Into the Labyrinth (29 page)

“A ship came down,” Paithan answered, “out of nowhere.”

“A ship?” Her eyes opened wide; she forgot, in her astonishment, that she was wasting their beauty on a mere brother. “What kind of ship? Why didn’t it stay? Oh, Paithan, maybe it will come back and fly us out of this horrible place!”

“Maybe,” he said, not wanting to dampen her hopes and get his face slapped again. Privately he had his doubts. “As for why it didn’t stay, well, Roland doesn’t agree with me but I could swear that the people on board were fighting a tytan. I know it sounds crazy, the ship was small, but I saw what I saw. And I saw something else, too. I saw a man who looked like that Haplo.”

“Oh, well, then, I’m glad he left,” Aleatha said coldly. “I wouldn’t have gone anywhere with him! He led us into this dreadful prison, pretending to be our savior. Then he left us. He was the cause of everything rotten that’s happened to us. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was the one who brought the tytans down on us in the first place.”

Paithan let his sister rant on. She had to have someone to blame and, thank Orn, this time it wasn’t him.

But he couldn’t help thinking that Haplo had been right. If the three races had allied to fight the tytans, maybe their people would be alive right now. As it was …

“Say, Thea.” Paithan came out of his gloomy reverie as a thought struck him. “What were
you
doing down in the market plaza,
³
anyway? You never walk that far.”

“I was bored. No one to talk to except that human slut. Speaking of Rega, she said to tell you that something funny was going on in that beloved Star Chamber of yours.”

“Why didn’t you say so?” Paithan glared at her. “And don’t call Rega a slut!”

Breaking into a run, he dashed through the streets of the shining marble city, a city of spires and domes and wondrous beauty. A city that was likely to become their tomb.

Aleatha watched him go, wondering how he could expend all that energy on something as senseless as going into a gigantic room and fiddling with machines that never did anything and weren’t ever likely to do anything. Nothing constructive—such as grow food.

Well, they weren’t starving yet. Paithan had attempted to impose some sort of rationing system on them, but Roland had refused to accept it, stating that humans—being bigger—needed more food than elves and so it was unfair of Paithan to allot to Roland and Rega the same amount of food that he allotted to himself and Aleatha.

At which Drugar had spoken up—a rarity for him—and claimed that dwarves, because of their heavier body mass, needed twice as much food as either elves or humans.

At which Paithan had thrown up his hands and said he didn’t care. They could gorge themselves. They’d only die that much sooner and he, for one, would be glad to be rid of them.

At which Rega had flown into a rage and said that no doubt he’d be thankful if she was the first one to die and she hoped she was because she couldn’t go on living with a man who hated her brother.

At which they’d all stormed off and no one had ended up rationing anything.

Aleatha looked down the empty street and shivered in
the bright sunlight. The marble walls were always cold. The sun did nothing to warm them, probably because of the strange darkness that flowed over the city every night. Having been raised in a world of perpetual light, Aleatha had come to enjoy the artificial night that fell on the citadel and nowhere else on Pryan. She liked to walk in the darkness, reveling in the mystery and velvet softness of the night air.

It was especially nice to walk in the darkness
with
someone. She glanced around. The shadows were deepening. The strange night would fall soon. She could either go back to the Star Chamber and be bored to tears watching Paithan dither over his stupid machine or she could go and see if Roland would really meet her at the garden maze.

Aleatha glanced at her reflection in a crystal window of a vacant house. She was somewhat thinner than she had been, but that didn’t detract from her beauty. If anything, her narrow waistline only made her full breasts more voluptuous. Artfully she rearranged her dress to best advantage, brushed her fingers through her thick hair.

Roland would be waiting for her. She knew it.

THE CITADEL
PRYAN

T
HE GARDEN MAZE WAS AT THE BACK OF THE CITY, ON A GENTLE
slope that dipped down from the city proper to the protective wall that surrounded it. None of her companions particularly liked the maze; it had a strange feel to it, Paithan complained. But Aleatha felt drawn to the maze and often walked near it during winetime. If she had to be by herself (and it was getting more and more difficult to find company these days), this was where she liked to be.

“The garden maze was built by the Sartan,” Paithan told her, having acquired the knowledge from one of the books he bragged about reading. “They made it for themselves because they were fond of being outdoors and it reminded them of wherever it was they came from. It was off-limits to us
mensch.
” His lip curled when he said the word. “I don’t know why they bothered. I can’t imagine any elf in his right mind who’d want to go in there. No offense, Thea, but what do you find so fascinating about that creepy place?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” she’d answered with a shrug. “Perhaps because it
is
kind of frightening. Everything—and everyone—around here is so boring.”

According to Paithan, the maze—a series of hedges, trees, and bushes—had once been carefully clipped and maintained. The paths led, by various circuitous routes, to an amphitheater in the center. Here (away from the eyes
and ears of the mensch) the Sartan had held secret meetings.

