Into the Labyrinth

11

At any other time in the long and, some might say, inglorious history of Drevlin, the sight of a human female walking the glimmerglamp-lit halls of the Factree would have occasioned considerable astonishment, not to mention wonder. No human female since the beginning of the world had set foot on the Factree floor. Those few human males who had done so had done so only recently, being part of a ship’s crew who had assisted the dwarves in the historic Battle of the Kicksey-winsey.

If discovered, Marit wouldn’t have been in any danger, except perhaps being “why’d” and “how’d” and “what’d” to death—the dwarves’ deaths, not her own, for Marit was not a Patryn who had learned the lesson of patience in the Labyrinth. What she wanted she took. If anything got in her way, she removed it. Permanently.

Fortunately, Marit happened to arrive in the Factree at one of those moments in history that are both precisely the right moment and precisely the wrong moment. She arrived at precisely the right moment for herself, precisely the wrong moment for Haplo.

At this very moment, when Marit was materializing inside the Factree, stepping out of the circle of her magic, which had altered the possibility that she was here and not somewhere else, a contingent of elves and humans were gathering with the dwarves to form a historic alliance. As usual on such occasions, the high and the mighty could not conduct this business without being observed by the lower and humbler. Thus, a vast number of representatives of all the mensch races were wandering around the Factree floor for the first time ever in the history of Arianus. These included a group of human females from the Mid Realms, ladies-in-waiting to Queen Anne.

Marit kept to the shadows, observed and listened. At first, noting the number of mensch about, she feared she might have stumbled on a mensch battle, for Xar had told her that mensch invariably fought among themselves. But she soon realized that this was not a meeting to fight but what appeared to be a party—of sorts. The three groups were obviously uncomfortable together, but under the watchful eyes of their rulers, they were making every effort to get along.

Humans were talking with elves; dwarves were stroking their beards and endeavoring to make conversation with the humans. Whenever several members of any race broke off and began to group together, someone would come by and disperse them. In the confusion and strained atmosphere, no one was likely to notice Marit.

She added to this possibility a spell that would further protect her—enhancing the likelihood that anyone not looking for her would not see her. Thus she was able to walk from group to group, keeping apart but listening to their conversations. Through her magic, she understood all mensch languages, so she was soon able to figure out what was going on.

Her attention was drawn to a gigantic statue of a robed and hooded man—she recognized it with distaste as a Sartan—not far from her. Three men stood near the statue; a fourth sat on its base. From what she overheard, the three men were the mensch rulers. The fourth was the universally acclaimed hero who had made peace in Arianus possible.

The fourth man was Haplo.

Keeping to the shadows, Marit drew near the statue. She had to be careful, for if Haplo saw her, he might recognize her. As it was, he lifted his head and glanced swiftly and keenly around the Factree, as if he had heard a faint voice speak his name.

Marit swiftly ended the spell she had cast over herself to protect herself from the mensch’s view, and shrank back even farther into the darkness. She felt what Haplo must be feeling: a tingle in the blood, a brushing of invisible fingers across the back of the neck. It was an eerie but not unpleasant sensation—like calling to like. Marit had not realized such a thing would happen, could not believe that the feelings they shared were this strong. She wondered if this phenomenon would occur between any two Patryns who happened to be alone together on a world... or if this was something between Haplo and her.

Analyzing the situation, Marit soon came to the conclusion that two Patryns meeting anywhere in a world of mensch would be attracted to each other, as iron to the lodestone. As for her being attracted to Haplo, that was not likely. She barely recognized him.

He looked older, much older than she remembered. Not unusual, for the Labyrinth aged its victims rapidly. But his was not the grim, hard look of one who has fought daily for his life. Haplo’s look was haggard and hollow-cheeked, sunken-eyed—the look of one who has fought for his soul. Marit didn’t understand, didn’t recognize the marks of internal struggle, but she vaguely sensed it and strongly disapproved of it. He looked sick to her, sick and defeated.

And at the moment, he looked puzzled as well, trying to place the unheard voice that had spoken to him, trying to find the unseen hand that had touched him. At length he shrugged, put the matter out of his mind. He returned to what he’d been doing, petting his dog, listening to the mensch. The dog.

Xar had told Marit about the dog. She had found it difficult to believe that any Patryn could indulge in such a weakness. She had not doubted her lord’s word, of course, but she considered that he might have been mistaken. Marit knew now he had not been. She watched Haplo stroke the animal’s smooth head, and her lip curled in a sneer.

Her attention shifted from Haplo and his dog to the mensch and their conversation. A dwarf, a human, and an elf stood together beneath the statue of the Sartan. Marit dared not cast any magic that would bring their words to her, and so she had to go nearer them.

