Into the Labyrinth (26 page)

The thumping ceased. She heard the heavy, labored breathing of the two men, the dog panting.

The images repeated themselves, swirls of color to her dazed mind: green, blue, red, pearl gray, dark, light. Marit knew how Death’s Gate worked. She focused on the green.

“Pryan,” she whispered. “Take me to Xar!”

The ship altered course immediately.

Haplo was staring blankly at the dog. The dog was staring at the deck. Growling, wondering where its prey had gone, the animal began pawing at the rune-covered wooden hull of the ship, thinking perhaps that the bat had somehow managed to crawl into a crack.

Haplo knew better. He looked around.

Hugh the Hand was holding the weapon—a crude iron knife. Pale and shaken, he dropped it. “I never did trust magic. You got any idea how the damn blade works?”

“Not much,” Haplo said. “Don’t use it again.”

The Hand shook his head. “If we were on solid ground, I’d bury the cursed thing.” He looked out the window, his expression dark. “Where are we?”

“Death’s Gate,” said Haplo, preoccupied. He knelt down beside Marit. “How are you?”

She was shivering hard, almost convulsively.

Haplo took hold of her hands.

Angrily Marit snatched them away, pulled back from him. “Leave me alone!”

“You’ve got a fever. I can help …” he began, and started to brush aside the feathery chestnut bangs that she wore low over her forehead.

She hesitated. Something inside her wanted him to know the truth, knew it would hurt him worse than the knife’s blade. But Xar had warned her not to reveal this secret power she possessed, this link to him.

Marit shoved Haplo’s hand aside. “Traitor! Don’t touch me!”

Haplo lowered his hand. “I’m not a traitor.”

Marit eyed him with a grim smile. “Our lord knows about Bane. The dragon-snake told him.”

“Dragon-snake!” Haplo’s eyes flashed. “What dragon-snake? One who calls himself Sang-drax?”

“What does it matter what the creature calls himself? The dragon-snake told our lord about the Kicksey-winsey and Arianus. How you brought peace when you were ordered to bring war. And all for your own glory.”

“No.” Haplo’s voice grated. “He lies.”

Marit made an impatient negating motion with her hand. “I heard what the mensch said for myself. Back there on Arianus. I heard your mensch friends talking.” Her lip curled. She cast a scornful glance back at Hugh the Hand. “Mensch friends armed with Sartan weapons—made by our enemy for our destruction! Weapons you undoubtedly intend to use on your own kind!”

The dog whined, started to creep over to Haplo.

Hugh the Hand whistled, spoke gruffly, “Here, boy. Come to me.”

The dog gazed woefully at its master. Haplo appeared to have forgotten its existence. Ears drooping, tail hanging limp, the dog wandered over to Hugh and flopped down at his side.

“You betrayed our lord, Haplo,” Marit continued.

“Your betrayal hurt him deeply. That was why he sent me.”

“But I didn’t betray him, Marit! I haven’t betrayed our people. Everything I’ve done has been for them, for their own good. The dragon-snakes are the true betrayers—”

“Haplo,” the Hand called warningly, casting a significant look out the porthole. “We’ve changed course, seemingly.”

Haplo barely glanced out. “This is Pryan.” He eyed Marit. “You brought us here. Why?”

She was rising shakily to her feet. “Xar ordered me to bring you here. He wants to question you.”

“He can’t very well do that if I’m dead, can he?” Haplo paused, remembering Abarrach. “On second thought, I guess he can. So our lord has learned the forbidden
Sartan
art of necromancy.”

Marit chose to ignore the emphasis. “Will you come to him peacefully, Haplo? Surrender yourself to his judgment? Or must I kill you?”

Haplo stared out the window at Pryan—a hollow stone ball, its suns shining in the center. Basking in eternal day-light,
light, the plant life on Pryan grew so thickly that vast mensch cities were built in the limbs of gigantic trees. Mensch ships sailed oceans floating on broad moss plains far above the ground.

Haplo looked at Pryan, but he wasn’t seeing it. He was seeing Xar.

How easy it would be. Fall on my knees before Xar, bow my head, accept my fate. Quit the fight. Quit the struggle.

If I don’t, I’ll have to kill her.

He knew Marit, knew how she thought. Once the two of them had thought alike. She honored Xar. Haplo did, too. How could he not? Xar had saved his life, saved the lives of all their people, led them forth from that heinous prison.

But Xar was wrong. Just as Haplo had been wrong.

“You
were the one who was right, Marit,” he told her. “I couldn’t understand then. Now I do.”

Not following his thoughts, she eyed him with suspicion.

“ ‘The evil is in us,’ you said.
We
are the ones who give the Labyrinth strength. It feeds off our hatred, our fear. It grows fat on our fear,” he said with a bitter smile, recalling Sang-drax’s words.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Marit said disdainfully. She was feeling better, stronger. The poison was abating, her own magic acting to dilute it. “I said lots of things I didn’t mean then. I was young.”

Mentally, silently, she spoke to Xar.
I am on Pryan, Husband. I have Haplo. No, he is not dead. Guide me to the meeting place.

She rested her hand on the steering stone. Runes flared. The ship had been drifting aimlessly; now it began to fly swiftly through the green-tinged sky. Her lord’s voice flowed inside her, drew her to him.

“What is your decision?” Course set, Marit let go the stone. She pulled her dagger from her sleeve, held it firmly, steadily.

Behind her the dog growled low in its throat. Hugh the Hand quieted the animal, petting it gently. He watched intently; his own fate—bound up in Haplo, who would lead him to Alfred—was at stake. Marit kept the human in her line of vision, but she was paying scant attention to
him. She discounted him as a threat, as she would discount any mensch.

