Haplo’s head sagged, heavy as rock. His arms were stones, his feet boulders. He found himself lying on the table.
Sang-drax grabbed Haplo by the hair, jerked his head up, forced him to look at the serpent, whose form now became hideous. The creature loomed large, its body swelling and expanding. And then the body started to break apart. Arms, legs, hands detached themselves from the torso, floated away. The head dwindled in size until all Haplo could see were two slit, red eyes.
“You will sleep,” said a voice in Haplo’s mind. “And when you wake, wake to health, fully restored. And you will remember. Remember clearly all I have said, all I have yet to say. We find ourselves in danger, here, on Arianus. There exists an unfortunate trend toward peace. The Tribus empire, weak and corrupt within, is fighting a two-front war, one which we do not think they can win. If Tribus is overthrown, the elves and their human allies will negotiate a treaty with the dwarves. This cannot be allowed.
“Nor would your lord want this to happen, Haplo.” The red eyes flamed with laughter. “That will be your dilemma. An agonizing one. Help these mensch and you thwart the will of your lord. Help your lord and you help us. Help us and you destroy your lord. Destroy your lord and you destroy your people.”
Darkness, soothing and welcome, blotted out the sight of the red eyes. But he still heard the laughing voice.
“Think about it, Patryn. Meanwhile, we’ll grow fat on your fear.”
Peering inside the room full of mensch, Limbeck could see Haplo clearly—they’d dropped him on the floor, just inside the door. The Patryn, looking around, appeared to be as astounded as the dwarf, to see this unique gathering.
Haplo didn’t seem to be at all pleased, however. In fact, as near as Limbeck could tell, Haplo looked as terrified as Limbeck felt.
A human, dressed as a common laborer, came forward. He and Haplo began to converse in a language that Limbeck didn’t understand, but which sounded harsh and angry and chilled him with dark and frightening sensations. At one point, however, everyone in the room laughed and commented and seemed extremely happy, agreeing to something that had been said.
At that point. Limbeck understood some of the conversation, for the dwarves spoke in dwarven and the elves in elven and the humans, presumably, since Limbeck didn’t speak their language, spoke human. None of this cheered Haplo, however, who appeared more tense and desperate than before, if that were possible. He looked, to Limbeck, like a man about to meet a terrible end.
An elf took hold of Haplo by the hair, jerked the Patryn’s head up, forcing him to look at the human. Limbeck watched wide-eyed, having no idea what was going on, but certain— somehow—that Haplo was going to die.
The Patryn’s eyes fluttered, closed. His head sagged, he sank back into the arms of the elf. Limbeck’s heart, which had struggled up from his feet, now lodged firmly in his throat. He was certain that Haplo was dead.
The elf stretched the Patryn out on the floor. The human looked down at him, shook his head, and laughed. Haplo’s head turned, he sighed. He was, Limbeck saw, asleep.
Limbeck was so relieved that his spectacles steamed up. He took them off and wiped them with a shaking hand.
“Some of you Tribus elves, help me carry him,” ordered the elf who had brought Haplo down here. Once again, he was speaking the elven language, not the strange language that Limbeck couldn’t understand. “I’ve got to get him back up to that Factree place, before the others grow suspicious.”
Several elves—at least Limbeck supposed they were elves; it was difficult to tell, because they were wearing some type of clothing that made them look more like the walls of the tunnels than elves—gathered around the slumbering Haplo. They lifted him by his legs and shoulders, carried him easily, as though he weighed no more than a child, and started for the door.
Limbeck ducked hastily back down the tunnel, watched as the elves bore Haplo off in the opposite direction.