The rune structure was unraveling.

Haplo turned in upon himself, centered himself, body reacting instinctively to a danger his mind told him was impossible. On the deck above, he could hear feet pounding, the old man's shrill voice, screeching, yelling something.

Another blow shook the ship. Haplo heard the old man cry out for help, but ignored his pleas. The Patryn was tasting, smelling, listening, stretching out with all his senses. The rune's magic was being unraveled, slowly, surely. The blows hadn't hurt his ship, not yet. But they had weakened his magic. The next strike or the one after would break through, deal damage, destroy.

The only magic strong enough, powerful enough to oppose his own was the rune-magic of the Sartan.

A trap! The old man baited me! I was fool enough to fly right into the net!

Another blow rocked the ship; Haplo thought he heard wood splinter. The dog's teeth bared, the fur rose on its neck.

"Stay, boy," said Haplo, stroking the head, bidding it stay with the pressure of his hand. "This is my fight."

He had long wanted to meet, to battle, to kill a Sartan.

Haplo vaulted up to the top deck. The old man was scrambling to his feet. Leaping for him, Haplo was brought to a halt by the look of sheer terror on Zifnab's face. The old man was yelling frantically, pointing up, over Haplo's head.

"Behind you!"

"Oh, no, I'm not falling for that-"

Another blow threw Haplo to his knees. The blow had come from behind. He steadied himself, glanced around.

A creature, standing some thirty feet tall, was bashing what appeared to be a small tree trunk into the hull of the dragonship. Several creatures, standing near it, were watching. Others were completely ignoring the attack, advancing with single-minded purpose on the small group crouched at the edge of the glade.

Several planks on the hull had already been staved in, protecting sigla smashed, useless, broken.

Haplo traced the runes in the air, watched them multiply with lightning speed, and zip away from him toward their target. A ball of blue flame exploded on the tree branch, jarring it from the creature's hands. The Patryn wouldn't kill, not yet. Not until he found out what these beings were.

He knew what they weren't. They weren't Sartan. But they were using Sartan magic.

"Nice shot!" yelled the old man. "Wait here. I'll get our friends."

Haplo couldn't turn to look, but he heard feet clattering off behind him. Presumably the wizard was going to try to bring the elf and his trapped companions on board. Seeing in his mind's eye more of these beings descending on them, Haplo wished the old man luck. The Patryn couldn't help. He had his own problems.

The creature stared dazedly at its empty hands, as if trying to comprehend what had happened. Slowly it turned its head toward its assailant. It had no eyes, but Haplo knew it could see him, perhaps see him better than he himself could see the creature. The Patryn felt waves of sensing streak out from the being, felt them touch him, sniff at him, analyze him. The creature wasn't using magic now. It was relying on its own senses, odd as those might be.

Haplo tensed, waiting for an attack, his mind devising the rune structure that would entrap the creature, paralyze it, leave it subject to the Patryn's interrogation.

Where is the citadel? What must we do?

The voice startled Haplo, speaking to his mind, not his ears. It wasn't threatening. The voice sounded frustrated, desperate, almost wistfully eager. Other creatures in the grove, hearing the silent question of their companion, had ceased their murderous pursuit to turn to watch.

'Tell me about the citadel," said Haplo cautiously, spreading his hands in a gesture of appeasement. "Perhaps I can-"

Light blinded him, concussive thunder blasted him from his feet. Lying face down on the deck, dazed and stunned, Haplo fought to retain consciousness, fought to analyze and understand.

The magical spell had been crude-a simple elemental configuration calling upon forces present in nature. A child of seven could have constructed it, a child of seven should have been able to protect himself against it. Haplo hadn't even seen it coming. It was as if the child of seven had cast the spell using the strength of seven hundred. His own magic had shielded him from death, but the shield had been cracked. He was hurt, vulnerable.

Haplo enhanced his defenses. The sigla on his skin began to glow blue and red, creating an eerie light that shone through his clothing. He was vaguely aware that the being had retrieved its tree trunk and lifted it high, preparing to smash it down on him. Rolling to a standing position, he cast his spell. Runes surrounded the wood, caused the trunk to disintegrate in the creature's hand.

Behind him came shouts and the thudding of feet, panting breath. His diversion of the creature's attention must have given the old man time to rescue the elf and his friends. Haplo felt, more than saw or heard, one of them come creeping up to him.

"I'll help-" offered a voice, speaking in elven.

"Get below!" the Patryn snarled, enraged, the interruption unweaving an entire fabric of runes. He didn't see whether the elf obeyed him or not. Haplo didn't care.

He was intent upon the creature, analyzing it. It had ceased using its potent magic, turned again to brute force. Dull-witted, stupid, Haplo decided. Its reactions had been instinctive, animallike, unthinking.

Perhaps it couldn't consciously control the magic-He started to stand up.

The blast of wind hit him with hurricane force. Haplo struggled against the spell, creating dense and complex rune constructs to surround him, protect him.

