Into the Labyrinth (38 page)

“Yeah, all right, so we were in the Seventh Gate. What has any of this got to do with Hugh the Hand?”

“I think that if he went into the Seventh Gate, he would be free.”

“How?”

“I can’t be sure,” Alfred answered evasively. “Not that it matters anyway. We’re not going anywhere.”

Haplo glanced around. “Where the devil are we? And did you escape Samah? This place looks familiar, like that tomb on Arianus. I don’t suppose we’re back on Arianus?”

“No, no, we’re not on Arianus.”

Haplo waited patiently for the Sartan to continue.

Alfred kept quiet.

“You do know where we are?” Haplo asked dubiously.

Alfred conceded the point with a reluctant nod.

“Then where are we?”

Alfred wrung his hands together. “Let me think how best to explain. First, I must tell you that I didn’t escape Samah.”

“I’m not interested—”

“Please, let me finish. Have you traveled through Death’s Gate since it’s been open?”

“Yes. I went back to Arianus. Why?”

“Images of each of the worlds flashed before your eyes, giving you a choice of where you want to go. Do you recall a world that was very beautiful, a world you’ve never visited, never seen? A world of blue skies, sunlight, green trees, vast oceans—an ancient, ancient world.”

Haplo nodded. “I saw that. I wondered at the time—”

“That’s where we are,” said Alfred. “The Vortex.”

Haplo looked around at the bare white marble. “Blue sky. Sunshine. Wonderful.” His gaze returned to Alfred. “You’re making even less sense than usual.”

“The Vortex. The center of the universe. Once it led to the ancient world—”

“A world no longer in existence.”

“True. But the images of it must have been accidentally retained—”

“Or put there deliberately, a Sartan trap for someone traveling Death’s Gate who shouldn’t have been,” Haplo said grimly. “I damn near came here myself. Is this where I would have ended up?”

“Yes, I’m afraid so. Although you’ll find it’s not bad, once you get used to it. All our wants and needs are provided.
The magic sees to that. And it’s safe. Perfectly safe.”

Haplo was looking around again. “And to think I’ve been worrying about you in the Labyrinth, picturing you dead or worse. And all the time you’ve been here.” He waved his hand. “Safe. Perfectly safe.”

“You were concerned about me?” Alfred asked, his wan face brightening.

Haplo made an impatient gesture. “Of course I was concerned. You can’t walk across an empty room without causing some sort of catastrophe. And speaking of empty rooms, how do we get out of this one?”

Alfred didn’t reply. Lowering his head, he stared at his shoes.

Haplo eyed him thoughtfully. “Samah said he was sending you and Orla to the Labyrinth. Either he made a mistake or he wasn’t quite the bastard he made out to be. He sent you both here.” A thought seemed to occur to him. “Where is Orla, anyway?”

“Samah wasn’t a bad man,” Alfred said softly. “Just a very frightened one. But he’s not afraid anymore. As for Orla, she left. She went to be with him.”

“And you just stayed here? You didn’t go with her? You could have at least gone back to warn the other Sartan on Chelestra—”

“You don’t understand, Haplo,” Alfred said. “I stay here because I have to. There is no way out.”

Haplo stared at him in exasperation. “But you said Orla left—”

Alfred began to sing the runes. His ungainly body was suddenly graceful, swaying and whirling to the rhythm of the song. His hands formed the sigla in the air.

The melody was sad, yet sweet, and Marit was suddenly reminded of the last time she’d held her baby in her arms. The memory hurt her, the song hurt her, and the pain made her angry. She was about to lash out, to disrupt the magic spell he was casting—a spell that was undoubtedly meant to weaken her—when a portion of the stone wall disappeared.

Inside the wall, lying in a crystal coffin, was a Sartan woman. Her face was quiet, her eyes closed. She seemed to smile faintly.

Haplo understood. “I’m sorry …”

Alfred smiled sadly. “She is at peace. She left to join her husband.” He shifted his gaze to Marit; his expression grew stern. “Orla saw what happened to him, saw how he died.”

“He was executed for his crimes.” Marit was defensive, defiant. “He suffered as he made us suffer. He deserved what he got. More, even. Far more.”

Alfred said nothing. He cast a fond glance at the woman in the crystal coffin, rested his hand on the window with a gentle touch. Then, slowly, his hand moved to another crystal coffin beside hers. This coffin was empty.

“What’s that?” Haplo demanded.

“Mine,” Alfred said, “when the time comes. You are right. This place is very much like Arianus.”

“Too damn much,” said Haplo. “You’ve found another tomb. ‘Perfectly safe!’ ” He snorted. “Well, you’re not crawling into it. You’re coming with me.”

“I’m afraid not. You’re not going anywhere. I’ve told you, there’s no way out.” Alfred looked back at Orla. “Except her way.”

“He’s lying!” Marit cried, fending off panic, fighting a sudden terrifying desire to tear at the solid stone with her bare hands.

“No, he’s not lying. He’s a Sartan. He can’t lie. But he’s very good at
not
telling the truth.” Haplo eyed Alfred. “Death’s Gate is around here somewhere. We’ll go out through Death’s Gate.”

“We don’t have a ship,” Marit reminded him.

“We’ll build one.” Haplo kept his gaze on Alfred, who was once more staring at his shoes. “What about it, Sartan? Death’s Gate? Is that the way out?”

“The gate swings only one way,” Alfred said in a low voice.

Frustrated, not certain what to do, Haplo stared at the Sartan.

Marit knew what to do. Leaning down, she slid the dagger from her boot.

“I’ll make him talk.”

“Leave him alone, Marit. You won’t get anything out of him that way.”

“I’ll try not to damage your ‘friend’ too much. You don’t have to watch.”

