The Hand of Chaos

5

“Serpents, Lord,” said Haplo. “But not serpents as we know them. The most deadly snake in the Labyrinth is a worm compared to these! They are old, old as man himself, I think. They have the cunning and the knowledge of their years. And they have a power, Lord, a power that is vast and... and...” Haplo paused, hesitated.

“And what, my son?” encouraged Xar gently.

“Almighty,” answered Haplo.

“An omnipotent force?” Xar mused. “You know what you are saying, my son?” Haplo heard the warning in the voice.

Be very careful of your thoughts, your surmises, your deductions, my son, the tone cautioned. Be careful of your facts, your judgment. For by acknowledging this power almighty, you place it above me.

Haplo was careful. He sat long without answering, staring into the fire that wanned the lord’s hearth, watched its light play over the blue sigla tattooed on his hands and arms. He saw again the runes on the arms of the false Patryn: chaotic, unintelligible, without meaning, without order. The sight brought back the wrenching, debilitating fear he’d experienced in the serpents’ lair on Draknor.

“I’ve never felt fear like that,” he said suddenly, speaking aloud the thoughts in his mind.

Though he came in on the middle of Haplo’s mental conversation, Xar understood. The lord always understood.

“The fear made me want to crawl into some dark hole, Lord. I wanted to curl up and lie there cowering. I was afraid... of my fear. I couldn’t understand it, couldn’t overcome it.”

Haplo shook his head. “And I was born in fear, raised with fear, in the Labyrinth. What was the difference, Lord? I don’t understand.” Xar did not respond, sat unmoving in his chair. He was a quiet, attentive listener. He never betrayed any emotion, his attention never wandered, his interest was always completely focused on the speaker. People talk to such a rare type of listener; they talk eagerly, oftimes incautiously. Their thoughts are focused on what they are saying, not on the person listening. And so Xar, with his magical power, was often able to hear the unspoken, as well as the spoken. People poured their minds into the lord’s empty well. Haplo clenched his fist, watched the sigla stretch smoothly, protectively over the skin of his hand. He answered his own question.

“I knew the Labyrinth could be defeated,” he said softly. “That’s the difference, isn’t it, Lord. Even when I thought I would die in that place, I knew in my hour of dying a bitter triumph. I had come close to defeating it. And though I had failed, others would come after me and succeed. The Labyrinth, for all its power, is vulnerable.”

Haplo raised his head, looked at Xar. “You proved that, Lord. You defeated it. You have defeated it, time and again. I defeated it, finally. With help.” He reached down his hand, scratched the dog’s head.

The animal lay snoozing at his feet, basking in the warm glow of the fire. Occasionally, it opened its eyes a glittering slit, fixed their gaze on Xar. Just checking, the dog seemed to say.

Haplo did not notice, from where he was sitting, his dog’s wary, watchful observation. Xar, seated opposite, did.

Haplo fell silent again, stared into the fire, his expression grim and dark. He had no need to continue, Xar understood completely.

“You are saying that this power cannot be defeated. Is that it, my son?” Haplo stirred restlessly, uncomfortably. He cast the lord a troubled glance, shifted his gaze swiftly back to the fire. His face flushed, his hand unclenched, clenched again on the arm of the chair.

“Yes, Lord. That is what I am saying.” He spoke slowly, heavily. “I think this evil power may be checked, halted, driven back, controlled. But never beaten, never ultimately destroyed.”

“Not by us, your people, as strong and powerful as we are?” Xar put the question mildly, not arguing, merely requiring additional information.

“Not by us, Lord. As strong and powerful as we are.” Haplo smiled at some inner thought, a sardonic smile.

The Lord of the Nexus was angered by this, although, to the casual observer, his expression appeared as placid and calm as before. Haplo did not notice, he was lost in a tangle of dark thoughts. But one other person was watching their conversation, eavesdropping on it. And this person was not a casual observer. He knew well what the lord was thinking.

