‘Ahead of us”—the prince flung out an arm, pointed, if he had known it, directly at Haplo and a startled Alfred—”lies the city of our brethren . . .”
The silence broke, angry mutterings interrupted. The prince raised his hand in a gentle but peremptory and commanding gesture and the voices ceased, although they left behind the heat of their emotions, like the heat welling up from the magma sea.
“I say ‘our brethren’ and I mean ‘our brethren’. They are of our race, perhaps the only ones of our race left on this world or anywhere for that matter. What they did to us—if they did anything to us—they did unknowing. I swear it!”
“Robbed us of all we possessed!” cried one elderly woman, shaking a gnarled fist. The weight of years gave her the right to speak. “We’ve all heard the rumors you’ve tried to keep silent. They robbed us of our water, of our heat. Doomed us to die up there of thirst, if the cold didn’t kill us first and starvation second. And you say they didn’t know! I say they knew and they didn’t care!” Snapping her mouth shut, the old woman wagged her head wisely.
The prince smiled at the old woman, a smile that was patient and fond. She obviously recalled pleasant memories. “Nevertheless I say they didn’t know, Marta, and I am confident that I speak truly. How could they?” The prince raised his gaze directly to the rock ceiling above his head, but his look seemed to penetrate the stalactites and carry him far above the shadows of the cavern. “We who lived up there have long been parted from our brethren who live here beneath. If their lives have been as difficult as ours, it is no wonder that they have forgotten our very existence. We were fortunate to have wise ones among us, who remembered our past and from whence we came.”
Reaching out, the prince laid a hand on the arm of a man who had come to stand beside him. At the sight of this man, Alfred sucked in a deep and horrified breath that echoed among the rocks.
The prince and most of the people standing around him were wrapped in all types and manner of clothing, primarily animal furs, as though the region they’d left had been an exceedingly cold one. The man to whom the prince referred was clad differently. He wore a black skullcap and long black robes that, although the worse for wear, were clean and well kept. The robes were trimmed in silver runes. Haplo recognized these sigla as Sartan, but could make nothing else of them. Obviously, Alfred could but when Haplo cast him an interrogatory glance, the Sartan shook his head and bit his lip.
Haplo returned his attention to the prince,
“We have brought our dead with us these long and hard miles. Many have died along the way.” The prince walked over, knelt beside one corpse, who lay in the front of the rest and wore, on its wispy-haired head, a golden crown. “My own father lies among them. And I swear to you”—the prince raised his hand in solemn vow—”I swear to you before our dead that I believe the people in Kairn Necros to be innocent of the harm they did us. I believe that when they hear of it they will weep for us and will take us in and shelter us, as we would do the same for them! I believe this so strongly that I, myself, will go to them alone, unarmed, and throw myself on their mercy!”
The men raised spears, clashing them against shields. The people cried out in shock. Haplo was in shock himself—the peace-loving Sartan were actually wielding weapons. Several pointed at the dead, and Haplo saw that four corpses were those of young men, whose bodies lay on their shields.
The prince was forced to shout to be heard over the clamor. His handsome face grew stern, he sent a flashing-eyed glance around them, and his people hushed, chagrined, at the sight of his anger. “Yes, they attacked us. What did you expect? You came on them too suddenly, armed to the teeth, making demands! If you had remained patient—”