Into the Labyrinth (37 page)

The assassin smiled wryly. “The ship burst apart. Water filled my mouth and my lungs and then the next thing I knew I was in this room, on my hands and knees, heaving up my guts. And you were lying next to me, with your hand and arm like charred wood. And that woman was standing over you with her dagger and the dog was about to go for her throat, and then Alfred came bumbling through the door.

“He said something to her in that strange language you people talk and she seemed about to answer him when she toppled over. She was out cold.

“Alfred looked at you and shook his head; then he looked at her and shook his head again. The dog had shut up by this time, and I’d managed to get onto my feet.

“I said, ‘Alfred!’ and walked toward him, only I couldn’t walk very well. It was more of a lurch.”

The Hand’s smile was grim. “He turned around and saw me and gave a kind of croak and then
he
toppled over and
he
was out cold. And then I must have passed out, because that’s the last thing I remember.”

“And when you came to?” Haplo asked.

Hugh shrugged. “I found myself here. Alfred was fussing over you and that woman was sitting over there, watching, and she wasn’t saying anything and neither was Alfred. And I stood up and went over to Alfred. This time I made sure I didn’t scare him.

“But before I could open my mouth, he was up like a startled gazelle and took off through that door, muttering something about food and I was to keep watch until you came around. And that was a while ago and I haven’t seen him since. She’s been here the whole time.”

“Her name is Marit,” said Haplo quietly. He was staring at the floor, running his finger around—but not touching—a Sartan sigil.

“Her name’s Death, my friend, and you’re the mark.”

Marit drew a deep, shivering breath. Might as well get it over.

“Not any longer,” she said.

Rising to her feet, she walked over, picked up her dagger from the stone floor.

The dog leapt up, stood over its master protectively, growling. Hugh the Hand rose, too, his body supple, his movement swift. He said nothing, just stood there, watching her through narrowed eyes.

Ignoring them both, Marit carried the dagger to Haplo. Kneeling down, she offered the dagger to him—hilt first.

“You saved my life,” she said, cold, grudging. “By Patryn law, that must settle any quarrel between us in your favor.”

“But
you
saved my life,” Haplo countered, looking at her with a strange intensity that made her extremely uncomfortable. “That makes us even.”

“I didn’t.” Marit spoke with scorn. “It was your Sartan friend who saved you.”

“What’s she saying?” Hugh the Hand demanded. She had spoken in the Patryn language.

Haplo translated, adding, “According to the law of our people, because I saved her life, any dispute between us is settled in my favor.”

“I hardly call trying to murder you a ‘dispute,’ “ Hugh said dryly, sucking on the pipe and eyeing Marit distrust-fully. “This is a ruse. Don’t believe her.”

“Stay out of this, mensch!” Marit told him. “What do worms such as you know of honor?” She turned back to Haplo. She was still holding the dagger out to him. “Well, will you take it?”

“Won’t this put you in disfavor with Lord Xar?” he asked, still looking at her with that penetrating intensity.

She forced herself to keep her eyes on his. “That’s my concern. I cannot in honor kill you. Just take the damn dagger!”

Haplo took it slowly. He looked at it, turning it around and around in his hand as if he’d never seen anything like it before in his life. It wasn’t the dagger he was examining. It was her. Her motives.

Yes, whatever had once been between them was over.

Turning around, she started to walk away.

“Marit.”

She glanced back.

He held the dagger out to her. “Here, you shouldn’t go unarmed.”

Swallowing, jaw clenched, Marit stalked back, grabbed the dagger, slid it into the top of her boot.

Haplo was about to add something. Marit was turning away so that she wouldn’t have either to hear him or to respond, when they were all startled by a flash of rune-light and the sound of a stone door creaking open.

Alfred walked into the room, but when he saw them all staring at him, he started backing hastily out.

“Dog!” Haplo ordered.

Giving a joyful bark, the animal dashed forward. It caught hold of the Sartan’s coattails and tugged the reluctant Alfred, tripping and stumbling, into the room.

The door shut behind him.

Caught, Alfred cast a meek and unhappy glance at each of them and then, with an apologetic smile and a slight shrug of his thin shoulders, he fainted.

LOST

I
T TOOK SOME TIME TO RESTORE ALFRED, WHO APPEARED VASTLY
reluctant to rediscover his consciousness. At length his eyes fluttered open. Unfortunately, the first thing he saw was Hugh the Hand, looming over him.

“Hullo, Alfred,” the Hand said grimly.

Alfred turned pale. His eyes rolled back in his head.

The assassin reached down, caught hold of Alfred by his frayed lace collar. “Faint again and I’ll choke you!”

“No, no. I’m … all right. Air. I need … air.”

“Let him up,” Haplo said.

Hugh the Hand released his grip, backed off. Alfred, gasping, staggered to his feet. His gaze fixed firmly on Haplo. “I’m very happy to see you …”

“Happy to see me, too, Alfred?” Hugh, the Hand manded.

Alfred slid a swift glance in Hugh’s direction and was apparently sorry he’d done so, because his gaze slid away again quite rapidly.

“Uh, certainly, Sir Hugh. Surprised …”

“Surprised?” Hugh growled. “Why are you surprised? Because I was
dead
that last time you saw me.”

“Well, yes, as a matter of fact, now that I think of it, you were. Quite dead.” Alfred flushed, stammered. “You obviously made a … a miraculous re—recovery …”

“I don’t suppose you’d know anything about that, do you?”

