Margaret Weis - The Seventh Gate

Haplo was still shaking his head.

Alfred looked pained. “You don’t trust me. I don’t blame you. I know that in the past I’ve let you down, but, truly, I’m strong now. I am—”

“I know you are,” Haplo said. “I trust you. I want you to trust me.”

Alfred stared, blinked.

“Listen to me. In order to cast the spell, you’ll have to leave this chamber, enter Death’s Gate. Right?”

“Yes, but—”

“Then I’m staying here.” Haplo was firm.

“Why? I don’t—”

“To stand guard,” Haplo said.

Alfred’s hopes, which had been bright, were suddenly dimmed; a dark cloud passed over his sun. “Lord Xar. I forgot. But surely if he was going to try to stop us, he would have done so by now—”

“Just get on with the spell,” Haplo said sharply.

Alfred regarded him anxiously, sadly. “You know something. Something you’re not telling me. Something’s wrong. You’re in danger. Perhaps I shouldn’t leave . . .”

“You and I don’t matter. Think of them,” Haplo said quietly.

“Let go,” said Jonathon. “And take hold.”

“. .. let go ... take hold . . .” The phantasm’s voice was strong; stronger, almost, than that of the body.

“Cast the spell,” said Hugh the Hand. “Set me free.”

A single drop, though it falls into an ocean, will yet cause a ripple.

“I will,” said Alfred suddenly, lifting his head. “I can.”

“Farewell, my friend,” he said. “Thank you. For bringing me back to life.”

Haplo took Alfred’s hand, then embraced the embarrassed and startled Sartan.

“Thank you,” Haplo said, his voice gruff, “for giving me life. Farewell, my friend.”

Alfred was extremely red. He patted Haplo’s back awkwardly, then turned away, wiping his eyes and nose with his coat sleeve.

“You know,” said Alfred, voice muffled, his face averted, “I ... I miss the dog.”

“You know,” said Hap!o, grinning, “so do I.”

With a last fond look, Alfred turned and walked over to the door marked with the sigil meaning “death.”

He didn’t stumble once.

Haplo stood near Death’s Gate, watched as Alfred entered. The Patryn was aware of a presence near him. Hugh the Hand had come up to stand at his side, join him in his vigil. Haplo did not turn around, did not take his gaze from the doorway.

Alfred placed his hand on the sigil, spoke the rune.

The door swung open. Alfred, without a look behind, entered and disappeared.

Hugh the Hand began walking toward the door.

“I wouldn’t go any farther,” Haplo advised mildly.

The assassin halted, glanced back. “I only want to see what’s going on.”

“If you take another step, My Lord,” Haplo said, and his voice was respectful, “I will be forced to stop you.”

“ ‘My Lord?’ ” Hugh the Hand appeared puzzled.

Haplo moved to stand between the Hand and the door.

“Do no violence,” Jonathon warned quietly.

“. . . no violence . . .”

Hugh the Hand stared at the Patryn intently; then he shrugged and spoke several words—words in the Patryn language. Words a mensch could not possibly know.

A shower of sparkling runes swirled around the assassin. The light was dazzling; Haplo was forced to squint against it. When he could see, Hugh the Hand was gone. Lord Xar stood in his place.

“The question about the four worlds,” Xar said. “That’s what gave me away.”

“Yes, My Lord.” Haplo smiled, shook his head. “It wasn’t the type of question a mensch would ask. Hugh the Hand didn’t much care about his one world, let alone three others. Where is he, by the way?”

Xar shrugged; his gaze was now concentrated on Death’s Gate. “In the Fire Sea. In the Labyrinth. Who knows? The last I saw of him, he was on board the Sartan ship. While you were fooling with that bumbling Sartan, I was able to assume Hugh’s form, take his place on the back of the fire dragon. That thing knew the truth.” Xar’s gaze flicked to Jonathon.

The lazar remained seated at the table, seemingly uncaring, oblivious.

“But what do the living mean to those walking corpses? You were a fool to trust it. It has betrayed you.”

“Do no violence,” Jonathon repeated softly.

“. . . no violence . . .”

Xar snorted. The glittering eyes flicked back to Haplo. “So you truly intend—you and this Sartan master you serve—to shut Death’s Gate.”

“I do,” said Haplo.

The lord’s eyes narrowed. “You doom your own people! You doom the woman you love. You doom your child! Yes, she is alive. But she won’t remain alive if you permit the Sartan to shut the Gate.”

Haplo said nothing, tried to maintain his outward composure. Xar was swift to read the clenched jaw muscle, the faint pallor, the swift and doubtful glance toward the door that led to the Labyrinth.

“Go to her, my son,” Xar said gently. “Go to Marit, find your child. I found her. I know where she is. She is not far, not far at all. Take her and her mother to the Nexus. You will be safe there. When my work here is complete”—the lord made an all-encompassing gesture with his hands—“I will return in triumph to join you. Together, we will defeat our enemies, lock the Sartan in the prison they designed for us! And we will be free!”

Again, Haplo said nothing. But he did not move, did not step aside. He remained, blocking the door.

Xar looked past Haplo, inside Death’s Gate. He could not see Alfred, but he could see the swirl of chaos, guessed that Alfred must be having a difficult time of it. So long as chaos prevailed, Xar had nothing to worry about. He had time. He glanced at the runes glowing on the walls. He could read their warning. The Lord of the Nexus turned back to Haplo, who was blocking his way.

“Alfred has tricked you, my son,” Xar warned. “He is using you. He will turn on you in the end. Mark my words. He will cast you back into prison!”

Haplo did not move.

Xar was beginning to grow angry. He marched forward until he stood directly in front of Haplo. “Your loyalty belongs to me, my son. I gave you life.”

Haplo remained silent. His left hand moved to his chest, to the scars over the heart-rune.

Xar reached out, gripped that hand, nails digging into the flesh. “Yes, I let you die! It was my right to take your life, if I needed it. You pledged as much to me there”—the gnarled finger pointed back to the Labyrinth—“in front of the Final Gate.”

“Yes, Lord. It was your right.”

“I could have killed you, my son. I could have. I did not. Love breaks the heart.” Xar sighed. “There is a weakness in me. I admit it—”

“Not a weakness, Lord. Our strength,” said Haplo. “That is why we have survived.”

“Hatred!” Xar was displeased, his voice cold. “That is why we have survived! And now vengeance is within our grasp! Not only vengeance, but a chance to put the great wrong right! The four worlds will become one again—under our rule!”

“Thousands, millions will die,” said Haplo.

“Mensch!” Xar was scornful; then—glancing back at Haplo’s face—the lord realized he’d said the wrong thing.

But he was distracted. Keeping one eye on Death’s Gate, Xar could see the mad whirl of chaos slowing. He had not overestimated Alfred’s power. The Serpent Mage might actually be able to pull this off.

Xar was running out of time. “Forgive my callous attitude, my son. I spoke hastily, without thought. You know that I will do what I can to save as many of the mensch as possible. We will need them to help us rebuild. Tell me the names of those mensch you particularly want protected and I will arrange for them to be transported to the Nexus. You yourself can watch over them. You will be the guarantor of their safety—something you cannot do if Death’s Gate is shut. I will not be able to rescue them then. Go to Death’s Gate. Take this opportunity. I will send you back to Marit, to your child—”