She did so, moving noiselessly, keeping to the opposite side of the statue. Her main fear was being discovered by the dog, but it appeared to be totally absorbed in and concerned for its master. Its liquid eyes were fixed on him anxiously, and it would occasionally put a paw on his knee, offering a touch of comfort.

“And you are feeling quite well now, Your Majesty?” The elf was speaking to the human.

“Yes, thank you, Prince Rees’ahn.” The human, a king of some sort, grimaced, put his hand to his back. “The wound was deep, but fortunately hit nothing vital. I have some stiffness that will be with me the rest of my life, according to Trian, but at least I’m alive, for which I thank the ancestors—and the Lady Iridal.” The king looked grim, shook his head. The dwarf was staring up at each tall mensch in turn, peering at them through squinted eyes, as if he were extremely nearsighted. “A child attacked you, you say? That boy we had down here—Bane? Pardon me, King Stephen.” The dwarf blinked rapidly. “But is this normal behavior among human children?” The human king looked somewhat put out at this question.

“He doesn’t mean any offense, Sire,” Haplo explained, with his quiet smile.

“Limbeck—the High Froman—is only curious.”

“Why, yes,” said Limbeck, his eyes round. “I didn’t mean to imply—Not that it would matter, mind you. It’s just that I was wondering if maybe all human—”

“No,” said Haplo shortly. “They don’t.”

“Ah.” Limbeck stroked his beard. “I’m sorry,” he added somewhat nervously.

“That is, I don’t mean I’m sorry that all human children aren’t murderers. I mean I’m sorry I—”

“That’s quite all right,” said King Stephen stiffly, but with a smile lurking about the corners of his lips. “I understand completely, High Froman. And, I must admit that Bane was not a very good representative of our race. Neither was his father, Sinistrad.”

“No.” Limbeck appeared subdued. “I remember him.”

“A tragic situation all around,” said Prince Rees’ahn, “but at least good has come out of evil. Thanks to our friend Haplo”—the elf placed a slender hand on Haplo’s shoulder—“and that human assassin.”

Marit was shocked, disgusted. A mensch behaving in such a familiar manner, treating a Patryn as if they were equals. And Haplo permitting it!

“What was that assassin’s name, Stephen?”[1] Rees’ahn was continuing.

“Something odd, even for humans—”

“Hugh the Hand.” Stephen spoke with distaste.

Rees’ahn kept touching Haplo’s shoulder; elves were fond of touching, hugging. Haplo appeared uncomfortable at the mensch’s caress; Marit gave him credit for that. He managed to evade it politely by rising to his feet, sliding out from under.

“I was hoping to talk to Hugh the Hand,” Haplo said. “You don’t happen to know where he is, Your Majesty?”

Stephen’s face darkened. “I do not. And frankly I don’t want to know. And neither should you, sir. The assassin told the wizard he had another ‘contract’ to fulfill. It is Trian’s belief,” Stephen added, turning to Rees’ahn, “that this Hugh the Hand is a member of the Brotherhood.” Rees’ahn frowned. “A nefarious organization. We should make it one of our top priorities, when peace is established, to wipe out that nest of vipers. You, sir.” He turned to Haplo. “Perhaps you could assist us in this undertaking. I understand from our friend, the High Froman here, that your magic is quite powerful.”

So Haplo had revealed his magical powers to the mensch. And from the way it looked, the mensch were all quite taken with him. Revered him. As they should, of course, Marit was quick to allow—but they should be revering him as the servant of the master, not the master. And now was the perfect opportunity for Haplo to inform them of Xar’s coming. The Lord of the Nexus would rid the world of this Brotherhood, whatever it might be.

But Haplo was only shaking his head. “I’m sorry. I can’t help you. In any case, I think my powers might have been overrated.” He smiled down at Limbeck.

“Our friend here is a little nearsighted.”

“I saw it all,” Limbeck insisted stubbornly. “I saw you battle that evil dragon-snake. You and Jarre. She whumped it with her ax.” The dwarf swung vigorously through the motions. “Then you jabbed it with your sword. Wham! Stabbed it in the eye. Blood all over the place. I saw it, King Stephen,” reiterated Limbeck.

Unfortunately, he addressed Queen Anne, who had come up to stand beside her husband.

A female dwarf jabbed the male dwarf in the ribs.

