The Seventh Gate

10

The dog was confused. It could hear its master’s voice clearly, but its master was not around. Haplo lay in a cell far from the dog’s current hiding place. The dog knew something was terribly wrong with Haplo, but every time the animal attempted to go back to help, a sharp and peremptory voice—Haplo’s voice, sounding very near, almost as if Haplo were right beside it—ordered the dog to lie still, stay put.

But Haplo wasn’t here. Was he?

People—other people—were passing back and forth outside the dark cell where the dog crouched hidden in a corner. These people were searching for the dog, whistling, calling, cajoling. The dog wasn’t particularly in the mood for people, but it did have the thought that perhaps they could help its master. They were, after all, the same kind of people. And, formerly, some of them had even been friends.

Not now, apparently.

The unhappy animal whimpered a little, to indicate that it was unhappy and lonely and forlorn. Haplo’s voice ordered the dog sharply to keep quiet. And with no conciliatory pat on the head to mitigate the severity of the command. A pat that would indicate “I know you don’t understand, but you must obey.”

The dog’s only comfort—a bleak one—was that it sensed from its master’s tone that Haplo was also unhappy, confused, and frightened. He himself didn’t seem to quite know what was going on. And if the master was frightened . . .

Nose on its paws, the dog lay shivering in the darkness, its body pressed against the damp stone floor of a cell, and wondered what to do.

Xar sat in his library, the Sartan book of necromancy on a table nearby, but unopened, unread. Why bother? He knew it by rote, could have recited it in his sleep.

The lord picked up one of the rectangular rune-bones lying on his desk. Idly, lost in thought, he tapped the rune-bone rhythmically against the kairn-grass desktop, tapping the bone on one corner, sliding the bone through his fingers, tapping it on the next corner of the rectangle, sliding it down, and so on. Tap, slide. Tap, slide. Tap, slide. He had been sitting thus for so long that he’d entered into a trancelike state. His body—except for the hand with the rune-bone—felt numb, heavy, unable to move, as if he were asleep. Yet he was aware of being awake.

Xar was confounded, completely, totally confounded. He had never before come up against such an insurmountable obstacle. He had no idea what to do, where to turn, how to act. At first he’d been raging, furious. Anger gave way to frustration. Now he was . . . bemused.

The dog might be anywhere. A legion of tytans could hide in that rat’s nest of a tunnel system and no one stumble across them, let alone one insignificant animal.

And suppose I do find the dog? Xar wondered, tapping the rune-bone, sliding it through his fingers. What do I do then? Kill it? Would that force Haplo’s soul back to his body? Or would I kill the soul? Cause Haplo to die as Samah died—of no use to me.

And how to find the Seventh Gate without him? I must find the Seventh Gate! Swiftly. My people are fighting, dying in the Labyrinth. I promised them ... I promised them I would return . . .

Tap, slide. Tap, slide. Tap, slide.

Xar closed his eyes. A man of action, who had fought and overcome every enemy he had ever faced, he was now relegated to sitting at a desk, doing nothing. Because there was absolutely nothing he could do. He slid the problem through his mind, as he slid the rune-bone through his fingers. Examined it from every angle.

Nothing. Tap, slide. Nothing. Tap, slide. Nothing.

How, from where he began, had he arrived here?

Failure ... he would fail . . .

“My Lord!”

Xar jerked to full consciousness. The rune-bone flew from his fingers, clattered onto the desk.

“Yes, what is it?” he said harshly. Hastily, he flipped open the book, pretended to be reading.

A Patryn entered the library, stood in respectful silence, waiting for Xar to complete the task at hand.

The lord permitted himself another moment to completely restore his wandering mental faculties; then he glanced up.

“What news? Have you found the dog?”

“No, Lord. I have been sent to report to you that Death’s Gate in Abarrach has been opened.”

“Someone’s entered,” Xar said, his interest caught. A premonition of what he was about to hear surged through him. He was fully awake, fully functional now. “Marit!”

“Yes, Lord!” The Patryn regarded him with admiration.

“Did she come alone? Who is with her?”

“She arrived by ship—one of yours, My Lord. From the Nexus. I recognized the runes. Two men are with her. One of them is a mensch.”

Xar was not interested in mensch.

The Patryn continued, “The other is a Sartan.”

“Ah!” Xar had a good idea who. “A tall, balding, clumsy-looking Sartan?”

“Yes, Lord.”

Xar rubbed his hands together. He could see the plan now, see it leap out of the darkness with extraordinary clarity, as an object is suddenly and brilliantly illuminated during a lightning storm.

“What did you do?” Xar regarded the Patryn with narrowed eyes. “Did you accost them?”

“No, Lord. I left immediately to report to you. The others are keeping watch on the three. When I left, they were still on the ship, conferring together. What are your orders, Lord? Do we bring them to you?”

Xar considered his plan a moment longer. He picked up the rune-bone, slid it through his fingers swiftly.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. All angles covered. Perfect.

“This is what you will do . . .”