Margaret Weis - Into the Labyrinth

“Ah, so I am going to Pryan, am I?”

Sang-drax appeared somewhat confused. “I thought that was my lord’s intent. When we discussed the matter, you said—”

“I said I would consider going to Pryan.” Xar eyed the dragon-snake narrowly.

“You seem to be unusually interested in getting me to that particular world. Is there any special reason, I wonder?”

“My lord has said himself that the tytans of Pryan would make formidable additions to his army. And, in addition, I think it quite likely that you might find the Seventh Gate on—”

“The Seventh Gate? How did you come to find out about the Seventh Gate?” Sang-drax was now definitely confused.

“Why... Kleitus told me you were searching for it, Lord.”

“He did, did he?”

“Yes, Lord. Just now.”

“And what do you know of the Seventh Gate?”

“Nothing, Lord, I assure you—”

“Then why are you discussing it?”

“The lazar brought it up. I was only—”

“Enough!” Xar had rarely been so angry. Was he the only person around here who didn’t know about the Seventh Gate? Well, that would soon end.

“Enough,” Xar repeated, casting a sidelong glance at Marit. “We will speak of this matter later, Sang-drax. After we have dealt with Samah. I trust I will receive many of the answers to my questions from him. Now, as to guards—”

“Allow me to serve you, Lord. I will use my own magic to guard the prisoners. That will be all you need.”

“Are you saying that your magic is more powerful than ours? Than Patryn magic?” Xar asked the question in a mild tone. A dangerous tone, to those who knew him.

Marit knew him. She drew a step or two away from Sang-drax.

“It is not a question of whose magic is more powerful, My Lord,” Sang-drax replied humbly. “But let us face facts. The Sartan have learned to defend against Patryn magic, just as you, My Lord, can defend against theirs. The Sartan have not learned to fight our magic. We defeated them on Chelestra, as you will remember, Lord—”

“Just barely.”

“But that was before Death’s Gate had been opened, My Lord. Our magic is much more powerful now.” Again the threatening softness. “I was the one who captured these two.”

Xar looked at Marit, who confirmed this fact with a nod. “Yes,” she conceded.

“He brought them to us, where we stood guard, at the gates of Necropolis.” The Lord of the Nexus pondered. Despite Sang-drax’s protestations, Xar didn’t like the implied conceit of the dragon-snake’s statement. The lord also didn’t like admitting that the creature had a point. Samah. The great Samah. Who among the Patryns could guard him effectively? Only Xar himself. Sang-drax appeared ready to argue further, but Xar cut the dragon-snake’s words short with an impatient wave of his hand. “There is only one sure way to prevent Samah’s escape, and that is to kill him.”

Sang-drax demurred. “But surely you require information from him, My Lord...”

“Indeed,” Xar said with smooth satisfaction. “And I will have it—from his corpse!”

“Ah!” Sang-drax bowed. “You have acquired the art of necromancy. My admiration is boundless, Lord of the Nexus.”

The dragon-snake sidled closer; the red eye gleamed in the torchlight. “Samah will die, as you command, My Lord. But—there is no need for haste. Surely he should suffer as your people have suffered. Surely he should be made to endure at least a portion of the torment your people have been made to endure.”

“Yes!” Xar drew in a shivering breath. “Yes, he will suffer. I will personally—”

“Permit me, My Lord,” Sang-drax begged. “I have a rather special talent for such things. You will watch. You will be pleased. If not, you have only to take my place.”

“Very well.” Xar was amused. The dragon-snake was almost panting with eagerness. “I want to speak to him first, though. Alone,” he added, when Sang-drax started to accompany him. “You will wait for me here. Marit will take me to him.”

“As you wish, My Lord.” Sang-drax bowed again. Straightening, he added in solicitous tones, “Be careful, My Lord, not to get any of the sea water on yourself.”

Xar glowered. He looked away, looked back quickly, and it seemed to him that the red eye glinted with laughter.

The Lord of the Nexus made no reply. Turning on his heel, he stalked down the row of empty cells. Marit walked beside him. The sigla on the arms and hands of both Patryns glowed with a blue-red light that was not entirely acting in response to the poisonous atmosphere of Abarrach.

“You don’t trust him, do you, Daughter?” [3] Marit is not his daughter in the literal sense of the word. Xar considers all Patryns his children, since he was the one who brought them forth out of the darkness of the Labyrinth. It is not known whether Xar fathered any natural children of his own. If so, the youngest would be old by Patryn standards, at least past their Seventieth Gate. Since few Patryns trapped in the Labyrinth live even half that long, we must assume that Xar’s true children, if he had any, are long since dead. Xar asked his companion.

“It is not for me to trust or distrust anyone whom my lord chooses to favor,” Marit answered gravely. “If my lord trusts this creature, I trust my lord’s judgment.”

Xar nodded in approval of the answer. “You were a Runner, [4] Those who live in the Labyrinth are divided into two categories: Runners and Squatters. Runners live and travel alone, their only object to escape the Labyrinth. Squatters live in large groups. Their object is also escape, but they place greater value on the survival and perpetuation of their race. I believe?”

“Yes, My Lord.”

Slowing his steps, Xar laid his gnarled hand on the young woman’s smooth, tattooed skin. “So was I. We didn’t either of us survive the Labyrinth by trusting in anything or anyone other than ourselves, did we, Daughter?”

“No, My Lord.” She seemed relieved.

“You will keep your eye on this one-eyed snake, then.”

“Certainly, My Lord.”

Noticing Xar glancing around impatiently, Marit added, “Samah’s cell is down here, My Lord. The other prisoner is being held at the opposite end of the cellblock. I deemed it wise not to put them too close together, although the other prisoner appears harmless.”

“Yes, I forgot there were two. What about this other prisoner? Is he a bodyguard? Samah’s son?”

“Hardly that, My Lord.” Marit smiled, shook her head. “I’m not even certain he’s a Sartan. If he is, he’s deranged. Odd,” she added, thoughtfully, “but if he were a Patryn, I would say he suffers from Labyrinth sickness.”

“Probably an act. If the man was mad, which I doubt, the Sartan would never permit him to be seen in public. It might harm their status as demigods. What does he call himself?”

“A bizarre name. Zifnab.”

“Zifnab!” Xar pondered. “I’ve heard that before... Bane spoke... Yes, in regard to—” Casting a sharp look at Marit, Xar shut his mouth. “My Lord?”

“Nothing important, Daughter. I was thinking out loud. Ah, I see we are nearing our destination.”

“Here is the cell of Samah, My Lord.” Marit gave the man inside a cool, dispassionate glance. “I will return to guard our other prisoner.”

“I think the other will get along well enough on his own,” Xar suggested mildly. “Why not keep our snaky friend company?” He motioned with his head back toward the opening of the cellblock tunnels, where Sang-drax stood watching them. “I do not want to be disturbed in my conversation with the Sartan.”

“I understand, My Lord.” Marit bowed and left, walking back down the long, dark corridor flanked by rows of empty cells.