Into the Labyrinth

39

Roland, Rega, and Paithan stood outside the star chamber. Bright light welled out from under the door. Both Paithan and Roland were rubbing their eyes.

“Can you see yet?” Rega asked anxiously.

“Yeah,” said Roland bitterly. “Spots. If you’ve blinded me, elf—”

“It’ll go away.” Paithan was surly. “Just give it time.”

“I told you not to look down!” Roland snarled. “But no. You have to go stare into that damn well and pass out—”

“I did not! My hands slipped! As for the well”—Paithan shivered—“it’s fascinating, in a creepy kind of way.”

“Sort of like your sister,” Roland sneered.

Paithan aimed a blow in the human’s general direction. Missing, slamming his fist into a wall, he groaned and began to suck on his bleeding knuckles.

“Roland’s just teasing, Pait,” said Rega. “He doesn’t mean anything. He’s so in love with her himself he can’t see straight.”

“I may never be able to see anything!” Roland retorted. “As for my being in love with that slut—”

“Slut!” Paithan hurled himself bodily at Roland. “Apologize!” The two went down in a heap, rolling around, pummeling each other.

“Stop it!” Rega stood over them, screaming and occasionally kicking the one who happened to roll nearer her. “Stop it, both of you! We’re supposed to be going to the party...” Her voice died away.

Xar had appeared at the bottom of the stairs leading to the Star Chamber. Arms crossed over his chest, he was staring up at them, the expression on his face dark and grim.

“Party,” Rega repeated nervously. “Paithan! Xar’s here! Get up. Roland, come on! You look like idiots! Both of you!”

Still not able to see too well, but hearing the note of tension in Rega’s voice, Paithan left off hitting, staggered to his feet. His face burned with shame. He could imagine what the old man must be thinking.

“You knocked a tooth loose,” Roland mumbled. His mouth was bloody.

“Shut up!” Rega hissed.

The aftereffects of the bright light were wearing off; Paithan could see the wizard now. Xar was trying to look as if he found them amusing, but though the lines around his eyes were crinkled in a tolerant smile, the eyes themselves were colder and darker than the well in the Star Chamber. Staring into them, Paithan had the same sort of queasy feeling in his stomach. He even found himself taking an involuntary step backward, away from the edge of the staircase.

“Where are the other ones?” Xar asked, voice pleasant, benign. “I want all of you to come to my party.”

“What other ones?” Rega asked, hedging.

“The other female. And the dwarf,” Xar said, smiling.

“You ever notice how he never seems to remember our names?” Roland said out of the corner of his mouth to Paithan.

“You know”—Rega gulped—“Aleatha was right. He is ugly.” She reached out, clasped hold of Paithan’s hand. “I really don’t want to go to this party.”

“I don’t think we have much choice,” Paithan said quietly. “What excuse could we offer?”

“Tell him we just don’t want to go,” Roland said, edging behind Paithan.

“Me tell him? What’s wrong with you telling him?” Paithan snapped.

“I don’t think he likes me.”

“Where is your sister, elf?” Xar’s brows came together over his nose. “And the dwarf?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t seen them. We’ll... go look for them!” Paithan offered hurriedly. “Won’t we?”

“Yeah. Right now.”

“I’ll help.”

Roland and Rega and the elf clattered down the stairs. At the bottom, they stopped. Xar stood before them, blocking their way. The two humans shoved Paithan to the front.

“Uh, we’re just going to find Aleatha... my sister,” Paithan said faintly.

“And the dwarf. Drugar. The dwarf.”

Xar smiled. “Hurry. The food will grow cold.”

“Right!” Paithan wormed his way around the wizard and bolted for the door, Rega and Roland were right behind him. None of them stopped running until they were out of the main building, standing on the wide marble steppes that overlooked the empty and deserted city below. The citadel had never appeared quite so empty or so deserted as it did now.

“I don’t like this,” Rega said, her voice shaking. “I don’t like him. What does he want with us?”

“Hush, be careful,” Paithan warned. “He’s watching us! No, don’t look. He’s up there, on a balcony.”

“What are we going to do?”

“What can we do?” Roland demanded. “We go to his party. Do you want to make him mad? Maybe you don’t remember what he did to those tytans, but I do. Besides, how bad can it be? I say we’re all jumping at our own shadows.”

“Roland’s right. It’s only a party. If the wizard wanted to do anything bad to us—and there’s no reason why he should—then he could do it from where he’s standing.”

“I don’t like the way he looked at us,” Rega said stubbornly. “And he seems too eager. Excited.”

“At his age and with his looks, he probably doesn’t get invited to a lot of parties,” Roland suggested.

Paithan glanced at the dark-robed figure, standing still and silent on the balcony. “I think we should humor him. We’d better find Drugar and Aleatha right away.”

“If they’ve gone into that maze, you won’t find them at all, much less right away,” Rega predicted.

Paithan sighed, frustrated. “Maybe you two should go back and I’ll try to find Aleatha—”

“Oh, no!” Roland said, latching on to Paithan firmly. “We’re all going.”

