Into the Labyrinth (35 page)

If one believed Haplo …

But Xar didn’t. He put that notion out of his mind.

He was baffled, enraged … intrigued. If the dragon and its foe were gone from this world, this universe, then they must have found a way out. Which meant that there
was
a way out.

“Well, of course there is!” A hand clapped Xar soundly on the back. “A way out. A way to the Immortal.”

Xar turned swiftly. “You!” He scowled.

“Who?” The old man brightened.

“Zifnab!” Xar spat the name.

“Oh.” The old man sagged despondently. “Not someone else? You weren’t expecting someone else? A Mr. Bond, perhaps?”

Xar recalled Sang-drax’s warning.
Beware the old man.
It seemed almost laughable. Still, the old man had escaped from the prisons of Abarrach.

“What are you talking about?” Xar demanded, eyeing the old man with more interest.

“Beats the hell out of me,” said Zifnab, quite cheerful.
“What was I talking about? I rarely remember. I try not to remember, in fact.”

His face went gray. His eyes lost their vague expression, were suddenly focused, suddenly pained. “It hurts—remembering. I don’t do it. Not my memories. Other people’s memories … easier, much easier …”

Xar was grim. “ ‘A way out,’ you said. ‘A way to the Immortal’ …”

Zifnab’s eyes narrowed. “The final
Jeopardy
answer, eh? I have thirty seconds to write down the question. Dum-de-dum, dum, da-doo-de-doo. There! I think I’ve got it.” He looked triumphantly at Xar. “What is the Seventh Gate?”

“What
is
the Seventh Gate?” Xar asked casually.

“That’s the question!” Zifnab said.

“But what’s the answer?” Xar was rapidly losing patience.

“That’s the answer! To the question. Do I win?” Zifnab asked hopefully. “Chance to come back tomorrow?”

“I may give you a chance to stay alive today!” Xar snarled. Reaching out, he took hold of the wizard’s arm, gripped it tightly. “Enough foolery, old man. Where is the Seventh Gate? Your companion obviously knew—”

“Why, so did yours,” Zifnab countered. “Didn’t he tell you? Mind you don’t crumple the fabric …”

“Companion? Sang-drax? Nonsense. He knows only that I am searching for it. If he had known, he would have taken me to it.”

Zifnab looked extremely wise and intelligent—or at least he made the attempt. He drew near Xar, whispered, “On the contrary, he’s leading you away from it.”

Xar gave the old man’s arm a painful twist. “You know where the Seventh Gate is!”

“I know where it isn’t,” Zifnab said meekly. “If that’s any help.”

“Leave him alone!”

Preoccupied with the old Sartan, Xar had forgotten the mensch. He turned to find one of them daring to interfere.

“You’re hurting him!” The elven female (Xar couldn’t recall her name) was attempting to pry his hand off Zifnab’s arm. “He’s only a daft old man. Leave him alone. Paithan! Come help!”

Xar reminded himself again that he needed these
mensch—at least until they had shown him the secrets of the citadel. Xar removed his hand from Zifnab’s arm, was about to make some explanatory remark when another mensch dashed up. This one looked scandalized.

“Aleatha! What are you doing? This really isn’t any of our business. I apologize, sir, for my sister. She’s somewhat … well, somewhat …” The elf hesitated.

“Pigheaded?” offered a human male, coming up behind the elven female.

Her name was apparently Aleatha. She whirled around, slapped the human male across the face.

At this point, a human female entered the fray. “What did you hit Roland for? He didn’t do anything!”

“Rega’s right,” said the man called Roland. He was nursing a red cheek. “I didn’t do anything.”

“You said I had the face of a pig!” Aleatha stated haughtily.

“He said you were pigheaded, Aleatha.” Paithan attempted to explain. “It doesn’t mean the same thing in human that it means in elven …”

“Oh, don’t pander to her, Paithan!” Rega snapped. “She knows perfectly well what he meant. She speaks human better than she lets on.”

“Excuse me, Rega, but this is between me and my sister—”

“Yes, Rega,” interjected Aleatha, arching her eyebrows. “We don’t need any
outsiders
interfering in our family business.”

“Outsiders!” Rega flushed, glared at Paithan. “So that’s what you think of me! An outsider! Come on, Roland. We
outsiders
are going back to
our
side of the city!”

