Into the Labyrinth (44 page)

“What is it? What’s the matter?” It was Alfred, quavering.

Haplo turned his head slowly. Alfred was behind, standing on the narrow ledge that had already tried to throw Marit into the roiling black water. Part of that ledge was missing. He’d have to jump for it, and Haplo remembered clearly what a wonder Alfred was at leaping across chasms. His feet were wider than the ledge he would have to traverse. Hugh the Hand had already saved the clumsy and accident-prone Sartan from falling into two pits and a crack.

The dog remained near Alfred, occasionally nipping at his heels to urge him along. Cocking its head, the dog whined unhappily.

“What’s wrong?” Alfred repeated fearfully when no one answered.

“The cavern’s going to try to stop us from leaving,” Marit said coldly.

“Dear me,” said Alfred, amazed. “Can it … can it do such a thing?”

“What do you think it’s been doing?” Haplo demanded irritably.

“Oh, but come now.” Alfred took a step forward to argue the point. “You make it sound as if—”

The ground heaved. A ripple passed through it, almost—Haplo could have sworn—as if it laughed. Alfred gave a cry, wavered, twisted. His feet slid out from under him. The dog sank its teeth into his breeches and hung on. Arms flailing wildly, Alfred managed, with the dog’s help,
to regain his balance. Eyes closed in terror, he flattened himself against the rock wall, sweat trickling down his bald head.

All inside the cavern was suddenly still.

“Don’t do that again!” Marit ordered, grinding the words through clenched teeth.

“Blessed Sartan!” Alfred murmured, his fingers trying to dig into the rock.

Haplo swore. “It was you blessed Sartan who created this. How the devil are we going to get out?”

“You shouldn’t have brought me,” Alfred said in a trembling voice. “I warned you I would only slow you down, put you in danger. Don’t worry about me. You go on ahead. I’ll just go back …”

“Don’t move—” Haplo began, then fell silent.

Ignoring him, Alfred had started to walk back, and nothing was happening. The ground remained still.

“Alfred, wait!” Haplo called.

“Let him go!” Marit said scornfully. “He’s slowed us up enough already.”

“That’s what the Labyrinth wants. It
wants
him to go, and I’ll be damned if I’ll obey. Dog, stop him.”

The dog obediently caught hold of Alfred’s flapping coattails, hung on. Alfred looked back at Haplo piteously. “What can I do to help you? Nothing!”

“You may not think so, but the Labyrinth does. Strange as it may seem, Sartan, I’ve got the feeling that the Labyrinth is afraid of you. Maybe because it sees its creator.”

“No!” Alfred shrank back. “No, not me.”

“Yes, you. By hiding in your tomb, by refusing to act, by keeping ‘perfectly safe,’ you feed the evil, perpetuate it.”

Alfred shook his head. Catching hold of his coattails, he began to tug at them.

The dog, thinking it was a game, growled playfully and tugged back.

“At my signal,” Haplo said beneath his breath to Marit. “You and Hugh the Hand make a run for the opening. Be careful. There may be something waiting for us out there. Don’t stop for anything. Don’t look back.”

“Haplo …” Marit began. “I don’t want to—” She faltered, flushing.

Startled, hearing a different tone in her voice, he looked at her. “To what? Leave me? I’ll be all right.”

Touched, pleased by the look of concern in her eyes—the first softness he’d seen in her—he reached out his hand to brush the sweat-damp hair back from her forehead. “You’re hurt. Let me take a look—”

Eyes flaring, she pulled away from him. “You’re a fool.” She flicked a disparaging glance at Alfred. “Let him die. Let them all die.”

She turned her back on him, fixed her eyes on the cave’s opening.

The ground trembled beneath Haplo’s feet. They didn’t have much time. He held out his hand across the broken ledge. “Alfred,” he said quietly, “I need you.”

Alfred lifted a haggard, drawn face, stared at Haplo in amazement. The dog, at a silent signal from its master, released its hold.

“I can’t do this alone,” Haplo continued. He held out his hand, held it steady. “I need your help to find my child. Come with me.”

