Into the Labyrinth

4

It did not take Marit long to prepare for her journey. She selected clothes to wear on Arianus, choosing among the wardrobes left behind by the Sartan, murdered by their own dead. She selected a garment that would conceal the runes on her body, one that would make her look human. Packing this, along with several of her favorite sigla-inscribed weapons, Marit transported the bundle to a Patryn ship floating on Abarrach’s lava sea. Then she returned to the castle of Necropolis.

She walked through halls still stained with blood from the dreadful Night of the Risen Dead—the term the lazar used when they spoke of their triumph. The blood was Sartan blood, blood of her enemies, and so the Patryns had made no attempt to remove it, left it splattered on the walls and floors. The dried blood of the Sartan, mingled with the broken runes of their magic, became a symbol to the Patryns of the ultimate defeat of their ancient foe. Other Patryns passed Marit on her way to her lord’s study. They exchanged no greetings, wasted no time in idle conversation. The Patryns Xar had brought with him to Abarrach were the strongest and toughest of a strong, tough breed. Almost all had been Runners. Each had made it either to the Final Gate or near enough. Most had ultimately been rescued by Xar; there were few Patryns alive today who did not owe their lives to their lord.

Marit took pride in the fact that she had fought with her lord, side by side, in the grueling struggle to win her own freedom from the Labyrinth.... She was near the Final Gate when she was attacked by gigantic birds with leather wings and flesh-tearing teeth, who would first disable a victim by pecking out his eyes, then gorge on the warm, still-living flesh. Marit fought the birds by altering her own form to that of a bird—a gigantic eagle. Her talons ripped jagged holes in the leather wings; her plummeting dives knocked many from the sky.

But, as is the way of the Labyrinth, its heinous magic grew powerful in the face of defeat. The numbers of shrieking leather-winged birds increased. She was hit countless times, wounded by tooth and claw. Her strength gave out. She fell to land. Her magic could no longer support her altered state. She changed back to her own shape and fought what she knew would be a losing battle, as the horrid flapping things swirled about her face, trying to get at her eyes. Her skin was torn and bleeding. She was knocked to her knees by striking blows from behind. She was nearly ready to give up and die when a voice thundered over her.

“Rise, Daughter! Rise and battle on. You are not alone!” She opened her eyes, already dimming with approaching death, and saw her lord, the Lord of the Nexus.

He came like a god, wielding balls of flame. He stood protectively over her until she regained her feet. He gave her his hand, gnarled and wrinkled but beautiful to her, for it brought her not only life but hope and renewed courage. Together they fought until the Labyrinth was forced to retreat. The birds—those that survived—flapped away with shrill squawks of disappointment. Marit fell then. The Lord of the Nexus lifted her in his strong arms and bore her through the Final Gate, carried her to freedom.

“I pledge you my life, Lord,” she whispered to him, her last words before she lost consciousness. “Always... forever...”

He had smiled. The lord had heard many such pledges, knew that they would all be redeemed. Marit had been chosen to travel to Abarrach by her lord. She was just one of many Patryns he’d brought with him, all of whom would be willing to give their lives for the man who had given life to them. Approaching the study now, Marit was disturbed to see a lazar wandering the halls outside. At first, she thought it was Kleitus and was about to order him off. Admittedly the castle had once been his. But the lazar had no business here. Closer examination, which Marit made with extreme repugnance, revealed this lazar to be the one she had sent to serve her lord in the dungeons. What was it doing here? If she could have supposed such a thing possible, she would have said the lazar was lingering in the halls, listening to the voices that came through the closed door.

Marit was about to order it to be gone, when another voice—the eerie echoing voice of another lazar—forestalled her words.

“Jonathon!” Kleitus came shambling along the corridor. “I heard the Patryn lord raging over his failure to raise the dead. It occurred to me that you might have had something to do with that. I was right, it seems.”

“It seems...” The echo was mournful.

