"And ours," Rega said, lips trembling. "He let our people all die-"

"Everyone knows elves are the blessed race," snapped Roland, casting Paithan a bitter glance.

Paithan flushed, faint red staining the delicate cheek bones. "I didn't mean that! It's just-"

"Look, be quiet a minute! All of you!" Haplo ordered. Now that his pain had eased and he was able to think clearly, he decided he was going to have to be honest with these mensch, not because he was any great believer in honesty, but because lying looked as if it was going to be a damn nuisance. "The old man's got it wrong. I'm not a god."

The elf and the humans began babbling at once, the dwarf's scowl grew darker. Haplo raised a tattooed hand for silence. "What I am, who I am, doesn't matter. Those tricks you saw me do were magic. Different from your own wizards', but magic just the same."

He shrugged, wincing. His head throbbed. He didn't think the mensch would use this information to figure out he was the enemy-the ancient enemy. If this world was in any way similar to Arianus, the people had forgotten all about the dark demigods who had once sought to rule them. But if they figured it out and came to realize who he was, that was their hard luck. Haplo was too hurt and too tired to care. It would be easy to get rid of them before they did his cause any harm. And right now, he needed answers to his questions.

"Which way?" he demanded, not the most pressing question, but one that should keep everyone occupied.

The elf lifted some sort of device, fiddled with it, and pointed. Haplo steered the ship in the direction indicated. They left the Kithni Gulf and the slaughter on its banks far behind. The dragonship cast its shadow over the trees beneath them, sailing through the variegated shades of green-a dark reflection of the real ship.

The humans and the elf remained standing, huddled together in the same spot, staring with rapt fascination out the window. Every once in a while, one of them would cast Haplo a sharp, darting glance. But he noted that they would occasionally look at each other with the same suspicion. The three had not moved since coming aboard, not even when arguing, but held themselves tense, rigid. They were probably afraid that any sort of movement might send the ship spinning out of control, crashing to the trees below. Haplo could have reassured them, but he didn't. He was content to let them stay where they were, frozen to the deck, where he could keep an eye on them.

The dwarf remained crouched in his corner. He, too, had not moved. But Drugar kept his dark-eyed gaze fixed on Haplo, never once looking out the window. Knowing that dwarves always preferred being underground when they could, the Patryn understood that flying through the air like this must be a traumatic experience for the dwarf. Haplo didn't notice fear or uneasiness in Druger's expression, however. What he saw, oddly enough, was confusion and bitter, smoldering anger. The anger was directed, seemingly, at Haplo.

Reaching out his hand, ostensibly to stroke the dog's silky ears, the Patryn turned the animal's head, aiming the intelligent eyes at the dwarf. "Watch him," Haplo instructed softly. The dog's ears pricked, the tail brushed slowly side to side. Settling down at Haplo's feet, the animal laid its head on its paws, gaze fixed, focused.

That left the old man. A snore told Haplo he didn't have to worry about Zifnab for the moment. The wizard, his battered hat stuck over his face, lay flat on his back on the deck, hands crossed over his chest, sound asleep. Even if he was shamming, he wasn't up to anything. Haplo shook his aching head.

"Those ... creatures. What did you call them? Tytans? What are they? Where did they come from?"

"I wish to Orn we knew," said Paithan.

"You don't?" Haplo stared suspiciously at the elf, certain he was lying. He switched his gaze to the humans. "Either of you?"

Both shook their heads. The Patryn looked to Drugar, but the dwarf apparently wasn't talking.

"All we know," said Roland, elected to speak by his sister's poke in the ribs, "is that they came down from the norinth. We heard they destroyed the Kasner Empire there, and now I believe it."

"They wiped out the dwarves," added Paithan, "and ... well ... you saw what they did to the Thillian realm. And now they're moving into Equilan."

"I can't believe they came out of nowhere!" Haplo persisted. "You must have heard of them before this?"

