didn’t have to worry about Zifnab for the moment. The wizard, his battered hat stuck over his face, lay flat on his back on the deck, hands crossed over his chest, sound asleep. Even if he was shamming, he wasn’t up to anything. Haplo shook his aching head.
“Those . . . creatures. What did you call them? Tytans? What are they? Where did they come from?”
“I wish to Orn we knew,” said Paithan.
“You don’t?” Haplo stared suspiciously at the elf, certain he was lying. He switched his gaze to the humans. “Either of you?”