They were both speaking Sartan, a language Marit found uncomfortable and disturbing to hear, but one she understood. She backed into the shadows, hoping to learn something to her lord’s advantage.

The lazar called Jonathon slowly turned. “I could give you the same peace I gave Samah, Kleitus.”

The Dynast laughed, a terrible sound, made awful by the echo. It wailed in despair. “Yes, I’m certain you would gladly reduce me to dust!” The corpse’s bluish-white hands flexed, long-nailed fingers twitched. “Consign me to oblivion!”

“Not oblivion,” Jonathon corrected. “Freedom.” His gentle voice and its soft echo coincided with the despairing echo of Kleitus, producing a sad, yet harmonic note.

“Freedom!” Kleitus gnashed his rotting teeth. “I’ll give you freedom!”

“...freedom!” The echo howled.

Kleitus rushed forward, skeletal hands clutching at Jonathon’s throat. The two corpses grappled together, Jonathon’s wasted hands closing over Kleitus’s wrists, trying to drag the other off him. The lazar struggled, nails digging into flesh, drawing no blood. Marit watched in horror, disgusted by the sight. She made no move to intervene. This was not her fight.

A cracking sound. One of Kleitus’s arms bent at a sickening angle. Jonathon flung his opponent off him, sent the Dynast reeling back against the wall. Kleitus nursed his broken limb, glared at the other lazar in rage and bitter enmity.

“You told Lord Xar about the Seventh Gate!” Jonathon said, standing over Kleitus. “Why? Why hasten to what you must see as your own destruction?” Kleitus was massaging his broken arm, muttering Sartan runes. The bone was starting to re-form; thus the lazars kept their rotting bodies functional. Looking up at Jonathon, the corpse grinned hideously. “I didn’t tell him its location.”

“He will find out.”

“Yes, he will find out!” Kleitus laughed. “Haplo will show him. Haplo will guide him to that room. They will all be inside the chamber together...”

“...together...” The echo sighed dismally. “And you—waiting for them,” said Jonathon. “I found my freedom’ in that chamber,” Kleitus said, blue-gray lips curled in a sneer. “I’ll help them find theirs! As you will find yours—” The Dynast paused, turned his head to stare directly at Marit with his strange eyes, which were sometimes the eyes of the dead and sometimes the eyes of the living.

Marit’s skin prickled; the runes on her arms and hands glowed blue. Silently, she cursed herself. She had made a sound, nothing more than a sharp intake of breath, but it had been enough to give her away.

No help for it now. She strode boldly forward. “What are you lazars doing here? Spying on my lord? Begone,” Marit commanded, “or must I summon Lord Xar to make you leave?”

The lazar known as Jonathon departed immediately, gliding down the blood-spattered corridor. Kleitus remained, eyeing her balefully. He seemed about to attack. Marit began to weave a rune-spell in her mind. The sigla on her body glowed brightly.

Kleitus withdrew into the shadows, walking with his shuffling gait down the long hall.

Shivering, thinking that any living enemy, no matter how fearsome, was far preferable to these walking dead, Marit was about to knock on the door when she heard from within her lord’s voice, raised in anger.

“And you did not report this to me! I must find out what goes on in my universe from a doddering old Sartan!”

“I see now that I was mistaken in not telling you, Lord Xar. I offer as my excuse only the fact that you were deeply involved in the study of necromancy and I did not want to disturb you with grievous news.” It was Sang-drax. The dragon-snake was whining again.

Marit wondered what she should do. She did not want to get involved in an argument between her lord and the dragon-snake, whom she heartily disliked. Yet her lord had ordered her to report to him at once. And she could not very well remain standing out here in the hallway. She would look as much an eavesdropper as the lazar. Taking advantage of a lull in the conversation, a lull that perhaps arose from Xar’s being speechless with rage, Marit knocked timidly on the kaim-grass door.

“Lord Xar, it is I, Marit.”

