Sir Lathan grunted. "Keep awake, elf. I said that the tytans have attacked them. They've been routed, seemingly. The bastards actually had the nerve to beg us for help."

The innkeeper returned with the ale, set the mug down in front of the knight.

"Back off," Lathan commanded, waving a greasy hand.

"And did you send aid?" Paithan inquired.

"They're the enemy. It could have been a trick."

"But it wasn't, was it?"

"No," the knight admitted. "I guess not. They were soundly trounced, according to some of the refugees we talked to before we turned them away from the walls-"

'Turned them away!"

Sir Lathan lifted the mug, drank long and deep, wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, "What would happen if we sent sorinth for aid, elf. What would happen if we asked your people for help?"

Paithan felt a hot flush spread from his neck to his cheeks. "But you and the SeaKings are both human." It was lame, but all he could think of to say.

"Meaning you'd help us if we were your kind? Well, you can make good on that one, elf, because we've heard rumors that your people in the Fartherness Reaches have been attacked, as well."

"That means," said Roland, quickly calculating, "that the tytans are spreading out, moving est and vars, surrounding us, surrounding Equilan," he said with emphasis.

"I've got to go! Got to warn them," murmured Paithan. "When do you expect them to reach Griffith?"

"Any day now," said Lathan. Wiping his hands on the table-doth, he rose to his feet, the tyro armor making a clattering sound. "The flood of refugees has stopped, which means they're all probably dead. And we've heard nothing from our scouts, which means they're probably dead, too."

"You're being awfully cool about this."

"We'll stop them," said Sir Lathan, buckling on his sword belt.

Roland stared at the sword, with its honed, wooden blade and suddenly began to laugh, a high-pitched, shrill cackle that made Paithan shudder. By Orn, maybe the dwarf wasn't the only one going crazy.

"I've seen them!" cried Roland, in a low, hollow voice. "I saw them beat a man. ... He was tied up. They hit him and hit him"-his voice rose, fists clenched-"and hit him and-"

"Roland!"

The human was curling up, body hunching over, fingers twitching spasmodically. He seemed to be falling apart.

"Roland!" Paithan flung his arms around the man, gripped the shoulders hard, fingers digging into the flesh.

"Get him out of here," said Sir Lathan, in disgust. "I've no use for cowards." He paused a moment, considering his words, Tolling them in his mouth as if they tasted bad. "Could you get weapons to us, elf?" He asked the question grudgingly.

No, Paithan was on the verge of saying. But he stopped the words, nearly biting off his tongue to keep them from blurting out. I need to reach Equilan. Fast. And I can't if I'm going to be stopped and questioned at every border between here and Varsport.

"Yes, I'll get you weapons. But I'm a long way from home-"

Roland lifted a ravaged face. "You're going to die! We're all going to die!"

Other knights, hearing the commotion, peered in the window. The innkeeper's face had gone livid. He began to babble, his wife started to wail. Sir Lathan put his hand on his sword, loosened the blade in its scabbard. "Shut him up before I run him through!"

Roland shoved the elf aside, bolted for the door. Chairs toppled, he overturned a table, and nearly knocked down two knights trying to stop him. At Lathan's gesture, they let him pass. Glancing through a window, Paithan saw Roland staggering down the street, weaving on unsteady feet like a drunken man.

"I'll give you a permit," said Lathan.

"Cargans as well." The elf pictured the puny barricades, imagined the tytans smashing through them, walking over them as if they were nothing but piles of leaves thrown in their path. This town was dead.

Paithan made up his mind. I'll take Rega to Equilan-with me. She won't go without Roland, so I'll take him back, too. He's not a bad fellow. Not really.

"Cargans [24] enough to carry me and my friends."

Sir Lathan was scowling, obviously not pleased.

'That's the deal," Paithan said.

"What about the dwarf? He one of your friends, too?"

Paithan had forgotten about Drugar, standing silently beside him the entire time. He looked down, to see the dwarf looking up, the black eyes flickering with that queer, gleeful gleam.

