Into the Labyrinth

40

“What do you mean, ‘she’s betrayed us’?” Alfred asked nervously.

“Marit’s told them you’re a Sartan,” Haplo answered. “And that I brought you into the Labyrinth.”

Alfred gave the matter careful thought. “Then she’s only really betrayed me. I’m the one putting you in danger.” He thought longer, brightened. “You could tell them that I am your prisoner. That...” His words died out at the sight of Haplo’s grim expression.

“Marit knows better. She knows the truth. And I’ve no doubt she’s told them. I just wonder,” Haplo added somberly, staring into the forest, “what else she’s told them.”

“Are we just going to stand here?” Hugh the Hand demanded, scowling.

“Yes,” said Haplo quietly. “We’re just going to stand here.”

“We could run—”

Haplo pointed. “A good idea. I’ve been trying to convince Coren here to—”

“Alfred,” the Sartan corrected meekly. “Please. That is my name. I... I don’t know that other person. And no, I’m not going back.”

“I go where he goes,” said Hugh the Hand. The Patryns were in sight now and moving closer. “We can fight.”

“No,” said Haplo, not pausing, not even considering, “I won’t fight my own people. Bad enough...” He stopped, let it hang.

“They’re taking their own sweet time. Maybe you made a mistake about her?” Haplo shook his head. “They know we’re not going anywhere.” His mouth twisted in a grim smile. “Besides, they’re probably trying to figure out what to do with us.”

Hugh the Hand gave him a puzzled look.

“You see,” Haplo explained, “they’re not used to taking another Patryn prisoner. There’s never been any need.” He looked around at the gray sky, the dark trees. When he spoke, it was softly, to himself. “This was always a terrible place, dangerous, deadly. But at least we were united—one against it. Now, what have I done... ?”

The Patryns, led by a stoic Kari, surrounded the three.

“Serious charges have been leveled against you, Brother,” she said to Haplo. Her gaze went to Alfred, who flushed clear up his bald scalp and managed to look extremely guilty. Kari frowned, glanced back at Haplo. Probably she was expecting him to deny everything.

Haplo shrugged his shoulders, said nothing. He began walking. Alfred, Hugh the Hand, and the dog followed. The Patryns closed ranks behind them. Marit was not among them.

The group moved silently through the forest, the Patryns ill at ease, uncomfortable. When Alfred fell—as he did repeatedly, circumstances and his surroundings combining to make him clumsier than usual—the Patryns waited grimly for him to regain his feet. They did not offer help, nor would they permit Haplo or Hugh to go near the Sartan.

At first they’d regarded him with grim-faced enmity. But now, after he’d tumbled headlong over a tree root, walked into a bog, and nearly brained himself on an overhanging limb, they began exchanging questioning glances among themselves, even as they redoubled their watchfulness. It could, of course, all be an act, designed to lull them into complacency. Haplo recalled thinking exactly the same thing himself the first time he’d met Alfred. Boy, did they have a lot to learn. As for the human assassin, the Patryns treated him with disdain. Most likely they had never heard of mensch; Haplo himself had not learned of the existence of these “lesser races” until Xar informed him.[38] But Marit would have told them that Hugh the Hand lacked the rune-magic, was therefore harmless. Haplo wondered if she had thought to tell them that this man could not be killed.

When his fellow Patryns looked at Haplo at all, which was rarely, they were shadow-eyed and angry. Again he wondered uneasily what Marit had told them. And why.

The trees began to thin out. The hunting party was nearing the edge of the forest, and at this point, Kari called a halt. Before them stretched a vast open field of short-cropped waving grass. Haplo was astonished to see signs that some animal had been grazing in the area. If these were mensch, he would have guessed they were raising sheep or goats. But these weren’t mensch. They were his people and they were Runners, fighters—not shepherds. He would have liked very much to ask Kari, but she wouldn’t answer any question of his now; wouldn’t so much as tell him whether it was day or night. Across the grass, about a hundred paces away, a river of dark water churned and hammered through steep banks. And beyond that...

Haplo stared.

Beyond the river, with its black and ugly water, was built a city. A city. In the Labyrinth.

He couldn’t believe it. But there it was. Blinking didn’t cause it to disappear. In a land of Squatters, nomads who spent their lives trying to escape their prison, was a city. Built by people who weren’t trying to escape. People who were settled, content. Not only that, but they’d lit the beacon fire, the call to others: come to us, come to our light, come to our city. Strong buildings, made of stone, covered with rune-markings, stood stolidly on the side of a gigantic mountain, on the top of which burned the beacon fire. Probably, Haplo guessed, these buildings had started as caves. Now they extended outward, the floors of some resting on the roofs of others. They marched down the mountainside in an orderly manner, gathered together at the bottom. The mountain itself seemed to stretch out protective arms around the city built on its bosom; a large wall, made of the mountain’s stone, encircled the city. Rune-magic, inscribed on the wail, enhanced its defenses.

