Haplo rounded a corner, paused a moment, listening. He had heard voices, he was certain—elven voices. How close was beyond his ability to guess. The twisting halls distorted sound and he had no way of knowing how near he was to the statue.
Haplo sent an urgent message to the dog, Stop Bane! Hold on to him!, started running again. If he could just reach the kid ahead of the elves—
A cry, sounds of a scuffle, and the dog’s urgent, angry snarling and growling brought Haplo up short. Trouble ahead. He cast a swift glance behind him. The dwarves were nowhere in sight.
Well, they were on their own. Haplo couldn’t be responsible for them and Bane, too. Besides, Limbeck and Jarre would be most at home within these tunnels, quite capable of finding a hiding place. Putting them from his mind, he crept forward.
Shut up, dog! he ordered the animal. And listen!
The dog’s barking ceased.
“And what have we here, Lieutenant?”
“A kid! Some human’s brat, Captain.” The elf sounded considerably astonished. “Ouch! Cut it out, you little bastard!”
“Let go of me! You’re hurting me!” Bane shouted.
“Who you? What you do down here, brat?” demanded the officer, speaking the crude form of elven that most elves are convinced is the only form humans can understand.
“Mind your manners, brat.” The sound of a slap—hard and cold and impersonal, “The captain ask you question. Answer nice captain.”
The dog growled. No, boy! Haplo commanded silently. Let it go.
Bane gasped from the pain, but he didn’t blubber or whimper. “You’ll be sorry you did that,” he said softly.
The elf laughed, slapped the child again. “Speak up.”
Bane gulped, drew in a hissing breath. When he spoke, he spoke elven fluently. “I was looking for you elves when I saw the statue open and I was curious and came down. And I’m not a brat. I’m a prince, Prince Bane, son of King Stephen and Queen Anne of Volkaran and Ulyndia. You better treat me with respect.”
Good for you, kid. Haplo awarded the boy grudging praise. That will make them stop and think.
The Patryn slipped silently closer to the hallway in which the elves held the child captive. He could see them, now—six elven soldiers and one officer, standing near the staircase that led back up to the statue.
The soldiers had fanned out down the hallway, stood with weapons drawn, looking nervously this way and that. Obviously, they didn’t like it down here. Only the officer appeared cool and unconcerned, although Haplo could see that Bane’s answer had taken the elf by surprise. He rubbed a pointed chin, eyed the boy speculatively.
“King Stephen’s whelp is dead,” said the soldier holding the boy. “We should know. He accused us of the murder.”
“Then you should know that you didn’t do it,” returned Bane cunningly. “I am the prince. The very fact that I’m here on Drevlin should prove that to you.” The boy spoke scornfully. His hand started to rub his aching jaw, but he changed his mind, stood proudly, too proud to admit he was hurt, glaring at his captors.
“Oh, yes?” said the captain. “How?”
The captain was obviously impressed. Hell, Haplo was impressed. He’d forgotten how smart and manipulative Bane could be. The Patryn relaxed, took time to study the soldiers, tried to decide what magic he could use that would render the elves helpless and leave Bane unharmed.
“I’m a prisoner, King Stephen’s prisoner. I’ve been looking for a way to escape and, when the stupid Gegs left to attack your ship, I had my chance. I ran away and came searching for you, only I got lost, coming down here. Take me back to Tribus. It will be well worth your while.” Bane smiled ingenuously.
“Take you back to Tribus?” The elven captain was highly amused. “You’ll be lucky if I waste energy enough taking you back up the stairs! The only reason I haven’t killed you yet, you little worm, is that you are right about one thing: I am curious to know what a human brat is doing down here. And I suggest that this time you tell me the truth.”