“Xar’s made a terrible mistake, Marit,” Haplo told her quietly. “The dragon-snakes are his true enemy.
They’re
the ones who will betray him.”

“They are his allies!”

“They
pretend
to be his allies. They will give Xar what he seeks. They’ll crown him ruler of the four worlds, bow down to him. Then they’ll devour him. And our people will be destroyed as surely as were the Sartan.

“Look at us,” he continued. “Look what they’ve done to us. Since when, in the history of our people, have two Patryns fought each other?”

“Since one of them betrayed his people,” she returned scornfully. “You are now more Sartan than Patryn. So my lord says.”

Haplo sighed. He called the dog to his side. The animal, ears alert, tail wagging happily, trotted over. Haplo scratched its head. “If it were just me, Marit, I’d give up. I’d go with you. I’d die at my lord’s hands. But I’m not alone. There’s our child. You did bear my child, didn’t you?”

“I bore her. Alone. In a Squatter’s hut.” Her voice was hard, sharp as the blade in her hand.

Haplo was silent, then asked, “A girl-child?”

“Yes. And if you’re thinking to soften me, it won’t work. I learned well the one lesson
you
taught me, Haplo. Caring about something in the Labyrinth brings only pain. I gave her a name, tattooed the heart-rune on her chest, and then I left her.”

“What did you name her?”

“Rue.”

Haplo flinched. He was pale; his fingers curled, dug into the dog’s flesh.

The animal yelped, gave him a reproachful glance.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

The ship had descended, was skimming over the tops of the trees, moving at an incredible speed, far faster than when Haplo had first visited this world.

Xar’s magic, drawing them to him.

Below, the jungle was a dizzying green blur. A flash of blue, briefly seen and then gone, was an ocean. The ship was dropping lower and lower. In the distance Haplo
could see the sparkling beauty of a white city: one of the Sartan citadels. Probably the one he himself had discovered.

It would be logical for Xar to visit the citadel; he had Haplo’s account to guide him.

What does Xar expect my corpse to tell him? Haplo wondered suddenly. Obviously he suspects me of having hidden knowledge. Something I’ve kept from him. But what? I’ve told him everything … almost … And what’s left isn’t important to anyone but me.

“Well?” Marit demanded impatiently. “Have you made your decision?”

The spires of the citadel loomed above them. The ship was flying over the wall, descending into an open courtyard. Two mensch standing beneath were staring up at them in open-mouthed astonishment. Haplo could not see Xar, but the lord must be somewhere nearby.

If I’m going to make my move, it has to be now.

“I won’t go back, Marit,” Haplo said. “And I won’t fight you. It’s what Sang-drax wants us to do.” His gaze shifted from the porthole, slid with deliberate slowness around the ship, flicked over Hugh the Hand, returned to Marit.

Haplo wondered how much the human had understood of what had passed. Haplo had spoken in human for the assassin’s benefit, but Marit had been using the Patryn language.

Well, if he didn’t understand before, he would now.

“I guess you’ll have to kill me,” said Haplo.

Hugh the Hand dove for the knife—not the Cursed Blade, but Haplo’s knife, stained with the human’s own blood, which lay on the deck. He intended to distract the woman; he knew he didn’t stand a chance of stopping Marit.

She heard him, whirled, stretched out her hand. The sigla on her skin flashed. Runes danced in the air, spun themselves into a flaring rope of fire that wrapped around the human. Hugh screamed in agony and crashed to the deck, the blue and red runes twining around him.

Haplo took advantage of the diversion to grasp the steering stone. He spoke the runes, willed the ship to leave.

Resistance. Xar’s magic held them fast.

The dog gave a warning bark. Haplo turned. Marit had dropped the knife. She was going to use her magic to kill him. Sigla on the backs of her hands began to gleam.

The Cursed Blade came to life.

THE CITADEL
PRYAN

T
HE CURSED BLADE ALTERED FORM; A TYTAN—ONE OF THE
terrifying, murderous giants of Pryan—stood over them.

The tytan’s huge hands were clenched to fists as big around as boulders. Its blind face contorted in rage; it lashed out brutally at creatures it sensed rather than saw.

Marit heard the thing roaring above her, saw on Haplo’s face a look of fear and astonishment that was certainly not feigned. Her magic changed swiftly from an offensive attack to a defensive shield.

Haplo plummeted into her, dragged her with him to the deck. The giant’s fist swung harmlessly over them. Marit struggled to regain her feet, her mind still concentrating on killing Haplo. She didn’t fear the monster until she suddenly realized that her defensive shield-magic was beginning to crumble.

Haplo saw her runes starting to fade, saw her look of astonishment.

“The tytans know Sartan magic!” he shouted to her above the giant’s roar.

Haplo himself couldn’t believe what was happening, and his confusion hindered his ability to respond. Either the ship had expanded to accommodate the giant, or the giant had shrunk to fit inside the ship.

Hugh the Hand, freed of Marit’s spell, lay groaning near one of the bulkheads. The sound attracted the tytan’s notice. It turned, raised its enormous foot over the prostrate
man, prepared to stamp him to death. Then, unaccountably, the tytan lowered its foot, left him alone. The giant shifted its attention back to the Patryns.

The Sartan blade, Haplo realized. It’s not a real tytan at all, but a creation of the blade. It won’t hurt its master.

But the Hand was barely conscious; there was no hope now of his controlling the blade, if he ever could—something Haplo was beginning to doubt.

Death’s Gate. Perhaps it had been only coincidence, but the bat had disappeared; the blade’s magic had failed when they entered Death’s Gate.