Into the Labyrinth

42

Escorted by Vasu, Haplo and his companions walked through the giant iron gates that led into the streets of Abri. No other Patryns guarded them; the headman had taken this responsibility on himself. He told Kari and her people to go to their homes, rest after their labors. But the Patryns gathered—at a respectful distance—to view the strangers. Word spread swiftly and soon the streets were crowded with men, women, and children, more curious than hostile. Of course, Haplo thought grimly, the lack of guards doesn’t mean they trust us. After all, we’re trapped inside a walled city, with only one way out—rune-guarded, man-guarded gates. No, Vasu’s not taking much of a chance. Abri was, as its name meant, a shelter of rock. The buildings were all made of stone. The streets were dirt, little more than wide tracks, hard packed by long use. But the roads were smooth and level, well suited to the wagons and handcarts that trundled up and down. The buildings were utilitarian, with square corners and small windows that could be sealed up swiftly when the city was under attack.

And, in case of dire necessity, there were caves in the mountains to which the population could flee for protection. No wonder the Labyrinth had found it difficult to destroy Abri and its people.

Haplo shook his head. “And yet it’s still a prison. How can you choose to stay here, Headman? Why don’t you try to escape?”

“You were a Runner, I am told, Haplo.”

Haplo glanced at Marit, on the other side of Vasu. Marit kept her eyes forward, her chin jutted out. She was cold and impenetrable, solid and forbidding as the stone walls.

“Yes,” Haplo replied. “I was a Runner.”

“And you succeeded in escaping. You reached the Final Gate.” Haplo nodded, unwilling to talk about it. The memory was not a pleasant one.

“And what is the world like beyond the Final Gate?” Vasu inquired.

“Beautiful,” said Haplo, his thoughts going to the Nexus. “A city, immense, enormous. Forests and rolling hills, food in abundance—”

“Peaceful?” Vasu asked. “No threat? No danger?” Yes, Haplo was about to respond; then, remembering, he kept silent.

“There is a threat, then?” Vasu persisted gently. “Danger?”

“A very great danger,” Haplo replied in a low voice. He was thinking of the dragon-snakes.

“Were you happy there, in your Nexus, Haplo? Happier there than you were here?”

Haplo glanced again at Marit. “No,” he said quietly. She still did not look at him. She didn’t need to. She understood his meaning. A flush as of a burning fever rose from her neck, suffused her cheeks.

“Many of those walking free are in prison,” observed Vasu. Haplo met the headman’s eyes, was startled, impressed. The eyes were brown, soft as the body. But they were lit from behind by an inner light, intelligence, wisdom. Haplo began to revise his opinion of this man. Ordinarily, the headman in the tribe is chosen because he is the strongest, a survivor. Thus the headman or headwoman is often one of the oldest members of the tribe, hard and tough. This Vasu was young, flabby, and could never have withstood a challenge from another tribal member. Haplo had wondered, on first encounter, how a weak, soft man like Vasu had managed to retain his hold over a proud, fierce people.

He was beginning to understand why. “You are right, Headman!” Alfred spoke up. His face was radiant; he was regarding Vasu with awe. And, Haplo noted, the Sartan was actually managing to walk without falling over himself. “You are right! I’ve been keeping myself prisoner for so long... so long.” He sighed, shook his head. “I must find a way to set myself free.”

“You are a Sartan,” Vasu said, the wonderful eyes turning on Alfred, turning him inside out. “One of those who cast us in here?” Alfred blushed.

Haplo gritted his teeth, expecting stammering, apologies, the usual.

“No,” Alfred said, pausing, drawing himself up to his full height. “No, I am not. I mean, yes, I am a Sartan. But no, I am not one who cast you in here. My ancestors were responsible, not me. I take responsibility for myself, for my own actions.” The blush increased; he looked over sadly at Hugh the Hand.

“Those are burden enough.”

“An interesting argument,” said Vasu. “We are not responsible for the crimes of our fathers, only for our own. And we have one here who is an immortal, or so I’m told.”

Hugh the Hand took the pipe from his mouth. “I can die,” he said bitterly. “I just can’t be killed.”

“Another prisoner.” Vasu was sympathetic. “Speaking of prisons, why did you return to the Labyrinth, Haplo?”

“To find my daughter.”

“Your daughter?” Vasu raised an eyebrow. The answer had taken him by surprise, though he must have heard as much from Kari. “When was the last time you saw her? What tribe was she with?”

“I never saw my child. I have no idea where she is. Her name is Rue.”

“And this is the reason you came back? To find her?”