He might have built a wall of feathers. The raw power of the crude magic seeped through minuscule cracks in the sigla and blew them to tatters. The wind battered him to the deck. Branches and leaves hurtled past him, something struck him in the face, nearly knocking him senseless. He fought against the pain, clinging to the wooden rails with his hands, the gusts pummeling, hammering. He was helpless against the magic, he couldn't reason with it, speak to it. His strength was seeping from him rapidly, the wind increasing in force.

A grim joke among the Patryns purports that there are only two kinds of people in the Labyrinth: the quick and the dead, and advises, "When the odds are against you, run like hell."

It was definitely time to get out of here.

Every move taking a supreme effort against the force of the wind, Haplo managed to turn his head and look behind him. He spotted the open hatch, saw the elf crouched, waiting there, his head poking up. Not a hair on the elf's head was ruffled. The full force of the magic was being expended against Haplo alone.

That might end soon.

Haplo released his hold on the rail. The wind blew him across the deck, toward the hatch. Making a desperate lunge, he grabbed the rim of the hatch as he slithered past, and held on. The elf grasped him by the wrists and fought to drag him below. The wind fought them. Blinding, stinging, it howled and pounded at them like a live thing who sees its prey about to escape.

The elf's grip loosened, suddenly broke. The elf disappeared.

Haplo felt his hold on the rim weakening. Inwardly cursing, he concentrated all his strength, all his magic into just hanging on. Down below, he heard the dog barking frantically, and then hands had hold of him again-not slender elf hands, but strong human hands. Haplo saw a human face-grim, determined, flushed red with the effort the man was expending. Haplo, with his failing energy, wove his magic around the man. Red and blue sigla from the runes on his own arms and hands twisted and twined around the human's arms, lending him Haplo's strength.

Muscles bunched, jerked, heaved, and Haplo was flying head first down the hatch.

He landed heavily on top of the human, heard the breath leave the man's body in a whoosh and a grunt of pain.

Haplo was on his feet, moving, reacting, ignoring the part of his mind that was trying to draw his attention to his own injuries. He didn't glance at the human who had saved his life. He rudely shoved aside the old man who was yammering something in his ear. The ship shuddered; he heard timber cracking. The creatures were venting their rage against it or perhaps endeavoring to crack open the shell protecting the fragile life inside.

The steering stone was the only object in Haplo's line of sight. All else disappeared, was swallowed up in the black fog that was slowly gathering about him. He shook his head, fought the darkness back. Sinking to his knees before the stone, he placed his hands upon it, summoning from the deep well within him the strength to activate it.

He felt the ship shudder beneath him, but it was a different type of shudder than the one the creatures were inflicting. Dragon Wing rose slowly off the ground.

Haplo's eyes were gummed almost completely shut with something, probably his own blood. He peered through them, struggled to see out the window. The creatures were behaving as he had anticipated. Amazed, startled by the ship's sudden lift into the air, they had fallen back away from it.

But they weren't frightened. They weren't fleeing from it in panic. Haplo felt their senses reaching out, smelling, listening, seeing without eyes. The Patryn fought back the black haze and concentrated his energy on keeping the ship floating up higher and higher.

He saw one of the creatures lift its arm. A giant hand reached out, grabbed hold of one of the wings. The ship lurched, throwing everyone to the deck.

Haplo held onto the stone, concentrated his magic. The runes flared blue, the creature snatched its hand back as if in pain. The ship soared into the air. Looking out from beneath his gummed eyelashes, Haplo saw green treetops and the hazy blue-green sky and then everything was covered by a dense black, paintinged fog.

CHAPTER 27.

SOMEWHERE ABOVE EQUILAN.

"WHAT ... WHAT IS HE?" ASKED REGA, STARING AT THE UNCONSCIOUS MAN LYING on the deck. The man was obviously seriously injured-his skin was burned and blackened, blood oozed from a wound on his head. But the woman held back, afraid to venture too close. "He ... he glowed! I saw him!"

"I know it's been a difficult time for you, my dear-" Zifnab gazed at her in deep concern.

"I did!" Rega faltered. "His skin glowed! Red and blue!"

"You've had a hard day," said Zifnab, patting her solicitously on the arm.

"I saw it, too," added Roland, rubbing his solar plexus and grimacing. "And what's more, I was about to lose my hold on him, my arms were getting weak, and those ... those markings on his hand lit up like a torch. Then my hands lit up, and suddenly I had enough strength to drag him down through the hatch."

"Stress," said the old man. "Does queer things to the mind. Proper breathing, that's the key. All together, with me. Good air in. Bad air out. Good air in."

"I saw him standing out there on the deck, fighting those creatures," murmured Paithan, awed. "His entire body radiated light! He is our savior! He is Orn! Mother Peytin's son, come to lead us to safety!"

"That's it!" said Zifnab, mopping his brow with his beard. "Orn, favors his mother-"

"No, he doesn't," argued Roland, gesturing. "Look! He's human. Wouldn't Mother what's-her-name's kid be an elf-Wait! I know! He's one of the Lords of Thillia! Come back to us, like the legend foretold!"

"That, too!" said the old wizard hastily. "I don't know why I didn't recognize him. The spitting image of his father."

Rega appeared skeptical. "Whoever he is, he's in pretty bad shape." Cautiously approaching him, she reached out a hand to his forehead. "I think he's dying-Oh!"

