Into the Labyrinth

44

“Excuse me, Haplo...” Alfred’s whisper drew Haplo away from an internal struggle. He looked over at the Sartan, not sorry to put his mental weapons down, turn his dark thoughts to something else, probably equally dark.

“Yes, what is it?”

Alfred cast a fearful glance at their guards, marching at their side, edged his way closer to Haplo.

“I—Oh, dear me! Where did that come from?”

Haplo caught hold of Alfred, kept him from walking straight into a solid rock wall.

“The mountain’s been here a long time,” Haplo said, and steered Alfred into the cavern entrance.

He kept fast hold of the Sartan, whose fumbling feet discovered every loose rock, every crack and fissure. The guards, after a long, frowning scrutiny, apparently decided Alfred was harmless, for they left him alone. Most of their attention was centered on Hugh the Hand.

“Thank you,” Alfred murmured. “What... what I wanted to ask... and this may sound like a stupid question...”

“Coming from you?” Haplo was amused.

Alfred smiled, embarrassed. “What I was wondering is about this prison. I didn’t think your people did that sort of thing ... to each other.”

“I didn’t think we did,” Hapto said pointedly.

Vasu, who had been walking alongside, as silent and preoccupied as Haplo himself, looked up.

“Only in cases of dire necessity,” the headman replied gravely. “Mainly for the prisoner’s own good. Some of our people suffer from what we call Labyrinth sickness. In the lands out beyond the walls, the sickness usually leads to death.”

“Out beyond these walls,” Haplo added grimly, “a person with Labyrinth sickness puts his or her entire tribe in danger.”

“What happens to them? What do they do?” Alfred asked. Haplo shrugged. “Usually they go crazy and jump off a cliff. Or charge a pack of wolfen alone. Or drown themselves in the river...”

Alfred shuddered.

“But we have discovered that, with time and patience, these people can be helped,” Vasu said. “We keep them in a place where they are safe, where they can do no harm to themselves or to others.”

“And that’s where you’re going to be putting us,” Haplo said.

“Essentially it’s where you’re putting yourselves,” Vasu replied. “Isn’t that true? If you wanted to leave, you could do so.”

“And bring destruction on my own people? I didn’t come here to do that,” Haplo replied.

“You could leave this human—and the knife he carries—behind.” Haplo shook his head. “No, it’s my responsibility. I brought the knife in here—unknowingly, but I brought it. Between the three of us”—he took in Alfred and Hugh the Hand—“maybe we can figure out how to destroy it.” Vasu nodded in understanding and agreement.

Haplo was silent a moment; then he said quietly, “But I won’t let Xar take me.”

Vasu’s expression hardened. “He will not take you without my consent. That I promise you. I will hear what he has to say and make my judgment accordingly.” Haplo almost laughed out loud. Struggling, he maintained a straight face.

“You’ve never met Xar, Headman Vasu. My lord takes what he wants. He’s not accustomed to being denied anything.”

Vasu smiled indulgently. “Meaning that I won’t have any say in the matter.” He patted his round stomach complacently. “I may look soft, Haplo. But don’t underestimate me.”

Haplo remained unconvinced, but arguing would not have been polite. When the time came, he alone would have to deal with Xar. Haplo went back to his dark inner struggle.

“I can’t help but wonder, Headman Vasu”—this was Alfred—“how exactly do you keep people imprisoned? Considering that our magic is based on possibilities and with the vast range of possibilities for escape available... Not that I plan to try to escape,” he added hastily. “And if you’d prefer not to tell me, I understand—”

“It is really quite simple,” Vasu answered gravely. “In the realm of possibility, there is always the possibility, that there are no possibilities.”

Alfred’s eyes glazed over.

The dog nipped him on the ankle, saved him from falling into a hole.

“No possibilities,” Alfred repeated, thinking. He shook his head, baffled. Vasu smiled. “I will be happy to explain. As you must surmise, the reduction of all possibilities to no possibilities is an extremely difficult and complex spell to cast. We place the person in a small, enclosed area, such as a prison cell or a dungeon. The need for such an enclosure is due to the nature of the spell, which requires that, within this area, time itself must be stopped, for only by stopping time can one stop the possibility of things occurring within time. It would be neither feasible nor advisable to stop time for the entire population of Abri.

“Thus we have constructed what is known as a ‘well’—a small chamber deep inside the cavern where time literally comes to a halt. A person exists within a frozen second and, during that second, so long as the magic is operative, there exists no possibility of escape. The person within the cell continues to live, but—if held for a long period—would not physically change, would not age. People suffering from Labyrinth sickness are never kept in here long, just long enough for us to counsel and heal them.”