“Me?” Alfred raised his eyes to the level of Hugh’s knees. “I’m afraid not. I was rather busy at the time. There was the Lady Iridal’s safety to worry about, you see …”

“Then how do you explain this?” Hugh the Hand ripped his shirt open. The Sartan rune was visible on his breast, now glowing faintly, as if with pleasure. “Look at it, Alfred! Look what you’ve done to me!”

Alfred raised his eyes slowly, reluctantly. He cast one stricken glance at the rune, then groaned and covered his face with his hands. The dog, whimpering in sympathy, trotted over and placed its paw gently on Alfred’s over-large foot.

Hugh the Hand glared in fury, then suddenly grabbed Alfred and shook him. “Look at me, damn it! Look at what you’ve done! Wherever I was, I was content, at peace. Then you wrenched me back. Now I can’t live, I can’t die! End it! Send me back!”

Alfred crumpled, hung like a broken doll in Hugh’s hands. The dog, squashed between the two, looked confusedly from one to the other, uncertain which to attack, which to protect.

“I didn’t know I did it!” Alfred was babbling, practically incoherent. “I didn’t know. You must believe me. I don’t remember …”

“You—don’t—remember!” Hugh the Hand punctuated each word with a shake that eventually drove poor Alfred to his knees.

Haplo rescued the dog, which was in danger of being trampled, and then rescued Alfred.

“Let him alone,” Haplo advised. “He’s telling the truth —as weird as that might sound. Half the time he doesn’t know what he’s doing. Like changing himself into a dragon to save my life. Come on, Hugh. Let him go. He’s our way out. At least I hope he is. If we’re trapped here, none of this is going to matter anyway.”

“Let
him
go!” Scarcely able to breathe around his rage, Hugh the Hand glowered, then finally threw the Sartan to the floor. “Who’s going to let
me
go?”

Turning on his heel, he walked to the door, flung it open, and left. Marit, watching closely, noted with interest that the Sartan magic made no apparent attempt to stop the mensch. She considered following him, just to escape this room herself, but instantly abandoned the idea. She couldn’t leave Haplo. Her lord had commanded her to stay.

“Dog, go with him,” Haplo ordered.

The animal dashed off after Hugh the Hand. Haplo knelt down beside Alfred. Marit took advantage of the confusion to fade quietly into the background, as much as she possibly could in this wide-open room.

Alfred lay huddled on the floor in a heap, pitiful and pathetic. Marit regarded him with scorn. This Sartan didn’t look as if he could raise bread dough, let alone raise the dead. Hugh the Hand must be mistaken.

The Sartan was a middle-aged man, with a bald crown and wispy hair straggling down on the sides of his head; he had a gangly, ungraceful body and large feet and hands—all of which appeared to think they belonged to someone else. He was clad in faded velvet breeches, a velvet coat that didn’t fit, shabby hose, and a ruffled shirt decorated with tattered lace.

Taking a frayed handkerchief from a torn pocket, Alfred began to mop his face.

“Are you all right?” Haplo asked gruffly, with a kind of grudging concern.

Alfred glanced up at him, flushed. “Yes, thank you. He … he had every right to do that, you know. What I did–
if
I did it, and I truly
don’t
remember doing it—was wrong. Very wrong. You recall what I said on Abarrach about necromancy?” He whispered the last word.

“ ‘When a life is brought back untimely, another dies untimely.’ I remember. But look, is there any way you can help him?”

Alfred hesitated a moment. He was about to answer
no
, it seemed; then he sighed. His bony shoulders sagged. “Yes, I think it would be possible.” He shook his head. “But not here.”

“Then where?”

“Do you remember the chamber … on Abarrach? The one they call the Chamber of the Damned?”

“Yes,” said Haplo, looking uncomfortable. “I remember. I wanted to go back there. I was going to take Xar, to prove to him what I meant about a higher power—”

“Oh, dear, no!” Alfred protested, alarmed. “I don’t believe that would be at all wise. You see, I’ve discovered what that chamber is. Orla told me.”

“Told you what?” Haplo demanded.

“She was convinced that we had discovered the Seventh Gate,” Alfred said softly, in awed tones.

Haplo shrugged. “Yeah? So what?”

Alfred looked startled at this reaction; then he sighed. “I guess you wouldn’t know, at that. You see, when the Sartan sundered the world—”

“Yes, yes,” Haplo interrupted impatiently. “Death’s Gate. The Final Gate. I’ve been through enough gates to last me a lifetime. What about this one? What makes it so special?”

“That was where they were when they sundered it,” Alfred said in a low voice. “They were in the Seventh Gate.”

“So Samah and Orla and the Council got together in this chamber—”

“More than that, Haplo,” Alfred said gravely. “They not only came together in the chamber, they imbued the chamber with magic. They tore apart a world and built four new ones from that chamber—”

Haplo gave a whistle. “And it still exists, with all its magic … all its power …” He shook his head. “No wonder they put warding runes to prevent anyone’s getting inside.”

“According to Orla, Samah wasn’t responsible for that,” Alfred said. “You see, when the magic was complete and the worlds were formed, he realized how dangerous this chamber could become—”

“Worlds that could be created could also be destroyed.”

“Precisely. And so he sent the chamber into oblivion.”

“Why didn’t he just destroy the chamber?”

“He tried,” Alfred said quietly. “And he discovered he couldn’t.”

“The higher power stopped him?”

Alfred nodded. “Afraid of what he’d tapped into, unable or unwilling to understand it, Samah sent the chamber away, hoping it would never be discovered. That was the last Orla knew of it. But the chamber
was
discovered, by a group of Sartan on Abarrach—a group desperately unhappy with what was happening to their own people. Fortunately, I don’t believe they had any idea what they’d found.”