“My goodness,” said Alfred, “is... is this usual?” No, not usual.

Marit was here. She was obviously not pleased at being here, but with the dangerous river crossing to be made, out in the open, a prey to any enemy, she’d been forced to wait for the rest of the party. She stood apart from the others, her arms crossed over her chest. She did not look at Haplo, pointedly avoided looking at him.

He would have liked to talk to her. He took a step toward her, but several Patryns moved to block his way. They appeared uncomfortable; perhaps never in their lives had they feared or distrusted one of their own. Haplo sighed, wondered how he could make them understand. He raised his hands, palms outward, indicating he meant no harm, that he would obey their rules. But the dog was under no such constraints. The trip through the forest had been a boring one for the animal. Whenever it had sniffed up something interesting, prepared to set off in pursuit, its master had called it sharply to heel. This would have been bearable if the dog had been made to feel that its presence was appreciated. But Haplo was preoccupied, wrapped in dark and gloomy thoughts, and refused to pat the dog’s head or acknowledge its friendly licks.

If it hadn’t been for Alfred, the dog would have considered this trip a waste of footpad. The Sartan, as usual, had proved highly diverting. The dog had recognized that it was going to be responsible for steering Alfred safely through the forest. Certain minor disasters couldn’t be helped—a dog can only do so much. But the animal successfully averted several major catastrophes—such as pulling Alfred out of the tangles of a loathsome bloodvine and knocking him flat when he would have otherwise walked into a spike-lined pit, a trap set by roving snogs.

At last they had reached level, unobstructed ground, and while the dog knew that this didn’t necessarily mean Alfred was safe, the Sartan was, for the moment, standing perfectly still. If anyone could get himself in trouble standing still it was Alfred; but the dog considered that it might relax its vigil.

The Patryns gathered at the edge of the forest, while several of their number fanned out to make certain that they would be safe crossing the river. The animal looked at its master, saw—with regret—that nothing could be done for him beyond a licked reminder that a dog was here and available for comfort. An absentminded pat was the animal’s reward. The dog glanced about for new diversion and saw Marit.

A friend. Someone not seen in a few hours. Someone who—by the looks of her—needed a dog.

The dog trotted over.

Marit stood in the shadow of a tree, staring at nothing that the dog could see. But what she was doing might have been important, and so the dog padded up softly, so as not to disturb her. The dog pressed its body against Marit’s leg, looked up at her with a joyful grin.

Startled, Marit jumped, which made the dog jump, too, causing both to fall backward, eye each other warily.

“Oh, it’s you,” Marit said, and while not understanding the words, the dog understood the tone, which, while not exactly welcoming, wasn’t unfriendly either.

The woman sounded lonely and unhappy, desperately unhappy. The dog, forgiving her for startling it, once again came forward, tail wagging, to renew old acquaintance.

“Go away,” she said, but at the same time her hand caressed the dog’s head. The caress changed to a desperate clutch; her fingers dug painfully into the animal’s flesh.

This was not very comfortable, but the dog restrained a yelp, sensing that she was in pain herself and that somehow this helped. The animal stood calmly at the woman’s side, letting her maul its ears and crush its head against her thigh, wagging its tail slowly and gently, giving its presence, since it could give nothing more.

Haplo lifted his head, looked over at them. “Here, dog! What are you doing? Don’t bother her. She doesn’t like you. Keep close to me.” Marit’s fingers had stopped their painful kneading, were soft and stroking. But suddenly she jabbed sharp nails into the dog’s flesh.

Now it yelped.

“Get!” Marit said viciously, pushing the animal away. The dog understood. It always understood.

If only it could impart such understanding to its master.

“We can cross now. It’s safe,” Kari reported. “Safe enough, at any rate.” Made of a single narrow span of rock, carved with runes, the bridge across the river was no wider than a man’s foot. Slick with the spray of the turbid water rushing far below, the bridge was part of the defenses the Patryns had established around their city. Only one person could cross at a time, and that with the utmost care. One slip and the river would claim its victim, drag him down into its bone-chilling black and foaming rapids.

