Into the Labyrinth

28

It took some time to restore Alfred, who appeared vastly reluctant to rediscover his consciousness. At length his eyes fluttered open. Unfortunately, the first thing he saw was Hugh the Hand, looming over him.

“Hullo, Alfred,” the Hand said grimly.

Alfred turned pale. His eyes rolled back in his head.

The assassin reached down, caught hold of Alfred by his frayed lace collar.

“Faint again and I’ll choke you!”

“No, no. I’m... all right. Air. I need... air.”

“Let him up,” Haplo said.

Hugh the Hand released his grip, backed off. Alfred, gasping, staggered to his feet. His gaze fixed firmly on Haplo. “I’m very happy to see you...”

“Happy to see me, too, Alfred?” Hugh the Hand demanded. Alfred slid a swift glance in Hugh’s direction and was apparently sorry he’d done so, because his gaze slid away again quite rapidly.

“Uh, certainly, Sir Hugh. Surprised...”

“Surprised?” Hugh growled. “Why are you surprised? Because I was dead that last time you saw me.”

“Well, yes, as a matter of fact, now that I think of it, you were. Quite dead.” Alfred flushed, stammered. “You obviously made a... a miraculous re—recovery...”

“I don’t suppose you’d know anything about that, do you?”

“Me?” Alfred raised his eyes to the level of Hugh’s knees. “I’m afraid not. I was rather busy at the time. There was the Lady Iridal’s safety to worry about, you see...”

“Then how do you explain this?” Hugh the Hand ripped his shirt open. The Sartan rune was visible on his breast, now glowing faintly, as if with pleasure. “Look at it, Alfred! Look what you’ve done to me!” Alfred raised his eyes slowly, reluctantly. He cast one stricken glance at the rune, then groaned and covered his face with his hands. The dog, whimpering in sympathy, trotted over and placed its paw gently on Alfred’s over-large foot. Hugh the Hand glared in fury, then suddenly grabbed Alfred and shook him.

“Look at me, damn it! Look at what you’ve done! Wherever I was, I was content, at peace. Then you wrenched me back. Now I can’t live, I can’t die! End it! Send me back!”

Alfred crumpled, hung like a broken doll in Hugh’s hands. The dog, squashed between the two, looked confusedly from one to the other, uncertain which to attack, which to protect.

“I didn’t know I did it!” Alfred was babbling, practically incoherent. “I didn’t know. You must believe me. I don’t remember...”

“You—don’t—remember!” Hugh the Hand punctuated each word with a shake that eventually drove poor Alfred to his knees.

Haplo rescued the dog, which was in danger of being trampled, and then rescued Alfred.

“Let him alone,” Haplo advised. “He’s telling the truth—as weird as that might sound. Half the time he doesn’t know what he’s doing. Like changing himself into a dragon to save my life. Come on, Hugh. Let him go. He’s our way out. At least I hope he is. If we’re trapped here, none of this is going to matter anyway.”

“Let him go!” Scarcely able to breathe around his rage, Hugh the Hand glowered, then finally threw the Sartan to the floor. “Who’s going to let me go?”

Turning on his heel, he walked to the door, flung it open, and left. Marit, watching closely, noted with interest that the Sartan magic made no apparent attempt to stop the mensch. She considered following him, just to escape this room herself, but instantly abandoned the idea. She couldn’t leave Haplo. Her lord had commanded her to stay.

“Dog, go with him,” Haplo ordered.

The animal dashed off after Hugh the Hand. Haplo knelt down beside Alfred. Marit took advantage of the confusion to fade quietly into the background, as much as she possibly could in this wide-open room.

Alfred lay huddled on the floor in a heap, pitiful and pathetic. Marit regarded him with scorn. This Sartan didn’t look as if he could raise bread dough, let alone raise the dead. Hugh the Hand must be mistaken. The Sartan was a middle-aged man, with a bald crown and wispy hair straggling down on the sides of his head; he had a gangly, ungraceful body and large feet and hands-all of which appeared to think they belonged to someone else. He was clad in faded velvet breeches, a velvet coat that didn’t fit, shabby hose, and a ruffled shirt decorated with tattered lace.