Grabbing hold of her brother’s arm, Rega hauled him down the street.

“Rega, I never said that …” Paithan started to run off after them. Pausing, he glanced back at Xar. “Uh, excuse me, won’t you?”

“Oh, Paithan, for Orn’s sake, find a backbone!” Aleatha cried.

Paithan didn’t answer, continued following after Rega. Aleatha flounced off in another direction.

This left the dwarf, who had not said a word. He glowered darkly at both Xar and Zifnab; then, with a parting grunt, he turned on his heel and trudged off.

Long ago the Sartan and Patryns fought over who would control these creatures. Why did we bother? Xar wondered. We should have tied them all up in a sack and drowned them!

“Haplo knows,” Zifnab announced.

“So I’ve been told,” Xar said irritably.

“He doesn’t know he knows, but he knows.” Zifnab took off his disreputable hat, rubbed his hair until it stood straight up on his head.

“If this is some trick on your part to try to keep Haplo alive, it won’t work,” Xar snapped testily. “He will die. He may already be dead. And his corpse will lead me to the Seventh Gate.”

“Trick.” Zifnab sighed. “The trick is on you, I’m afraid, old chap. Die. Yes, Haplo may well die. In a place where
you’ll
never find him.”

“Ah, then you know where he is?” Xar didn’t believe it, but he was playing along, still hoping for something useful.

“Well, of course I know!” Zifnab said, insulted. “He’s in—ulp!” The old man clapped his hand over his mouth.

“Yes?” Xar prodded.

“Can’t say. Top secret. For your eyes only. My eyes, that is.”

Xar had an idea.

“Perhaps I was too precipitous in my decision to execute Haplo,” the lord said, musing. “He is a traitor, but I can be generous. I
will
be generous. I pardon Haplo. There, you see. I forgive him—as a father should forgive his erring child. And now you say he is in some type of danger. We will go and find him. You and I. You will lead me to him.”

Xar began steering the old man toward the city gate. “We’ll go back to my ship. Rescue Haplo …”

“I’m touched. Truly touched,” said Zifnab, moist-eyed. “My dragon often says that about me, you know. But it’s really quite impossible.”

Xar began forming a spell. “You
will
come with me, old man …”

“Oh, I’d be tickled to death to come with you,” Zifnab said cheerfully. “If you were going anywhere. But you’re not. Your ship, you see …” His gaze shifted to the sky.

Xar’s ship was lifting above the treetops, sailing away.
The lord was momentarily astounded; then he swiftly cast a spell, a spell that should have taken him instantly on board. The runes flared on his body. He started to leap forward through time and space, but fell back as if he’d struck a wall. Sartan magic. He tried again, only to run into the invisible barrier.

Furious, Xar rounded on the old man, set to cast a spell that would wither the flesh from the fragile bones.

The imposing gentleman dressed all in black stepped out of the shadows. He was bloody and disheveled, his clothes torn, and he looked exhausted. But he took hold of Xar’s wrist in his, gripped it with a strength that the Lord of the Nexus with all his magic could not break.

“Leave him alone,” said the gentleman. “He’s not responsible. Your friend the serpent, the one you know as Sang-drax. He escaped me. He’s the one who is blocking your magic. He’s the one stealing your ship.”

“I don’t believe you!”

The lord’s ship was now nothing more than a speck in the sky.

“He’s taken your form, Lord of the Nexus,” said the gentleman. “Your people think Sang-drax is you. They’ll obey all his commands—and he’ll probably repay them with death.”

“If what you say is true, then he must have some urgent need for the ship,” Xar said confidently, trying to calm himself, though he cast a swift and frowning glance at his disappearing vessel.

The gentleman was speaking to Zifnab. “You don’t look well, sir.”

“Not my fault,” the old man said, pouting. He pointed an accusing finger at Xar. “I told him I was Bond. James Bond. He didn’t believe me.”

“What else did you tell him, sir?” the gentleman asked, looking severe. “Nothing you weren’t supposed to, I take it?”

“Well, now, that depends,” said Zifnab, rubbing his hands together nervously, not meeting the gentleman’s eye. “We did have such a nice chat.”

