“No, you can’t be thinking that! You heard what my father said …”
“Sabia, listen to me.” Alake’s tone reminded me of times when we’d try to get the elf maid to agree to play a trick on our governess. “Are you going to be able to stand here in this room and watch your people being slaughtered before your eyes and say to yourself: ‘I might have prevented this’?”
Sabia hung her head.
I went over to her, put my arm around her shoulders. Elves are so thin, I thought. Their bones are so fragile you might break them with a touch.
“Our parents will never permit us to go,” I said. “And so we must take matters into our own hands. If there is a chance, even a tiny chance, that we could be the saviors of our people, then we must take it.”
“My father!” mourned Sabia, beginning to cry again. “It will break my father’s heart.”
I thought of my father, of the clumps of beard lying on the floor at his feet, of my mother hugging me, and my courage almost failed me. Then I thought of the dwarves caught in the dragon-snake’s hideous, toothless mouths. I thought of Hartmut, his battle-ax shining, but looking small and powerless compared to the gigantic beasts.
I think of him now, as I write, and of my father and my mother and my people, and I know that we did the right thing. As Alake said, I could not have stood and watched my people die and say to myself, I might have prevented this!
“Your father will have the elven people to think about, Sabia. He will be strong, for your sake, you may be sure of that. Grundle”—Alake’s black eyes shifted to me, her manner was brisk, commanding—”what about the boat?”
“It’s moored in the harbor,” I said. “The captain and most of the crew will be ashore during the rest hours, leaving only a land-watch on board. We can handle them. I have a plan.”
“Very well.” Alake left that to me. “We’ll sneak away in the time of the deep sleep. Gather together whatever you think you might need. I assume that there is food and water on board the vessel?”
“And weapons,” I added.
That was a mistake. Sabia looked as if she might faint, and even Alake appeared dubious. I said no more. I didn’t tell them that I, for one, meant to die fighting.
“I will take what I need for my magic,” said Alake.
Sabia gazed at us helplessly. “I could take my lute,” she offered.
Poor girl. I think she had some vague idea of charming the dragon-snakes with her song. I almost laughed, caught Alake’s eye, and sighed instead. Actually, once I thought about it, her lute and my ax would probably accomplish about the same thing.
“Very well. We part now, to put together what we need. Be circumspect. Be quiet. Be secret! We’ll send a message to our parents telling them that we’re too upset to come down to dinner. The fewer people we see the better. Do you understand? You tell no one.” Alake fixed her stern gaze on Sabia.
“No one . . . except Devon,” the elf maid replied.
“Devon! Absolutely not! He’d talk you out of it.” Alake has a low opinion of men.
Sabia bristled. “He is my chosen husband-to-be. He has a right to know. We keep nothing from each other. It is a matter of honor between us. He won’t say anything to anyone if I ask him not to.”
Her small, pointed chin quivered in defiance, her slender shoulders squared. Trust an elf to develop a backbone at the worst possible time.
Alake didn’t like it, but she could see as well as I that Sabia wouldn’t be argued out of this.
“You’ll resist all his pleadings and tears and arguments?” Alake said crossly.
“Yes,” said Sabia, a pretty flush coming to her pale cheeks. “I know how important this is, Alake. I won’t fail you. And Devon will understand. You’ll see. He is a prince, remember. He knows what it means to have a responsibility to our people.”