Fire Sea (37 page)

The dynast's gaze shifted, moved to the body of the prince lying on the stone in the cell opposite. He glanced back at Haplo, who didn't have time to rearrange the sardonic sneer on his lips.

Kleitus paled, frowned. “You, the ancient enemy, scion of a race of cruel and barbarous people, whose greed and ambition led to the destruction of our world, you dare pass judgment on us! Yes, you see we know about you. We've
studied, found reference to you—to your people, rather—in the ancient texts.”

Haplo said nothing, waited.

The dynast raised an eyebrow. “Tell us again, why have you come to our world?”

“I’LL tell you again.” The Patryn was growing impatient, decided to get to the point. “My Lord sent me. If you want to ask
him
why he sent me, you can do that yourself. I'll take you to him. I was going to propose just such a journey anyway.”

“Indeed? You'd take me through Death's Gate with you?”

“Not only that, Your Majesty, I'll show you how to get through it, how to get back. I'll introduce you to My Lord, show you around my world—”

“And what do you want in return? We don't suppose, from what we've read of your people, that you will perform these services for us out of the goodness of your heart.”

“In return,” Haplo said quietly, “you will teach my people the art of necromancy.”

“Ah.” Kleitus's gaze went to the runes tattooed on the back of Haplo's hand. “The one magical skill you do not possess. Well, well. We will consider the idea. We could not, of course, leave when the peace of our city is threatened. You would have to wait until this matter between our people and those of the Kairn Telest is settled.”

Haplo shrugged nonchalantly. “I'm in no hurry.” Kill off more of your people, he suggested silently. The fewer of you Sartan left alive to interfere with My Lord's plans the better.

Kleitus's eyes narrowed and Haplo thought for a moment he had gone too far. He wasn't used to having his mind probed. That fool Alfred had always been far too absorbed with his own worries to try to worm into Haplo's. I'll have to watch myself, the Patryn counseled.

“In the interim,” the dynast said slowly, “we hope you won't mind being our guest. We regret the accommodations aren't more comfortable. We would offer you a room in the palace, but that would occasion gossip and explanations. Far better if we keep you here, safe and quiet.”

Kleitus started to leave, paused, turned back. “Oh, by the way, that friend of yours—”

“I don't have any friends,” Haplo said shortly. He had started to sit down, but was now forced to remain standing.

“Indeed? I'm referring to the Sartan who saved your life. The one who destroyed the dead guard about to execute you—”

“That was self-preservation, Your Majesty. I'm the only way he gets back home.”

“Then it wouldn't concern you to hear that this acquaintance of yours is in collusion with our enemies and has, therefore, placed his life in jeopardy?”

Haplo grinned, sat down on the stone seat. If you're trying to use threats against Alfred to goad me into talking, Friend, you're sadly mistaken. “It wouldn't concern me to hear that Alfred fell into the Fire Sea.”

Kleitus slammed shut the cell door, using his hands this time, not the rune-magic. He began to walk away.

“Oh, by the way, Your Majesty—” Haplo called, scratching at the tattoos on his arm. Two could play at this game.

Kleitus ignored him, continued to walk away.

“I heard something mentioned about a prophecy …” Haplo paused, let his words hang in the chill, dank air of the catacombs.

The dynast stopped. He had drawn the cowl up over his head. The hood, turning toward Haplo, shadowed Kleitus's face. His voice, though he attempted to keep it cold and uncaring, had an edge of sharpened steel to it.

“Well, what about it?”

“Just curious to know what it was. I thought perhaps Your Majesty could tell me.”

The dynast emitted a dry chuckle. “We could spend the remainder of our waking hours relating prophecies to you, Patryn, and half the slumbering hours into the bargain.”

“There've been that many, have there?” Haplo marveled.

“That many. And most of them worth about what you might expect—the ravings of half-crazed old men or some
dried-up old virgin in a trance. Why do you ask?” The voice probed.

So many, huh? Haplo thought.
The
prophecy, Jera said, and everyone knew—or seemed to know—exactly what she meant. I wonder why you don't want to tell me, you crafty dragon-spawn. Perhaps it hits a little too close to home, eh?

“I thought perhaps one of the prophecies might refer to My Lord,” Haplo said, taking a risk.

He didn't know exactly what he hoped to accomplish with that shot, made completely in the dark. But if he'd intended it to draw blood, apparently he missed his mark. Kleitus didn't flinch or cringe. He made no comment, but turned as if completely bored with the conversation and walked off down the narrow hallway.

Haplo, listening closely, heard the dynast greet Pons in the same bored, casual tones. The echo of their voices gradually faded in the distance, and the Patryn was left alone with the dead for company.

At least the dead were a quiet group … with the exception of that incessant sighing or whining or whatever noise buzzed in his ears.

Haplo threw himself down on the stone bed to consider his conversation with the dynast, going over every word spoken and every word that hadn't been. The Patryn decided that he'd come out ahead in this first contest of wills. Kleitus wanted off this hunk of rock badly, that much was obvious. He wanted to visit other worlds, wanted to
rule
other worlds—that, too, was obvious.

“If there were such a thing as a soul, as the ancients believed, this man would sell his for the chance,” Haplo remarked to the dead. “But, in lieu of his soul, he'll sell me the necromancy. With the dead fighting for him, My Lord will forge his own prophecy!”

He looked across at the still form lying in the cell opposite. “Don't worry, Your Highness,” Haplo said quietly. “You'll have your revenge.”

“He's lying, of course, the cunning devil,” the dynast told Pons, when the two Sartan were again alone in the library.

