Jarre’s eyes filled with tears.
“We could live here. Our people would be happy here. It might take some time—”
“Not as long as you think,” said Sang-drax. The elf walked in casual, leisurely fashion along the deck. The dog sat up, growled.
“Listen,” Haplo silently instructed it, though he wondered why he bothered.
“Once colonies of dwarves used to live on these isles. That was long ago,” the serpent-elf added, with a shrug of his slender shoulders, “but they prospered, at least so legend has it.”
“Unfortunately, the Gegs’ lack of magical talent proved your undoing. The elves forced the dwarves to leave the Mid Realm, shipped your people down to Drevlin, to work with the others already serving the Kicksey-winsey. Once you were gone, the elves took over your homes and lands.”
Sang-drax extended an elegant, shapely hand, pointed. “See that cluster of houses, the ones that burrow into the hillside? Dwarven-built. Who knows how old? And still standing. Those are the fronts of warrens that run far back into the hills. They are snug, dry. Your people found a way of sealing up the coralite,* to keep the rainwater from dripping through. The elves use the houses now for storage.”
*Coralite is extremely porous; water runs through it like a sieve. All races have tried to develop various means of catching and containing the water by sealing up the coralite, but, because the coralite is essentially a living entity, undergoing constant alteration, these have met with only mediocre success. Detailed explanations of coralite and the construction of the floating continents of the Mid Realm can be found in Dragon Wing, vol. r of The Death Gate Cycle.
Jarre examined the dwellings, barely visible on the distant hillside. “We could return, move in. This wealth, this paradise that should have been ours, could be ours again!”
“Why, so it could,” Sang-drax agreed, lounging against the rail. “If and when you Gegs develop an army large enough to push us elves off this isle. That’s what it would take, you know. Do you honestly think we’d let your kind live among us again?”
Jarre’s small hands clenched the slats of the rail. She was too short to see over the top, was forced to peer out between the bars. “Why torment me like this?” she demanded, her voice cold and tight. “I hate you enough already.”
Haplo stood on the deck, watched the water flow, heard the words flow around him, and thought that it all amounted to pretty much the same: nothing. He noticed, as a matter of idle curiosity, that his magical defenses no longer reacted when Sang-drax was around. Haplo wasn’t reacting to anything. But deep inside, some part of him fought against his prison, struggled to break loose. And he knew that if he could only find the energy, he’d be able to free that part of him and then he could… he could… …watch the water flow.
Except that now the water had stopped flowing. The holding tanks were only about half full.
“You talk of hate,” Sang-drax was saying to Jarre. “Look down there. Do you know what is going on?”
“No,” Jarre said. “And I don’t care.”
The line of wagons, loaded with barrels, had begun moving past the storage tanks. But after the first few had gone by, the farmers pulled to a halt, began to shout angrily. Word spread rapidly, and soon a mob was milling about the holding tanks, fists raised.
“Our people have just been told that their water is being rationed. From now on, very little water will be coming from Drevlin. They’ve been told that you Gegs have shut off the supply.”
“But that’s not true!” Jarre cried, speaking before she thought.
“It isn’t?” Sang-drax said, interested.
Undoubtedly interested.
Haplo was roused from his lethargy. Listening through the dog, the Patryn glanced at the serpent-elf sharply.
Jarre stared at the water in the tanks. Her face hardened. She scowled, said nothing more.
“I think you’re lying,” said Sang-drax, after a moment’s pause. “I think you’d better hope you’re lying, my dear.”
Turning, he strolled off. The elves on board ship, their mission completed, were herding the human slaves back to the gailey. Elven guards arrived to march Patryn, dwarf, and dog back to their quarters. Jarre clung to the bars, taking one last, long look, her eyes fixed on the tumbledown buildings on the hillside. The elves were forced to wrench her hands loose, practically had to drag her below.