“Tell me what happened,” said Hugh.
“You… you and Sinistrad fought. You stabbed him, but the wound was not mortal. He had the power to turn himself into a snake, attacked you. His magic… poison in your blood. He died, but not before he had…”
“Killed me,” said Hugh dryly.
Iridal licked her lips, did not look at him. “The dragon attacked us. Sinistrad’s dragon, the Quicksilver. With my husband dead, the dragon was free from his control and went berserk. Then, it all becomes confused in my mind. Haplo— the man with the blue skin—took Bane away. I knew I was going to die… and I didn’t care. You’re right.” She looked up, smiled at him wanly. “Death did seem easier than living. But Alfred enchanted the dragon, put it in thrall. And then…”
The memory came back….
Iridal gazed in awe at the dragon, whose giant head was swaying back and forth, as if it heard a soothing, lulling voice.
“You’ve imprisoned it in its mind,” she said.
“Yes,” Alfred agreed. “The strongest cage ever built.”
“And I am free,” she said in wonder. “And it isn’t too late. There is hope! Bane, my son! Bane!”
Iridal ran toward the door where she’d last seen him. The door was gone. The walls of her prison had collapsed, but the rubble blocked her path.
“Bane!” she cried, trying vainly to drag aside one of the heavy stones that the dragon had knocked down in its fury. Her magic would help her, but she couldn’t think of the words. She was too tired, too empty. But she had to reach him. If only she could move this rock!
“Don’t, my dear,” said a kind voice. Gentle hands took hold of her. “It won’t do any good. He has gone far away by now, back to the elven ship. Haplo has taken him.”
“Haplo taken… my son?” Iridal couldn’t make any sense of it. “Why? What does he want with him?”
“I don’t know,” Alfred replied. “I’m not sure. But don’t worry. We’ll get him back. I know where they’re going.”
“Then we should go after them,” said Iridal.
But she gazed helplessly about. Doors had disappeared, blocked by debris. Holes gaped in the walls revealing more destruction beyond. The room was changed so completely that it was suddenly unfamiliar to her, as if she had walked into the bouse of a stranger. She had no idea where to go, how to leave, how to find her way out.
And then she saw Hugh.
She’d known he’d died. She’d tried to make him hear before he died, that he’d helped her, that now she understood. But he’d left her too soon, too quickly. She sank down beside the body, took the chill hand in her own, pressed it to her cheek. His face, in death, was calm and reflected a peace the man had never known in life, a peace Iridal envied.
“You gave your life for me, for my son,” she told him. “I wish you could have lived, to see that I will make use of this gift. You taught me so much. You could teach me still. You could help me. And I could have helped you. I could have filled the emptiness inside you. Why didn’t I, when I had the chance?”
“What would have happened to him, do you suppose, if he had not died?” Alfred asked.
“I think he would have tried to make up for the evil he did in his life. He was a prisoner, like me,” Iridal answered “But he managed to escape. Now he is free.”
“You, too, are free,” said Alfred.
“Yes, but I am alone,” said Iridal.
She sat by Hugh, holding his lifeless hand, her mind empty as her heart. She liked the emptiness. She didn’t feel anything and she was afraid of feeling. The pain would come, more awful than dragon claws tearing at her flesh. The pain of regret, tearing her soul.
She was vaguely aware of Alfred chanting, of him dancing his slow and graceful dance that looked so incongruous—the elderly man, with his bald head and flapping coattails, his too-big feet and clumsy hands—whirling and dipping and bobbing about the rubble-filled room. She had no idea what he was doing. She didn’t care.