She darted Haplo a sidelong glance, then swiftly averted her gaze and started to pick up his wet trousers.
“No need,” Haplo said, laying a gentle hand on her arm. “Thank you, but the dragon-snakes have provided clothing for me, as well. However, you might want to pick out something for … her . . . Sabia. Something that fits better.”
“Yes, you’re right.” Alake seemed relieved to have a task to perform.
She began to sort among the vast amount of raiments scattered about the sand. Finding what she wanted, she looked back at Haplo with a smile, cast a cool, defiant glance at the dragon-snakes, then hurried off after Grundle.
Devon, still keeping to the shadows, was gathering up food and wine. He was about to follow the others to the cave, when HapJo beckoned.
“Two of you sleep. One stays awake. Understand?” He spoke softly, in elven.
Devon made no response, merely nodded and went on his way.
Haplo turned back to the dragon-snake, who had rested quietly the entire time, its head on its coiled body, its eyes blinking lazily in the firelight.
“Truly,” it said, when the three had disappeared into the cave, “you Patryns have a way with the mensch. If your people had been free to help them, all these centuries, what marvelous things might they have accomplished. Alas, it was not to be.”
The dragon-snake sadly mused to itself long moments, then shifted its great bulk.
“However, now that you have escaped your unjust incarceration, you will, no doubt, make up for wasted time and opportunity. Tell me about your people and your plans.”
Haplo shrugged. “Our story is long, Royal One, and, though it is bitter to us, would probably be boring to others.” He had no intention of telling these creatures anything about his people. His body was dry; he could see the faint outlines of the sigla returning to his skin. “Do you mind if I get dressed?”
He had noticed, suddenly, a number of weapons, lying among the piles of jewels and clothing. He wanted a closer look.
“Please. By all means. How thoughtless of me not to have suggested it. But then”—the snake glanced complacently at its own scaled skin—”we tend not to think in such terms.”
Haplo rummaged among the mass of clothing, found what he needed, and dressed himself. All the while his eyes were on a sword. He wondered how he could manage to pick it up without arousing the snake’s ire.
“But the sword is yours, Master,” said the dragon-snake calmly.
Haplo looked at it in wary astonishment.
“It is not wise to go unarmed in the presence of your enemy,” the dragon-snake remarked.
Haplo lifted the sword, hefted it experimentally, liked the way it felt. Almost as if it had been made for his hand. He found a swordbelt, buckled it on, slid the weapon in its sheath. “By enemy, I take it you mean the Sartan, Royal One.”
“Who else?” The dragon-snake appeared confused. Then, suddenly, it understood. “Ah, you refer to us. I should have known. You formed your opinion of us after talking to them.” It glanced at the cave.
“Provided they told me the truth,” Haplo said.
“Oh, they did. I’m certain.” The dragon-snake sighed again and its sigh was echoed by its fellows. “We acted hastily and perhaps were, shall we say, overzealous in our efforts to intimidate them. But all creatures have a right to defend themselves. Is the wolf called cruel when he goes for the throat of the lion?”
Haplo grunted, glanced at the display of magical power that was manifest on the ground all around him. “You want me to believe you’re frightened of a handful of elves, humans, and dwarves?”
“Not the mensch,” hissed the dragon-snake. “Those who stand behind the mensch! Those who brought them here!”
“The Sartan.”
“Yes! Your ancient enemy and ours.”
“You’re saying that the Sartan are here, on Chelestra.”
“An entire city of them. Led by one whose name is not unfamiliar to you.”
“Samah?” Haplo frowned. “So you said to me on board the ship, Royal One. But it can’t be the same Samah, the Councillor responsible for imprisoning us—”