“I wouldn’t go into it if I were you, Thea,” Paithan had warned her. “According to the book, these Sartan laid some type of magic on the maze, meant to trap anyone who wasn’t supposed to be there.”

Aleatha found the warning thrilling, just as she found the maze fascinating.

Over the years, abandoned and left to itself, the garden maze had gone wild. Hedges that had once been neatly trimmed now soared high into the air, grew over the paths, forming green and tangled ceilings that shut out the light and kept the maze cool and dark even during the hot day-light hours. It was like venturing into a green tunnel of plant life, for something kept the paths themselves clear, perhaps the strange markings carved into the stone, marks that could be seen on the buildings in the city and on its walls. Marks that Paithan said were some type of magic.

A gate made of iron (a rarity on Pryan, where few people had ever seen the ground) led to an arch formed by a hedge over a stone pathway. Each stone on the path was marked with one of the magical symbols. Paithan had told her that the marks might hurt her, but Aleatha knew better. She’d paid no attention to them before finding out what they were. She’d walked on them many times. They hadn’t hurt her feet a bit.

From the gate, the path led straight into the maze. High walls of vegetation soared overhead; flowers filled the air with sweet fragrance.

The path ran straight for a short distance, then forked, slanting off in two different directions, each leading deeper into the maze. The fork was the farthest Aleatha had ever ventured. Both paths took her out of sight of the gate, and Aleatha, though wild and reckless, was not without common sense.

At the fork were a marble bench and a pool. Here Aleatha sat in the cool shadows and listened to hidden birds singing, admiring her reflection and wondering idly what it would be like to wander deeper into the maze. Probably boring and not worth the effort, she’d decided after having seen a drawing of the maze in Paithan’s book. She’d been dreadfully disappointed to learn that the paths
led to nothing but a circle of stone surrounded by tiers of seats.

Walking down the empty street (so very empty!) that led to the maze, Aleatha smiled. Roland was there, pacing moodily back and forth, casting dark and dubious glances into the bushes.

Aleatha permitted her skirts to rustle loudly, and at the sound Roland straightened, shoved his hands into his pockets, and began to saunter about quite casually, regarding the hedge with interest, as if he had just arrived.

Aleatha smothered a laugh. She’d been thinking about him all day. Thinking how much she
didn’t
like him. Thinking that she detested him, in fact. Thinking that he was boorish, and arrogant and … well … human. Recalling how much she hated him, it was only natural for her to think about the night they’d once made love. There had been extenuating circumstances, of course. Neither had been responsible. Both had been recovering from the terrible fright of being nearly eaten by a dragon. Roland had been hurt and she’d only been trying to comfort him …

And why did she have to keep remembering that night and his strong arms and soft lips and the way he’d loved her, a way in which no other man had ever dared to love her …

It wasn’t until the next day she’d remembered he was human and had peremptorily ordered him never to touch her again. He apparently had been only too glad to obey—judging by what he’d said to her in response.

But she took a grim delight in teasing him—it was the only pleasure she had. And he seemed to take equal delight in irritating her.

Aleatha stepped out into the pathway. Roland, lounging against the hedge, glanced at her and smiled what she considered a nasty smile.

“Ah, I see you came,” he said, implying that she had come because of him, robbing her of the line that had been on her lips—implying that he’d come because of her—and thereby making her instantly furious.

And when Aleatha was furious, she was simply sweeter and more charming than ever.

“Why, Roland,” she said, with a very natural start of surprise. “Is that you?”

“And who the hell would it be? Lord Dumdum, perhaps?”

Aleatha flushed. Lord
Durndrun
had been her elven fiancé, and while she hadn’t loved him and she’d been going to marry him only for his money, he was dead and this human had no right to make fun of him and … oh, never mind!

“I wasn’t certain,” she said, tossing her hair back over a bare shoulder (the sleeve of her dress didn’t quite fit properly anymore because she’d lost weight, and it kept slipping down her arm, revealing a white shoulder of surpassing loveliness). “Who knows what slimy thing might have crawled up from Below?”

Roland’s eyes were drawn to her shoulder. She permitted him to look and yearn (she trusted he was yearning), and then she slowly and caressingly covered her shoulder with a lacy shawl she’d found in an abandoned house.

“Well, if something slimy did crawl up out of nowhere, I’m certain you’d frighten it off.” He took a step nearer her, glanced again pointedly at her shoulder. “You’re turning all bony.”

Bony! Aleatha glared at him, so angry she forgot to be charming. She bounded at him, her hand raised to strike.

He caught her wrist, twisted it, bent down and kissed her. Aleatha struggled exactly the right length of time—not too long (which might discourage him), but long enough to force him to tighten his hold on her. Then she relaxed in his arms.

His lips brushed over her neck. “I know this is going to disappoint you,” he whispered, “but I only came to tell you I wasn’t coming. Sorry.” And with that, he let go of her.

Aleatha had been leaning her full weight on him. When he removed his hold, she tumbled onto her hands and knees. He grinned at her.

“Begging for me to stay? Won’t do any good, I’m afraid.” Turning, he sauntered off.