"You're welcome to come with us, Drugar," said Paithan, trying to sound as if he meant it. "But you don't have to-"

"I'll come," said the dwarf.

Paithan lowered his voice. "You could go back to the tunnels. You'd be safe there."

"And what would I go back to, elf?"

Drugar spoke quietly, one hand toyed with his long, flowing beard. The other hand was hidden, thrust into his belt.

"If he wants to come with us, he can," said Paithan. "We owe him. He saved our lives."

"Pack your gear then and make ready. The cargans will be saddled and waiting in the yard out there. I'll give the orders." Lathan picked up his helm, and prepared to walk out the door.

Paithan hesitated, conflicting emotions tugging at him. He caught hold of the knight's arm as Lathan passed him.

"My friend isn't a coward," said the elf. "He's right. Those giants are deadly. I-"

Sir Lathan leaned near, his voice low and quiet, for the elf alone. "The SeaKings are fierce warriors. I know. I've fought them. From what we heard, they never had a chance. Like the dwarves, they were destroyed. One word of advice, elf." The knight's eyes gazed steadily into Paithan's. "Once you're gone, keep going."

"But ... the weapons?" Paithan stared, confused.

"Just talk. To keep up appearances. For my men and the people around here. You couldn't get back here fast enough. And I don't think weapons-magical or not-will make any difference anyway. Do you?"

Slowly, Paithan shook his head. The knight paused, his face grave and thoughtful. He seemed, when he spoke, to be talking to himself.

"If ever there was a time for the Lost Lords to return, that time is now. But they won't come. They're asleep beneath the waters of the Kithni Gulf. I don't blame them for leaving us to fight this alone. Theirs was an easy death. Ours won't be."

Lathan straightened, glowering at the elf. "Enough haggling!" the knight said loudly, rudely shoved his way past. "You'll get your blood money." He tossed the words over his shoulder. "That's all you blasted elves care about, isn't it? You there, boy! Saddle three-"

"Four," corrected Paithan, following Sir Lathan out the door.

The knight frowned, appeared displeased. "Saddle four cargans. They'll be ready in half a petal's fold, elf. Be here on time."

Paithan, confused, didn't know what to say and so he said nothing. He and Drugar started off down the street, following after Roland, who could be seen in the distance, leaning weakly against a building.

The elf halted then, half-turned. 'Thanks," he called back to the knight.

Lathan brought his hand to the visor of his helm in a solemn, grim salute.

"Humans," muttered Paithan to himself, heading after Roland. "Try to figure them."

CHAPTER 24.

SORINTH, ACROSS THILLIA.

'THE KNIGHT AS MUCH AS ADMITTED TO ME THAT HE AND HIS MEN CAN'T HOLD out against these monsters. We've got to head sorinth, to the elven lands. And we've got to leave now!" Paithan stared out the window, eyes on the eerily silent jungle. "I don't know about you, but the air feels or smells strange, like that time the tytans caught us. We can't stay here!"

"What makes you think it'll make any difference where we go?" Roland demanded in a dull voice. He sat in a chair, his head in his hands, elbows leaning on the crude table. By the time Drugar and Paithan had managed to get the human to his home, he was in a sorry state. His terror, so long held inside, had exploded, piercing his spirit with its deadly fragments. "We might as well stay, die with the rest."

Paithan's lips tightened. He was embarrassed by the man, probably because he knew the wreck huddled at the table could very well be him. Every time the elf thought about facing those terrible, eyeless beings, fear shriveled his stomach. Home. The thought was a knife's prod to his back, keeping him moving.

"I'm going. I have to go, back to my people-"

The sound of the snakeskin drums began again, the beating louder, more urgent. Drugar, watching out the window, turned.

"What does that mean, human?"

"They're coming," Rega said, lips stiff. "That's the alarm that means the enemy's in sight."

