“In the old days,” Alake explained, “the Coven and the chieftains were often at odds, each believing they had the best right to govern. My father’s own father died that way, murdered by a warlock, who thought that he should be chief. The war that followed was bitter and bloody. Countless numbers perished. My father swore that if the One made him chief, he would bring about peace between the tribes and the Coven. The One granted him victory over his enemies and it was then that he married my mother, daughter of the Priestess of the Coven.
“My parents divided the power between them. My father rules on all disputes that occur over land or possessions; he gives laws and stands in judgment. My mother and the Coven deal with all things magical. Phondra has been at peace for years now.”
Haplo looked around at the tribal village — the lodges made of poles and thatched grass; the women, babies on their hips, laughing and talking; the younger men, honing weapons, preparing to set off in pursuit of some wild beast. A group of men too old to go on the hunt sat in the warm, waning sunlight, reliving hunts of long ago. The air was soft to the touch, scented with smells of smoked meat, alive with the shrill cries of children having a play hunt of their own.
“It seems a pity it must all end,” Alake said softly, her eyes glimmering.
Yes, it was a pity, Haplo caught himself thinking. He tried to shake off the thought, but he could not deny that in this place, with these people, he felt at peace and relaxed for the first time in a very long time.
It was merely a reaction to his fear, he decided. A reaction to the initial terror of the dragon-snakes, to the even greater terror of believing he’d lost his magic.
I must have been weaker than I knew. I’ll use this time to regain my strength, for I’ll soon need it. When I face the ancient enemy. When we go to war against the Sartan.
There’s nothing I can do to hurry it, anyway, he told himself. It won’t do to offend these mensch. I need them, need their numbers, if not necessarily their skill at arms.
He had been thinking a lot about the forthcoming battle. The elves would be worse than useless. He must find something for them to do, keep them out of the way. The humans were warriors, trained and skilled and easily roused to blood lust. The dwarves, from what he had gathered from talking to Grundle, were solid, tough. Slow to anger, but that wouldn’t be a problem. Haplo thought it likely that the Sartan would inadvertently provide all the provocation he needed.
His only concern was that these Sartan might prove to be like Alfred. Haplo considered the matter briefly, shook his head. No, from what he knew of Samah, from the records left in the Nexus, the Councillor was as different from Alfred as the light and lush world of air differed from the dark, smothering world of stone.
“I’m sorry, but I must leave you alone for a time . . .”
Alake was saying something to him, something about having to go to her mother. She was looking at him anxiously, fearful of offending him.
Haplo smiled at her. “I’ll be fine on my own. And you don’t have to worry about entertaining me, much as I enjoy your company. I’ll just look around.” He waved a hand. “Get to know your people.”
“You like us, don’t you?” asked Alake, returning his smile.
“Yes,” said Haplo and only when the word was spoken did he realize he meant it. “Yes, I like your people, Alake. They remind me … of someplace I was, once.”
He fell silent, abruptly, not particularly welcoming some of the memories, yet oddly grateful to greet them after a long absence.
“She must have been very beautiful,” said Alake, somewhat downcast.
Haplo looked up at her swiftly. Women! Mensch, Patryn, all alike. What gave them that uncanny ability to crawl inside a man’s skull, inside the dark places he thought hidden to all?