This person, hidden away in a dark room, doted on the lord and thus had come to know every fleeting expression on the man’s face. The unseen watcher now saw, illuminated by the firelight, the narrowing of Xar’s eyes, the minute darkening of certain lines amidst the cobweb of wrinkles on Xar’s forehead. The unseen observer knew his lord was angry, knew that Haplo had made a mistake, and the observer reveled in the knowledge.

The observer was so elated that he injudiciously wriggled at the thought, with the result that the stool on which he was seated scraped across the floor. The dog’s head lifted instantly, ears pricked.

The observer froze. He knew the dog, remembered it, respected it. Wanted it. He did not move again, held still to the point of holding his breath, afraid even breathing might give him away.

The dog, hearing nothing further, apparently concluded it was a rat, and resumed its fitful nap.

“Perhaps,” said Xar casually, making a small movement with his hand, “you think that the Sartan are the ones who are capable of defeating this ‘almighty power.’ ”

Haplo shook his head, smiled into the fire’s dying blaze. “No, Lord. They are as blind as—” He checked the words, afraid of what he’d been about to say.

“—as I am,” Xar finished dryly.

Haplo looked up swiftly, the flush in his cheeks darkened. It was too late to recall the thought, too late to deny it. Any attempt at explanation would make him sound like a whining child, trying to weasel out of just punishment. Haplo rose to his feet, faced the Lord of the Nexus, who remained seated, gazing up at him with dark, unfathomable eyes.

“Lord, we have been blind. And so have our enemies. The same things have blinded us both: hatred and fear. The serpents—or whatever force they are or represent—have taken advantage of it. They have grown strong and powerful.

“Chaos is our life’s blood,’ the serpents said. ‘Death our meat and drink.’ And now that they have entered Death’s Gate, they can spread their influence throughout the four worlds. They want chaos, they want bloodshed, they want us to go to war, Lord!”

“And thus you counsel we should not, Haplo? You say we should not seek revenge for the centuries of suffering inflicted on our people? Not avenge the deaths of your parents? Not seek to defeat the Labyrinth, free those still left trapped within? Should we let Samah pick up where he left off? He will, you know that, my son. And this time, he will not imprison us. He will destroy us, if we let him! And is it your counsel, Haplo, that we let him?” Haplo stood before the lord, staring down at him.

“I don’t know, Lord,” he said brokenly, fists clenching, unclenching. “I don’t know.”

Xar sighed, lowered his eyes, rested his head in his hand. If he had been angry, if he had railed and shouted, accused and threatened, he would have lost Haplo.

Xar said nothing, did nothing but sigh.

Haplo fell to his knees. Grasping the lord’s hand, he pressed it to his lips, clasped it, held it fast. “Father, I see hurt and disappointment in your eyes. I beg your forgiveness if I’ve offended you. But the last time I was in your presence, the time before I sailed to Chelestra, you showed me that my salvation lay in telling you the truth. I have done so, Father. I’ve bared my soul to you, though it shames me to reveal my weakness.

“I don’t offer counsel, Lord. I’m quick-thinking, quick to act. But I’m not wise. You are wise, Father. That is why I bring this very great dilemma to you. The serpents are here, Father,” Haplo added in grim, dark tones. “They are here. I’ve seen one of them. He has disguised himself as one of our people. But I knew him for what he was.”

“I am aware of this, Haplo.” Xar clasped the hand that held his.

“You know?” Haplo sat back on his haunches, expression startled, wary.

“Of course, my son. You say I am wise, but you must not think I am very bright,” Xar said with some asperity. “Do you imagine that I do not know what is happening in my own homeland? I have met the serpent and talked with him, both last night and today.”

Haplo stared, silent, stunned.

“He is, as you say, powerful.” Xar bestowed the compliment magnanimously. “I was impressed. A contest between we Patryns and these creatures would be interesting, though I have no doubt who would be the victor. But such a contest is not to be feared. It will never come about, my son. The serpents are our allies in this campaign. They have pledged their allegiance to me. They have bowed before me and called me Master.”

“So they did with me,” said Haplo in a low voice. “And they betrayed me.”