“Yes, Headman Vasu. That is the reason.”

“Look around, Haplo,” said Vasu softly.

Haplo looked. The street in which they stood was filled with children: boys and girls at play and at work, stopping to stare with bright eyes at the strangers; babes riding in harness on a parent’s back; toddlers getting underfoot, tumbling down, only to stand up again with the stubborn persistence of the very young.

“Many are orphans,” Vasu said gently, “who come to us by way of the beacon fire. And many of them are named Rue.”

“I know my search seems hopeless,” Haplo argued, “but—”

“Stop it!” Marit cried suddenly, angrily. She rounded on him. “Stop lying! Tell him the truth!”

Haplo stared, truly astonished. All of them stopped walking, waited to see what would happen next. Crowds of Patryns moved near, watching, listening. At a gesture from Vasu, the Patryns moved back a discreet distance, but still they waited.

Marit turned to face the headman. “Have you heard of Xar, the Lord of the Nexus?”

“Yes,” said Vasu, “we have heard of him. Even here, in the center of the Labyrinth, we have heard of Lord Xar.”

“Then you know that he is the greatest one of our people ever to have lived. Xar saved this man’s life.” Marit pointed at Haplo. “Xar loves this man like a son. And this man has betrayed him.”

Marit flung back her head, regarded Haplo with scorn.

“He is a traitor to his own people. He has conspired with the enemy”—her accusatory gaze went to Alfred—“and with the mensch”—her eyes shifted to Hugh the Hand—“to destroy Xar, Lord of the Patryns. Haplo’s true reason for coming to the Labyrinth is to raise an army. He plans to lead that army from the Labyrinth in a war against his lord.”

“Is this true?” Vasu asked.

“No,” Haplo replied, “but why should you believe me?”

“Why indeed, traitor?” came a voice from the crowd. “Especially since your minion carries an ancient knife of foul magic, wrought by the Sartan for our destruction!”

Astonished, Haplo looked to see who had spoken. The voice sounded vaguely familiar, perhaps that of the man who had accompanied Marit on the trail. Oddly, though, Marit herself appeared startled, perhaps even troubled by this latest accusation. She, too, it seemed, was trying to locate the person who had spoken.

“I had such a weapon.” Hugh the Hand took the pipe from his mouth, spoke up boldly. “But it was lost, as she well knows!” He pointed the pipe stem at Marit.

Only it wasn’t a pipe.

“Blessed Sartan!” cried Alfred in horror.

The assassin held the Cursed Blade, the iron knife, inscribed with Sartan runes of death.

Hugh the Hand flung the weapon from him. The knife fell to the ground and lay there squirming, wriggling like a live thing.

The sigla tattooed on Haplo’s skin flared to life, as did the runes on Vasu and Marit and every other Patryn in the vicinity.

“Pick it up!” Alfred said through pale and trembling lips.

“No!” The Hand shook his head vehemently. “I won’t touch the damn thing!”

“Pick it up!” Alfred commanded, his voice rising. “It feels threatened! Quickly!”

“Do it!” Haplo said grimly, dragging back the dog, which was trotting over to take a sniff.

Reluctantly, gingerly, as if he were preparing to grab a poisonous snake by the back of the head, Hugh the Hand bent dawn, retrieved the knife. He glared at it.

“I swear... I didn’t know I had it! My pipe...”

“The blade would not let him go,” Alfred intervened. The Sartan looked miserable. “I wondered at the time, when you said it was lost. The blade would find a way to stay with him, and it did so, by changing its form to that of his most valued possession...”

“Headman Vasu, I would most respectfully suggest that you disperse your people,” Haplo said, tense, his gaze on the knife. It was still glowing, although not quite as brightly as before. “The danger is very great.”

“And it grows proportionately,” Alfred added in a low voice, his face flushed with shame. So much for the crimes of the fathers. “With all these people around it...”

“Yes, I sense that,” Vasu said grimly. “You, return to your homes. Take the children indoors.”

Take the children. One little girl was trying to see, moving near, not understanding the danger. Her face was oval, her chin pointed—not unlike Marit’s. The child would be about the right age...

A man came to the girl, laid his hand protectively on her shoulder, drew her back. His eyes met Haplo’s for a brief instant. Haplo felt his face burn. The man led the child away.

The crowd dispersed swiftly, obeying the headman’s orders without question. But Haplo could see faces, eyes, watching him balefully, distrustfully from the shadows. He could guess that many hands were on weapons. And whose had been the voice that spoke? And what force had caused the knife to reveal its true nature?

