Into the Labyrinth

34

“I can’t go on,” Alfred gulped, sinking onto a flat rock. “I have to rest.” The last panicked dash and the fall of the mountain on top of him had been too much for the Sartan. He sat hunched over, wheezing and gasping. Marit cast a disdainful glance at him, then one at Haplo. Then she looked away. I told you, said her scornful gaze. You are a fool.

Haplo said quietly, “There’s no time, Alfred. Not now. We’re exposed, out in the open. We find cover, then we rest.”

“Just a few moments,” Alfred pleaded meekly. “It seems quiet...”

“Too quiet,” Marit said.

They were in a small grove of scrub trees that appeared, from their stunted growth and twisted limbs, to have waged a desperate struggle for life in the shadow of the mountain. A sparse smattering of leaves clung dejectedly to the branches. Now that the mountain had collapsed, the Labyrinth’s sun touched the trees for perhaps the first time. But the gray light brought no cheer, no comfort. The leaves rustled mournfully, and that, Marit noticed uneasily, was the only sound in the land.

She drew her knife out of her boot. The dog jumped up, growled. Hugh the Hand eyed her suspiciously. Ignoring the animal, ignoring the mensch, Marit said a few words to the tree in her own language, apologizing for harming it, explaining her dire need. Then she began to hack at a branch. Haplo, too, had apparently noted the silence. “Yes, it’s quiet. Too quiet. That avalanche must have been heard for miles. You can bet someone is on their way to investigate. And I don’t intend to be here when they arrive.” Alfred was perplexed. “But... it was only an avalanche. A rock slide. Why would anyone care?”

“Of course the Labyrinth cares. It dropped a mountain on us, didn’t it?” Haplo wiped sweat and rock dust from his face.

Marit cut off the branch, began to strip away small twigs and half-dead leaves.

Haplo squatted down on his haunches, faced Alfred.

“Don’t you understand yet, damn it? The Labyrinth is an intelligent entity. I don’t know what rules it or how, but it knows—it knows everything.” He was silent, thoughtful. “But there’s a difference about the Labyrinth. I can sense it, feel it. Fear.”

“Yes,” agreed Alfred. “I’m terrified.”

“No, not our fear. Its fear. It’s afraid.”

“Afraid? Afraid of what?”

Haplo grinned, though his grin was strained. “Strange as it sounds, us; you, Sartan.”

Alfred shook his head.

“How many heretical Sartan were sent through the Vortex? Hundreds... a thousand?” Haplo asked.

“I don’t know.” Alfred spoke into the lace of his draggled shirt collar.

“And how many had mountains dropped on them? None, I’ll wager. That mountain has been standing there a long, long time. But you—you enter the Vortex and bam! And you can be damn sure that the Labyrinth’s not going to give up.” Alfred looked at Haplo in dismay. “Why? Why would it be afraid of me?”

“You’re the only one who knows the answer to that,” Haplo returned. Marit, sharpening the point of the branch with her knife, agreed with Alfred. Why would the Labyrinth fear a mensch, two returning victims, and a weak and sniveling Sartan? Yet she knew the Labyrinth, knew it as Haplo knew it. It was intelligent, malevolent. The avalanche had been a deliberate attempt to murder them, and when the attempt had failed, the Labyrinth had sealed off their only route of escape. Not that it had been much of an escape route, with no ship to take them back through Death’s Gate.

Fear. Haplo’s right, Marit realized, with a sudden heady elation. The Labyrinth’s afraid. All my life I’ve been the one who was afraid. Now it is. It is as scared as I ever was. Never before has the Labyrinth tried to keep someone from entering. Time and again, it permitted Xar to enter the Final Gate. The Labyrinth even seemed to welcome the encounter, the chance to destroy him. It never shut the gate on Xar, as it tried to shut it on us. Yet not one of us, nor all of us combined, is nearly so powerful as the Lord of the Nexus.

Then why? What does the Labyrinth fear from us? Her elation faded, left her chilled. She needed to talk to Xar, report to him what had occurred. She wanted his counsel. Chopping off another branch, she wondered how she could find an opportunity to slip off by herself.

“I don’t understand any of this,” said Hugh the Hand, glancing around nervously, his face darkening. “And I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen how that damn Cursed Blade took on a life of its own. But I know fear. I know how it works in a man and I suppose it’s no different in a bunch of intelligent rocks. Fear makes a man desperate, reckless.” The assassin looked down at his hands, smiled grimly. “I grew rich off other men’s fear.”

