Into the Labyrinth

37

Xar had reached a decision. His plans were formed; now he set about putting them into action. He had arranged with Marit for the Patryns of the Labyrinth to deal with Haplo, keep him safe until Sang-drax reached him. As for Sang-drax, Xar had concluded that the question of the dragon-snake’s loyalty was not a factor. After much thought on the matter, Xar was confident that Sang-drax’s primary motivation was hatred—the dragon-snake hated Haplo, wanted revenge. Sang-drax would not rest until he had sought out Haplo and destroyed him. That would take some time, Xar reasoned. Even for someone as powerful as Sang-drax, the Labyrinth was not easily traversed. By the time the dragon-snake had his coils wrapped around Haplo, Xar would be there to see to it that his prize was not damaged beyond usefulness.

Xar’s immediate problem was the killing of the mensch. Given the lord’s power and skill in magic, the murder of two elves, two humans, and a dwarf (none of them overly intelligent) should not be a concern. The Lord of the Nexus could have destroyed them all simultaneously with a few gestures in the air and a spoken word or two. But it was not the manner of their dying that worried him, it was the condition of the corpses after death.

He studied the mensch under various circumstances for a day or two, and concluded that, even dead, they would never be able to stand up to the tytans. The elven male was tall, but thin, with fragile bone structure. The human male was tall with good bones and muscle. Unfortunately, this male appeared to be suffering from pangs of thwarted love and consequently had let his body go to ruin. The human female was stocky, but muscular. The dwarf, though short in stature, had the strength of his race and was the best of a bad lot. The elven female was hopeless.

It was essential, therefore, that the mensch in death should be better than they were in life. Their corpses had to be fit and strong. And, most important, they had to be endowed with a strength and stamina the wretches did not currently possess. Poison was the best way to murder them, but it needed to be a special concoction—one that would kill the body and at the same time make it healthier. A most intriguing dichotomy.

Xar began with a flask of ordinary water. Working the rune-magic, considering the possibilities, he altered the water’s chemical structure. At last he felt confident that he had succeeded; he had developed an elixir that would kill—not immediately, but after a short period, say an hour or so, during which the body would begin a rapid acceleration of muscle and bone tissue, a process that would later be further enhanced by the necromancy.

The poison had one drawback: the bodies would wear out far faster than ordinary corpses. But Xar did not need these mensch long; they had only to buy him enough time to reach the ship.

The elixir finished, including the final additive of a pleasing flavor of spiced wine, Xar prepared a feast. He concocted food, then placed the poisoned wine in a large silver pitcher in the center of the table, and went to invite the mensch to a party.

The first one he came across was the human female—he could never recall her name. In his most charming manner, Xar asked her to join him that evening for a dinner of the most wonderful delicacies, all compliments of the lord’s magical talent. He urged her to bring the others, and Rega, excited by this break in their dull routine, hastened to do just that.

She went hunting for Paithan. She knew, of course, where to look for him. Opening the door to the Star Chamber, she peered inside.

“Paithan?” she called, hesitant about entering. She hadn’t gone into the chamber since the time the cursed machine had nearly blinded her. “Could you come out here? I have something to tell you.”

“Uh, I can’t leave right at the moment, sweetheart. I mean, well, it might be a while...”

“But, Paithan, it’s important.”

Rega took a tentative step inside the doorway. Paithan’s voice was coming from an odd direction.

“It will have to wait... I’m not really able... I’ve gotten myself in a bit of a... Can’t quite figure out how to get down, you see...” Rega couldn’t see, at least not at the moment. Irritation overcoming her fear of the light, she walked into the Star Chamber. Hands on her hips, she glared around the room.

“Paithan, quit playing games this instant. Where are you?”

“Up... up here.” Paithan’s voice drifted down from above. Astonished, Rega tilted her head, stared in the direction indicated. “Name of the ancestors, Pait, what are you doing up there?”

The elf, perched on the seat of one of the enormous chairs, peered back down at her. He looked and sounded extremely uncomfortable. “I came up here to... um... well ... see what it was like from up here. The view, you know.”

“Well, how is it?” Rega demanded.

Paithan winced at the sarcasm. “Not bad,” he said, glancing around and feigning interest. “Really quite nice...”

“View—my ass!” Rega said loudly.

“I can’t, dear. Not from this angle. If you could bend over—”

“You climbed up there to try to figure out how the damn chair works!” Rega informed him. “And now you can’t get back down. What did you have in mind? Pretending you’re a tytan? Or maybe you thought the machine would mistake you for a tytan! Not but what it might. You’ve got all the brains of one.”

“I had to try something, Rega,” Paithan excused himself plaintively. “It seemed like a good idea at the time. The tytans are the key to this machine. I just know it. That’s why it’s not working properly. If they were here—”

“—we’d all be dead,” Rega inserted grimly, “and there’d be nothing to worry about, least of all this stupid machine! How did you get up there?”