The door swung open by Xar’s magical command. Sang-drax bowed to her with slimy officiousness. Ignoring him, Marit looked at Xar.

“You are engaged, Lord,” she said. “I can return—”

“No, my dear. Come in. This concerns you and your journey.” Xar had regained his calm demeanor, though his eyes still flashed when they turned to the dragon-snake.

Marit stepped inside and shut the door behind her, first glancing outside to make certain the hall was empty.

“I found Kleitus and another lazar outside your door, My Lord,” she reported.

“I think they were attempting to overhear your words.”

“Let them!” Xar said, without interest. He then spoke to Sang-drax.

“You fought Haplo on Arianus. Why?”

“I was attempting to prevent the mensch from seizing control of the Kicksey-winsey, Lord,” the dragon-snake replied, cringing. “The machine’s power is immense, as you yourself have surmised. Once it is in operation, it will not only change Arianus, but will affect all the other worlds as well. In the hands of the mensch—” Sang-drax shrugged, leaving that terrible possibility to the imagination.

“And Haplo was assisting the mensch?” Xar pursued. “Not only assisting them, Lord,” said the dragon-snake. “He actually provided them with information—undoubtedly obtained from that Sartan friend of his—on how to operate the great machine.”

Xar’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t believe you,”

“He has a book, written in four languages: Sartan, elven, human, and dwarven. Where else could he have obtained it, Lord, but from the one who calls himself Alfred?”

“If what you say is true, he must have had it with him, then, when he last saw me in the Nexus,” Xar muttered. “Why would Haplo do such a thing? What reason?”

“He wants to rule Arianus, Lord. And perhaps the rest of the four worlds as well. Isn’t that obvious?”

“And so the mensch, under Haplo’s guidance, are about to start up the Kicksey-winsey.” Xar’s fist clenched. “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

“Would you have believed me?” Sang-drax asked softly. “Though I have lost an eye, I am not the one who is blind. You are, Lord of the Nexus. Look! Look at the evidence you have amassed—evidence indicating one thing. Time and again Haplo has lied to you, betrayed you. And you permit it! You love him, Lord. Your love has blinded you as surely as his sword almost blinded me.” Marit trembled, astounded at the dragon-snake’s temerity. She waited for Xar’s fury to thunder around them. But Xar’s clenched fist slowly relaxed. His hand shook. Leaning on his desk, he turned away from Sang-drax, away from Marit.

“Did you slay him?” the lord asked heavily.

“No, Lord. He is one of your people, and so I took care not to kill him. I left him critically wounded, however, for which I apologize. Sometimes I do not know my own strength. I tore his heart-rune open. Seeing him near death, I realized what I had done and, fearing your displeasure, withdrew from the battle.”

“And that is how you came to lose your eye?” Xar asked wryly, glancing around.

“Withdrawing from the battle?”

Sang-drax glowered; the single red eye glowed, and Marit’s defensive runes suddenly glimmered to life. Xar continued to regard the dragon-snake with apparent calm, and Sang-drax lowered his eyelid, extinguishing the red glow.

“Your people are skilled warriors, Lord.” The single eye slid to Marit and flared briefly; then its gleam was doused again.

“And what is Haplo’s condition now?” Xar asked. “Not good, I should think. It takes time to heal the heart-rune.”

“True, Lord. He is exceedingly weak and will not soon recover.”

“How did Bane come to die?” Xar asked mildly enough, though his own eyes flickered dangerously. “And why did Haplo attack you?”

“Bane knew too much, Lord. He was loyal to you. Haplo hired a mensch called Hugh the Hand, an assassin friend of Alfred’s, to murder Bane. This done, Haplo seized control of the great Kicksey-winsey for himself. When I attempted to stop him—in your name, My Lord Xar—Haplo drove the mensch to attack me and my people.”[6]

“And they defeated you? Mensch defeated you?” Xar was regarding Sang-drax with disgust.