“How ingenious!” Alfred was admiring.

“Isn’t it,” Haplo remarked dryly.

Worried and alone, Marit roamed the city streets until long after the Labyrinth’s grayness had darkened to night. Numerous Patryns offered her hospitality, but Marit refused, regarded them warily, suspiciously. She didn’t trust them, couldn’t trust her own people anymore. The knowledge grieved her. She felt more alone than ever.

I should go to Vasu, she thought. Warn him, but of what? My story sounds wild, implausible. Snakes disguised as Patryns. An attack on the city. Sealing shut the Final Gate...

“And why should I trust Vasu?” she asked herself. “Perhaps he’s in league with them. I must wait for my lord. Those are my orders. And yet... And yet...” Guided by evil...

Haplo would believe her. He was the one person who would, the one person who would know what to do. Yet to take this to him was to betray Xar’s trust. I came to find my daughter...

And what about that daughter, that baby she’d given up so long ago? What would happen to her, to all the daughters and the sons of the Patryns if the Final Gate was sealed shut? Was it possible Haplo had been telling the truth?

Marit turned her steps toward the mountain dungeon.

The streets were dark and silent. The Patryns holed up in their dwellings to keep themselves and their families safe from the insidious evil of the Labyrinth, evil whose strength increased at night.

She passed the houses, the lighted windows, heard voices from inside. Families together. Safe, for the moment...

Her steps quickened, driven by fear.

Abri had started inside the mountain, but no Patryns lived there now. The need to lurk in caves, like hunted animals, was over for them.

Entrances into the mountain had been sealed up, a Patryn told her in answer to her question. Closed off, used only in time of emergency. One entrance remained open, the entrance that led to the dungeons.

Marit headed for it, rehearsing what she would say to the guards, figuring how to convince them to let her see Haplo. It was only when she noticed that her arm was itching, burning, that she realized she wasn’t the only one intent on entering the cavern.

Marit could see the cavern entrance, a black hole against the grayer, softer darkness of night. Two Patryns stood guarding it. Except that they weren’t Patryns. No runes glowed on their skin.

Marit blessed the magic for its warning. Otherwise she would have walked right into their arms. Hiding in the shadows, she watched and listened. Four shapes converged on the cavern. The voices of the guards, soft and hissing, slid through the night.

“You can approach safely. No one has been around.”

“Are the prisoners alone in there?”

Marit recognized Sang-drax’s voice.

“Alone and trapped in a time well,” was the report.

“A marvelous irony,” said Sang-drax. “By imprisoning the only people who could save them, these fool Patryns will be responsible for their own destruction. We four will enter. You two stay here, make certain we are not disturbed. I don’t suppose you know where they are being held?”

“No, we could not very well accompany them, could we? We would have been recognized.”

Sang-drax shrugged. “No matter. I will find them. I can smell the scent of warm blood even now.”

The false Patryns laughed.

“Will you be long at your ‘task’?” one asked.

“They deserve to die slowly,” said another. “Especially the Serpent Mage, who murdered our king.”

“I must make their deaths quick, unfortunately,” Sang-drax replied. “The armies are gathering and I need to be on hand to organize them. And you must hasten to the Final Gate. But do not be disappointed. We will feast on blood tomorrow and, once the Final Gate is sealed, for all eternity.” Marit reached for her dagger. The single red eye swiveled, glanced over at her. She cowered into the darkness. The red eye mesmerized her, conjured up images of death—terrible, tortured. She wanted to run and hide. Her hand fell, nerveless, from the dagger’s hilt.

The red eye laughed, passed on.

Helpless, Marit watched the four dragon-snakes enter the cave. The other two took up their positions outside.

Once Sang-drax had disappeared, Marit recovered. She had to get inside the cavern, had to get inside that magical room to warn Haplo, to free him, if possible. The thought of Xar came fleetingly to her mind.

“If my lord were here,” she reasoned, “if he heard the dragon-snakes as I have heard them, he would do the very same thing.”

Marit lifted the sharpened stick she carried with her. The throw would be easy from this distance. As she held the crude spear in her hand, she remembered the terrible dragon-snake she had seen in the waters of Chelestra. What if she only wounded one? Would it change back to its original form? She imagined the gigantic serpents, wounded and thrashing about, wreaking havoc on her people. And even though I might kill both of them, how can I reach Haplo ahead of Sang-drax? She was wasting time. Leave the dragon-snakes for now. Her magic would take her to Haplo, as it had once before, on Arianus. She drew the sigla in the air, imagined herself with Haplo...

Nothing. The magic failed. Of course, she cursed bitterly. He is in a prison. He can’t get out. I can’t get in!

