Margaret Weis - Into the Labyrinth

Xar was strongly tempted to commence torturing him right then and there. He contained himself by a great effort of will. “Haplo. You met him in the Nexus, beside the Final Gate, the gate that leads to the Labyrinth. You were seen and overheard, so don’t play stupid.”

“I never play stupid!” The old man drew himself up haughtily. “Who saw me?”

“A child. His name is Bane. What do you know about Haplo?” Xar asked patiently.

“Haplo. Yes, I do seem to remember.” The old man was growing anxious. He stretched out a wet and shaking hand. “Youngish chap. Blue tattoos. Keeps a dog?”

“Yes,” Xar growled, “that is Haplo.”

The old man grabbed Xar’s hand, shook it heartily. “You will give him my regards—”

Xar yanked his hand away. The lord stared at his skin, displeased to note the weakening of the sigla wherever the water touched them.

“So I arrive to give Haplo—a Patryn—the regards of a Sartan.” Xar wiped his hand on his robes. “Then he is a traitor, as I have long suspected.”

“No, Lord of the Nexus, you are mistaken,” said the old man earnestly and rather sadly. “Of all the Patryns, Haplo is the most loyal. He will save you. He will save your people, if you will let him.”

“Save me?” Xar was lost in astonishment. Then the lord smiled grimly. “He had better look to saving himself. As you should do, Sartan. What do you know about the Seventh Gate?”

“The citadel,” the old man said.

“What?” Xar asked with feigned carelessness. “What did you say about the citadel?”

The old man opened his mouth, was about to reply, when he suddenly let out a shriek, as though he’d been kicked. “What did you do that for?” he demanded, whirling around and confronting empty air. “I didn’t say anything. Well, of course, but I thought that you... Oh, very well.”

Looking sullen, he turned back around, jumped when he saw Xar. “Oh, hullo. Have we met?”

“What about the citadel?” Xar recalled hearing something about a citadel, but he couldn’t remember what.

“Citadel?” The old man looked vague. “What citadel?” Xar heaved a sigh. “I asked about the Seventh Gate and you mentioned the citadel.”

“It’s not there. Definitely not there,” the old man said, nodding emphatically. Twiddling his thumbs, he looked nervously around his cell, then said loudly, “Pity about Bane.”

“What about Bane?” Xar questioned, eyes narrowing.

“Dead, you know. Poor child.”

Xar couldn’t speak, he was so amazed. The old man kept rambling on.

“Some would say it wasn’t his fault. Considering the way he was raised and all that. Loveless childhood. Father an evil wizard. Boy didn’t stand a chance. I don’t buy that!” The old man looked extremely fierce. “That’s the problem with the world. No one wants to take responsibility for his actions anymore. Adam blames the apple-eating incident on Eve. Eve says the serpent made her do it. The serpent claims that it’s God’s fault for putting the tree there in the first place. See there? No one wants to take responsibility.” Somehow Xar had lost control of the situation. He was no longer even enjoying Samah’s tormented screams. “What about Bane?” he demanded.

“And you!” the old man shouted. “You’ve smoked forty packs of cigarettes a day since you were twelve and now you’re blaming a billboard for giving you lung cancer!”

“You are a raving lunatic!” Xar started to turn away. “Kill him,” he ordered Marit. “We’ll learn nothing from this fool while he’s alive...”

“What were we talking about? Ah, Bane.” The old man sighed, shook his head. He looked at Marit. “Would you care to hear about him, my dear?” Marit silently asked Xar, who nodded.

“Yes,” she said, seating herself gingerly beside the old man.

“Poor Bane.” He sighed. “But it was all for the best. Now there will be peace on Arianus. And soon the dwarves will be starting up the Kicksey-winsey...” Xar had heard enough. He stormed out of the cell. He was very nearly irrational with fury—a drunken sensation he didn’t like. He forced himself to think logically. The flame of his anger was quenched, as if someone had shut off one of the gas jets that gave light to this palace of tomb-like darkness. He beckoned to Marit.

She left the old man, who in her absence continued talking to his hat.

“I don’t like what I am hearing about Arianus,” Xar said in a low voice. “I don’t believe the doddering old fool, but I have long sensed that something was wrong. I should have heard from Bane before now. Travel to Arianus, Daughter. Find out what is going on. But be careful to take no action! Do not reveal yourself—to anyone!”

Marit gave a brief nod.

“Prepare for the journey,” Xar continued, “then come to my chambers for your final instructions. You will use my ship. You know how to navigate Death’s Gate?”

“Yes, Lord,” Marit answered. “Shall I send someone down here to take my place?”

Xar considered. “Send one of the lazar. Not Kleitus,” he added hastily. “One of the others. I may have some questions for them when it comes time to raise Samah’s body.”

“Yes, Lord.” Marit bowed respectfully and left.

Xar remained, glaring into Zifnab’s cell. The old man had apparently forgotten the Patryn’s existence. Rocking from side to side, Zifnab was snapping his fingers and singing to himself. “‘I’m a soul man. Ba-dop, da-ba-dop, da-ba-dop, da-ba-dop. Yes, I’m a soul man...’”

Xar hurled the cell bars back into place with grim delight.

“I’ll find out from your corpse who you really are, old fool. And you’ll tell me the truth about Haplo.”

Xar strode back down the corridor toward Samah’s cell. The screams had ceased for the moment. The dragon-snake was peering in through the bars. Xar came up behind him.

Samah lay on the floor. He appeared near death; his skin was clay-colored and glistened with sweat. He was breathing spasmodically. His body twitched and jerked.

“You’re killing him,” Xar observed.

“He proved weaker than I thought, Lord,” Sang-drax said apologetically.

“However, I could dry him off, permit him to heal himself. He would still be weak, probably too weak to attempt to escape. However, there would be a danger—”

“No.” Xar was growing bored. “I need information. Rouse him enough that I may speak to him.”

The bars of the cell dissolved. Sang-drax walked inside, prodded Samah with the toe of his boot. The Sartan groaned and flinched. Xar stepped in. Kneeling beside Samah’s body, the Lord of the Nexus put his hands on either side of the Sartan’s head and raised it from the ground. The lord’s touch was not gentle; long nails dug into Samah’s gray flesh, leaving glistening trails of blood. Samah’s eyes wrenched open. He stared at the lord and shivered in terror, but there was no recognition in the Sartan’s eyes. Xar shook the man’s head, dug his fingers to the bone.

“Know me! Know who I am!”

Samah’s only reaction was to gasp for breath. There was a rattling in his throat. Xar knew the signs.

“The Seventh Gate! Where is the Seventh Gate?”

Samah’s eyes widened. “Never meant... Death... Chaos! What... went wrong...”

“The Seventh Gate!” Xar persisted.

“Gone.” Samah shut his eyes, spoke feverishly. “Gone. Sent it... away. No one knows... Rebels... Might try... undo... Sent it...”

A bubble of blood broke on Samah’s lips. His eyes fixed in his head, staring in horror at something only he could see.

Xar dropped the head. It fell limp and unresisting, struck the stone floor with a crack. The lord laid his hand on Samah’s inert chest, put his fingers on the Sartan’s wrist. Nothing.