Taking a frayed handkerchief from a torn pocket, Alfred began to mop his face.

“Are you all right?” Haplo asked gruffly, with a kind of grudging concern. Alfred glanced up at him, flushed. “Yes, thank you. He... he had every right to do that, you know. What I did—if I did it, and I truly don’t remember doing it—was wrong. Very wrong. You recall what I said on Abarrach about necromancy?” He whispered the last word.

“ ‘When a life is brought back untimely, another dies untimely.’ I remember. But look, is there any way you can help him?”

Alfred hesitated a moment. He was about to answer no, it seemed; then he sighed. His bony shoulders sagged. “Yes, I think it would be possible.” He shook his head. “But not here.”

“Then where?”

“Do you remember the chamber ... on Abarrach? The one they call the Chamber of the Damned?”

“Yes,” said Haplo, looking uncomfortable. “I remember. I wanted to go back there. I was going to take Xar, to prove to him what I meant about a higher power—”

“Oh, dear, no!” Alfred protested, alarmed. “I don’t believe that would be at all wise. You see, I’ve discovered what that chamber is. Orla told me.”

“Told you what?” Haplo demanded.

“She was convinced that we had discovered the Seventh Gate,” Alfred said softly, in awed tones.

Haplo shrugged. “Yeah? So what?” Alfred looked startled at this reaction; then he sighed. “I guess you wouldn’t know, at that. You see, when the Sartan sundered the world—”

“Yes, yes,” Haplo interrupted impatiently. “Death’s Gate. The Final Gate. I’ve been through enough gates to last me a lifetime. What about this one? What makes it so special?”

“That was where they were when they sundered it,” Alfred said in a low voice.

“They were in the Seventh Gate.”

“So Samah and Orla and the Council got together in this chamber—”

“More than that, Haplo,” Alfred said gravely. “They not only came together in the chamber, they imbued the chamber with magic. They tore apart a world and built four new ones from that chamber—”

Haplo gave a whistle. “And it still exists, with all its magic... all its power...” He shook his head. “No wonder they put warding runes to prevent anyone’s getting inside.”

“According to Orla, Samah wasn’t responsible for that,” Alfred said. “You see, when the magic was complete and the worlds were formed, he realized how dangerous this chamber could become—”

“Worlds that could be created could also be destroyed.”

“Precisely. And so he sent the chamber into oblivion.”

“Why didn’t he just destroy the chamber?”

“He tried,” Alfred said quietly. “And he discovered he couldn’t.”

“The higher power stopped him?” Alfred nodded. “Afraid of what he’d tapped into, unable or unwilling to understand it, Samah sent the chamber away, hoping it would never be discovered. That was the last Orla knew of it. But the chamber was discovered, by a group of Sartan on Abarrach—a group desperately unhappy with what was happening to their own people. Fortunately, I don’t believe they had any idea what they’d found.”

“Yeah, all right, so we were in the Seventh Gate. What has any of this got to do with Hugh the Hand?”

“I think that if he went into the Seventh Gate, he would be free.”

“How?”

“I can’t be sure,” Alfred answered evasively. “Not that it matters anyway. We’re not going anywhere.”

Haplo glanced around. “Where the devil are we? And did you escape Samah? This place looks familiar, like that tomb on Arianus. I don’t suppose we’re back on Arianus?”

“No, no, we’re not on Arianus.”

Haplo waited patiently for the Sartan to continue.

Alfred kept quiet.

“You do know where we are?” Haplo asked dubiously. Alfred conceded the point with a reluctant nod.

“Then where are we?”

Alfred wrung his hands together. “Let me think how best to explain. First, I must tell you that I didn’t escape Samah.”

