Baltazar accompanied the prince back to the end of the cavern, arguing all the way that Edmund should at least take bodyguards— the most stalwart of the new dead—into Necropolis. The prince refused.
“We come to our brethren in peace. Bodyguards imply mistrust.”
“Call it a guard of honor then,” Baltazar urged. “It is not right that Your Highness goes unattended. You will look like . . . like . . .”
“Like what I am,” Edmund said in grim tones. “A pauper. A prince of the starving, the destitute. If the price we must pay to find help for our people is bending our pride to this dynast then I will kneel gladly at his feet.”
“A prince of Kairn Telest, kneeling!” The necromancer’s black brows formed a tight-knit knot above shadowed eyes.
Edmund halted, rounded on the man. “We could have remained standing upright in Kairn Telest, Baltazar. We’d be frozen stiff in that posture, of course—”
“Your Highness is correct. I beg your pardon.” Baltazar sighed heavily. “Still, I don’t trust them. Admit it to yourself, Edmund, if you refuse to admit it to me or anyone else. These people destroyed our world deliberately. We come on them as a reproach.” “So much the better, Baltazar. Guilt softens the heart—” “Or hardens it. Be wary, Edmund. Be cautious.” “I will, my dear friend. I will. And, at least, I don’t travel quite alone.” The prince’s gaze glanced off Haplo, lounging idly against the cave wall, and Alfred, endeavoring to pull his foot out of a crack in the floor. The dog sat at the prince’s feet and wagged its tail.
“No.” Baltazar agreed dryly. “And I like that least of all, somehow. I don’t trust these two any more than I trust this so-called dynast. There, there. I’ll say nothing more except farewell, Your Highness! Farewell!”
The necromancer clasped the prince close. Edmund returned the embrace fondly and both men separated, the one heading out the cavern, the other remaining behind, watching the red of the Fire Sea bathe the prince in its lurid light. Haplo whistled, and the dog dashed up to trot along at its master’s side.
*
They reached Safe Harbor without incident, if one didn’t count stopping to haul the nervous Alfred out of whatever predicament he managed to blunder into along the way. Haplo came close to impatiently ordering the Sartan to utilize his magic, float as he had done when they entered the cavern, let magic lift those clumsy feet up over rocks and crevices.
But Haplo kept quiet. He guessed that both he and Alfred were far stronger in magic than any of these people. He didn’t want them to know how strong. Conjuring up fish had them awestruck, and that was a spell a child could perform. Never reveal a weakness to an enemy, never reveal a strength. Now all he had to worry about was Alfred. Haplo decided, after reflection, that Alfred wouldn’t be tempted to give away his true powers. The man had spent years trying to conceal his magic. He wasn’t about to use it now.
Arriving in Safe Harbor, they met the young duke and duchess standing on the obsidian pier. Both necromancers were admiring— or perhaps inspecting—Haplo’s ship.
“Do you know, sir?” The young lord, catching sight of them, turned from his examination of the ship and hastened toward Haplo. “I’ve thought of where I’ve seen runes like this before! The game— rune-bone!” He waited for Haplo’s response, obviously expected Haplo to know what he was talking about.
Haplo didn’t.
“My dear,” said the observant Jera, “the man has no idea what you mean. Why don’t we—”
“Oh, really?” Jonathan appeared quite astonished. “I thought everyone—It’s played with bones, you know. Runes like those on your ship are inscribed on the bones. Why, say, come to think of it, the same runes are on your hands and arms, too! Why, you might be a walking game wall!” The duke laughed.
“What a dreadful thing to say, Jonathan! You’re embarrassing the poor man,” remonstrated his wife, although she gazed at Haplo with an intensity the Patryn found disconcerting.
Haplo scratched at the backs of his hands, saw the woman’s green eyes focus on the runes tattooed on the skin. He coolly thrust his hands into the pockets of his leather trousers, forced himself to smile pleasantly.