“Alfred,” said Haplo, thinking back, “why didn’t the knife change when the tiger-men attacked us?”

Alfred shook his head. “I’m not sure. But as you recall, Sir Hugh was knocked out by a blow to the head.”

Or maybe it was the knife itself that had summoned the tiger-men.

“Never before in the history of Abri, which has been here since the beginning, has one of our own brought such danger to us,” Vasu was saying. The brown eyes were hard, stem and unforgiving.

“You must imprison them, Headman,” Marit told him. “My lord Xar is coming. He will deal with them.”.

So, Xar is coming, Haplo thought. How long has she known? A lot was beginning to make sense now...

“I do not want to imprison one of our own kind. Will you, Haplo, wait in Abri for Lord Xar?” Vasu asked. “Will you give me your word of honor that you will not attempt to flee?”

Haplo hesitated. He could see his own reflection in the headman’s brown eyes, so marvelously clear and soft. And in that moment, he made his decision. He came to know himself.

“No, I will not make such a pledge, for I could not keep it. Lord Xar is my lord no longer. He is being guided by evil. His ambition is not to rule but to enslave. I’ve seen where such ambition leads. I will no longer follow or obey him.” Haplo added quietly, “I will do all within in my power to thwart him.” Marit sucked in a sharp breath. “He gave you life!” She spat at his feet, turned on her heel, and stalked off.

“So be it,” said Vasu. “I have no choice but to deem you and your two companions a danger to the people. You will be held in prison to await the arrival of Lord Xar.”

“We will go peacefully, Headman,” said Haplo. “Hugh, put the knife away,” Scowling, not at Haplo but at the Cursed Blade, the assassin thrust it securely into his belt. “I suppose this means I’ve lost my pipe,” he said glumly.

Vasu made a gesture and several Patryns appeared out of the shadows, ready to escort the prisoners.

“No weapons,” Vasu commanded. “You will not need them.” He looked back at Haplo, who saw something in the brown eyes, something perplexing, unfathomable.

“I will accompany you,” Vasu offered. “If you don’t mind?” Haplo shrugged. He wasn’t in a position to mind.

“This way.” Vasu was brisk, efficient. He even offered a hand to Alfred, who had slipped on a pebble and was now lying on his back looking helpless, like an upturned turtle.

With the headman’s help, Alfred struggled to his feet. His stooped shoulders were bowed as if, once again, he had taken on some enormous burden. They walked toward the mountain, their destination probably the caverns, deep underground—caverns far below the beacon fire burning its welcome through the gray mists.

The dog crowded against Haplo’s leg, looked up at him questioningly with its liquid eyes. Do we go along with this indignity? it asked. Or do you want me to put a stop to it?

Haplo gave the animal a reassuring pat. With a sigh that said the dog hoped Haplo knew what he was doing, the animal trotted along meekly at its master’s side.

That strange look in the headman’s eyes. What did it mean? Thinking of this, wondering, Haplo remembered Kari’s saying Vasu had sent her out deliberately to find them, bring them back.

How had Vasu known? What did Vasu know?

When Marit had left, she had not gone far, only far enough to take her out of Haplo’s sight. Keeping to the shadows of a tall, sheltering oak tree, she waited to see Haplo and the others marched off to prison. She was trembling with what she told herself was outrage. Haplo had admitted his guilt, actually admitted it! And to make such statements, to accuse Xar of being guided by evil! It was monstrous!

Xar was right about Haplo. He was a traitor. And Marit had done the right thing in obeying Xar’s commands, in having Haplo arrested and held prisoner until Xar could come for him. And Xar would come soon, perhaps any moment. She would tell her lord, of course, what Haplo had said. And that would seal Haplo’s fate. Which was right and just. Haplo was a traitor... a traitor to them all...

Then why this gnawing doubt? Marit knew why. She had told no one about the Sartan knife. No one.

She watched until the three were well out of sight; then she suddenly became aware that several fellow Patryns were approaching her, eyeing her curiously, probably wanting to discuss this unusual occurrence in their lives. Marit was in no mood to talk. Pretending she didn’t see them, she turned and walked away, trying to look as if she knew where she was going. Actually, she didn’t. She didn’t even see where she was going. She needed to think, to try to figure out what was wrong...

Her skin itched. The sigla on her hands and arms were glowing faintly. Odd. She raised her head swiftly. She had come farther than she’d intended, was near the wall surrounding Abri. Danger was everywhere in the Labyrinth; she should not be surprised to feel the warning magic. Yet the city had seemed so safe, so secure.

