Well, almost everyone.
One man had guessed he was lying, one man-after casting a spell on Haplo-had looked beneath the bandages and seen the truth. But that man had been Alfred, a Sartan, who had suspected in advance what he might find. Haplo had noticed Alfred paying an unusual amount of attention to his hands, but he’d ignored it-a mistake almost fatal to his plans. Now he knew what to watch for, now he was prepared.
Haplo conjured up an image of himself and inspected himself carefully, walking completely around the illusionary Haplo. At length, he was satisfied. No trace of a rune showed. He banished the illusion. Tugging the bandages over his hands into place, he ascended to the top deck, threw open the hatch, and emerged, blinking, into the bright sun.
The sound of voices hushed at the sight of him. He pulled himself up on the deck and glanced around, pausing a moment to draw a deep breath of fresh, if extremely humid, air. Below, he saw faces, upturned, mouths open, eyes wide.
Elves, he noted, with one exception. The figure in the mouse-colored robes was human-an old man, with long white hair and long white beard. Unlike the others, the old man wasn’t gazing at Haplo in awe and wonder. Beaming, stroking his beard, the old man turned this way and that.
“I told you,” he was shouting. “Didn’t I tell you? By cracky, I guess now you believe me!”
“Here, dog!” Haplo whistled and the animal appeared on deck, trotting along at his heels, to the added astonishment of all observers.
Haplo didn’t bother with the ladder; the ship had settled so deeply into the moss-its wings resting on top-that he could jump lightly from the top deck to the ground. The elves gathered around Dragon Wing backed up hurriedly, regarding the ship’s pilot with suspicious incredulity. Haplo drew in a breath, and was about to launch into his story, his mind working rapidly to provide him with the elven language.
He never got a chance to speak.
The old man rushed up to him, grabbed him by the bandaged hand.
“Our savior! Right on time!” he cried, pumping Haplo’s arm vigorously. “Did you have a nice flight?”
CHAPTER 19
THE BORDER, THURN
ROLAND SQUIRMED, TRYING TO EASE HIS CRAMPED MUSCLES BY MOVING INTO another position. The maneuver worked for a few moments, then his arms and buttocks began aching again, only in different places. Grimacing, he tried surreptitiously to twist his wrists out of the vines that bound him. Pain forced him to quit. The vines were tough as leather; he’d rubbed his skin raw.
“Don’t waste your strength,” came a voice.
Roland looked around, twisting his head to see.
“Where are you?”
“The other side of this tree. They’re using pythavine. You can’t break it. The more you try, the tighter the pytha’ll squeeze you.”
Keeping one eye on his captors, Roland managed to worm his way around the large tree trunk. He discovered, on the other side, a dark-skinned human male clad in bright-colored robes. A gold ring dangled from his left ear lobe. He was securely tied, vines wrapped around his chest, arms, and wrists.
“Andor,” he said, grinning. One side of his mouth was swollen, dried blood caked half his face.
“Roland Redleaf. You a SeaKing?” he added, with a glance at the earring.
“Yeah. And you’re from Thillia. What are you people doing in Thurn territory?”
“Thurn? We’re nowhere near Thurn. We’re on our way to the Fartherness.”
“Don’t play dumb with me, Thillian. You know where you are. So you’re trading with the dwarves …” Andor paused, and licked his lips. “I could sure use a drink about now.”
“I’m an explorer,” said Roland, casting a wary glance at their captors to see if they were being observed.
“We can talk. They don’t give a damn. There’s no need to lie, you know. We’re not going to live long enough for it to matter.”
“What? What do you mean?”
“They kill everyone and everything they come across . . . twenty people in my caravan. All dead, the animals, too. Why the animals? They hadn’t done anything. It doesn’t make any sense, does it?”