Alfred’s eyes filled with tears. He smiled tremulously. “How? I can’t …”

“Give me your hand. I’ll pull you across.”

Alfred leaned precariously over the broken ledge, reached out his hand—bony, ungainly, the wrist protruding from the frayed lace of his too-short cuffs. And, of course, he was blubbering. “Haplo, I don’t know what to say …”

The Patryn caught hold of the Sartan’s wrist, clasped it tightly. The ground heaved and buckled. Alfred lost his footing.

“Run, Marit!” Haplo shouted, and began to work his magic.

At his command, blue and red sigla burned in the air. He spun the runes into a blue-glowing rope that snaked from his arm to wrap around Alfred’s body.

The cavern was collapsing. Risking a quick glance, Haplo saw Marit and Hugh running madly for the exit. A rock plummeted down from the ceiling, struck Marit a glancing blow. The runes on her body protected her from harm, but the weight of the rock knocked her down. Hugh the Hand picked her up. The two dashed on. The assassin looked behind him once, to see if Haplo was coming. Marit did not look.

Hauling on the rope, Haplo swung the Sartan—arms and legs dangling like a dead spider—across the gap to his side of the ledge. Just at that moment, the part of the ledge on which Alfred had been standing gave way.

“Dog! Jump!” Haplo yelled.

The dog gathered itself and, as the rock slid out from beneath its feet, hurled its body into the dust-laden air. It slammed into Alfred, sent them both sprawling.

Boulders fell across the path, blocking it, blocking their way out. Haplo picked the Sartan up, shook him. Alfred’s eyes were starting to roll back in his head; his body was going limp.

“If you faint, you’ll die here. And so will I!” Haplo shouted at him. “Use your own magic, damn it!”

Alfred blinked, stared. Then he drew in a sucking breath. Singing the runes in a quavering voice, he spread his arms and began to fly toward the exit, which was rapidly growing smaller.

“Come on, boy,” Haplo commanded the dog and plunged ahead. His rune-magic struck the boulders that blocked his path, burst them apart, sent them bounding out of his way.

Alfred swooped up and out of the cavern opening. His arms flapping, feet stretched out behind him, he looked like a coattailed crane.

A huge rock thundered down on top of Haplo, bowled him over, pinned his leg beneath it. The opening was closing; the mountain itself was sliding down on top of him. A tiny glimmer of gray light was all that remained. Haplo used his magic as a wedge, pried the boulder off his leg, lunged forward, thrusting his hand through the narrowing gap.

The tunnel of light grew wider. Sartan runes flared around his hand, strengthening the glow of the Patryn runes.

“Pull him out!” Alfred was shouting. “I’ll hold it open!”

Hugh the Hand grabbed hold of Haplo, pulled him through the magic-wrought tunnel. Haplo scrambled to his feet, began to run. The assassin and Alfred were at his side, the dog barking and racing in front of them. Alfred naturally stumbled over his own feet. Haplo didn’t even
pause, but swept the Sartan up and kept going. Marit stood on a ridge, waiting for them.

“Take cover!” Haplo shouted at her.

An avalanche of rock and splintered trees roared down the mountainside.

Haplo flung himself face forward on the ground, dragged Alfred down with him. The Patryn’s rune-magic sheltered him, and he hoped Alfred had sense enough to use his own magic for protection. Rock and debris bounced off the magical shields, crashed around them. The ground shook, and then suddenly all was quiet.

Slowly, Haplo sat up.

“I guess you won’t be going back now, Alfred,” he said.

Half the mountain had collapsed in on itself. Gigantic slabs of stone lay across what had been the cavern’s entrance, sealing it shut, perhaps forever.

Haplo stared at the ruin with a strange foreboding. What was wrong? He hadn’t really planned to come back this way. Perhaps it was nothing more than the instinctive fear of having a door slammed shut at his back. But why had the Labyrinth suddenly decided to seal off their exit?

Marit unknowingly spoke his thoughts.

“That leaves us just one way out now—the Final Gate.”

