*During a journey through Death’s Gate, on their way to Abarrach, Alfred and Haplo fell into each other’s consciousness, lived each other’s most vivid and painful memory. Fire Sea. vol. 3 of The Death Gate Cycle.
“There’s more down there than that,” he said, hoping he spoke the truth. “You see, I—”
“Froman! High Froman!” Shouts, accompanied by a bark, came from the front of the ship. “The storm’s ending!”
“We have to go.” Limbeck stood up. “Do you want to come with us? It won’t be safe here on this ship, once the elves see it. Though they’ll probably destroy it. Either that, or their wizards will try to take it—”
“Don’t worry,” Haplo said, grinning. “I have magical powers myself, remember? No one will get near this ship if I don’t want them to. We’ll come with you. I need to talk to Jarre.”
Haplo sent Bane off to gather up his bundle of clothes and, most important, the diagram the child had made of the Kicksey-winsey. Haplo buckled on a rune-inscribed sword, thrust a similarly inscribed dagger inside the top of his boot.
He looked down at his hands, the blue tattoos vivid on his skin. Last time he’d come to Arianus, he had concealed the tattoos—and the fact mat he was a Patryn—beneath bandages. No need to conceal his true identity now. The time for that was past.
He joined Limbeck and the other dwarves near the ship’s hatch.
The storm still raged as fiercely as ever, as far as Haplo could determine, though he thought it barely possible that the hurricane had dwindled to a torrential downpour. Giant hailstones continued pounding the ship’s hull and the lightning blasted three holes in the coralite during the brief time Haplo stood and watched. He could use his magic to instantly transport himself and Bane, but in order for the magic to work, he had to be able to visualize exactly where it was he wanted to go, and the only place on Drevlin he could clearly remember was the Factree.
He had a sudden vision of appearing in a circle of blue flame smack in the middle of the elven army.
He studied, as best he could through the rain-smeared window, the contraptions the dwarves used to travel through the storm.
“What are those things?”
“Carts from the Kicksey-winsey,” said Limbeck. He took off his spectacles, smiled a vague smile reminiscent of the old Limbeck, “My idea. You probably don’t remember, but we carried you in one when you were hurt, the time the dig claws brought us up. Now we’ve turned the carts upside down and put the wheels on the top instead of the bottom and covered them over with coralite. You’ll fit inside one, Haplo,” he added reassuringly, “though it will be tight and not too comfortable. I’ll go with Lof. You can have mine—”
“I wasn’t worried about the fit,” interrupted Haplo grimly. “I was thinking about the lightning.” His magic would protect him, but not Bane or the dwarves. “One bolt hits that metal and—”
“Oh, no need to worry about that,” said Limbeck, his chest swelling with pride. He gestured with the spectacles. “Note the metal rods on top of each cart. If lightning strikes, the rods carry the charge down the side of the cart, through the wheels and into the ground. I call them ‘lectricity rods.’ ”
“They work?”
“Well,” Limbeck conceded reluctantly, “they’ve never really been tested. But the theory is sound. Someday,” he added, hopeful, “we’ll get struck and then I’ll see.”
The other dwarves looked extremely alarmed at this prospect. Apparently they didn’t share Limbeck’s enthusiasm for science. Neither did Haplo. He would take Bane along in his cart, use his magic to cast a shell over the two of them that would keep them both from harm.
Haplo opened the hatch. Rain blew inside. The wind howled, thunder set the ground vibrating beneath their feet. Bane, now able to view the full fury of the storm, was pale and wide-eyed. Limbeck and the dwarves dashed out. Bane hung back in the open hatchway.
“I’m not afraid,” he said, though his lips quivered. “My father could make the lightning stop.”