“And it will make the Labyrinth the same,” Haplo said. “Desperate, reckless. That’s why we can’t afford to stop. We’ve already spent too much time here as it is.” The sigla on his hands and arms were glowing a pate blue, tinged with red.

Marit glanced at the tattoos on her body, saw the same warning. Danger was not near, but it wasn’t far away either.

Alfred, pale and shaken, rose to his feet. “I’ll try,” he said gamely. Marit traced a sigil of healing on the tree, then cut off another branch. Silently she handed the first crude spear she had made to Haplo. He hesitated, astonished that she should think of him, pleased that she was concerned. He accepted the spear, and as he took it, their hands touched. He smiled that quiet smile of his. The light in his eyes, in that smile, which was so achingly familiar, seeped into Marit’s heart.

But the only effect the light had was to illuminate the emptiness. She could see inside every part of her, see the bleak walls, barred windows, shuttered doors.

Better the darkness.

She turned away. “Which direction?”

Haplo didn’t answer immediately. When he did, his voice was cool, perhaps with disappointment. Or perhaps she was accomplishing her goal—perhaps he was learning to hate her.

“The top of that ridge up ahead.” He pointed. “We should be able to get a view of the countryside, maybe find a path.”

“There’s a path?” Hugh the Hand stared around in disbelief. “What made it? This place looks deserted.”

“It has been deserted, probably for hundreds of years. But yes, there’s a path. This is the Labyrinth, remember? A deliberately crafted maze, made by our enemies. The path runs ail the way through it. The path leads the way out—in more ways than one. There’s an old saying, ‘You abandon the path at your peril. You keep to the path at your peril.’”

“Wonderful.” Hugh the Hand grunted. Reaching into the folds of his clothing, he drew out his pipe, regarded it with longing. “I don’t suppose there’s such a thing as stregno in this god-awful place?”

“No, but when we reach one of the Squatter villages, there’s a dried leaf mixture that they smoke on ceremonial occasions. They’ll give you some.” Haplo grinned, turned to Marit. “Do you remember that village ceremony where we—”

“You’d better see to your Sartan friend,” she interrupted. She had been thinking of exactly the same time. His hand was on the door of her being, trying to force it open. She put her shoulder to it, barred his entry. “He’s limping.”

They had only traveled a short distance and already the Sartan was lagging behind.

“I seem to have twisted my ankle,” Alfred said apologetically.

“It would have been more useful if he’d twisted his neck,” Marit muttered scornfully.

“I’m dreadfully sorry—” Alfred began. He caught Haplo’s baleful glance and swallowed the rest.

“Why don’t you use your magic, Alfred?” Haplo suggested with elaborate patience.

“I didn’t think there was time. The healing procedure—” Haplo checked an exasperated exclamation. “Not to heal yourself! You can float, fly. As you did just now when you flew out of the cavern. Or have you forgotten already?”

“No, I didn’t forget. It’s just that—”

“You might even prove useful,” Haplo went on quickly. He didn’t want to give Alfred time to think. “You can see what’s ahead.”

“Well, if you really believe it would help—” Alfred still sounded dubious.

“Just do it!” Haplo said through clenched teeth.

Marit knew what he was thinking. The Labyrinth had left them in peace too long.

Alfred went into his little dance—a hopping sort of dance, on his sore foot. He waved his hands and hummed a tune through his nose. Slowly, effortlessly, he rose into the air, drifted gently forward. The dog, in a high state of excitement, gave a joyful bark and leapt playfully for Alfred’s dangling feet as the Sartan sailed overhead.

Haplo, breathing a sigh, turned and started up the ridge. He was almost at the top when the wind hit, slamming into him like a doubled-up fist. The wind came out of nowhere, as if the Labyrinth had sucked in an enormous breath and was blowing it back out. The blast sent Marit staggering. Hugh the Hand, at her side, was cursing and rubbing his eyes, half-blinded by wind-blown dust. Haplo stumbled, unable to keep his balance. Above them, Alfred let out a strangled cry. The wind caught hold of the floating Sartan. Arms and legs flapping wildly, he was being flung at incredible speed right into the mountain.

Only the dog was able to move. It raced after Alfred, snapped at the man’s flying coattails.