Haplo stepped in front of her. He said nothing. He simply put his body between her and Alfred.

“Traitor!” Marit tried to dodge around him.

Haplo caught her, his movement quick and deft. He held on to her tightly. She was strong, perhaps stronger than he was at this moment, and she fought to escape. Their arms and hands locked, and as they held each other fast, a blue glow began to shimmer from each hand, each arm.

The rune-magic, coming to life.

Except that this magic wasn’t acting either to attack or to defend. It was acting as it would when any two Patryns touched. It was the magic of joining, of closing the circle. It was a magic of healing, of shared strength, shared commitment.

It began to seep inside Marit.

She didn’t want it. She was empty inside, empty and hollow, dark and silent. She couldn’t even hear her own voice anymore, just the echo of words spoken long ago coming back to her. The emptiness was cold, but at least it wasn’t painful. She’d pushed out all the pain, given birth to it, cut the cord.

But the blue glow, soft and warm, spread from Haplo’s hand to hers. It began creeping into her. A tiny drop, like a single tear, fell into the emptiness …

“Haplo, you’d better come and see this.”

It was Hugh the Hand, standing in the door. His voice was harsh, urgent.

Distracted, Haplo turned. Marit broke free of his grasp. He turned back to her, looking at her, and in his eyes was the same warmth she’d felt in the rune-magic. His hand reached out toward her. She had only to take it …

The dog came trotting up. Tail wagging, tongue lolling, it started toward her, as if it had found a friend.

Marit threw her dagger at it.

Her aim was rotten. She was upset, could barely see. The dagger grazed the animal along the left flank.

The dog yelped in pain, flinched away from her. The dagger thudded against the wall somewhere near the assassin’s right calf. Hugh put his foot on it. Alfred was staring in horror, so pale it seemed he might faint again.

Marit turned her back on them all. “Keep that beast
away from me, Haplo. By law, I can’t kill you. But I can kill that damn dog.”

“Come here, boy,” Haplo called. He examined the animal’s wound. “It’s all right, dog. Just a scratch. You were lucky.”

“In case anybody’s interested,” Hugh the Hand said, “I found the way out. At least I think it’s a way out. You’d better come and look. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Haplo glanced at Alfred, who had flushed bright red. “What’s wrong with it? Is it guarded? Magic?”

“Nothing like that,” the Hand answered. “More like a joke.”

“I doubt it’s a joke. The Sartan don’t have much of a sense of humor.”

“Someone did. The way out is through a maze.”

“A maze …” Haplo repeated softly.

He knew the truth then. And Marit knew at the same moment Haplo knew. The emptiness inside her filled, filled with fear, fear that twisted and kicked inside her like a living thing. She was almost sick with it.

“So Samah
did
keep his word,” Haplo said to Alfred.

The Sartan nodded. His face was deathly white, his expression bleak. “Yes, he kept it.”

“He knows where we are?” Hugh the Hand demanded.

“He knows,” Haplo said quietly. “He’s known all along. The Labyrinth.”

THE LABYRINTH

T
HEY LEFT THE ROOM OF WHITE MARBLE AND ITS CRYSTAL COF
-fins. Following Hugh’s lead, they traversed a narrow hallway carved out of gray rough-cut rock. The corridor sloped, straight and even, steadily downward. At its end an arched doorway, also carved out of rock, opened into a gigantic cavern.

The vault of the cavern’s roof was high overhead, lost in shadows. A dull gray light, shining from a point far opposite the entrance, glistened off the wet surfaces of huge stalactites. Stalagmites thrust up out of the cavern floor to meet them, like teeth in a gaping mouth. Through gaps in the wet teeth a river of black water swirled, flowing in the direction of the cheerless light.

An ordinary enough cavern. Haplo looked at the arched doorway. Touching Marit’s arm, he silently called her attention to a mark scratched above it—a single Sartan rune. Marit looked at it, shuddered, leaned against the chill wall.

She was shivering, her bare arms clasped tightly. Her face was averted; her hair hung over it, hiding it. Haplo knew that if he smoothed back that tangled mass of hair, touched her cheek, he’d feel tears. He didn’t blame her. Once he would have wept himself. But now he felt strangely elated. This was, after all, where he’d intended to come all along.

Marit couldn’t read the Sartan rune-language, but she could read that one sigil. All Patryns could. They could read them and they had come to hate and detest them.

“The First Gate,” said Haplo. “We stand at the very beginnings of the Labyrinth.”

“Labyrinth,” Hugh the Hand repeated. “Then I was right. That is a maze out there.” He gestured beyond the gate.

Rows of stalagmites spread out into the darkness. A path, wet and sleek, led from the arch into the stalagmites. Haplo could see from where he stood the first fork in the path, two diverse courses, slanting left and right, each wandering off amid rock formations that had not been naturally created, but had been formed by magic and fear and hate.

There was one right way. All others led to disaster. And they were standing at the very first gate.

“I’ve been in a few caves in my life,” the Hand continued. He gestured into the darkness with the stem of his pipe. “But nothing like this. I walked out onto the path until I came to that first fork; then I caught a glimpse of where it led.” He rubbed his chin. The hair was beginning to grow back on his face and his head, a blue-black stubble that must have itched. “I figured I’d better come back before I got myself lost.”

“Getting lost would have been the least of your worries,” said Haplo. “The wrong turn in that maze leads to death. It was built that way on purpose. The Labyrinth is more than a maze. It’s a prison. And my child is trapped in there.”

Hugh the Hand removed his pipe from his mouth, stared at Haplo. “I’ll be damned.”

Alfred huddled in the back, as far from the arched doorway as he could get and still remain near the group.