“They did not defeat us, Lord,” Sang-drax answered with dignity. “As I said, we withdrew. We feared the Kicksey-winsey might suffer harm if we pursued the battle. We knew that you did not want the great machine damaged, and so, in deference to your wishes, we left Arianus.”

Sang-drax looked up; the single eye gleamed. “There was no urgency. What my lord wants, my lord will take. As to the mensch, they may have found peace for the time being, but they will soon misplace it. Such is their way.” Xar glared at the dragon-snake, who stood chastened and abashed before him.

“What is happening on Arianus now?”

“Alas, Lord, as I said, our people all left. I can send them back, if you truly believe it necessary. However, might I suggest that my lord’s true interest lies in Pryan—”

“Pryan again! What is so important about Pryan?”

“The dragon’s scale that was discovered in the old man’s cell—”

“Yes, what about it?” Xar demanded impatiently.

“Such creatures come from Pryan, Lord.” Sang-drax paused, then added in a low voice, “In the ancient days, Lord, these dragons were servants of the Sartan. It has occurred to me that perhaps the Sartan left something behind on Pryan that they wished to keep secret, well guarded, undisturbed... such as the Seventh Gate.”

Xar’s anger cooled. He was suddenly thoughtful. He had just recalled where he’d heard about the citadels of Pryan. “I see. And you say these dragons exist only on this world?”

“Haplo himself reported so, Lord. And it was there he ran into the crazed old Sartan. Undoubtedly the dragon and the old Sartan have returned to Pryan. And if they were able to travel here, to Chelestra, who knows but that next time they will return with an army of tytans?”

Xar was not about to let the dragon-snake see his excitement. “Perhaps I will go to Pryan,” he said noncommittally. “We will discuss this later, Sang-drax. Know that I am displeased with you. You are dismissed.” Flinching beneath the lash of Xar’s anger, the dragon-snake slunk out of the lord’s presence.

Xar was silent long moments after Sang-drax’s departure. Marit wondered if he had changed his mind about sending her to Arianus, since he’d heard what was happening from the dragon-snake. He was apparently thinking along the same lines, for he said to himself, “No, I do not trust him!”

But was he, Marit wondered suddenly, speaking of Sang-drax... or of Haplo?

He turned to her, decision made.

“You will travel to Arianus, Daughter. You will learn the truth of the matter. Sang-drax kept this concealed from me for a reason, and I do not believe it was to save me from grief! Although,” he added in a softer tone, “the betrayal of one of my own people, particularly Haplo...”

He paused a moment, thoughtful. “I have read that in the ancient world, before the Sundering, we Patryns were a stern and cold people who did not love, who prided ourselves on never feeling affection, not even for each other. Lust was permissible, encouraged, for lust perpetuates our species. The Labyrinth taught us many hard lessons. I wonder if it didn’t teach us to love.” Xar sighed. “Haplo’s betrayal has inflicted a pain on me worse than any I have endured from the creatures of the Labyrinth.”

“I do not believe he would betray you, Lord,” said Marit.

“No?” Xar asked, gazing at her intently. “And why not? Is it possible that you love him, too?”

Marit flushed. “That is not the reason. I do not believe any Patryn could be so disloyal.”

He stared at her as if probing for some deeper meaning. She returned his gaze steadfastly, and he was satisfied.

“That is because your heart is true, Daughter. And therefore you cannot conceive of one that is false.” He paused, then said, “If Haplo is proven a traitor—not only to me, but to our people—what punishment would he merit?”

“Death, Lord,” said Marit calmly.

Xar smiled, nodded. “Well spoken, Daughter. Tell me,” he added with that same piercing stare, “have you ever rune-joined with any man or woman, Marit?”