“Well,” Paithan began, “I suppose then that we should split—”

“Look! There’s Aleatha now!” Rega cried, pointing. The broad steppe they stood on overlooked the back of the city. Aleatha had just appeared around the corner of a building, her tattered dress a bright spot of color against the white marble.

“Good. That only leaves Drugar. And surely the old man won’t mind if we’re missing the dwarf—”

“Something’s wrong with her,” Roland said suddenly. “Aleatha!” He went dashing down the stairs, racing toward Aleatha. She had been moving toward them—running toward them, in fact-Paithan tried to remember the last time he’d ever seen his sister run. But now she had stopped and was leaning against the wall of a building, her hand pressed over her breast as if in pain.

“Aleatha!” Roland said, coming up to her.

Her eyes were closed. Opening them, she looked at him thankfully, and with a sob reached out to him, nearly fell into his arms.

He clasped her, held her fast. “What’s wrong? What’s the matter?”

“Drugar!” Aleatha managed to gasp.

“What did he do to you?” Roland cried, clutching her fiercely. “Did he hurt you? By the ancestors, I’ll—”

“No, no!” Aleatha was shaking her head. Her hair floated around her face in an ashen-blond, shimmering cloud. She gasped for breath. “He’s... disappeared!”

“Disappeared?” Paithan came up, Rega alongside. “What do you mean, Thea? How could he disappear?”

“I don’t know!” Aleatha lifted her head, her blue eyes wide and frightened.

“One minute he was there, next to me. And the next...” She put her head against Roland’s chest, began to cry. He patted her on the back, looked questioningly at Paithan. “What’s she talking about?”

“Beats me,” said Paithan.

“Don’t forget Xar,” Rega inserted quietly. “He’s still watching us.”

“Was it the tytans? Thea, don’t go getting hysterical...”

“Too late,” Rega said, eyeing her.

Aleatha was sobbing uncontrollably. She would have fallen but for Roland.

“Look, something terrible must have happened to her.” He lifted her tenderly in his arms. “She doesn’t normally come apart like this. Not even when the dragon attacked us.”

Paithan had to agree. He was now growing anxious and upset himself. “But what should we do?”

Rega took charge. “We’ve got to get her calmed down long enough for her to tell us what happened. Take her back into the main building. We’ll go to the stupid party, get her a glass of wine to drink. If something dreadful did happen—like the tytans broke in and snatched Drugar—then Lord Xar should know about it. He may be able to protect us.”

“Why would the tytans come in and snatch Drugar?” Paithan asked—a perfectly logical question, but one which went unanswered.

Roland couldn’t hear him over Aleatha’s gulping sobs, and Rega gave the elf a disgusted look and shook her head at him.

“Get her a glass of wine,” she repeated, and the three returned in a procession back to the main building.

Xar met them at the door, frowned at the sight of the hysterical elven woman.

“What is wrong with her?”

“She’s had some sort of shock,” Paithan said. Rega had elected him spokesperson with a jab in his back. “We don’t know what’s wrong because she’s too upset to tell us.”

“Where is the dwarf?” Xar asked, frowning.

At this, Aleatha gave a strangled scream. “Where is the dwarf? That’s a good one!” Covering her face with her hands, she began to laugh wildly. Paithan was growing more and more worried. He had never seen his sister this upset over anything. “He’s been going into the maze—” Rega chimed in nervously. “We thought a glass of wine—” Both realized they were talking at once and fell silent. Xar gave Rega a sharp look.

“Wine,” he said. His gaze went back to the elf woman. “You are right. A glass of wine will improve her spirits immensely. All of you must take one. Where did you say the dwarf was?”

“We didn’t,” Paithan returned somewhat impatiently, wondering why this emphasis on Drugar. “If we can just get Aleatha calmed down, perhaps we’ll find out.”

“Yes,” Xar said softly, “we will calm her down. And then we will find out all we need to know. This way.” He sidled around behind them, extended his arms.

“This way.”

Paithan had seen human farmers walking their fields at harvest time, sweeping their scythes through the tall grain, cutting it down with broad strokes. Xar’s arms were like those scythes, sweeping the small group up, cutting them down. Paithan’s instinct was to bolt. He forced himself to go along with the others, however.

What’s there to be afraid of? he asked, feeling foolish. He wondered if the other two shared his apprehensions and cast them a quick glance. Roland was so worried about Aleatha he would have walked right off a cliff without knowing it. But Rega was obviously nervous. She kept peering over her shoulder at Xar as he urged them forward with those scythe-blade arms.

He shepherded them toward a large circular room that might have formerly served as either a banquet hall or a meeting room. A round table stood in the center. The room was beneath the Star Chamber, and it was one place in the deserted citadel that none of the mensch ever entered.

At the arched doorway, Paithan came to a sudden stop, so sudden that Xar bumped into him, the old man’s gathering arm encircling him. Rega halted beside Paithan and, reaching out her hand, plucked her brother’s sleeve, alerting Roland to their whereabouts.

“What is it now?” Xar’s voice had an edge to it.

“We... we don’t go in here,” Paithan said.

“This room doesn’t want us in here,” Rega added.