“I’m not interested—”

“Please, let me finish. Have you traveled through Death’s Gate since it’s been open?”

“Yes. I went back to Arianus. Why?”

“Images of each of the worlds flashed before your eyes, giving you a choice of where you want to go. Do you recall a world that was very beautiful, a world you’ve never visited, never seen? A world of blue skies, sunlight, green trees, vast oceans—an ancient, ancient world.”

Haplo nodded. “I saw that. I wondered at the time—”

“That’s where we are,” said Alfred. “The Vortex.” Haplo looked around at the bare white marble. “Blue sky. Sunshine. Wonderful.” His gaze returned to Alfred. “You’re making even less sense than usual.”

“The Vortex. The center of the universe. Once it led to the ancient world—”

“A world no longer in existence.”

“True. But the images of it must have been accidentally retained—”

“Or put there deliberately, a Sartan trap for someone traveling Death’s Gate who shouldn’t have been,” Haplo said grimly. “I damn near came here myself. Is this where I would have ended up?”

“Yes, I’m afraid so. Although you’ll find it’s not bad, once you get used to it. All our wants and needs are provided. The magic sees to that. And it’s safe. Perfectly safe.”

Haplo was looking around again. “And to think I’ve been worrying about you in the Labyrinth, picturing you dead or worse. And all the time you’ve been here.” He waved his hand. “Safe. Perfectly safe.”

“You were concerned about me?” Alfred asked, his wan face brightening. Haplo made an impatient gesture. “Of course I was concerned. You can’t walk across an empty room without causing some sort of catastrophe. And speaking of empty rooms, how do we get out of this one?”

Alfred didn’t reply. Lowering his head, he stared at his shoes. Haplo eyed him thoughtfully. “Samah said he was sending you and Orla to the Labyrinth. Either he made a mistake or he wasn’t quite the bastard he made out to be. He sent you both here.” A thought seemed to occur to him. “Where is Orla, anyway?”

“Samah wasn’t a bad man,” Alfred said softly. “Just a very frightened one. But he’s not afraid anymore. As for Orla, she left. She went to be with him.”

“And you just stayed here? You didn’t go with her? You could have at least gone back to warn the other Sartan on Chelestra—”

“You don’t understand, Haplo,” Alfred said. “I stay here because I have to. There is no way out.”

Haplo stared at him in exasperation. “But you said Orla left—” Alfred began to sing the runes. His ungainly body was suddenly graceful, swaying and whirling to the rhythm of the song. His hands formed the sigla in the air.

The melody was sad, yet sweet, and Marit was suddenly reminded of the last time she’d held her baby in her arms. The memory hurt her, the song hurt her, and the pain made her angry. She was about to lash out, to disrupt the magic spell he was casting—a spell that was undoubtedly meant to weaken her—when a portion of the stone wall disappeared.

Inside the wall, lying in a crystal coffin, was a Sartan woman. Her face was quiet, her eyes closed. She seemed to smile faintly.

Haplo understood. “I’m sorry...”

Alfred smiled sadly. “She is at peace. She left to join her husband.” He shifted his gaze to Marit; his expression grew stern. “Orla saw what happened to him, saw how he died.”

“He was executed for his crimes.” Marit was defensive, defiant. “He suffered as he made us suffer. He deserved what he got. More, even. Far more.” Alfred said nothing. He cast a fond glance at the woman in the crystal coffin, rested his hand on the window with a gentle touch. Then, slowly, his hand moved to another crystal coffin beside hers. This coffin was empty.

“What’s that?” Haplo demanded.

“Mine,” Alfred said, “when the time comes. You are right. This place is very much like Arianus.”

“Too damn much,” said Haplo. “You’ve found another tomb. ‘Perfectly safe!’” He snorted. “Well, you’re not crawling into it. You’re coming with me.”

“I’m afraid not. You’re not going anywhere. I’ve told you, there’s no way out.” Alfred looked back at Orla. “Except her way.”