“Catch him!” Haplo shouted. “Drag him—” But before he could finish, the wind smote him a blast from behind, knocked him flat.

Hearing the urgency in its master’s voice, the dog bounded high into the air. Teeth closed over fabric. Alfred sagged down; then the fabric tore. The dog tumbled to the ground in a flurry of legs. The wind rolled the animal over and over. Alfred was blown away, and then suddenly he stopped. His body, his clothes, had become entangled in the limbs of one of the stunted trees. The wind fretted and whipped at him in frustration, but the tree refused to let loose.

“I’ll be damned,” said Hugh the Hand, wiping grit from his eyes. “The branches reached up and grabbed him!”

Alfred hung from the tree limbs, dangling helplessly, gazing about in bewilderment. The strange wind had ceased blowing as suddenly as it had started, but there remained an ominous feeling in the air, a sullen anger. The dog dashed over to stand protectively beneath Alfred. The Sartan was starting to sing and wave his hands.

“Don’t!” Haplo shouted urgently, scrambling to his feet. “Don’t move or say or do anything! Especially not magic!”

Alfred froze.

“His magic,” Haplo muttered; then he began to swear beneath his breath. “Every goddamn time he uses his magic. And what will happen to him if he doesn’t? How can he get through the Labyrinth alive without it? Not that he’s going to get through alive with it. This is hopeless. Hopeless. You’re right,” he said bitterly to Marit. “I am a fool.”

She could have answered him. The tree saved him. You didn’t see it, but I did. I saw it catch hold of him. Some force is working for us, trying to help us. There is hope. If we’ve brought nothing else, we’ve brought hope. But she didn’t say that. She wasn’t certain hope was what she wanted.

“I suppose we’ll have to get him down,” growled Hugh the Hand.

“What’s the use?” Haplo demanded dispiritedly. “I’ve brought him here to die. I’ve brought us all here to die. Except you. And maybe that’s worse. You’ll be forced to just keep on living...”

Marit edged close to him. Instinctively, she reached out a hand to comfort him, then realized what she was doing.

She stopped, confused. It seemed she was two different people—one hating Haplo, the other... not hating him. And she didn’t much trust either. Where am I in all this? she wondered angrily. What is it I want?

That doesn’t matter, Wife. She could hear Xar’s voice. What you want is not important. Your job is to bring Haplo to me.

And I’ll do it, she decided. Me! Not Sang-drax!

Hesitantly Marit brushed her fingers against Haplo’s arm.

Startled at her touch, he turned.

“What the human said is true,” Marit told him, swallowing. “Don’t you understand? The Labyrinth’s acting out of fear. And that makes us its equal.” She moved closer to him. “I’ve been thinking about my child, my daughter. I do sometimes, at night. When I’m all alone, I wonder if she is all alone. I wonder if she ever thinks of me, as I think of her. If she wonders why I left her ... I want to find her, Haplo. I want to explain...” Tears filled her eyes. She hadn’t meant that to happen. She lowered the lids swiftly so that he wouldn’t see.

But it was too late. And then, because she wasn’t looking at him, she couldn’t move away from him fast enough to prevent his putting his arms around her.

“We’ll find her,” he was saying softly. “I promise.” Marit looked up at him. He was going to kiss her.

Xar’s voice was in Marit’s head. You slept with him. You bore his child. He loves you still. This was perfect. What Xar wanted. She would lull Haplo into feeling secure around her; then she would disable him, capture him. She closed her eyes. Haplo’s lips touched hers.

Marit shivered all over and suddenly shrank back, pulled away.

“You’d better go get your Sartan friend out of the tree.” Her voice was sharp as the knife clutched tightly in her hand. “I’ll keep watch. Here, you’ll need this.”

Marit handed him the knife, left him, not looking back. She was shaking all over, tremors tightening her arms and the muscles of her thighs, and she walked blindly, hating him, hating herself.

Reaching the top of the ridge, she leaned against a huge boulder, waited for the shaking to cease. She permitted herself one swift glance behind to ascertain what Haplo was doing. He had not followed her. He had gone off, the dog trotting along at his heels, to try to extricate Alfred from the treetop. Good, Marit told herself. The trembling was under control. She quelled her inner turmoil, forced herself to scan the area carefully, closely, searching for telltale signs of an enemy.

She felt calm enough to talk to Xar.

But she didn’t get the chance.