Paithan stood, irresolute, divided between his loyalty to his family and his love for the human woman. "I've got to go," he said finally, abruptly. The cargans, tethered outside the door, were nervous, tugging against their reins, growling in fright. "Hurry! I'm afraid we'll lose the animals!"

"Roland! Come on!" Rega's grip tightened on her brother.

"Why bother!" He shoved her away.

Drugar clomped across the room, leaned over the table where Roland sat, shivering. "We must not separate! We go together. Come! Come! It is our only hope." Pulling a flask from out of his wide belt, the dwarf thrust it at Roland. "Here, drink this. You will find courage in the bottom."

Roland reached out his hand, snatched the flask, and put it to his lips. He drank deeply, choked, coughed. Tears glistened in his eyes, rolled down his cheeks, but a faint flush of blood stained the pallid skin.

"All right," said Roland, breathing heavily. "I'll come." He picked up the flask, took another swallow, and cradled it close.

"Roland-"

"Let's go sis. Can't you see your elf lover waiting? He wants to take you home, to the bosom of his family. If we ever make it that far. Drugar, old buddy, old pal. Got any more of this stuff?"

Roland flung his arm around the dwarf, the two of them headed for the door. Rega was left standing alone in the center of the small house. She gazed around, shook her head, and followed, nearly running into Paithan, who had come back, searching for her.

"Rega! What's wrong?"

"I never thought it would hurt me to leave this hovel, but it does. I guess it's because it was all I ever had."

"I can buy you whatever you want! You'll have a house a hundred times this big!"

"Oh, Paithan! Don't lie to me! You don't have any hope. We can run"-she looked up into the elf's eyes-"but where will we go?"

The sound of the drums grew more urgent, the rhythm thumping through the body.

Doom and destruction. You'll bring it with you.

And you, sir, shall be the one who leads his people forth!

Heaven. The stars!

"Home," said Paithan, holding Rega close. "We're going home."

They left the sound of the drumbeats behind, riding through the jungle, urging the cargans as fast as they dared. Riding cargans takes skill and practice, however. When the creature spreads its batlike wings to take off, to glide through the trees, it is necessary to cling with the hands, grip with the knees, and almost bury one's head in the animal's furry neck-or risk being brushed off by hanging vines and branches.

Paithan was a skilled cargan rider. The two humans, though not as easy in their saddles as the elf, had ridden before, and knew the technique. Even Roland, dead drunk, managed to hang on to his cargan for dear life. But they nearly lost the dwarf.

Never having seen such an animal, Drugar had no idea that the cargan was capable of nor had any inclination toward flight. The first time the cargan leapt from a tree branch, it sailed gracefully outward, the dwarf fell like a rock.

By some miracle-Drugar's boot becoming entangled in the stirrup-the cargan and the dwarf managed to land in the next tree almost together. But it took precious time assisting the shaken Drugar back into the saddle, more time convincing the cargan it still wanted to carry the dwarf as a passenger.

"We've got to go back to the main highway. We'll make better time," said Paithan.

They reached the main highway, only to discover it was almost a solid mass of people-refugees, fleeing sorinth. Paithan reined in, staring. Roland, having drained the flask, began to laugh.

"Damn fools!"

The humans flowed sluggishly down the road that had become a river of fear. Bent beneath bundles, carrying children too young to walk, they pulled those too old along in carts. Their path was strewn with flotsam, washed up along the shore-household goods that had become too heavy, valuables that had lost their value when life was at stake, vehicles that had broken down.

Here and there, fallen by the wayside, human jetsam-people too exhausted to walk farther. Some held out their hands, pleading to those with wagons to take them up. Others, knowing what the answer would be, sat, staring about them with dull, fear-glazed eyes, waiting for their strength to return.

"Back to the woods," said Rega, riding up beside Paithan. "It's the only way. We know the paths. This time, we really do," she added, flushing slightly.

"Smuggler's Road," slurred Roland, weaving in his saddle. "Yes, we know them."

Paithan couldn't move. He sat, staring. "All these humans, heading for Equilan. What will we do?"

"Paithan?"