“Going up was easy—the chair legs are sort of rough with lots of footholds, and elves were always pretty fair climbers and—”

“Well, just come down the same way.”

“I can’t. I’ll fall. I tried once. My foot slipped. I was barely able to hang on. I could just picture myself pitching head first into that well.” Paithan clutched the edge of the chair seat. “You can’t believe how deep and dark that well looks from up here. I’ll bet it goes clear into the center of Pryan. I could imagine myself falling and falling and falling...”

“Don’t think about it!” Rega told him irritably. “You’re only making it worse!”

“It can’t get much worse,” Paithan said miserably. “Just looking down, I feel like I might throw up.” His face did have a greenish tinge.

“This whole business makes me feel like I might throw up,” Rega muttered, taking a step or two backward, just to be out of range. She eyed him thoughtfully. “The first thing I’m going to do—if and when I ever get him out of here—is lock the door to this damn room and throw away the key.”

“What did you say, dear?”

“I said what if Roland tosses up a length of rope? You could secure it to the arm of the chair, then shinny down it.”

“Do you have to tell your brother?” Paithan groaned. “Why can’t you do it?”

“Because it’s going to take a strong arm to throw the rope that far,” Rega returned.

“Roland will never let me live this down,” Paithan said bitterly. “Look, I’ve got an idea. Go ask the wizard—”

“Eh?” came a quavering voice. “Someone call for a wizard?” The old man wandered into the room. Seeing Rega, he smiled, doffed his decrepit hat. “Here I am. Glad to be of service. Bond’s the name. James Bond.”

“The other wizard!” Paithan hissed. “The useful one!”

“Great Scott!” The old man froze. “It’s Dr. No! He’s found me! Don’t be afraid, my dear.” He reached out trembling hands. “I’ll save you—”

“I can’t get Lord Xar.” Rega was explaining to Paithan. “That’s what I came to tell you. He’s busy planning a party. We’re all invited—”

“A party. How wonderful!” The old man beamed. “I’m quite fond of parties. Have to get my tux out of mothballs—”

“A party!” Paithan repeated. “Yes, that would be great fun! Aleatha loves parties. We’ll get her away from that strange maze where she spends all her time now—”

“And get her away from the dwarf,” Rega added. “I haven’t said anything because, well, she is your sister, but I think there’s something sort of odd going on there.”

“What are you implying?” Paithan glared down at Rega.

“Nothing, but it’s obvious that Drugar adores her and, let’s face it, she’s not really choosy about men—”

“Oh, yes. After all, she did fall for your brother!” Paithan said viciously. Rega flushed in anger. “I didn’t mean—”

The old man, following Rega’s gaze upward, gave a violent start. “I say! It is Dr. No!”

“No—” Paithan began.

“You see!” Zifnab yelled, triumphant. “He admits it!”

“I’m Paithan!” Paithan shouted, leaning farther over the edge of the chair seat than he’d intended. Shuddering, he slid hurriedly backward.

“The fool is stuck up there,” Rega explained in icy tones. “He’s scared to come down.”

“I’m not either,” Paithan retorted sullenly. “I have the wrong shoes on, that’s all. I’ll slip.”

“You’re sure he’s not No?” the old man asked nervously.

“Yes, he’s not No. I mean no, he isn’t... Never mind.” Rega was starting to feel dizzy herself. “We’ve got to get him down. Do you have any spells?”

“Dandy spell!” the old man said immediately. “Fire... Fire... Fireball! That’s it! We set the chair legs on fire and when they burn up—”

“I don’t think that will work!” Paithan protested loudly. The old man snorted. “ ‘Course it will. The chair goes up in flames, and pretty soon the seat doesn’t have a leg to stand on and whoosh! Down she comes!”

“Go get Roland,” Paithan said in resigned tones. “And take him with you,” he added, with a dark glance at the old man.

“Come on, sir,” said Rega. Trying not to laugh, she guided the old man, protesting, out of the Star Chamber. “Yes, I do think it would be fun to set the chair on fire. I wouldn’t even mind setting Paithan on fire. But maybe some other time. Perhaps you could go help Lord Xar with the party arrangements...”

“Party,” the old man said, brightening. “I do love a good party!”

“And hurry!” Paithan’s voice cracked in panic. “The machine’s starting up! I think the starlight’s about to come on!”

As Paithan had said, Aleatha had been spending most of her time with Drugar in the maze. And, as she had promised, she had told no one about her discovery. She might have, if they’d been nice to her; Aleatha rarely troubled herself with the bother of keeping secrets. But the others, including Roland (especially Roland), were all just as idiotic and juvenile as always.