“No, Lord.” She was at first startled by his question, then understood what he was truly asking. “You are mistaken, Lord, if you think that Haplo and I—”

“No, no, Daughter,” Xar interrupted smoothly. “I do not ask because of that—although I am glad to hear it. I ask for another, more selfish reason.” Walking to his desk, Xar lifted a long bodkin that lay on it. Also on his desk was a jar of ink, so blue as to be almost black. He muttered over the ink several words of the rune-language used by the Patryns. Then he drew his hood back from his face and lifted the long hair that fell over his forehead to reveal a single blue sigil tattooed there.

“Will you rune-join with me, Daughter?” he asked gently. Marit stared at him in astonishment; then she fell to her knees. Her fists clenched, she bowed her head. “Lord, I am not worthy of this honor.”

“Yes, Daughter. Most worthy.”

She remained kneeling before him, lifted her face to his. “Then, yes, Lord, I will rune-join with you, and count it the greatest joy of my life.” Reaching to the open-necked blouse she wore, she ripped it open, laying bare her rune-marked breasts.

Over the left breast was tattooed her own heart-rune.

Xar brushed back Mark’s brown hair from her forehead. Then his hand sought her breasts, which were firm and small and rode high upon the strong muscles of her chest. His hand moved down over her smooth, slender neck to cup and fondle her left breast.

She closed her eyes and shivered, more in awe than in pleasure, at his touch. Xar noticed. His gnarled hand ceased its caress. She heard him sigh. “Few times I regret my lost youth. This is one.”

Marit’s eyes flared open. She burned with shame that he should so mistake her.

“Lord, I will gladly warm your bed—”

“Ah, that is what you would be doing, Daughter—warming my bed,” Xar said dryly. “I am afraid I could not return the favor. The fire died in these loins of mine long ago. But our minds will join, if our bodies cannot.” He placed the point of the bodkin on the smooth skin of her forehead and pricked her flesh.

Marit shuddered, though not at the pain. From the moment of birth, Patryn children are tattooed at various times throughout their lives. They not only become accustomed to the pain but are taught to endure it without flinching. Marit shuddered at the rush of magic into her body, magic which flowed from the lord’s body to her own, magic which would grow stronger as he formed the sigla which would bind them together—his heart-rune, entwined with hers. Over and over he repeated the process, inserting the bodkin into Marit’s smooth skin more than a hundred times until the complicated pattern was completely drawn. He shared her ecstasy, which was of the mind rather than the body. After the ecstasy of rune-joining, sexual coupling is generally a letdown.

When he had finished his work and set down the blood—and ink-stained bodkin, he knelt before her and took her in his arms. The two pressed their foreheads together, sigil touching sigil, the circles of their beings closing in one. Marit cried out in gasping pleasure and went limp and trembling in his grasp. He was pleased with her and held her in his arms until she grew calm again. Then he put his hand on her chin and looked into her eyes.

“We are one. No matter that we are apart, our thoughts will fly each to the other as we desire.”

He held her with his eyes, his hands. She was transfixed, adoring. Her flesh was soft and pliable beneath his fingers.

It seemed to her as if all her bones had dissolved at his touch, his look.

“You did once love Haplo.” He spoke gently.

Marit hesitated, then lowered her head in shameful, silent acquiescence.

“So did I, Daughter,” Xar said softly. “So did I. That will be a bond between us. And if I deem that Haplo must die, you will be the one to slay him.” Marit lifted her head. “Yes, Lord.”

Xar regarded her doubtfully. “You speak quickly, Marit. I must know for certain. You lay with him. Yet you will kill him?”

“I lay with him. I bore his child. But if my lord commands, I will kill him.” Marit’s voice was calm and even. He would sense no hesitation, feel no tension in her body. But then a thought came to her. Perhaps this was some sort of test...

“Lord,” she said, clasping her hands over his, “I have not incurred your displeasure. You do not doubt my loyalty—”

“No, Daughter—or, I should say, Wife.” He smiled at her. She kissed the hands she held in hers.