“Trying to make us believe the mensch are in control of the worlds beyond! As if mensch could control anything!” “But you saw—”

“We saw what he wanted us to see! This Haplo and his partner are spies, sent to discover our weaknesses, betray our strengths. It is this lord of his who rules. We saw the man.” Kleitus fell silent, remembering. Slowly, he nodded his head. “A power to be reckoned with, Pons. An elder wizard of extraordinary skill and discipline and will.”

“You could tell this by viewing him in a vision, Sire?”

“Don't be an idiot, Pons! We saw him through the eyes of his minion. This Haplo is dangerous, intelligent, skilled in his magical art, barbaric though it may be. He honors and reveres this man he calls ‘his lord’! A man as strong as this Haplo would not give his body and mind to an inferior or even an equal. This lord will be a worthy foe.”

“But if he has worlds at his command, Sire—”

“We have the dead, chancellor. And the art of raising the dead. He doesn't. His spy admitted it to us. He is trying to induce us to make a bargain.”

“A bargain, Your Majesty?”

“He would lead us to Death's Gate and we would provide him with the knowledge of necromancy.” Kleitus smiled, thin-lipped, devoid of mirth. “We allowed him to think we were considering it. And he brought up the prophecy, Pons.”

The chancellor gaped. “He did?”

“Oh, he pretends he knows nothing about it. He even asked us to recite it to him! I am certain he knows the truth, Pons. And do you realize what that means?”

“I'm not sure, Sire.” The chancellor was moving warily, not wanting to appear slow of thought. “He was unconscious when the Duchess Jera mentioned it—”

“Unconscious!” Kleitus snorted. “He was no more unconscious than we are! He is a powerful wizard, Pons. He could stroll out of that cell at this moment, if he chose. Fortunately, he believes himself to be in control of the situation.

“No, Pons, he was shamming that entire episode. We've been studying their magic, you see.” Kleitus lifted a rune
bone, held it up to the light. “And we think we're beginning to understand how it works. If those fat, complacent ancestors of ours had taken the trouble to learn more about their enemy, we might have escaped disaster. But what do they do, in their smugness? They turn their paltry knowledge into a game! Bah!” The dynast, in a rare flash of anger, swept the rune-bone pieces from the table to the floor. Rising to his feet, he began to pace.

“The prophecy, Your Majesty?”

“Thank you, Pons.
You
remind us of what is truly important. And the fact that this Haplo knows of the prophecy is of monumental significance.”

“Forgive me, Majesty, but I fail to see—”

“Pons!” Kleitus came to stand in front of his minister. “Think! One comes through Death's Gate who knows the prophecy. This means that the prophecy is known beyond.”

Light shown on the benighted chancellor. “Your Majesty!”

“This Patryn lord fears us, Pons,” Kleitus said softly, eyes gazing far away, to worlds he had seen only in his mind. “With our necromancy, we have become the most powerful Sartan who have ever lived. That is why he has sent his spies to learn our secrets, to disrupt our world. I see him, waiting for his spies to return. And he will wait in vain!”

“Spies plural. I assume that Your Majesty refers to the other man, the Sartan who destroyed the dead. May I respectfully remind you, Sire, that this man
is
a Sartan. He is one of us.”

“Is he? Destroying our dead? No, if he is a Sartan, he is one of us turned to evil. It is likely that, over the centuries, the Patryns have corrupted our people. But not us. They will not corrupt us. We must have that Sartan. We must learn how he performed his magic”

“As I told you before, Sire, he did not use a rune structure that I recognized—”

“Your skills are limited, Pons. You are not a necromancer.”

“True, Sire.” The chancellor admitted this lack quite humbly. Pons knew of and was confident in his own particular
area of expertise—how to make himself indispensable to his ruler.

“This Sartan's magic could prove to be a significant threat. We must know what he did to the corpse that ended its ‘life.’ “

“Undoubtedly, Sire, but if he is with the earl, capturing this Sartan may prove difficult—”

“Precisely why we will not attempt it. Nor will ‘capture’ be necessary. The duke and duchess are coming to rescue the prince, are they not?”

“According to Tomas, their plans are moving forward.”

“Then, this Sartan we want will come with them.”

“To rescue the prince? Why should he?”

“No, Pons. He will come to rescue his Patryn friend— who, by that time, will be dying.”

CHAPTER
29
NECROPOLIS,
ABARRACH

T
HE NEXT CYCLE, THE CONSPIRATORS PLANNED THEIR MOVE
to the city, to the house of Tomas. They would have no difficulty slipping into Necropolis under the cover of the slumber hours. Only one main gate led into the city and it was guarded by the dead. But, being a network of tunnels and caves, Necropolis had any number of other entrances and exits, too numerous for guards to be posted at each, particularly because there was usually no enemy to guard against.

“But now there is an enemy,” said Jera. “Perhaps the dynast will order all the ‘rat holes’ stopped up.”

But Tomas was confident that the dynast would not have issued such an order; the enemy was, after all, on the other side of the Fire Sea. Jera appeared dubious, but Jonathan reminded her that their friend Tomas stood high in the dynast's regard and was extremely knowledgeable concerning His Majesty's way of thinking. At length all agreed that they would sneak into the city through the rat holes. But what were they to do with the dog?

“We could leave him here,” suggested Jera, eyeing the animal thoughtfully.

“I'm afraid the animal wouldn't stay,” Alfred returned.

“He's got a point,” Jonathan said in an undertone to his wife. “The dog wouldn't even stay dead!”