Her words came back, a dismal echo, bouncing off the ruined mountain.

The Final Gate.

THE LABYRINTH

“I
CAN’T GO ON,” ALFRED GULPED, SINKING ONTO A FLAT ROCK
.

“I have to rest.”

The last panicked dash and the fall of the mountain on top of him had been too much for the Sartan. He sat hunched over, wheezing and gasping. Marit cast a disdainful glance at him, then one at Haplo. Then she looked away.

I told you
, said her scornful gaze.
You are a fool.

Haplo said quietly, “There’s no time, Alfred. Not now. We’re exposed, out in the open. We find cover, then we rest.”

“Just a few moments,” Alfred pleaded meekly. “It seems quiet …”

“Too quiet,” Marit said.

They were in a small grove of scrub trees that appeared, from their stunted growth and twisted limbs, to have waged a desperate struggle for life in the shadow of the mountain. A sparse smattering of leaves clung dejectedly to the branches. Now that the mountain had collapsed, the Labyrinth’s sun touched the trees for perhaps the first time. But the gray light brought no cheer, no comfort. The leaves rustled mournfully, and that, Marit noticed uneasily, was the only sound in the land.

She drew her knife out of her boot. The dog jumped up, growled. Hugh the Hand eyed her suspiciously. Ignoring the animal, ignoring the mensch, Marit said a few words to the tree in her own language, apologizing for harming it, explaining her dire need. Then she began to hack at a branch.

Haplo, too, had apparently noted the silence. “Yes, it’s quiet. Too quiet. That avalanche must have been heard for miles. You can bet someone is on their way to investigate. And I don’t intend to be here when they arrive.”

Alfred was perplexed. “But … it was only an avalanche. A rock slide. Why would anyone care?”

“Of course the Labyrinth cares. It dropped a mountain on us, didn’t it?” Haplo wiped sweat and rock dust from his face.

Marit cut off the branch, began to strip away small twigs and half-dead leaves.

Haplo squatted down on his haunches, faced Alfred.

“Don’t you understand yet, damn it? The Labyrinth is an intelligent entity. I don’t know what rules it or how, but it knows—it knows everything.” He was silent, thoughtful. “But there’s a difference about the Labyrinth. I can sense it, feel it. Fear.”

“Yes,” agreed Alfred. “I’m terrified.”

“No, not our fear. Its fear. It’s afraid.”

“Afraid? Afraid of what?”

Haplo grinned, though his grin was strained. “Strange as it sounds, us; you, Sartan.”

Alfred shook his head.

“How many heretical Sartan were sent through the Vortex? Hundreds … a thousand?” Haplo asked.

“I don’t know.” Alfred spoke into the lace of his draggled shirt collar.

“And how many had mountains dropped on them? None, I’ll wager. That mountain has been standing there a long, long time. But you—you enter the Vortex and
bam!
And you can be damn sure that the Labyrinth’s not going to give up.”

Alfred looked at Haplo in dismay. “Why? Why would it be afraid of me?”

“You’re the only one who knows the answer to that,” Haplo returned.

Marit, sharpening the point of the branch with her knife, agreed with Alfred. Why would the Labyrinth fear a mensch, two returning victims, and a weak and sniveling Sartan? Yet she knew the Labyrinth, knew it as Haplo knew it. It was intelligent, malevolent. The avalanche had been a deliberate attempt to murder them, and when the attempt had failed, the Labyrinth had sealed off their only
route of escape. Not that it had been much of an escape route, with no ship to take them back through Death’s Gate.

Fear. Haplo’s right, Marit realized, with a sudden heady elation. The Labyrinth’s afraid. All my life
I’ve
been the one who was afraid. Now it is. It is as scared as I ever was. Never before has the Labyrinth tried to keep someone from entering. Time and again, it permitted Xar to enter the Final Gate. The Labyrinth even seemed to welcome the encounter, the chance to destroy him. It never shut the gate on Xar, as it tried to shut it on us. Yet not one of us, nor all of us combined, is nearly so powerful as the Lord of the Nexus.