“Vasu,” she said to herself. “I must find him. He holds the key. He can take me there.”

And if the headman proved reluctant...

Marit fingered her dagger. She’d force him to obey her. But now she had to find out where he lived... and quickly.

Marit ran into the street, searching for some wakeful Patryn who could give her information. She hadn’t gone far when she stumbled into ajnan, muffled in a cloak, who stepped out of the shadows.

Startled, nervous, Marit fell back a pace. “I must find Headman Vasu,” she said, eyeing the cloaked figure suspiciously. “Don’t come near me. Just tell me where he lives.”

“You have found him, Marit,” said Vasu, throwing back the hood of his cloak. She could see her glowing skin reflected in his eyes. And she saw, beneath his cloak, the sigla on his skin glowing.

Marit clutched at him gratefully, never stopping to wonder how he came to be here. “Headman, you must take me to Haplo! Right now!”

“Certainly,” Vasu said. He took a step toward the cavern.

“No, Headman!” Marit dragged him back. “We must use the magic. Haplo is in dire peril. Don’t ask me to explain—”

“You mean from the intruders?” Vasu asked coolly. Marit gaped at him.

“I have been aware of them ever since they came. We have kept them under surveillance. I am pleased to know,” he added with more gravity, the brown eyes intent on her, “that you are not in league with them.”

“Of course not! They are hideous, evil.” Marit shivered.

“And Haplo and the others?”

“No, Headman, no! Haplo warned me... He warned Xar...” Marit fell silent.

“And what of Lord Xar?” Vasu asked her gently.

Guided by evil...

Marit shook her head. “Please, Headman, there is no time! The dragon-snakes are in the cave right now! They are going to kill Haplo—”

“They will have to find him first,” Vasu said. “And they may discover that task more difficult than they imagine. But you are right. We should make haste.”

The headman gestured, and the streets Marit had thought slumbered so peacefully were suddenly alive with Patryns. No wonder she hadn’t seen them. They were all cloaked, to hide the glowing, warning runes on their bodies. At a sign from Vasu, the Patryns left their posts and began gliding stealthily toward the cavern.

Vasu took hold of Mark’s arm, swiftly traced a series of runes with his hand. The sigla surrounded them, blue and red, and then there was darkness. Haplo lay on a pallet on the floor, gazing up into the shadows. Like the walls of the small, squarish cavern, the ceiling was covered with sigla, gleaming faintly, red and blue. That and four small burning cresset-stones, placed in the comers of the chamber, gave the only light.

“Relax, boy,” he said to the dog.

The animal was restive and unhappy. It had been pacing about the small chamber until it began to make Haplo himself nervous. He ordered it again to settle down. The dog obeyed, relapsing by his side. But though it lay still, it kept its head up, ears pricking to sounds only it could hear. Occasionally it would growl deep in its throat.

Haplo soothed it as best he could, patting it on the head and telling it that all was fine.

He wished someone would pat him on the head, tell him the same thing. Neither of his companions was much comfort.

Alfred was enthralled by the chamber, by the sigla on the walls, by the spell that reduced all possibilities to a single possibility that there were no possibilities. He asked questions, gabbled on about how brilliant it all was until Haplo wished for just one other possibility, and that was a window out of which he could throw Alfred.

Eventually, thankfully, the Sartan fell asleep and was now sprawled on his pallet, snoring softly.

Hugh the Hand had not said a word. He sat bolt upright, as far from the glowing wall as he could get. His left hand clasped and unclasped. Occasionally he would absentmindedly lift his hand to his mouth, as if he held his pipe. Then, remembering, he would scowl and lower his hand back to his leg, where it lay clasping and unclasping.

“You could use the pipe,” Haplo advised him. “It would be a real pipe, so long as nothing threatens you.”

Hugh the Hand shook his head, glowered. “Never. I know what it is. If I put in my mouth, I could taste the blood on it. Curse the day I ever saw it.” Haplo lay back on his pallet. Stranded in time, he was trapped within this chamber, but his thoughts were free to roam beyond it. Not that they were doing much good. His thoughts kept traveling in the same circle—going nowhere, coming back to the beginning.

Marit had betrayed him. She was going to turn him over to Xar. Haplo should have expected as much—after all, she had been sent to kill him. But if so, why hadn’t she tried to kill him when she had the chance? They were even. She had saved his life. The law was satisfied, if she had ever cared about the law. Perhaps that had just been an excuse. Why the change? And Xar was coming for him now. Xar wanted him. Why? Or did it matter? Marit had betrayed him... He looked up to find Marit standing over him.