“That was you, my son,” said Xar, and the anger was back, this time visible to both the seen and the unseen observers. “This time they bowed to me.” The dog jumped to its feet with a “whuff,” glared about fiercely.

“Easy, boy,” Haplo said absently. “It was just a dream.” Xar glanced at the animal with displeasure. “I thought you got rid of that creature.”

“He came back,” Haplo replied, troubled, uneasy. He rose to his feet from where he knelt beside his lord, remained standing, as if thinking the interview might be at an end.

“Not precisely. Someone brought the dog back to you, didn’t he?” Xar stood up. A tall man, the lord was easily Haplo’s equal in height, very probably his match in physical strength, for Xar had not permitted age to soften his body. He was more than Haplo’s equal in magical prowess. Xar had taken the younger Patryn apart once, the time of which Haplo spoke, the time he’d lied to his lord. Xar could have killed Haplo then, but the lord chose to let him live.

“Yes, Lord,” Haplo said. He stared down at the dog, at the floor. “Someone did bring him back to me.”

“The Sartan called Alfred?”

“Yes, Lord,” Haplo answered without voice.

Xar sighed. Haplo heard the sigh, closed his eyes, bent his head. The lord rested his hand on the younger man’s shoulder.

“My son, you have been deceived. I know it all. The serpents told me. They did not betray you. They saw your danger, sought to help you. You turned on them, attacked them. They had no choice but to defend themselves...”

“Against mensch children?” Haplo lifted his head, his eyes flashed.

“A pity, my son. They said you were fond of the girl. But you must admit, the mensch acted as mensch always do: recklessly, foolishly, without thinking. They aspired too high, meddled in affairs they could not possibly understand. In the end, as you well know, die dragons were forgiving. They helped the mensch defeat the Sartan.”

Haplo shook his head, turned his gaze from his lord to the dog. Xar’s frown deepened. The hand on Haplo’s shoulder tightened its grip. “I have been extremely lenient with you, my son. I have listened patiently to what some might term fantastic metaphysical speculations. Do not mistake me,” he added, when Haplo would have spoken. “I am pleased that you brought these thoughts to me and shared them. But, once having answered your doubts and questions—as I believe I have—I am displeased to see you continue in your wrong-thinking.

“No, my son. Let me finish. You claim to rely on my wisdom, my judgment. And once you used to do so, Haplo, implicitly. This was the main reason I chose you for these delicate tasks which, up to now, you have performed satisfactorily. But do you now rely on me, Haplo? Or have you come to rely on another?”

“If you mean Alfred, Lord, you’re wrong!” Haplo snorted derisively, made a swift, negating gesture with his hand. “He’s gone now, anyway. Probably dead.” He stood staring down at the fire or the dog or both for long moments. Then suddenly, resolutely, he raised his head, looked directly at Xar.

“No, Lord, I do not rely on any other. I am loyal to you. That is why I came to you, brought you this information. I will be only too glad to be proven wrong!”

“Will you, my son?” Xar studied Haplo searchingly. Seeming satisfied with what he saw, the lord relaxed, smiled, clapped Haplo affectionately on the shoulder. “Excellent. I have another task for you. Now that Death’s Gate is opened and our enemies the Sartan are aware of us, we must move swiftly, more swiftly than I had intended. Within a short time, I leave for Abarrach, there to study the art of necromancy ...” He paused, cast a sharp glance at Haplo. The younger Patryn’s expression did not alter; he made no opposition to this plan. Xar continued.

“We do not have sufficient numbers of Patryns to form an army, as I had hoped. But, if we have armies of the dead to fight for us, then we do not need to waste our people. It is imperative, therefore, that I go to Abarrach, imperative that I go now, for I am wise”—dry emphasis on the word—“enough to know that I must study long and hard before I can master the art of raising the dead.

“But this trip poses a problem. I must go to Abarrach but, at the same time, it is imperative that Bane returns to Arianus, the Realm of Air. Let me explain. It involves the great machine of Arianus. The machine the mensch call, somewhat fancifully, the Kicksey-winsey.

