“A dumb brute, with nothing to live for—no hopes or dreams or ambitions—and it fought to go on living. And I had everything. I was young, strong; I’d won a great victory. And I was about to throw it all away . . . because of the pain.”
“Did the dog die?” Devon asked softly. Weak as a sick child, like a child, he wanted to hear the end of the story.
The Patryn wrenched himself back from his memories. “No, the man healed the dog, healed himself.” He hadn’t noticed his lapse, hadn’t noticed that he and “the man” had gotten rather mixed. “He rose to a position of power among his people. He changed the course of people’s lives . . .”
“Saved people from dragon-snakes? Or maybe themselves?” Devon asked, with a twisted, rueful smile.
Haplo stared at him, then grunted. “Yeah, maybe. Something like that. Well, what’s it going to be? Shall I leave you here to try again?”
Devon glanced up at the cut vine, dangling over his head. “No. No, I’ll come . . . with you.” He tried to sit up, and fainted.
Haplo reached out his hand, felt for the pulse. It was stronger, steadier. He brushed aside a lock of flaxen hair caught in the dried blood on the neck.
“It will get better,” he told the unconscious young man. “You won’t forget her, but the remembering won’t hurt as much.”
CHAPTER * 22
PHONDRA CHELESTRA
THE MEETING OF THE ROYAL FAMILIES OPENED WITH STIFF FORMALIties, cold glances, unspoken resentment. From there, it moved to open hostility, hot words, and bitter recriminations.
Eliason’s position against war had not altered with the passage of time.
“I am quite willing to set sail in the sun-chasers and find this new realm,” he stated. “And I will undertake to negotiate with these … er … Sartan, since all know that elves are skilled in such diplomatic endeavors. I cannot see how these Sartan could refuse such a reasonable request, particularly when we explain how we will bring them much-needed goods and services. My advisers, having given the matter considerable study, have determined that this Sartan race must be relatively new to this realm themselves. We think it likely they’ll actually be quite glad to see us.”
Eliason’s face darkened. “But if not, if the Sartan refuse, well, after all, it is their realm. We will simply look elsewhere.”
“Fine,” said Dumaka sourly. “And while you are looking, what will you eat? Where will you find the food to-feed your people? Will you grow corn in the cracks in the deck? Or has elven magic come up with a way to pull bread out of air? We have calculated that we can carry barely enough supplies for the journey as it is, considering all the mouths we’ll have to feed. There will be room for no more.”
“The supply of fish is plentiful,” said Eliason mildly.
“Of course,” Dumaka retorted, “but not even an elf could live exclusively on a diet of fish! Without fruits and vegetables, the mouth-sickness will come upon our people.”
Yngvar looked horrified at the mere thought of being forced to live on fish. The dwarf planted his feet firmly on the ground, glared round at the assembly. “You argue over who stole the pie when the pie hasn’t even been cooked yet! The sun-chasers are cursed; the dwarves will have nothing to do with them. And, after consultation with the Elders, we have determined that we will allow no one to have anything to do with them, lest the curse will come back on us. It is our intention to scuttle the things, send them to the bottom of the Goodsea. We will build more ourselves, without the help of snakes.”
“Yes, that’s a good idea,” said Eliason. “There will be time—” “There will not be time!” Dumaka fumed. “You elves were the ones who figured up how many cycles we had—”
“You dwarves are worse than superstitious children!” Delu was arguing loudly. “The ships are no more cursed than I am!” “And who’s certain about you, Witch?” Hilda flashed back, side whiskers bristling.
At that moment, one of the doorkeepers, attempting to give the impression he was deaf and blind to the turmoil around him, crept into the longhouse and whispered something to Dumaka. The chieftain nodded, gave an order. Everyone else had ceased talking, wondering what this interruption portended. No one ever disturbed a royal meeting unless it was a matter of life and death. The doorkeeper departed swiftly on his errand. Dumaka turned to Eliason.