“That’s the king, Limbeck, you druz,” she said, grabbing hold of Limbeck’s beard and tugging on him until he faced the right direction. Limbeck was not in the least upset over the mistake. “Thank you, Jarre, my dear,” he said, smiling, and blinked benignly at the dog. The mensch’s talk turned to other matters, to the war on Arianus. A combined force of humans and elves was attacking the island of Aristagon, battling an emperor and his followers who had taken refuge in a palace there. Marit wasn’t interested in the doings of the mensch. She was far more interested in Haplo. He had gone suddenly gray; his own smile had slipped. His hand went to his heart, as if his wound still pained him. He leaned back against the statue to mask his weakness. The dog, whining, crept to his side and pressed against Haplo’s leg.

Marit knew then that Sang-drax had been telling the truth—Haplo had been critically wounded. Privately she had doubted it. She knew and respected Haplo’s ability; she had little use for the dragon-snake, who, as far as she could tell, possessed minimal magical powers, perhaps in the same category as mensch. Certainly none as strong as Patryn magic. She could not see how such a creature could have inflicted a dire wound on Haplo. But she had no doubts now. She recognized the symptoms of a heart-rune injury, a blow that would strike to the core of a Patryn’s being. Difficult to heal—alone. The mensch continued to talk, about how they would start up the Kicksey-winsey, what would happen when they did. Haplo stood silent through their conversation, stroking the dog’s smooth head. Marit, not understanding the discussion, only half-listened. This wasn’t what she wanted to hear. Suddenly Haplo stirred and spoke, interrupting an involved explanation of whirley-gears and whump-rotors from the dwarf.

“Have you warned your people to take precautions?” Haplo was asking.

“According to what the Sartan wrote, the continents will begin to move once the Kicksey-winsey is activated. They’ll move slowly, but they will move. Buildings could fall down. People might die of fright if they don’t know what is going on.”

“We’ve informed them,” Stephen said. “I’ve sent the King’s Own to every part of our lands, carrying the news. Though whether the people will listen is another matter. Half of them don’t believe us, and the half who do have been told by the barons that it’s some sort of elven plot. There’ve been rioting and threats to depose me. And what will happen if this doesn’t work...” The king’s face darkened. “Well, I don’t like to think about that.” Haplo shook his head, looked grave. “I can’t promise anything, Your Majesty. The Sartan intended to align the continents within a few years of their settling here. They planned to do so before the continents were even inhabited. But when their plans went wrong and they disappeared, the Kicksey-winsey kept on working and building and repairing itself—but without any guidance. Who knows but that during this time it may have done some irreparable damage to itself?

“The only thing in our favor is this: down through the generations, the dwarves have continued to do exactly what the Sartan taught them to do. The dwarves have never deviated from their original instructions, but passed them on religiously from father to son, mother to daughter. And so the dwarves have not only kept the Kicksey-winsey alive, but they’ve kept it from running amuck, so to speak.”

“It’s all... so strange,” said Stephen with a distrustful glance at the glimmerglamps and the catwalks and the hooded silent figure of the Sartan, holding a dark eyeball in its hand. “Strange and terrifying. I don’t understand any of it.”

“In fact,” Queen Anne added quietly, “my husband and I are beginning to wonder if we haven’t made a mistake. Perhaps we should just let the world go along as it is. We’ve gotten on well enough before now.”

“But we haven’t,” Limbeck argued. “Your two races have fought wars over water for as long as any of you can remember. Elf fought elf. Human fought human. Then we all fought each other and came close to destroying everything we have. I may not be able to see anything else clearly, but I can see this. If we’ve no need to fight over water, we’ve got a chance to find true peace.” Limbeck fished about in his coat, came out with a small object, and held it up. “I have this—the book of the Sartan. Haplo gave it to me. He and I have gone over it. We believe the machine will work, but we can’t guarantee it. The best I can say is that if anything does start to go wrong, we can always shut the Kicksey-winsey down and then see if we can fix it.”

“What about you, Prince?” Stephen turned to Rees’ahn. “What about your people? What do they think?”

“The Kenkari have informed them that drawing the continents together is the will of Krenka-Anris. No one would dare oppose the Kenkari—openly at least,” the prince said with a rueful smile. “Our people are prepared. We have already started to evacuate the cities. The only ones we have not been able to warn are the emperor and those holed up in the Imperanon with him. They refuse to allow the Kenkari inside; they have even fired arrows at them, which has never happened in all the history of our people. My father is undoubtedly mad.” Rees’ahn’s face hardened. “I have little sympathy for him. He murdered his own people to obtain their souls. But there are those inside the Imperanon who are innocent of wrongdoing, who support him out of misguided loyalty. I wish there was some way of warning them. But they refuse to talk to us even under a flag of truce. They’ll have to take their chances.”