A hand closed over her arm. Marit had her dagger out of its sheath before she saw who held her. A fellow Patryn.

She lowered the dagger, but kept it in her hand. She could not see the man’s face; his hair was long and unkempt and hung over his eyes. The tingling warning signs had not abated. If anything, they were now stronger. Marit drew back, away from the strange Patryn. As she did so, she noticed that his magic was not reacting to the danger; the tattoos on his skin were not glowing. And then she saw that the runes could not glow; they were not true rune-structures, only copies.

Marit wasted no time in talk or in wondering who or what this creature might be. Those who waited to ask questions rarely lived long to hear the answer. Certain species in the Labyrinth, such as the boggleboe, had the power of shape-shifting. Gripping her dagger, Mark lunged at the impostor. Her weapon vanished, changed to smoke that drifted harmlessly through the air.

“Ah, you recognize me,” said a familiar voice. “I thought you might.” She hadn’t; not really. She had known he wasn’t a Patryn, but she had not recognized him—until he brushed the tangled hair back from his face to reveal the single red eye.

“Sang-drax,” she said ungraciously. She should have been pleased to see him, but her unease grew. “What do you want?”

“Didn’t Lord Xar inform you of my coming?” The single red eye blinked.

“My lord informed me that he was coming,” Marit said coldly. Her thoughts went to the hideous sight of the dragon-snakes of Chelestra. She didn’t like being around Sang-drax, wanted to get away from him. “Perhaps Xar is here? If so, I will go—”

“My lord has been unfortunately detained,” Sang-drax interrupted. “He has sent me to retrieve Haplo.”

“My lord said he was coming,” Marit reiterated, not liking this change, wondering what was going on. “He would have told me otherwise if he were not.”

“Lord Xar finds it a bit difficult to communicate just at the moment,” Sang-drax replied, and though his tone was respectful, it seemed to Marit that the dragon-snake smirked.

“If my lord sent you for Haplo, then you had better go and find him,” Marit said coldly. “What do you want with me?”

“Ah, getting to Haplo is proving rather a problem,” Sang-drax said. “I managed to have him arrested, but I—”

“You were the one!” Marit said. “You knew about the knife!”

“I mean no disrespect, but Headman Vasu is a weak-minded fool. He was prepared to let Haplo and his Sartan friend roam the city at will. My lord Xar would not have liked that. I saw that you were not going to act”—Sang-drax’s red eye glinted—“and so I was forced to do what I could.

“As I was about to say, my goal was to have Haplo placed in a dungeon, where he will be rendered helpless—he and his Sartan friend. I will be able to capture him quite easily without endangering your people.” The dragon-snake inclined his head; the red eye slid shut for an instant.

“But now you can’t get to him,” Marit guessed.

“Too true.” Sang-drax shrugged, smiled in a deprecating manner. “The guards would recognize me immediately as an impostor. But if you were to take me in...”

Marit gritted her teeth. It took a physical effort to remain standing this close to the dragon-snake. Every instinct urged her to kill it or run.

“We should hurry,” Sang-drax added, noting her hesitation. “Before the guards can get organized.”

“I must speak to my lord first,” Marit said, her way clear. “This countermands Xar’s earlier orders to me. I must make certain this is his will.” Sang-drax was obviously displeased. “My lord may be difficult to reach. He is, shall we say, otherwise occupied.” His voice had an ominous tone.

“Then you will have to wait,” Marit returned. “Haplo isn’t going anywhere.”

“Do you honestly believe that?” Sang-drax gave her a pitying look. “Do you believe that he will stay meekly in his cell, waiting for Xar to come for him? No, Haplo has some plot in mind, you may count upon it. I repeat, I must capture him now!”

Marit didn’t know what to believe, but one thing was certain: she didn’t believe Sang-drax. “I will speak to my lord,” she said resolutely. “When I receive his instructions, I will obey them. Where can I find you?”

“Don’t worry, Patryn. I will find you.” Turning, Sang-drax left, continuing on his way down the deserted street.

Marit waited until the dragon-snake was about twenty paces from her; then, keeping to the shadow of the wall, she followed him.

What was he really after? Marit didn’t believe Xar had sent him, nor did she believe Sang-drax’s implications that Xar was in some sort of trouble. She would see where Sang-drax went, discover what he was up to. The dragon-snake, maintaining his Patryn form, rounded a corner of a building. He was taking care, Marit noticed, to keep to the shadows himself, taking care to avoid any true Patryn. He didn’t run into many. This part of the city, near the wall, was mostly deserted. The buildings here were older, probably dating to a time before the wall had been constructed, and had probably been left behind as another line of defense. A perfect place for the dragon-snake to hide.