The imposing gentleman nodded gloomily. “That’s what I feared. You’ve done damage enough for one day, sir. Time to go inside and have your warming drink. The human female will be happy to make it for you, sir.”

“Of course she’d be happy to! Make her day! But she won’t!” Zifnab whined querulously. “She doesn’t know how. No one makes it the way you do.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. I’m very sorry, sir, but I won’t be able to … fix your drink tonight.” The gentleman had gone extremely pale. He managed a wan smile. “I’m not feeling very well. I’ll just take you to your bedchamber, sir …”

Once they were gone, Xar could give vent to his anger. He glared around the city’s walls, walls that were suddenly prison walls, for though he could walk out of that gate with ease (not counting the tytans, which were suddenly the least of his worries), he had no ship, no way to travel back through Death’s Gate. No way to reach Haplo—either dead or alive.

That is, if he believed what the old man had told him.

Feeling weak and old and tired—unusual feelings for the Lord of the Nexus—Xar sat down on a bench in the strange gathering darkness that appeared to be falling on the citadel and nowhere else. Xar tried again to reach Marit, but there was no answer to his urgent summons.

Had she betrayed him? Had Sang-drax betrayed him? …

“Would you believe my enemy?” The whisper came from the night, startling Xar. He stared into the shadows, saw glowing there a single red eye.

Xar rose. “Are you here? Come out where I can see you!”

“I am not here in actual physical presence, Lord. My thoughts are with you.”

“I had much rather my ship was with me,” Xar said angrily. “Bring my ship back to me.”

“If you command, Lord, I will.” Sang-drax was humble. “But may I present an alternate plan? I overheard the conversation between you and that old fool, who may not be as foolish as he would have us believe. Allow
me
to search for Haplo, while you go on with your business here.”

Xar pondered. Not a bad idea at that. He had too much to do, too much at stake to leave now. His people were on Abarrach, poised for war. He had to continue looking for the Seventh Gate; and he still needed to determine whether he had learned the art of bringing life to the dead. Several of those goals might be accomplished here.
In addition, he would find out whether Sang-drax was loyal.

He was beginning to see the outline of a plan.

“If I agree to let you search for Haplo, how do
I
return to Abarrach?” Xar demanded, not wanting Sang-drax to think he had the upper hand.

“Another ship is available to you, Lord. The mensch know its location.”

Probably inside the city somewhere, Xar reasoned.

“Very well.” The lord gave his permission magnanimously. “I will let you know the moment I hear from Marit. Meanwhile, do what you can to find him on your own. Remember, I want Haplo’s corpse—and in good condition!”

“I live only to serve you, Lord Xar,” Sang-drax said humbly. The single eye closed in reverence, and then the presence was gone.

“Excuse me, sir,” came a voice, speaking elven.

Xar had been aware of the young elf’s presence for some time, but, absorbed in his mental conversation with Sang-drax, he hadn’t paid any attention. Now was the moment, however, to start putting his plan into action.

The Lord of the Nexus gave an affected start of surprise, peered through the shadows.

“I beg your pardon, young man. I didn’t hear you come up. What was your name again? Forgive me for asking, but I’m old and my mind wanders.”

“Paithan,” said the elf kindly. “Paithan Quindiniar. I came back to apologize for the way we behaved. We’ve all been under a lot of strain lately. And then, what with the dragon and that horrible serpent and Zifnab … That reminds me, have you seen the old man lately?”

“No, I’m afraid not,” Xar answered. “I must have dozed off. When I woke up, he was gone.”

Paithan looked alarmed. He glanced around anxiously. “Orn take him, the crazy old bugger. I wonder where he’s got to? No good searching for him tonight, though. You must be tired and hungry. Please, come, share dinner with my sister and me. We … uh … usually eat with the others, but I don’t suppose they’ll be joining us tonight.”

“Why, thank you, my boy.” Xar reached out a hand. “Would you mind assisting me? I’m somewhat feeble …”

“Oh, certainly, sir.” Paithan offered Xar his arm.

The Lord of the Nexus clasped the elf close to him, and together—the elf supporting the lord’s faltering steps —they proceeded slowly along the streets toward the citadel.

And while they were walking, Xar received a response to his summons.

“Marit,” he said silently. “I have been waiting to hear from you …”

LOST