Roland walked away. Rega remained standing near the window, her troubled gaze on Paithan. Behind her, inside the house, the hand slipped from the curtain, letting the lacy fabric fall gently, softly back in place.
“When do we go?” Lenthan asked the old man eagerly. “Now? I just have to get a few things to pack . . .”
“Now?” Zifnab looked alarmed. “Oh, no, not now. Not time yet. Got to get everyone rounded up. We’ve got time, you see. Not much, but some.”
“Look, old man,” said Roland, breaking in on the discussion. “Are you sure this Haplo’s going to go along with your plan?”
“Why, yes, of course!” stated Zifnab confidently.
Eyes narrowing, Roland gazed at him.
“Well,” the old man faltered, “maybe not right at first.”
“Uh, huh.” Roland nodded, lips tightening.
“In fact,” Zifnab appeared more uncomfortable, “he doesn’t really want us along at all. We may … er … sort of have to sneak on board.”
“Sneak on board.”
“But leave that to me!” the old man said, nodding his head wisely. “I’ll give you the signal. Let’s see.” He mulled it over in his mind. “When the dog barks! That’s the signal. Did you hear that everyone!” Zifnab raised his voice querulously. “When the dog barks! That’s when we board the ship!”
A dog barked.
“Now?” said Lenthan, nearly leaping out of his shoes.
“Not now!” Zifnab appeared highly put out. “What’s the meaning of this? It’s not time!”
The dog came dashing around the side of the house. Running up to Zifnab, it caught hold of the old man’s robes in its teeth, and began to tug.
“Stop that! You’re tearing out the hem. Let go!” The animal growled and pulled harder, its eyes fixed on the old man.
“Great Nebuchadnezzar! Why didn’t you say so in the first place? We’ve got to go! Haplo’s in trouble. Needs our help!”
The dog let loose of the old man’s robes, raced away, heading in the direction of the jungle. Gathering his skirts, hiking them up above his bare, bony ankles, the old wizard ran off after the animal.
The rest stood, staring, ill-at-ease, suddenly remembering what it was like to face the tytans.
“Hell, he’s the only one knows how to fly that ship!” said Roland, and started off after the old man.
Rega raced after her brother. Paithan was about to follow when he heard a door slam. Turning, he saw Aleatha.
“I’m coming, too.”
The elf stared. His sister was clad in his old clothes-leather pants, white linen tunic, and leather vest. The clothes didn’t fit her, they were too tight. The pants strained to cover the rounded thighs, the seams seeming likely to split apart. The fabric of the shirt stretched taut over the firm, high breasts. So closely did everything fit, she might well have been naked. Paithan felt hot blood seep into his cheeks.
“Aleatha, get back in the house! This is serious-”
“I’m going. I’m going to see for myself.” She cast him a lofty glance. “I’m going to make you eat those lies!”
His sister walked past him, striding purposefully after the others. She had bundled the beautiful hair up in a crude bun at the back of her neck. In her hand she carried a wooden walking stick, holding it awkwardly like a club, perhaps with some idea of using it for a weapon.
Paithan heaved a frustrated sigh. There would be no arguing with her, no reasoning. All her life she had done exactly as she pleased; she wasn’t going to stop now. Catching up with her, he noticed, somewhat to his consternation, that Aleatha’s gaze was fixed on the man running ahead of her, on the strong back and rippling muscles of Roland.
Left alone, Lenthan Quindiniar rubbed his hands, shook his head, and muttered, “Oh, dear. Oh, dear.”
High above, standing in her office, Calandra glanced out her window, saw the procession straggling across the smooth lawn, hastening for the trees. In the distance, the trumpets were blowing wildly. Snorting, she turned to the figures in her books, noting, with a tight-lipped smile, that they were likely to beat last year’s profit by a considerable margin.