“You’re all agreed to do this, then?” Haplo asked, looking at each in turn. Rees’ahn said he was. Limbeck’s beard wagged in hearty enthusiasm. Stephen looked at his queen, who hesitated, then nodded once, briefly. “Yes, we’re agreed,” he said at last. “The High Froman is right. It seems to be the one chance we have for peace.”

Haplo pushed himself away from the statue, against which he’d been leaning.

“Then it’s settled. Two days from this day we start up the machine. You, Prince Rees’ahn, and you, Your Majesties, should go back to your kingdoms, try to keep the people from panicking. Your representatives can remain here.”

“I will go back to the Mid Realms. Trian will be present in my stead,” Stephen said.

“And I will leave behind Captain Bothar’el, a friend of yours, I believe, High Froman,” said Prince Rees’ahn.

“Wonderful, wonderful!” Limbeck clapped his hands. “Then we’re all set.”

“If that is all you need me for,” Haplo said, “I will go back to my ship.”

“Are you all right, Haplo?” the female dwarf asked, regarding him anxiously. He smiled down at her, his quiet smile. “Yes, I’m all right. Just tired, that’s all. Come on, dog.”

The mensch bade him farewell, speaking to him with obvious deference, concern evident on their faces. He held himself straight and tall; his step was firm, but it was apparent to all observers—including the one unseen observer—that he was exerting all his strength to keep moving. The dog padded behind, its own worried eyes on its master.

The others shook their heads, spoke of him in anxious tones. Marit’s lip curled in scorn. She watched him leave, not using his magic but heading for the open Factree door like any mensch.

Marit considered following him, immediately abandoned the idea. Away from the mensch, he would certainly sense her presence. She’d heard all she needed to hear anyway. She lingered only a moment, to listen to the mensch, for they were talking about Haplo.

“He is a wise man,” Prince Rees’ahn was saying. “The Kenkari are greatly impressed with him. They urged me to ask him if he would act as intermediary ruler over us all during this period of transition.”

“Not a bad idea,” Stephen admitted thoughtfully. “The rebellious barons might agree to a third party settling the disputes that must inevitably arise between our people. Especially since he looks human, if you don’t count those odd pictures on his skin. What do you think, High Froman?” Marit didn’t wait to hear what the dwarf thought. Who cared? So Haplo was going to rule over Arianus. Not only had he betrayed his lord, but he had supplanted him!

Moving far away from the mensch, into the very darkest regions of the Factree, Marit stepped back through the circle of her magic.

If she had waited a moment, this is what she would have heard:

“He will not do it,” said Limbeck softly, looking after Haplo. “I’ve already asked him to stay here and help our people. We have much to learn if we are to take our place among you. But he refused. He says he must go back to his world, to wherever it is he came from. He must rescue a child of his who is trapped there.”

“A child,” said Stephen, his expression softening. He took hold of his wife’s hand. “Ah, then, we will say no more to him of his staying. Perhaps in saving one child he will make up in some small measure for the child who was lost.” But Marit heard none of this. It might have made no difference if she had. Once on board her ship, as violent storm winds buffeted the vessel, she placed her hand over the mark on her forehead and closed her eyes. A vision of Xar came to her mind.

“Husband”—she spoke aloud—“what the dragon-snake says is true. Haplo is a traitor. He gave the Sartan book to the mensch. He plans to help the mensch start this machine. Not only that, but the mensch have offered him the rulership of Arianus.”

“Then Haplo must die,” came back Xar’s thought, his response immediate.

“Yes, Lord.”

“When the deed is done, Wife, send me word. I will be on the world of Pryan.”

“Sang-drax has convinced you to travel to that world,” said Marit, not altogether pleased.

“No one convinces me to do what I do not choose to do, Wife.”

“Forgive me, Lord.” Marit’s skin burned. “You know best, of course.”

“I am going to Pryan in company with Sang-drax and a contingent of our people. While there, I hope to be able to enslave the tytans, use them to aid our cause. And I have other matters to pursue on Pryan. Matters in which Haplo may be helpful.”

“But Haplo will be dead—” Marit began, and then stopped, overwhelmed with horror.

“Indeed, he will be dead. You will bring me Haplo’s corpse, Wife.” Marit’s blood chilled. She should have expected this, should have known Xar would make such a demand. Of course, her lord must interrogate Haplo, find out what he knew, what he’d done. Far easier to interrogate his corpse than his living person. The memory of the lazar came to her; she saw its eyes, which were dead, yet dreadfully alive...

“Wife?” Xar’s prodding was gentle. “You will not fail me?”

“No, Husband,” said Marit, “I will not fail you.”

“That is well,” said Xar, and withdrew.

Marit was left alone in the lightning-blue darkness to listen to the rain thrumming on the ship’s hull.