“Paithan’s involved with that stupid machine of his,” Aleatha told Drugar as they traversed the maze. “Rega’s involved with trying to uninvolve Paithan with the stupid machine, and, as for Roland, who knows—or cares—what he’s doing.” She sniffed. “Let them hang around with that horrid, ugly Xar. You and I have found interesting people. Haven’t we, Drugar?”

Drugar agreed. He always agreed with everything she said and was more than willing to take her into the maze anytime she wanted to go. They had gone the very next morning, when the star machine was on, but, as Drugar had warned her, the fog-people weren’t around. Aleatha and the dwarf waited for a long time, but no one came. The starburst mosaic in the amphitheater remained deserted.

Aleatha, bored, wandered around the mosaic, staring down at it.

“Why, look, Drugar,” she said, kneeling. “Isn’t this pattern the same one that’s on the city gate?”

Drugar bent over to examine it. Yes, it was the same pattern. And in the center of the runes was an empty place, the same as the empty place on the city gate.

Drugar fingered the amulet he wore around his neck. When he placed that amulet in the empty place, the gate opened. His fingers grew cold; his hand shivered. He backed away from the starburst hurriedly and glanced at Aleatha, fearing she had noticed, would have the same idea.

But Aleatha had already lost interest. The people weren’t here. The place was—for her—boring. She wanted to leave, and Drugar was quite ready to leave with her.

That afternoon, however, the two came back. The light from the star machine was on and shining brightly. The people were walking around the same as before.

Aleatha sat and watched them in mingled frustration and joy, tried to listen to them.

“They’re talking,” she said. “I can see their mouths move. Their hands move when they talk, help shape their words. They’re real people. I know they are! But where are they? What are they talking about? It’s so irritating not to know!”

Drugar fingered his amulet, said nothing.

But her words stuck in the dwarf’s mind. The two returned to the maze the next afternoon, and the afternoon after that. The dwarf now began to view the fog-people the way Aleatha viewed them—as real people. He began to notice things about them; he thought he recognized some of the dwarves from the day previous. Elves and humans looked alike to him; he couldn’t tell whether they were the same or not. But the dwarves—one in particular—he was certain had been there before.

This dwarf was an ale merchant. Drugar could tell by the plaiting of his beard—it was knotted in the guild braids—and by the silver mug. Hanging from a velvet ribbon around the dwarf’s neck, the mug was used to offer customers a taste of his brew. And apparently his ale’ was good. The dwarf was well-to-do, to judge by his clothes. Elves and humans greeted him with respect, bowing and nodding. Some of the humans even dropped down on one knee to talk with the dwarf, putting themselves at his eye level—a courtesy Drugar had never in his life imagined a human offering a dwarf.

But then, he’d never in his life had much to do with humans or elves, for which he’d always been grateful.

“I’ve named that elf right there Lord Gorgo,” Aleatha said. Since the fog-people wouldn’t talk to her, she’d started talking about them. She’d begun to give them names and imagine what their relationships were to each other. It amused her, in fact, to stand right next to one of the shadowy men and discuss him with the dwarf.

“I knew a Lord Gorgo once. His eyes stuck out just like that poor man’s eyes stick out. He does dress well, though. Much better than Gorgo, who had no taste in clothes. That woman he’s with—frightful. She must not be his wife—look how she’s clutching him. Low-cut dresses appear to be the fashion there, but if I had her bosoms, I’d button my collar up to my chin. What very handsome human males they have there. And walking about as freely as if they owned the place. These elves treat their human slaves very carelessly. Why, look, Drugar, there’s that dwarf with the silver mug. We saw him yesterday. And he’s talking to Lord Gorgo! And here’s a human coming up to join them. I believe I shall call him Rolf. We had a slave once named Rolf, who...” But Drugar had stopped listening. Taking hold of the amulet, the dwarf left the bench where he’d been sitting and for the first time ventured out into the midst of the people who seemed so real and were so false, who talked so much and were so silent.

“Drugar! You’re here with us!” Aleatha laughed and whirled in a dance, her skirts billowing around her. “Isn’t it fun?” Her dance ceased; she pouted.

“But it would be more fun if they were real. Oh, Drugar, sometimes I wish you’d never brought me here! I like it, but it makes me so homesick... Drugar, what are you doing?”

The dwarf ignored her. Removing the amulet from around his neck, he knelt down in the center of the starburst and placed the amulet in the empty spot, just as he had placed it in the same empty spot in the center of the city gate. He heard Aleatha scream, but the sound was distant, far distant, and he wasn’t certain he was even hearing it at all...

A hand clapped him on the back.

“You, sir!” A voice boomed, speaking dwarven. A silver mug waved in front of Drugar’s nose. “You’ll be a stranger to our fair city, I’m wagering. Now, sir, how would you like a taste of the finest ale in all of Pryan?”