Too Many Princes (73 page)

FINDING THE LOST

The manacles came off easily enough, but Brastigan soon found escape wasn't such a simple matter. The door could only be unlocked from outside. Brastigan pressed his ear to the crack, but heard no voices or movement. When he knelt to peer beneath the door there was only blackness on the other side.

So Ysislaw had left no guards. He must not think he would need them. Well, he might be right about that. Isolation was an effective prison on its own.

Brastigan rested on the floor for a moment. Then he sprang to his feet, not bothering to move quietly. He should have known it was going too easily. Here he was, free! Yet still trapped. Free and trapped at the same time. Wasn't that the story of his life?

Brastigan prowled his small cell with restless energy for a time, then slouched down on the pallet. As soon as he sat still, he felt his eyes burning with exhaustion. His mouth opened on a yawn as wide as the plains of Daraine. Passing out drunk didn't count as resting—he was still worn to the bone.

Since he couldn't break out, Brastigan did the only other thing he could do. He stretched out and rolled over with his back to the door. Holding the steel cuffs, he curled his arms against his chest so that anyone who checked on him would think him still in chains. Then he went to sleep.

* * *

Brastigan's room was quiet and dark. Dark, because Lottres had put out the candle when all the occupants of rooms around them had settled into sleep. Quiet, because Shaelen was resting at last, and he didn’t want to disturb her.

Upon reaching Brastigan's room, they had both spent a good deal of time examining the archway between the sitting room and the bedchamber. They both sensed residual energy there. Shaelen thought the arch could have been the center of a transportation spell, like the Dragon's Candle—or Dragon's Well, depending what side you came from. If Pikarus was correct that Brastigan had been abducted, it could have happened in this very room. As it was, the archway was more tantalizing than helpful.

Lottres shifted in his chair. He would have welcomed a pot of tea, but since that was denied him, he relied on his own thoughts to keep him awake. Certainly they were thorny enough to do the job.

Therula's harsh judgment, based solely on appearances, had bothered Shaelen a great deal. Lottres didn't like it, either. He hadn't remembered Therula being so prissy. Still, Lottres tried not to hold it against her. Of all Alustra's children, only Therula ever went out of her way to be civil to the rest of the family. Yet she was always putting herself across as so worldly and sophisticated, when she was hardly more than a fluttering, frightened girl. The deception disappointed him.

Soon enough, Lottres got bored with fuming over small slights. He sat still and listened, as he had all the way through Altannath. It wasn't hard to locate Ysislaw, of course. His power and presence filled the main keep as light fills a lamp. Such enormous self-confidence made Lottres feel small. He wondered how they would ever fool Ysislaw, with his ages of cunning. They would just have to hope that whatever blocked magic from outside Harburg would conceal them, too.

Lottres yawned, then told himself he'd better stop doing it. Unlike him, dragons didn't even have to sleep. Yriatt said they found sleep pleasurable, and this was how the
eppagadrocca
had managed to ensnare Ymell, but it wasn't essential. The dragons could recover their energies through meditation. Shaelen had said she knew how, but that this wasn't the time for lessons. Lottres agreed. He could imagine Ysislaw up in the keep somewhere, listening for any hint of their presence just as Lottres listened for him.

Besides, Lottres's head felt so heavy, he probably would have fallen asleep if he tried meditating. He shifted in his chair again, trying to remain alert and focused.

Faintly, from the harbor, Lottres heard the moan of a fog horn. It sounded like a very large cow. Or voices in a dream. The mournful bellow came again. Lottres stifled another yawn. He was about to get up and see if Shaelen was ready to join Pikarus, when he heard a voice.

“
Answer, slave.
”

The summons wasn't loud, but it startled Lottres into complete wakefulness. So smooth and reptilian in its cold force—that had to be Ysislaw!

A reply came almost instantly.
“
I am here, master. Rowbeck is ours. The portal has been repaired, as you instructed.
”

“
Do not tell me what I already know.
”
Ysislaw brushed the
eppagadrocca's
thoughts aside
.
“
My enemies are moving. We must act first. Awaken the handlers and get the walking bones moving. You will come through immediately.
”

“
As you say, master.
”

“
Prepare yourselves. I go to open the way.
”

Ysislaw's voice cut off, abruptly as the slam of a door. The silence in its wake roared like thunder. No, Lottres realized, what he heard was the drumbeat of his own heart.

When the sense of Ysislaw's message penetrated his surprise, Lottres sprang to his feet. He no longer felt even a little bit drowsy.

Shaelen was already up, moving in the dark.
“
I think he's going to leave the castle,
”
she said, a bare whisper in the inky blackness.
“
But if he brings the bone men through...
”

“
I know,
”
Lottres breathed in return. It sounded as though the military situation was about to get tense.
“
Stay here. Keep listening. I'll go to the barracks and warn Pikarus. We need to wait until Ysislaw leaves before we do anything.
”

Sensing Shaelen's agreement, he turned toward the door. Lottres forced himself to move slowly. He'd better not make any noise. Ysislaw wasn't gone yet. Nevertheless, this was a priceless opportunity. With Ysislaw away, he and Shaelen could use their magic more openly. It was a stroke of luck they couldn't afford to let pass.

* * *

It seemed only a moment had passed when Brastigan snapped awake. It was sound that roused him. A key ground in the lock. The door groaned softly as it opened. Brastigan lay limp, listening to the sly whisper of shoes across the floor.

The lone torch on the wall was burning out. It gave only a sallow light. Brastigan's fists tightened over cold links of chain as the footsteps drew nearer. He narrowed his eyes to slits and forced himself to breathe deeply, feigning sleep. The footsteps stopped. A hand fell on his shoulder.

“
Brastigan,
”
came a man's voice, a coarse whisper.
“
I know you're awake—No, wait!
”

Brastigan rolled over and tackled whoever it was. They both crashed to the floor together. Brastigan threw a loop of the chain around the man's neck and jerked it tight.

“
Shut up, you,
”
Brastigan snarled.
“
Just do what I say.
”

The fellow made some coughing reply. Brastigan stared at him, suddenly recognizing Lottres's curly beard, his face growing red over the constricting chain.

For a moment, emotion threatened to choke Brastigan. He could hardly believe his brother was here, just when he needed him most. After all their arguments, too. It must have been magic that called Lottres to him. Brastigan was so glad to see him, he didn't much care.

“
Get off, you idiot!
”
Lottres's voice came clearly, though he couldn't really have spoken.

“
Oh.
”
Feeling stupid, Brastigan released the chain. He rolled off Lottres.

“
Are you all right?
”
Pikarus called from the doorway. Another figure lurked behind Pikarus, someone Brastigan couldn't see.

“
Yes,
”
Lottres answered, though he rubbed his neck irritably. Then he smiled at Brastigan.
“
Remind me not to wake you up again.
”

“
Welcome home,
”
Brastigan smirked, summoning his old humor. He tossed the chains aside and stood up, offering Lottres a hand.

Pikarus approached, offering a familiar sword in a well-worn sheath. He also carried Brastigan's duffel over his shoulder.

“
Your highness,
”
Pikarus said,
“
you'll want these.
”

“
Yes, I do. Thank you!
”
Brastigan seized Victory eagerly. He gave the bright blade a quick inspection in the faint candlelight. Then he took his duffel. By the weight, it had his whole harness inside.

“
Let me help you,
”
Pikarus offered.

“
We need to hurry,
”
Lottres said.

“
Really?
”
Brastigan snorted with mocking humor.
“
You think so?
”