The Patryns, accustomed to the crossing and bolstered by their natural magic, ran over the bridge with ease. Once on the other side, several headed for the city, probably alerting the headman to their coming. Marit crossed over in one of the first groups, but—Haplo noticed obliquely—she waited on the shore. Kari came up to Haplo. She and three other Patryns were spread out along the riverbank, keeping watch on the woods behind them. “Have your people cross now,” she said. “Tell them to hurry.” She looked down at the sigla on her skin, on Haplo’s. Both glowed blue, brighter than before.

Hugh the Hand, pipe in his mouth, frowned down at the narrow bridge, examined it closely; then, shrugging, he strolled across with nothing more than a wobble or two, a pause to ascertain his footing. The dog trotted along behind, pausing midway to bark at something it thought it saw in the water. And that left Haplo. And Alfred.

“I... I have to... to...” The Sartan stared at the bridge and stammered.

“Yes, you have to,” Haplo replied.

“What’s the matter with him?” Kari asked irritably.

“He’s afraid of...” Haplo shrugged, left the rest of the sentence unsaid. Kari could fill in the blank.

She was suspicious. “He possesses magic.”

“Didn’t Marit tell you about that, too?” Haplo knew he sounded bitter, but he didn’t particularly care. “He can’t use his magic. The last time he did, the Labyrinth caught it, used it on him. The way the chaodyn will catch a thrown spear, use it on the one who threw it. Damn near killed him.”

“He is our enemy—” she began.

“That’s strange,” Haplo said quietly. “I thought the Labyrinth was our enemy.” Kari opened her mouth, shut it again. She shook her head. “I don’t understand this. Any of this. I will be glad to turn you over to Headman Vasu. You had better find some way to get your friend across—quickly.” Haplo went over to where Alfred stood, staring with wide, frightened eyes at the narrow bridge. Kari and her three companions kept an uneasy watch on the forest behind them. The other Patryns waited for them on the opposite shore.

“Come on,” Haplo urged. “It’s just a river.”

“No, it isn’t,” Alfred said, with a shuddering glance at the rushing water. “I get the feeling... it hates me.”

Haplo paused, startled. Well, yes, as a matter of fact, the river might very well hate him. He considered telling Alfred a comforting lie, but knew Alfred wouldn’t believe him. The truth was probably better than whatever Alfred might dredge up out of his imagination.

“This is the River of Anger. It winds through the Labyrinth, runs deep and fast. According to legend, this river is the one thing in the Labyrinth we Patryns created. When the first of our people were cast into this prison, their rage was so terrible that it spewed forth from their mouths, became this river.”

Alfred stared at him in horror.

“The water is deathly cold. Even I, protected by my rune-magic, could only survive in it a short time. And if the cold doesn’t kill you, the water will batter you to death on the rocks, or the weeds will drag you down and hold you underneath the water until you drown.”

Alfred had gone white. “I can’t...”

“You crossed the Fire Sea,” said Haplo. “You can cross this.” Alfred smiled faintly. A tinge of color returned to his pale cheeks. “Yes, I did cross the Fire Sea, didn’t I?”

“Crawl on your hands and knees,” Haplo advised, prodding Alfred toward the bridge. “And don’t look down.”

“I crossed the Fire Sea,” Alfred was repeating to himself. Reaching the narrow span, he blanched, gulped, and, drawing in a deep breath, placed his hands on the wet stone. He shivered.

“And you’d better hurry,” Haplo advised, leaning over to speak in his ear. “Something nasty’s gaining on us.”

Alfred stared at him, his mouth open. He might have thought Haplo was just saying this to urge him on, but the Sartan saw the blue glow on the Patryn’s skin. Nodding dismally, Alfred squinched his eyes tight shut and, by feel alone, started crawling across.

“What’s he doing?” Kari demanded, amazed.

“Crossing the bridge.”

“With his eyes closed?”

“He doesn’t manage all that well with his eyes open,” Haplo said dryly. “I figure this gives him a chance.”

“It’s going to take him the rest of the day,” Kari observed after a tense few moments spent watching Alfred inching his way along.

And they didn’t have the rest of the day. Haplo scratched at his hand; the rune-glow, warning of danger, was growing brighter. Kari peered back into the forest. The Patryns on the opposite shore watched with dark expressions. Several people had arrived, coming from the direction of the city. In their midst was a young man, probably near Haplo’s age. Absorbed in mentally urging Alfred along, Haplo would not have noticed one man among the rest except that this particular man was markedly unusual.