But how had Sang-drax entered the city? Patryns manned the walls and the gate; their magic would keep out all but the most powerful intruder. Yet Sang-drax was here, and he had obviously remained unobserved; otherwise the city would be in an uproar.

Doubt began to edge its sharp point into Mark’s mind. How powerful was the dragon-snake? She had always assumed that he was less powerful than she. The Patryns are the strongest force in the universe—aren’t we? Isn’t that what Xar said, time and again?

Guided by evil, Haplo had said.

Marit put Haplo out of her mind.

Sang-drax turned into an alley with no way out. Marit paused at the entrance, not wanting to find herself trapped. The dragon-snake continued down the alley, moving at a leisurely pace.

Marit crossed to the opposite side of the alley and entered a doorway from which she could watch unobserved.

The dragon-snake glanced behind him occasionally, but never more than a glance and an uninterested one at that. He was about halfway down the alley when he stopped, looked more carefully up and down. Then he stepped into a shadowed doorway and disappeared.

Marit waited tensely, not wanting to move closer until she was certain he wasn’t going to reemerge.

Nothing happened; nothing stirred. The alley was empty. But she could hear voices, low and indistinct, coming from the building Sang-drax had entered. Marit traced a series of sigla in the air. Tendrils of fog began to swirl down the alley. She waited patiently, worked the magic slowly. The sudden appearance of a thick fog-bank would look extremely suspicious. When she could no longer see the squat, square shape of the building across from her, Marit walked across the alley, using the enveloping cloud as cover. She had already marked her destination—a window in the building’s side, on a wall that ran perpendicular to the alley.

Sang-drax would have had to be standing in the alley itself, watching for her, to have seen her. And he was nowhere in sight. As it was, she would be only a vague shape, made visible by the faint warning glow of the runes on her bare hands and arms.

Reaching the window, she flattened herself against the wall, then risked a look inside.

The room was small, bare. Former nomads, Patryns didn’t have much use for furniture in their dwellings, no such things as tables and chairs. Mats for sitting and pallets for sleeping were all the furnishings considered necessary.

Sang-drax stood in the middle of the empty room, talking to four other Patryns—who were not Patryns, Marit quickly determined. She couldn’t see the rune-markings clearly—the fog outside had caused the interior of the building to grow quite dark. But the very fact that the room was dark was the determining factor. A true Patryn’s sigla would have been glowing, even as Marit’s were.

More dragon-snakes, disguised as Patryns. They spoke the Patryn language well—all of them. Marit found this disturbing. Sang-drax spoke her language, but then he had spent a great deal of time with Xar. How long had these other snakes had her people under observation?

“—are proceeding. Our people are massed at the Final Gate. We wait only for your signal,” one of the dragon-snakes was saying.

“Excellent,” Sang-drax replied. “My signal will not be long in coming. The armies of the Labyrinth are gathering. At what passes for dawn in this land, we will attack this city and destroy it. When the city is leveled, I will allow a handful of ‘survivors’ to flee, to spread their tale of destruction, stir up terror at our coming.”

“You will not permit Alfred the Sartan to survive?” asked another in a hissing voice.

“Of course not,” Sang-drax replied harshly. “The Serpent Mage will die here, as will Haplo the Patryn. Both are far too dangerous to us, now that Lord Xar knows about the Seventh Gate. It is only a matter of time before either Haplo or the Serpent Mage figures out that he has been there. Curse that fool Kleitus for telling Xar in the first place.”

“We must find a way to deal with the lazar,” observed one dragon-snake.

“All in good time,” Sang-drax returned. “When this is finished, we will return to Abarrach, take care of the lazar, then deal with Xar himself. First, however, we will conquer and control the Labyrinth. When we seal shut the Final Gate, the evil trapped in this place will grow a hundredfold—and our power along with it. Our kind will thrive and multiply here, safe from interference, assured of a continual source of nourishment. Fear, hatred, chaos will be our harvest—”

“What was that?” A dragon-snake turned its head toward the window. “A spy?” Marit had made no sound, although what she had overheard very nearly caused her to sink, weak-kneed, to the ground.

Sang-drax was walking toward the window.

Silent, soft-footed, Marit glided into the thick fog, ran swiftly down the alley.

“Did she hear?” The dragon-snake asked. Sang-drax dispelled the fog with a wave of his hand. “She heard,” he replied with satisfaction.