Bane sat up and stared at Alfred with blue eyes sharper than the crystal branches of the hargast tree. . . .
*
… Bane lived. And Hugh died. Died untimely. Alfred pressed his hand to his aching temples. But others were saved! How can I know? How can I know if I did right? All I know is that it was in my power to save that child and I did so. I couldn’t let him die.
Then Alfred understood his fear. If he opened that book on necromancy, he would see on its pages the very rune he drew on Bane’s flesh.
I have taken the first step down the dark and twisting path and who knows but that I shall not take a second and a third! Am I stronger than these, my brethren?
No, Alfred said to himself, and sank down, despairing, in a chair. No, I am the same.
CHAPTER * 28
NECROPOLIS, ABARRACH
HAPLO PROPPED HIMSELF UP ON ONE ELBOW AND GAZED OUT THE bars of his prison cell at the body of the prince, lying in the cell across from him. The preserver had done his job well. No grotesque stiffening of the limbs, face muscles relaxed; Edmund might have been peacefully sleeping, except for the gaping, bloody hole in the chest. The preserver had been ordered to leave the wound, visible evidence of the prince’s terrible manner of death and one guaranteed to inflame his people to war when the cadaver was returned.
The Patryn rolled over on his back, made himself as comfortable as he could on the hard stone bed, and wondered how long it would be before the dynast came to pay him a visit.
“You’re a cool one, aren’t you?” The preserver, passing by the cell, on his way home after his cycle’s duty, paused to stare at Haplo. “I’ve seen corpses more restless. That one, for example”—the preserver motioned gloomily at the prince—”will be a handful when it comes back to life. They keep forgetting they’re locked up and crash into the bars. Then, when I make them understand, they pace: back and forth and back and forth. Then they forget again and hurl themselves against the bars. While you—lying there as if you hadn’t a care in the world.”
Haplo shrugged. “A waste of energy. Why wear myself out?”
The preserver shook his head and left, glad to return to his home and family after a long and arduous shift. If he had the suspicion that Haplo wasn’t telling all he knew, the preserver was right. A prison is a prison only to a man who can’t escape. And Haplo could have walked out of his cell any time he chose.
It suited his purpose to stay.
Kleitus was not long in coming. He was accompanied by Pons. It was the chancellor’s duty to make certain that prisoner and ruler were not disturbed in their conversation. Pons slid his arm through the arm of the highly astonished wake-time preserver, who was making herself dizzy by repeated bowings and scrapings, and led her away. The only ones to overhear the dynast’s conversation with his prisoner were the dead.
Kleitus stood outside Haplo’s cell door, intently regarding the man inside. The dynast’s face was shadowed by the hood of his purplish black robes. Haplo could not see the expression. But he sat quietly, gazing calmly back at the dynast.
Kleitus opened the cell door with a gesture of his hand and a spoken rune. Everyone else used a key. Haplo wondered if this magical show was intended to impress him. The Patryn, who could have dissolved the cell doors with a gesture and a rune, grinned.
The dynast glided inside, glanced around with distaste. There was nowhere for him to sit. Haplo slid to one side of the stone bed, patted it with his hand. Kleitus stiffened, as if to ask if the Patryn were joking. Haplo shrugged.
“No one sits while we stand,” said Kleitus coldly.
Several appropriate remarks came to Haplo’s tongue, but he swallowed them. No use antagonizing this man. The two of them were, after all, going to be traveling companions. Haplo slowly rose to his feet.