Most Patryns—male and female alike—are lean and hard-muscled, from lives spent either in running or in fighting to survive. This man’s sigla-covered flesh was soft, his body rounded, shoulders heavy, stomach protruding. But by the deferential way the other Patryns treated him, Haplo guessed that this was the headman—Vasu, a name that meant “bright,”

“beneficent,”

“excellent.” Vasu came to stand on the shoreline, watching, listening with slightly inclined head as several Patryns explained what was happening. He gave no commands. Kari was, by rights, in charge here. It was her group. In this situation, the headman was an observer, taking control only if things began to fall apart.

And so far, everything was going well. Alfred was making progress. Better than Haplo had dared hope. The bridge’s rock surface, though wet, was rough. The Sartan was able to dig his fingers into cracks and crevices and pull himself along. Once his knee slipped. Catching himself, he managed to hang on. He straddled the bridge with his legs. Eyes tightly shut, he gamely kept going. He was halfway across when the howl rose from the forest.

“Wolfen,” said Kari, with a curse.

The howling sounds made by the wolfen are eerie and unnerving. The howl is bestial, but there are words in it, singing of torn flesh and warm blood and cracked bones and death. One howl rose from the forest; others answered it. Alfred, startled and alarmed, opened his eyes. He saw the black water boiling below. Panic-stricken, he flung himself flat, clung to the bridge, and froze. Haplo swore. “Don’t faint! Damn it, just don’t faint!” Wolfen don’t howl, don’t make their presence known, unless they are ready to attack. And by the sounds, it was a pack of them, far too many for Kari and her small band to fight alone.

Vasu made a swift gesture with his hand. The Patryns ranged along the bank, taking aim with bow and arrow and spear, prepared to cover their crossing. Calling to Alfred to keep moving, Hugh the Hand edged down near the bridge as far as he dared, ready to pull the Sartan to shore.

Haplo jumped on his end of the bridge.

“You’ll never make it!” Kari cried. “The bridge’s magic only permits one person to cross at a time. I will take care of this.”

She raised her spear, aimed it at Alfred.

Haplo grabbed her arm, stopped her throw. She wrestled away from him, glared at him.

“He’s not worth the lives of three of my people!”

“Get ready to cross,” Haplo told her.

He started forward, but at same time the dog leapt past Hugh the Hand, landed on the bridge, and headed for the Sartan.

Haplo paused, waited. The magic would certainly thwart him, but it might not affect the dog. Behind him, he could hear the wolfen crashing through the underbrush. The howls were growing louder. Alfred lay on his belly, staring down in horrible fascination at the water, unable to move.

The dog ran lightly over the bridge. Reaching Alfred, the animal barked once, tried to rouse him from his stupor.

Alfred didn’t even seem to hear it.

Frustrated, the dog looked to its master for help.

Kari lifted her spear. Across the water, Vasu made a sharp, peremptory motion with his broad hand.

“His collar!” Haplo shouted. “Grab the collar!” Either the dog understood or it had reached the same conclusion. Digging its teeth firmly into Alfred’s collar, the dog tugged.

Alfred moaned, grasped the bridge even more tightly.

The dog growled, deep in its throat. Collar or flesh? Which will it be?

Gulping, Alfred let go of his desperate hold. The dog, edging its way backward across the narrow span, dragged the limp and unresisting Sartan along with it. Hugh the Hand and several Patryns waited at the far end. Catching hold of Alfred, they hauled him up safely onto the shore.

“Go!” Kari ordered, her hand on Haplo’s shoulder. She was in charge; it was her privilege to be the last one to cross. Haplo didn’t waste time arguing, but hastened over the bridge. When he was clear, the other Patryns followed behind him.

The wolfen broke from the forest just as Kari set her foot on the span. The wolfen barked in dismay at the sight of their prey escaping and dashed after Kari, hoping to catch one at least. A rain of spears and arrows—enhanced by the rune-magic—flew across the river and halted their pursuit. Kari reached the other side safely. Marit stood waiting for her, pulled the woman up onto the bank.

The wolfen ran onto the bridge. The sigla on the rock flared red; the wet stone burst into magical flame. The wolfen fell back, snarling and snapping. They paced the bank, staring at their prey with yellow, hungry eyes, but they dared not cross the river.

Once Kari was safe, Haplo went to see how Alfred was doing. Vasu also walked over to take a look. The headman moved with grace for such a flabby and ungainly man. Reaching the Sartan’s side, the Patryn chieftain stared down at his prisoner.

Alfred lay on the bank. He was the color of something that had been in the river several days. He shook until his teeth rattled. His limbs twitched and jerked with leftover terror.

“Here is the ancient enemy,” Vasu said and it seemed he sighed. “Here is what we have been taught to hate.”