The dog glided between her and its master, its glance encompassing all of them, saying plainly, We appreciate the sympathy. Just keep your distance.

"There, there, good boy," said Rega, moving a little nearer. The dog growled, bared its sharp teeth. The plumed tail began to slowly brush from side to side.

"Let him alone. Sis."

"I think you're right." Rega edged back, came to stand beside her brother.

Crouched in the shadows, forgotten, Drugar said nothing, might not have even heard the conversation. He was staring intently at the markings on the back of Haplo's hands and arms. Slowly, making certain no one was looking at him, Drugar reached within his tunic and drew forth a medallion that he wore around his neck. Holding it up to the light, he compared the rune carved into the obsidian with the sigla on the man's skin. The dwarf's brow furrowed in puzzlement, his eyes narrowed, his lips tightened.

Rega turned slightly. The dwarf thrust the medallion beneath his beard and shirt.

"What do you think, Blackbeard?" the woman asked.

"My name is Drugar. And I think I do not like being up here in the air in this winged monster," stated the dwarf. He gestured toward the window. The vars shore of the gulf was sliding beneath them. The tytans had attacked the humans on the bank. Around the shore's edge, crowded with helpless people, the gulf water was beginning to darken.

Roland looked out, said grimly, "I'd rather be up here than down there, dwarf."

The slaughter was progressing swiftly. A few of the tytans left it to their fellows and were attempting to wade into the deep gulf water, their eyeless heads staring in the direction of the opposite shore.

"I've got to get back to Equilan," said Paithan, drawing out his etherilite and studying it intently. "There isn't much time. And I think we're too far north."

"Don't worry." Zifnab rolled up his sleeves, rubbed his hands together eagerly. "I'll take over. Highly competent. Frequent flyer. Over forty hours in the air. DC-three. First class, of course. I had a superb view of the control panel every time the stewardess opened the curtain. Let's see." The wizard took a step toward the steering stone, hands outstretched. "Flaps up. Nose down. I just-"

"Don't touch it, old man!"

Zifnab started, snatched his hands back, and attempted to look innocent. "I was just-"

"Not even the tip of your little finger. Unless you think you'd enjoy watching your flesh melt and drop off your bones."

The old man glowered at the stone fiercely, eyebrows bristling. "You shouldn't leave a thing that dangerous lying around! Someone could get hurt!"

"Someone nearly did. Don't try that again, old man. The stone's magically protected. I'm the only one who can use it."

Groggy, Haplo sat up, stifling a groan. The dog licked his face, and he put his arm around the animal's body for support, hiding his weakness. The urgency had subsided, his injuries needed healing-not a difficult task for his magic, but one that he preferred undertaking without an audience.

Fighting dizziness and pain, he buried his face in the dog's flank, the animal's body warm beneath his hands. What did it matter if they saw? He'd already revealed himself to them, revealed to them the use of rune magic, of Patryn rune magic, that had been absent from their world for countless generations. These people might not recognize it, but a Sartan would. A Sartan ... like the old man... .

"Come, come. We're most grateful that you rescued us and we're all extremely sorry for-your suffering but we don't have time to watch you wallow in it. Heal yourself, and let's get this ship back on the right heading," stated Zifnab.

Haplo looked up, fixed the old man with a narrow-eyed stare.

"After all, you are a god!" Zifnab winked several times.

A god? Hell, why not. Haplo was too tired, too drained to worry about where deification might lead him.

"Good boy." He patted the dog, eased the animal away from him. The dog looked around worriedly, and whined. "It'll be all right." Haplo lifted his left hand, placed it-runes down-over his right hand. He closed his eyes, relaxed, let his mind flow into the channels of renewal, revival, rest.

The circle was formed. He felt the sigla on the back of his hands grow warm to the touch. The runes would glow as they did their work, smoothing, healing. The glow would spread over his entire body, replacing damaged skin with whole. A murmur of voices told him that this sight was not lost on the audience.

"Blessed Thillia, look at that!"

Haplo couldn't think about the mensch, couldn't deal with them now. He didn't dare break the concentration.

"Quite well done," crowed Zifnab, beaming at Haplo as if the Patryn were a work of art he, the wizard, had conjured. "The nose could use a little touching up."

Lifting his hands to his face, Haplo examined himself with his fingers. His nose was broken, a cut on his forehead dripped blood into his eye. One cheekbone appeared to be fractured. He would have to perform superficial repair for the moment. Anything more would send him into a healing sleep.

"If he is a god," questioned Drugar suddenly, only the second time the dwarf had spoken since the rescue, "then why couldn't he stop the tytans? Why did he run away?"

"Because those creatures are spawns of evil," answered Paithan. "All know that Mother Peytin and her sons have spent eternity battling evil."

Which puts me on the side of good, thought Haplo, with weary amusement.

"He fought them single-handedly, didn't he?" the elf was continuing. "He held them off so that we could escape, and now he's using the power of the wind to fly us to safety. He has come to save my people-"

"Why not my people?" demanded Drugar, angrily. "Why didn't he save them?"