“Haplo!” She gasped in relief. “You’re safe! You’re safe!” Haplo was on his feet, staring at her. And suddenly she was in his arms, and he was in her arms, neither with any clear idea of how it happened. The dog, not to be left out, crowded between them.

He held her tightly. The questions didn’t matter. None of it mattered. Not the betrayal, not whatever danger had brought her here. At that moment, Haplo could have blessed it. And he could have wished this moment frozen in time, with no possibility of its ending.

The sigla on the walls flared and went dark. Vasu stood in the center of the room, the spell broken.

“Sang-drax,” Marit said, and that was all she needed to say. “He’s here. He’s coming to kill you.”

“What? What? What’s going on?” Alfred was sitting up, blinking sleepily at them like an aging owl.

Hugh the Hand was on his feet, poised, ready for trouble.

“Sang-drax!” Suddenly Haplo felt extremely tired. The wound over his heart began to throb painfully. “He was the one who knew about the cursed knife.”

“Yes,” Marit answered, her fingers digging into his arms. “And, oh, Haplo! I heard Sang-drax and the other dragon-snakes talking! They’re going to attack the city and—”

“Attack Abri?” Alfred repeated, startled. “Who is Sang-drax?”

“He’s one of the dragon-snakes of Chelestra,” Haplo said grimly. Alfred went ashen, staggered backward against the wall. “How... how did those monsters get here?”

“They entered Death’s Gate—courtesy of Samah. They’re in every world now, spreading chaos and evil. And they’re here now, too, apparently.”

“And preparing to attack Abri?” Vasu couldn’t believe it. He shrugged. “Many have tried—”

“Sang-drax spoke of armies,” Marit said urgently. “Maybe thousands! Snogs, chaodyn, wolfen—all our enemies. Coming together. Organized. They’re going to attack at dawn. But first he’s going to kill you, Haplo, and—someone called the Serpent Mage, who killed the king dragon-snake.”

Haplo looked at Alfred.

“That wasn’t me!” Alfred protested. He had gone so pale he seemed almost translucent. “It wasn’t me!”

“No,” said Haplo. “It was Coren.”

Alfred shuddered, stared down miserably at his feet. His shoes appeared to be doing strange things on their own, shuffling in and out, toes and heels clattering on the stone floor.

“How did you find out all this?” Vasu demanded.

“I recognized Sang-drax,” Marit said, uncomfortable. “I knew him from... someplace else. He asked me to take him to Haplo. He claimed Xar sent him to bring Haplo back. I didn’t believe him. I refused to do so, and when he left me, I followed him. I overheard him talking to the others. They didn’t know I was listening...”

“Oh, yes, they did,” Haplo interrupted. “He had no need to use you to get to me. They wanted you to know their plans. They want our fear—”

“They’ve got it,” Alfred whispered unhappily.

“Haplo, they’re on their way here!” Marit said desperately. “They’re going to kill you. We’ve got to get out—”

“Yes,” said Vasu. “Time for questions later.” He obviously had a great many questions. “I will take you—”

“No, I don’t think you will,” came a hiss from the darkness. Sang-drax, still in Patryn form, and three of his fellows appeared in the chamber, walking through a wall.

“This will be simple, like shooting rats in a barrel. A pity I don’t have time to make it more fun. I would so like to see you suffer. Especially you, Serpent Mage!” The red eye focused on Alfred, glowing malevolently.

“I think you have the wrong person,” Alfred said meekly.

“I think we don’t. Your disguise is as easy to penetrate as my own.” Sang-drax whipped around to face Vasu. “Try if you like, Headman. You won’t find that your magic does you much good.”

Vasu stared in astonishment at the sigla he had cast, burning, in the air. The runes were coming unraveled, their magic dying, dwindling to meaningless wisps of smoke.

“Oh, dear,” said Alfred, and slid gracefully to the floor. The dragon-snakes moved in. The dog, snarling and yapping, crouched in front of Haplo and Marit. She held her spear in her hand. Haplo had her dagger. Not that the weapons would do them much good.

Weapon... weapon...

The Patryns were moving nearer and nearer. Sang-drax had chosen Haplo. The snake’s hand was outstretched, reaching for the heart-rune.

“I will finish what I began,” he said.

Haplo fell back, pulling Marit and the snarling dog with him. He came up against Hugh the Hand.

“The Sartan knife!” Haplo whispered. “Use it!” Hugh the Hand drew forth the Cursed Blade, jumped in front of Haplo. Sang-drax laughed, preparing to slaughter the human, then finish off the Patryns. Sang-drax found himself confronting a tytan, wielding a tree branch for a club.