Rega and Roland looked at each other, the woman shrugged helplessly. "There were legends. Old wives' tales-the kind you tell when it's darktime and you're sitting around, trying to see who can come up with the scariest story. There was one about a nursemaid-"

"Tell me," urged Haplo.

Rega, pale, shook her head and turned her face away.

"Why don't you drop it, all right?" Roland said harshly.

Haplo glanced at Paithan. "How deep's the gulf, elf? How long will it take them to cross it?"

Paithan licked dry lips, drew a shivering breath. "The gulf is very deep, but they could go around it. And we've heard they're coming from other directions, from the est as well."

"I think you had better tell me all you know. Old wives have been known to hold onto the wisdom of generations."

"All right," said Roland, in resigned tones. "There was an old woman who came to stay with the king's children while the king and queen were off doing whatever it is kings and queens do. The children were spoiled brats, of course. They tied the nursemaid up in a chair, and proceeded to wreck the castle.

"After a while, though, the children got hungry. The old woman promised that, if they let her loose, she'd bake them some cookies. The children untied the nursemaid. The old woman went to the kitchen and baked cookies that she made in the shape of men. The old woman was, in reality, a powerful wizardess. She took one of the man-shaped cookies and breathed life into it. The cookie grew and grew until it was larger than the castle itself. The nursemaid set the giant to watch the children while she took a nap. She called the giant a tytan-"

'That word, tytan," Paithan interrupted. "It's not an elven word, it's not human. Is it dwarven?" He glanced at Drugar.

The dwarf shook his head.

"Then where does that word come from? Maybe knowing its original meaning and source would tell us something?"

It was an arrow shot at random, but it might land too close to the bull's eye. Haplo knew the word, knew its source. It was a word from his language and that of the Sartan. It came from the ancient world, referring originally to that world's ancient shapers. Over time, its meaning had broadened, eventually becoming synonymous with giant. But it was an unsettling notion. The only people who could have called these monsters tytans were the Sartan ... and that opened up entire realms of possibility.

"It's just a word," Haplo said. "Go on with the story."

"The children were afraid of the tytan, at first. But they soon found out it was gentle and kind and loving. They began to tease it. Snatching up the man-shaped cookies, the children would bite the heads off and threaten to do the same to the giant. The tytan grew so upset that it ran away from the castle and ..." Roland paused, frowning thoughtfully. "That's odd. I didn't think of it before now. The tytan in the story loses his way and goes around asking people-"

"'Where is the castle'!" Paithan murmured.

"'Where is the citadel,' " Haplo echoed.

Paithan nodded, excited. "'Where is the citadel? What must we do?' "

"Yes, I heard it. What's the answer? Where is the citadel?"

"What is a citadel?" Paithan asked, gesturing wildly. "Nobody even knows for certain what the word means!"

"Anyone who knows the answer to their questions would truly be a savior," said Rega, her voice low. Her fist clenched. "If only we knew what they wanted!"

"Rumor has it that the wisest men and women in Thillia were spending day and night studying the ancient books, searching desperately for a clue."

"Maybe they should have asked the old wives," said Paithan.

Haplo rubbed his hands absently over the rune-covered steering stone. Citadel, meaning "little city." Another word in his language, and that of the Sartan. The path before him stretched smooth and clear, leading one direction. Tytans-a Sartan word. Tytans-using Sartan magic. Tytans-asking about Sartan citadels. And here the path led him slam-up against a stone wall.

The Sartan would never, never have created such evil, brutal beings. The Sartan would never have endowed such beings with magic ... unless, perhaps, they knew for certain that they could control them. The tytans, running amok, running out of control-was it a clear indication that the Sartan had vanished from this world as they had vanished (with one exception) from Arianus?

Haplo glanced at the old man. Zifnab's mouth gaped wide open, his hat was slowly slipping down past his nose. A particularly violent snore caused the old man to inhale the battered brim, nearly strangling himself. He sat up, coughing and spluttering and glaring about suspiciously.