“No, Wife. You are the logical choice. I have seen inside Haplo’s heart. He loves you. You and you alone, among our people, can penetrate the circle of his being. He would trust you where he would trust no one else. And he will be loath to harm you—the mother of his child.”

“Does he know about the child?” Marit asked, astonished.

“He knows,” said Xar.

“How could he? I left him without telling him. I never told anyone.”

“Someone found out.” Xar asked the next question, frowning. “Where is the child, by the way?”

Again Marit had the sense that she was being tested. But she could make only one answer, and that was the truth. She shrugged. “I have no idea. I gave the baby to a tribe of Squatters.”

Xar’s frown eased. “Most wise, Wife.” He disengaged himself from her grasp, rose to his feet. “It is time for you to depart for Arianus. We will communicate through the rune-joining. You will report to me what you find. Most particularly, you will keep your arrival on Arianus secret. You will not let Haplo know he is under observation. If I deem he must die, you must take him by surprise.”

“Yes, Lord.”

“Husband,’ Marit,” he said, chiding her gently. “You must call me ‘Husband.’ ”

“That is far too great an honor for me, Lor—Hus—Husband,” she stammered, alarmed that the word should come to her lips with such difficulty. He brushed his hand across her forehead.

“Cover the sigil of rune-joining. If he saw it, he would recognize my mark and know at once that you and I have become one. He would suspect you.”

“Yes, Lor—Husband.”

“Farewell, then, Wife. Report to me from Arianus at your earliest opportunity.”

Xar turned from her, went to his desk. Sitting down without another look, he began to flip through the pages of a book, his brow furrowed in concentration. Marit was not surprised at this cold and abrupt dismissal by her new husband. She was shrewd enough to know that the rune-joining had been one of convenience, made in order to facilitate her reporting to him from a far distant world. Still, she was pleased. It was a mark of his faith in her. They were bound for life and, through the exchange of magic, could now communicate with each other through the combined circle of their beings. Such closeness had its advantages, but its disadvantages as well—particularly to the Patryns, who tended to be loners, keep to themselves, refuse to permit even those closest to them to intrude on their inner thoughts and feelings. Few Patryns ever formally rune-joined. Most settled for simply joining the circle of their beings.[7] Xar had conferred on Marit a great honor. He had set his mark[8] on her, and anyone who saw it would know they had joined. His taking her to wife would increase her standing among the Patryns. On his death, she might well assume leadership of her people. To Marit’s credit, she was not thinking of that. She was touched, honored, dazzled, and overwhelmed, unable to feel anything but her boundless love for her lord. She wished that he would live forever so that she could serve him forever. Her one thought was to please him.

The skin on her forehead burned and stung. She could feel the touch of his hand on her naked breast. The memory of that blessed pain and the memory of his touch would remain with her forever.

She left Abarrach, sailing her ship into Death’s Gate. It never occurred to her to report to Xar the conversation she’d overheard between the two lazar. She had, in her excitement, forgotten all about it.

Back in Necropolis, in his study, Xar settled down at his desk, took up again one of the Sartan texts on necromancy. He was in a good humor. It is a pleasant thing to be worshipped, adored, and he’d seen worship and adoration in Marit’s eyes.

She had been his to command before, but she was doubly his now, bound to him body and mind. She would open herself to him completely, as had so many others before her. Unwritten law prohibits a Patryn from joining with more than one person, so long as the rune-mate is still alive. But Xar was the law, as far as he was concerned. He had discovered that rune-joining opened up many hearts’ secrets to him. As for revealing his secrets to others, Xar was far too disciplined mentally to permit such a thing to happen. He revealed as much of himself as he deemed it useful to reveal, no more.

He was pleased with Marit, as he would have been pleased with any new weapon that came into his hand. She would do readily whatever needed to be done—even if it meant slaying the man she had once loved.

And Haplo would die knowing he’d been betrayed.

“Thus,” said Xar, “I will be avenged.”