“He’s lying!” Marit cried, fending off panic, fighting a sudden terrifying desire to tear at the solid stone with her bare hands.

“No, he’s not lying. He’s a Sartan. He can’t lie. But he’s very good at not telling the truth.” Haplo eyed Alfred. “Death’s Gate is around here somewhere. We’ll go out through Death’s Gate.”

“We don’t have a ship,” Marit reminded him.

“We’ll build one.” Haplo kept his gaze on Alfred, who was once more staring at his shoes. “What about it, Sartan? Death’s Gate? Is that the way out?”

“The gate swings only one way,” Alfred said in a low voice. Frustrated, not certain what to do, Haplo stared at the Sartan. Marit knew what to do. Leaning down, she slid the dagger from her boot.

“I’ll make him talk.”

“Leave him alone, Marit. You won’t get anything out of him that way.”

“I’ll try not to damage your ‘friend’ too much. You don’t have to watch.” Haplo stepped in front of her. He said nothing. He simply put his body between her and Alfred.

“Traitor!” Marit tried to dodge around him.

Haplo caught her, his movement quick and deft. He held on to her tightly. She was strong, perhaps stronger than he was at this moment, and she fought to escape. Their arms and hands locked, and as they held each other fast, a blue glow began to shimmer from each hand, each arm.

The rune-magic, coming to life.

Except that this magic wasn’t acting either to attack or to defend. It was acting as it would when any two Patryns touched. It was the magic of joining, of closing the circle. It was a magic of healing, of shared strength, shared commitment.

It began to seep inside Marit.

She didn’t want it. She was empty inside, empty and hollow, dark and silent. She couldn’t even hear her own voice anymore, just the echo of words spoken long ago coming back to her. The emptiness was cold, but at least it wasn’t painful. She’d pushed out all the pain, given birth to it, cut the cord. But the blue glow, soft and warm, spread from Haplo’s hand to hers. It began creeping into her. A tiny drop, like a single tear, fell into the emptiness...

“Haplo, you’d better come and see this.”

It was Hugh the Hand, standing in the door. His voice was harsh, urgent. Distracted, Haplo turned. Marit broke free of his grasp. He turned back to her, looking at her, and in his eyes was the same warmth she’d felt in the rune-magic. His hand reached out toward her. She had only to take it... The dog came trotting up. Tail wagging, tongue lolling, it started toward her, as if it had found a friend.

Marit threw her dagger at it.

Her aim was rotten. She was upset, could barely see. The dagger grazed the animal along the left flank.

The dog yelped in pain, flinched away from her. The dagger thudded against the wall somewhere near the assassin’s right calf. Hugh put his foot on it. Alfred was staring in horror, so pale it seemed he might faint again. Marit turned her back on them all. “Keep that beast away from me, Haplo. By law, I can’t kill you. But I can kill that damn dog.”

“Come here, boy,” Haplo called. He examined the animal’s wound. “It’s all right, dog. Just a scratch. You were lucky.”

“In case anybody’s interested,” Hugh the Hand said, “I found the way out. At least I think it’s a way out. You’d better come and look. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Haplo glanced at Alfred, who had flushed bright red “What’s wrong with it? Is it guarded? Magic?”

“Nothing like that,” the Hand answered, “More like a joke.”

“I doubt it’s a joke. The Sartan don’t have much of a sense of humor.”

“Someone did. The way out is through a maze.”

“A maze...” Haplo repeated softly.

He knew the truth then. And Marit knew at the same moment Haplo knew. The emptiness inside her filled, filled with fear, fear that twisted and kicked inside her like a living thing. She was almost sick with it.

“So Samah did keep his word,” Haplo said to Alfred. The Sartan nodded. His face was deathly white his expression bleak. “Yes, he kept it.”

“He knows where we are?” Hugh the Hand demanded.

“He knows,” Haplo said quietly. “He’s known all along. The Labyrinth.”