“In your report, Haplo, you stated you found information left by the Sartan which indicated that they built the Kicksey-winsey in order to bring the floating islands of Arianus into alignment.”

Haplo nodded. “Not only bring the islands into line, Lord, but then shoot a geyser of water up to those that are now dry and barren.”

“Whoever rules the machine, rules the water. And whoever rules the water, rules those who must drink it or perish.”

“Yes, Lord.”

“Review for me the political situation as it was when you left Arianus.” Xar remained standing. This summary was obviously meant to be brief, and was probably for Haplo’s benefit more than the lord’s own. Xar had read Haplo’s report many times, knew it from memory. Haplo, however, had visited three other worlds since he’d been to Arianus. He spoke hesitantly, trying to refresh his memory.

“The dwarves—known on Arianus as Gegs—live in the lower isles, down in the Maelstrom. They are the ones who run the machine, or rather they serve it, for the machine runs itself. The elves discovered that the machine could supply water for their empire, located in the Mid Realm of Arianus. Neither the humans nor the elves, who live in the Mid Realm, are able to collect water in any amount, due to the porous nature of the continents.

“The elves traveled into the lower realms in their magical dragonships, took the water from the dwarves, paid them in worthless trinkets and refuse left over from the elven kingdoms. A dwarf named Limbeck discovered the elven exploitation of the dwarven people. He is now—or he was when I left—leading the rebellion against the elven empire by, as you say, cutting off their water supplies.

“The elves have other problems, as well. An exiled prince is leading his own rebellion against the tyrannical regime currently in power. The humans, led by a strong king and queen, are themselves uniting and fighting against the elven rule.”

“A world in chaos,” said Xar, with satisfaction.

“Yes, Lord,” responded Haplo, face flushing, wondering if this was, perhaps, a subtle rebuke for words spoken earlier, a reminder that the Patryns wanted worlds in chaos.

“The child Bane must go back to Arianus,” Xar repeated. “It is vital that we take control of the Kicksey-winsey before the Sartan can return and claim it. Bane and I have undertaken a lengthy study of the machine. He will put the Kicksey-winsey into operation, start the process to realign the islands. This will, no doubt, further disrupt the lives of the mensch, causing terror, panic. In the midst of the turmoil, I will enter Arianus with my legions, restore order. I will be looked upon as a savior.”

Xar shrugged. “Conquering Arianus—the first world to fall to my might—will be easy.”

Haplo started to ask a question, paused, checked himself. He stared moodily into the flickering embers.

“What is it, my son?” Xar urged gently. “Speak freely. You have doubts. What are they?”

“The serpents, Lord. What about the serpents?”

Xar pursed his lips. His eyes narrowed alarmingly. His long, thin, strong hands clasped behind his back, maintaining the calming circle of his being. He had rarely been so angry.

“The serpents will do what I tell them to do. As will you, Haplo. As will all my subjects.”

He had not raised his voice, nor altered its gentle modulations. But the unseen observer in the back room shivered and scrunched together on his stool, thankful that he wasn’t the one shriveling in the heat of the old man’s ire. Haplo knew he had displeased his lord. He recalled a time of punishment. His hand went instinctively to the name-rune tattooed over his heart—the root and source of all his magical power, the starting of the circle. Xar leaned forward, suddenly, laid his hand over Haplo’s, laid his gnarled old hand over Haplo’s heart.

The Patryn flinched, drew in a quick breath, but otherwise held still. The unseen observer ground his teeth. Much as he was gleefully enjoying Haplo’s downfall, the observer was also bitterly jealous of Haplo’s obvious closeness to his lord—a closeness the observer could never hope to share.

“Forgive me, Father,” Haplo said simply, speaking with dignity, out of sincere contrition, not out of fear. “I will not fail you. What is your command?”

“You will escort the child Bane to Arianus. Once there, you will assist him in the operation of the Kicksey-winsey. You will do whatever else you need to do in order to foment chaos and turmoil in the world. That should be easy. This dwarven leader, this Limbeck, likes and trusts you, doesn’t he?”