"Who did that?"

Haplo glanced away. He was beginning to reconsider. The Patryn had met only one Sartan before-the bumbling man of Arianus who called himself Alfred Montbank. And though Haplo hadn't recognized it at the time, he came to realize that he felt an affinity for Alfred. Deadly enemies, they were strangers to the rest of the world-but they were not strangers to each other.

This old man was a stranger. To put it more precisely, he was strange. He was probably nothing more than a crackpot, another crazy, bug-eating prophet. He had unraveled Haplo's magic, but the insane had been known to do a lot of bizarre, inexplicable things.

"What happened at the end of the story," he thought to ask, guiding the ship in for a landing.

"The tytan found the castle, came back, and bit off the children's heads," answered Roland.

"You know," said Rega, softly, "when I was little and I heard that story, I always felt sorry for the tytan. I always thought the children deserved such a horrible fate. But now-" She shook her head, tears slid down her cheeks.

"We're nearing Equilan," said Paithan, leaning forward gingerly to look out the window. "I can see Lake Enthial. At least I think that's it, shining in the distance? The water looks odd, seen from above."

"That's it," said Haplo without interest, his thoughts on something else.

"I didn't catch your name," said the elf. "What is it?"

"Haplo."

"What does it mean?"

The Patryn ignored him.

"Single," said the old man.

Haplo frowned, cast him an irritated glance. How the devil did he know that?

"I'm sorry," said Paithan, ever courteous. "I didn't mean to pry." He paused a moment, then continued hesitantly. "I... uh...that is Zifnab said ... you were a savior. He said you could take ... people to the ... uh ... stars. I didn't believe it. I didn't think it would be possible. Doom and destruction. He said I'd bring it back with me. Orn help me, I am!" He gazed a moment out the window, to the land below. "What I want to know is ... can you do it? Will you do it? Can you save us from ... those monsters?"

"He can't save all of you," said Zifnab sadly, twisting his battered hat in his hands, finishing it off totally. "He can only save some. The best and the brightest."

Haplo glanced around, saw eyes-slanted elf eyes, the human woman's wide dark eyes, the human male's bright blue eyes, even the dwarf's black, shadowed eyes, Zifnab's crazed, shrewd eyes. All of them staring at him, waiting, hoping.

"Yeah, sure," he answered.

Why not? Anything to keep peace, keep people happy. Happy and ignorant.

In point of fact, Haplo had no intention of saving anyone except himself. But there was one thing he had to do first. He had to talk to a tytan.

And these people were going to be his bait. After all, the children had asked for exactly what they got.

CHAPTER 28.

TREETOPS, EQUILAN.

"SO," SAID CALANDRA, LOOKING FROM PAITHAN TO REGA, STANDING BEFORE her on the porch, "I might have known."

The elf woman started to slam the front door. Paithan interposed his body, preventing the door from shutting, and forced his way inside the house. Calandra backed up a pace, holding herself tall and straight, her hands clasped, level with her cinched-in waist. She regarded her brother with cold disdain.

"I see you have adopted their ways already. Barbarian! Forcing your way into my home!" [27]

"Excuse me," began Zifnab, thrusting in his head, "but it's very important that I-"

"Calandra!" Paithan reached out to his sister, grasped hold of her chill hands. "Don't you understand? It doesn't matter anymore? Doom is coming, like the old man said! I've seen it, Callie!" The woman attempted to pull away. Paithan held onto her, his grip tightening with the intensity of his fear. "The dwarven realm is destroyed! The human realm dying, perhaps dead, right now! These three"-he cast a wild-eyed glance at the dwarf and the two humans standing, ill-at-ease and uncomfortable, in the doorway-"are perhaps the only ones left of their races! Thousands have been slaughtered! And it's coming down on us next, Callie! It's coming on us!"

"If I could add to that-" Zifnab raised a forefinger.

