He grunted and stomped off. Grundle looked after him anxiously.
“Relax, dear,” said Hilda, smiling. “He’s really quite proud of you.”
And, indeed, Yngvar was stopping on his way to tell everyone, “That’s my daughter!”
“And my people will go.” Eliason bent down and kissed the dwarf soundly. “Thank you, Daughter, for showing us our folly. May the One bless and guide you always.” His eyes filled with tears. “And now, I must return to Devon.”
Eliason left hurriedly.
Grundle was tasting power, obviously found it sweeter than sugarjuice, more intoxicating than dwarven ale. She glanced around, elated, for Haplo, saw him standing in the shadows, watching quietly.
“I did it!” she cried, running over to him. “I did it! I said what you told me! They’re going! All of them!”
Haplo kept silent, his face was dark, expression impenetrable.
“It was what you wanted, wasn’t it?” Grundle demanded, irritated. “Wasn’t it?”
“Yeah, sure. It was what I wanted,” Haplo answered.
“It’s wonderful!” Alake came over to him, her smile dazzling. “All of us, sailing to new lives!”
Two muscular humans ran over, lifted the dwarf-maid to their shoulders, and bore her off in triumph. Alake began to dance. A procession started, the humans chanting, elves singing, dwarven deep bass rivaling the booming of the drum.
Sailing to new lives.
Sailing to death.
Haplo turned on his heel, walked into the darkness, leaving the bright firelight and revelry behind.
CHAPTER * 23
SURUNAN CHELESTRA
ALFRED HAD NOT BEEN FORCED TO SPEND ALL THIS TIME A PRISONER in the library. The Sartan Council met not once but on numerous occasions; the members were apparently having difficulty arriving at a decision concerning Alfred’s transgression. Alfred was permitted to leave the library, return to the house. He would be confined to his room until the Council had reached a decision concerning him.
The Council members were forbidden to discuss the proceedings, but Alfred was certain that Orla was the one coming to his defense. The thought warmed him, until he noticed that the wall between husband and wife had grown even higher, thicker. Orla was grave and reserved. Her husband cold with anger. They rarely spoke to each other. Alfred’s resolve to leave strengthened. He wanted only to make his apologies to the Council, then he would be gone.
“There is no need to lock me inside my room,” Alfred told Ramu, who served as his guard. “I give you my word as a Sartan that I will not attempt to escape. I ask only one favor of you. Could you see to it that the dog is allowed fresh air and exercise?”
“I suppose we must comply,” Samah said ungraciously to his son, when Alfred’s request was reported.
“Why not dispose of the animal?” Ramu asked indifferently.
“Because I have plans for it,” Samah replied. “I believe I will ask your mother to perform the task of walking the creature.” He and his son exchanged significant glances.
Orla refused her husband’s request. “Ramu can walk the animal. I want nothing to do with it.”
“Ramu has his own life now,” her husband reminded her sternly. “He has his family, his own responsibilities. This Alfred and his dog are our responsibility. One for which you have only yourself to thank.”
Orla heard the rebuke in his voice, was conscious of her guilt for having failed in that responsibility once already. And she had failed her husband again, tying up the Council with strings of arguments.
“Very well, Samah,” she agreed coldly.
She went early to Alfred’s room the next morning, prepared to undertake the onerous task. She was cool, aloof, reminded herself that no matter what she had said in his defense to the Council, she was angry with this man, disappointed in him. Orla rapped sharply on his door.
“Come in,” was the meek reply.
Alfred didn’t ask who it was, didn’t suppose, perhaps, he had the right to know.
Orla entered the room.
Alfred, standing by the window, flushed crimson when he saw her. He took a tentative step toward her. Orla raised a warding hand.
“I’ve come for the dog. I suppose the animal will accompany me?” she said, regarding it dubiously.