“Yes, Lord.” Haplo had not stirred beneath the lord’s touch on his heart. “And when that is accomplished?”

“You will wait on Arianus for my instructions.”

Haplo nodded in silent acquiescence.

Xar held him a moment longer, feeling Haplo’s life beating beneath his fingers, knowing he could end that life in a second, if he chose; knowing that Haplo knew it, as well.

Haplo gave a great, shuddering sigh, bowed his head.

The lord pressed him close. “My son. My poor troubled son. You bear my touch with such courage ...”

Haplo lifted his head. His face was flushed, he spoke savagely. “Because, my lord, there is no pain you or anyone could inflict on me worse than the pain I bear within myself.”

Wrenching free of the lord’s hold, Haplo walked abruptly from the room, from his lord’s presence. The dog jumped to its feet, hurried after him, paws pattering quietly across the floor. There came the sound of a door slamming shut.

Xar stared after him, not greatly pleased. “I grow tired of these doubts, this whining. You will have one more chance to prove yourself loyal...” The observer left his stool, slid out into the room, which was now dark with shadows. The fire had almost completely died.

“He didn’t ask leave to go, Grandfather,” noted the observer in a shrill voice. “Why didn’t you stop him? I would have had him whipped.” Xar glanced about. He was not startled at the child’s presence, or by the fact that he’d been listening. Xar was even somewhat amused at the vehemence in the tone.

“Would you, Bane?” Xar asked, smiling at the boy fondly, reaching out a hand to ruffle the fair hair. “Remember something, child. Love breaks a heart. Hatred strengthens it. I want Haplo broken, contrite, repentant.”

“But Haplo doesn’t love you, Grandfather,” cried Bane, not completely understanding. He crowded close to the old man, looking up at him with adoring eyes. “I’m the only one who loves you. And I’ll prove it. I will!”

“Will you, Bane?” Xar patted the boy approvingly, caressed him fondly. A Patryn child would have never been encouraged to feel such affection, much less permitted to reveal it. But Xar had taken a fancy to the human child. Having lived a solitary life, the lord enjoyed the boy’s company, enjoyed teaching him. Bane was bright, intelligent, and extraordinarily skilled in magic—for a mensch. Besides all this, the Lord of the Nexus found it rather pleasant to be worshiped.

“Are we going to study the Sartan runes tonight, Grandfather?” Bane asked eagerly. “I learned some new ones. I can make them work. I’ll show you...”

“No, child.” Xar withdrew his hand from the boy’s head, his body from the child’s clinging grasp. “I am weary. And there is study I must undertake before I journey to Abarrach. You run along and play.”

The boy looked downcast. He kept silent, however, having learned the hard lesson that arguing with Xar was both futile and dangerous. Bane would remember the rest of his life the first time he’d thrown a floor-kicking, breath-holding tantrum in an effort to get his way. The ploy had always worked around other adults. It didn’t work with the Lord of the Nexus. The child’s punishment had been swift, hard, severe.

Bane had never respected any adult until that moment. From then on, he respected Xar, feared him, and came to love him with all the passion of an affectionate nature granted him from his mother’s side, darkened and corrupted by his evil father.

Xar left for his library, a place Bane was not permitted to enter. The child returned to his room to draw again the elementary Sartan rune-structure that he had finally, after much exhaustive toil, managed to reproduce and make functional. Once alone in his room, Bane paused. An idea had come to him. He examined the idea to make certain it had no flaw, for he was a shrewd child and had learned well the lord’s lessons in proceeding on any venture cautiously and with forethought.

The scheme appeared flawless. If Bane was caught, he could always whine or cry or charm his way out. Such tricks didn’t work with the man he’d adopted as Grandfather, but Bane had never known them to fail with other adults. Including Haplo.

Snatching up a dark cloak, throwing it over his thin shoulders, Bane slipped out of the lord’s house, and merged with the twilight shadows of the Nexus.