Calandra snatched her hands away and smoothed the front of her skirt. "You're certainly dirty enough," she remarked, sniffing. "You've gone and tracked filth all over the carpet. Go to the kitchen and wash up. Leave your clothes down there. I'll have them burned. I'll have clean ones sent to your room. Then sit down and have your dinner. Your friends"-sneering, she cast a scathing glance at the group in the doorway-"can sleep in the slave quarters. That goes for the old man. I moved his things out last night."

Zifnab beamed at her, bowed his head modestly. "Thank you for going to the trouble, my dear, but that really wasn't neces-"

"Humpf!" Turning on her heel, the elf woman headed for the stairway.

"Calandra, damn it!" Paithan grabbed his sister's elbow and spun her around. "Didn't you hear me?"

"How dare you speak to me in that tone!" Calandra's eyes were colder and darker than the depths of the dwarven underground. "You will behave in a civilized manner in this house, Paithan Quindiniar, or you can join your barbaric companions and bed with the slaves." Her lip curled, her gaze went to Rega. "Something you must be used to! As for your threats, the queen received news of the invasion some time ago. If it is true-which I doubt, since the news came from humans-then we are prepared. The royal guard is on alert, the shadowguard is standing by if they are needed. We've supplied them with the latest in weaponry. I must say," she addled grudgingly, "that all this nonsense has, at least, been good for business."

"The market opened bullish," offered Zifnab to no one in particular. "Since then, the Dow's been steadily dropping-"

Paithan opened his mouth, but couldn't think of anything to say. Homecoming was like a dream to him, like falling asleep after grappling with terrible reality. Not longer than the turning of a few petals, he had been facing a gruesome death at the rending hands of the tytans. He had experienced unnamable horrors, had seen dreadful sights that would haunt him for the rest of his life. He had changed, sloughed off the carefree, indolent skin that had covered him. What had emerged was not as pretty, but it was tougher, resilient, and-he hoped-more wise. It was a reverse metamorphosis, a butterfly transformed into a grub.

But nothing here had changed. The royal guard on alert! The shadowguard standing by, if they are needed! He couldn't believe it, couldn't comprehend it. He had expected to find his people in turmoil, sounding alarms, rushing hither and thither. Instead, all was peaceful, calm, serene. Unchanged. Status quo.

The peace, the serenity, the silence was awful. A scream welled up inside him. He wanted to shriek and ring the wooden bells, he wanted to grab people and shake them and shout, "Don't you know! Don't you know what's coming! Death! Death is coming!" But the wall of calm was too thick to penetrate, too high to climb. He could only stare, stammering in tongue-tied confusion that his sister mistook for shame.

Slowly, he fell silent, slowly loosened his grip on Calandra's arm.

His elder sister, without a glance at any of them, marched stiffly out of the room.

Somehow I've got to warn them, he thought confusedly, somehow make them understand.

"Paithan ..."

"Aleatha!" Paithan turned, relieved to find someone who would listen to reason. He held out his hand- Aleatha slapped him across the face.

"Thea!" He put his hand over his stinging cheek.

His sister's face was livid, her eyes feverish, the pupils dilated. "How dare you? How dare you repeat these wicked human lies!" She pointed at Roland. "Take this vermin and get out! Get out!"

"Ah! Charmed to see you again, my-" began Zifnab.

Roland couldn't hear what was being said but the hatred in the blue eyes staring at him spoke for her. He raised his hands in apology. "Listen, lady, I don't know what you're saying, but-"

"I said get out!"

Fingers curled to claws, Aleatha flew at Roland. Before he could stop her, sharp nails dug into his cheek, leaving four long bleeding tracks. The startled man tried to fend the elf woman off without hurting her, tried to grasp the flailing arms.

"Paithan! Get her off me!"

Caught flat-footed by his sister's sudden fury, the elf jumped belatedly after her. He grasped Aleatha around the waist, Rega tugged at her arms and, together, they managed to drag the spitting, clawing woman away from Roland.