“Rumor has it that the wisest men and women in Thillia were spending day and night studying the ancient books, searching desperately for a clue.”
“Maybe they should have asked the old wives,” said Paithan.
Haplo rubbed his hands absently over the rune-covered steering stone. Citadel, meaning “little city.” Another word in his language, and that of the Sartan. The path before him stretched smooth and clear, leading one direction. Tytans-a Sartan word. Tytans-using Sartan magic. Tytans-asking about Sartan citadels. And here the path led him slam-up against a stone wall.
The Sartan would never, never have created such evil, brutal beings. The Sartan would never have endowed such beings with magic . . . unless, perhaps, they knew for certain that they could control them. The tytans, running amok, running out of control- was it a clear indication that the Sartan had vanished from this world as they had vanished (with one exception) from Arianus?
Haplo glanced at the old man. Zifnab’s mouth gaped wide open, his hat was slowly slipping down past his nose. A particularly violent snore caused the old man to inhale the battered brim, nearly strangling himself. He sat up, coughing and spluttering and glaring about suspiciously.
“Who did that?”
Haplo glanced away. He was beginning to reconsider. The Patryn had met only one Sartan before-the bumbling man of Arianus who called himself Alfred Montbank. And though Haplo hadn’t recognized it at the time, he came to realize that he felt an affinity for Alfred. Deadly enemies, they were strangers to the rest of the world-but they were not strangers to each other.
This old man was a stranger. To put it more precisely, he was strange. He was probably nothing more than a crackpot, another crazy, bug-eating prophet. He had unraveled Haplo’s magic, but the insane had been known to do a lot of bizarre, inexplicable things.
“What happened at the end of the story,” he thought to ask, guiding the ship in for a landing.
“The tytan found the castle, came back, and bit off the children’s heads,” answered Roland.
“You know,” said Rega, softly, “when I was little and I heard that story, I always felt sorry for the tytan. I always thought the children deserved such a horrible fate. But now-” She shook her head, tears slid down her cheeks.
“We’re nearing Equilan,” said Paithan, leaning forward gingerly to look out the window. “I can see Lake Enthial. At least I think that’s it, shining in the distance? The water looks odd, seen from above.”
“That’s it,” said Haplo without interest, his thoughts on something else.
“I didn’t catch your name,” said the elf. “What is it?”
“Haplo.”
“What does it mean?”
The Patryn ignored him.
“Single,” said the old man.
Haplo frowned, cast him an irritated glance. How the devil did he know that?
“I’m sorry,” said Paithan, ever courteous. “I didn’t mean to pry.” He paused a moment, then continued hesitantly. “I… uh…that is Zifnab said . . . you were a savior. He said you could take . . . people to the … uh … stars. I didn’t believe it. I didn’t think it would be possible. Doom and destruction. He said I’d bring it back with me. Orn help me, I am!” He gazed a moment out the window, to the land below. “What I want to know is … can you do it? Will you do it? Can you save us from . . . those monsters?”
“He can’t save all of you,” said Zifnab sadly, twisting his battered hat in his hands, finishing it off totally. “He can only save some. The best and the brightest.”
Haplo glanced around, saw eyes-slanted elf eyes, the human woman’s wide dark eyes, the human male’s bright blue eyes, even the dwarf’s black, shadowed eyes, Zifnab’s crazed, shrewd eyes. All of them staring at him, waiting, hoping.
“Yeah, sure,” he answered.
Why not? Anything to keep peace, keep people happy. Happy and ignorant.
In point of fact, Haplo had no intention of saving anyone except himself. But there was one thing he had to do first. He had to talk to a tytan.
And these people were going to be his bait. After all, the children had asked for exactly what they got.