“Nonsense,” Xar snapped. “It’s only a room.”

“No, it’s magical,” Paithan said in a low, awed voice. “We heard voices. And the globe—” He paused, stared.

“It’s gone!” Rega gasped.

“What is?” Xar was mild again. “Tell me.”

“Why... there used to be a crystal globe, hanging over the table. It had four strange lights inside. And when I went over to look at it, I put my hand on the table and suddenly I heard voices. They spoke in a strange language. I couldn’t understand them. But they didn’t seem to want me in here. So... I left.”

“And we’ve never been back since,” Rega said, shivering.

“But now the globe is gone.” Paithan looked hard at Xar. “You moved it.” Xar appeared amused. “I moved it? And why would I do such a thing? This room is no different from any other in the citadel. I found no globe, heard no voices. But it does make an excellent place for a party, don’t you agree? Come, please, come inside. No magic, I assure you. Nothing will harm you—”

“Look at all that wonderful food!” Roland gasped. “Where did all that come from?”

“Well,” Xar said modestly, “perhaps a little magic. Now, please, come, sit, eat, drink ...”

“Put me down,” Aleatha commanded in a perfectly calm, if somewhat tear-ragged, voice.

Roland jumped, almost dropped her. He’d been staring at the food.

“We have to go back!” Aleatha wriggled in his arms. “Put me down, you dolt! Don’t you understand? We have to go to the maze! Drugar went with them. We have to make him come back.”

“Drugar went where? With who?” Paithan demanded. “Put me down!” Aleatha glared at Roland, who—his face grim—dumped her unceremoniously on the floor.

“I hope you don’t think I enjoyed that,” he said coldly and walked over to the delicacy-laden table. “Where’s the wine?”

“In a pitcher.” Xar gestured, his gaze on Aleatha. “Where did you say the dwarf was, my dear?”

She cast him a haughty glance, turned her back on him, spoke to Paithan. “We were in the maze. We found... the theater. There are people there, lots of people. Elves and humans and dwarves...”

“Quit kidding, Thea...” Paithan flushed, embarrassed.

“Where’s the wine?” Roland mumbled, his mouth full.

“I’m serious,” Aleatha cried, stamping her foot. “They’re not real people. They’re only fog-people. We can see them when the starlight comes on. But... but now...” Her voice quivered. “Drugar’s... one of them! He’s... changed into fog.”

She grabbed hold of Paithan’s arm. “Just come, will you?” she insisted angrily.

“Maybe after we have some food.” Paithan attempted to placate his sister. “You should eat something, too, Thea. You know how you see things on an empty stomach.”

“Yes!” Xar hissed the word unpleasantly. “Eat, drink. You will all feel much better.”

“I found the wine pitcher,” Roland called. “But it’s empty. The wine’s all gone.”

“What?” Xar whipped around.

Roland held out the empty pitcher. “See for yourself.” Xar snatched the pitcher, glared inside. A small amount of reddish liquid sloshed around in the bottom. He sniffed at it. He raised his gaze to the four, who shrank back, alarmed at his fury.

“Who drank this?”

From beneath the table came a thin, strident voice, raised in song.

“Goldfinger...”

Xar’s face blanched, then went red with outrage. Reaching beneath the table, he caught hold of a protruding foot, tugged on it, dragged the foot out. The rest of the old man came along with it, sliding on his back, singing happily to himself.

“You drank the wine... all the wine!” Xar could barely talk. Zifnab gazed up at him with watery eyes. “Lovely bouquet. Exquisite color. Slightly bitter finish, but I suppose that must be due to the poison...” He lay on his back, began singing again. “You only live twice...”

“Poison!” Paithan caught hold of Rega, who clutched at him. Roland choked on the food, spit it out all over the floor.

“He’s lying!” said Xar harshly. “Don’t believe the old fool. This is a prank...”

The Lord of the Nexus bent down swiftly, put his hand on the old man’s chest, began to mutter and move his fingers in a strange pattern. But suddenly the old man’s face contorted in pain. He let out a horrible cry. His hands clawed at the air, his body twisted and twitched. Reaching out, he grabbed hold of the hem of Aleatha’s skirt. “Poison! He meant... for you!” Zifnab gasped. His body curled in on itself; he writhed in agony. Then he stiffened, shuddered. A final convulsive scream, and the old man lay still. His eyes were open, wide and staring. His hand was locked firmly on to Aleatha’s skirt. He was dead. Horror-stricken, Paithan stared at the corpse. Roland was off in a corner, heaving his guts out.

Xar’s eyes swept over them, and Paithan saw the gleam of the scythe blade sweeping past, mowing them down.

“It would have been a painless death,” Xar said. “Swift, simple. But this fool has changed all that. You must die. And you will die...” Xar reached out his hand toward Aleatha. She stood terrified, unable to move, her dress caught in the corpse’s grip. Aleatha had a dim impression of Paithan leaping in front of her, knocking aside the wizard’s hand... Wanting only to escape this horrible place, this terrible man, the hideous corpse, Aleatha tore her skirt from the dead man’s hand and ran, panic-stricken, from the chamber.