Roaring, the giant struck savagely at the dragon-snake. Sang-drax ducked, fell back. The other snakes fought the tytan, hurling spears and magic. But their magic did nothing to stop the Cursed Blade.

“Retreat!” Sang-drax called. He grinned wickedly at Haplo. “A clever ploy. But now what will you do? Come, friends. Let their own weapon finish them.” The dragon-snakes vanished.

“Hugh, call it off!” Haplo cried.

But in the presence of its ancient enemy, the Cursed Blade continued to try to kill. The tytan raged around the chamber, bashing its club into walls, its sightless head sniffing them out.

Sigla burned again in the air, but almost immediately dwindled and died.

“I feared as much.” Vasu swore in frustration. “The snakes have cast some type of spell in this chamber. My magic won’t work.”

The tytan rounded on them, its head swiveling in response to Vasu’s voice.

“Don’t attack!” Haplo halted Marit, who was prepared to hurl her spear. “If it doesn’t feel threatened, perhaps it will leave us alone.”

“I think so long as any Patryn remains alive, it will feel threatened,” Hugh the Hand said grimly.

The tytan approached.

Hugh the Hand ran in front of the tytan, shouting at it, hoping to distract it. Haplo grabbed hold of the comatose Alfred, who was in danger of being trampled by the monster’s lumbering feet, and pulled him into a corner. Vasu and Marit tried circling around the giant, planning to attack it from behind. But the tytan sensed their movement. It whirled, struck. The tree branch whistled horribly, crashed into the wall behind Marit. If she had not thrown herself flat, the blow would have crushed her skull. Haplo slapped Alfred across the face. “Wake up! Damn it, wake up! I need you!” The dog added its help, covered Alfred’s cheeks with sloppy wet licks. The tytan’s huge, stamping feet shook the cavern. Hugh the Hand stood protectively in front of Haplo. Vasu was attempting to cast another spell and not having much success.

“Alfred!” Haplo shook the Sartan until his teeth rattled. Alfred opened his eyes, took one terrified look at the howling tytan, and, with a gentle groan, shut his eyes.

“No, you don’t!” Haplo gripped the Sartan by the neck, forced him to sit upright. “That’s not a real tytan. It’s the Sartan knife! There must be some sort of magic you can use to stop it! Think, damn it! Or it’s going to kill us all!”

“Magic,” Alfred repeated, as if this were a new and original concept. “Sartan magic. Why, you’re right. I believe there might be a way.” He clambered unsteadily to his feet. The tytan paid no attention to him. Its sightless head was fixed on the Patryns. A massive hand reached down, brushed Hugh the Hand to one side. The tytan headed for Haplo.

Alfred stepped in front of the giant. Solemnly, a comic figure in his shabby finery, his wispy hair trailing down from the bald spot on his head, he raised a trembling hand and, in a shaking voice, said, “Stop.” The tytan vanished.

On the cavern floor, at Hugh’s feet, was the Cursed Blade. It quivered an instant, its sigla gleaming. Its light flared, then went out.

“Is it safe now?” Haplo asked, staring hard at the knife.

“Yes,” said Alfred. “So long as nothing threatens Sir Hugh again.” Haplo glared at him. “Do you mean to tell me that you could have done that all along? Just say stop in Sartan?”

“I suppose so. It didn’t occur to me until you mentioned it. And I wasn’t really certain it would work. But once I thought about it, it seemed logical to me that the knife’s Sartan maker would have provided the user with some means of control. And it would have, in all probability, been something simple that could be taught easily to mensch...”

“Yeah, yeah,” Haplo said wearily. “Save the explanation. Just teach the damn word to Hugh, will you?”

“What does all this mean?” The assassin was in no great hurry to retrieve his weapon.

“It means that from now on you can control the knife. It won’t attack anything you don’t want it to. Alfred will teach you the magic you need to know.”

“We can leave,” said Vasu, staring around the chamber. “Whatever spell those creatures cast has ended. But I’ve never faced such power. It’s far greater than my own. Who are they? What are they? Who created them? The Sartan?” Alfred blanched. “I’m afraid so. Samah told me that he once asked the creatures that very question. ‘Who created you?’ ‘You did, Sartan,’ they said.”

“Odd,” remarked Haplo quietly. “That’s the very same answer they gave me when I asked, ‘Who created you?’ ‘You did,’ they said.”

“What does it matter who created them?” Marit cried impatiently. “They’re here and they’re going to attack the city. And then, when it’s destroyed...” She shook her head, arguing with herself. “I can’t believe it. Surely Sang-drax was bluffing.”

“What else did they say?” Haplo asked.

“Sang-drax said he was going to seal shut the Final Gate.”