Margaret Weis - Into the Labyrinth

Marit lifted the sharpened stick she carried with her. The throw would be easy from this distance. As she held the crude spear in her hand, she remembered the terrible dragon-snake she had seen in the waters of Chelestra. What if she only wounded one? Would it change back to its original form? She imagined the gigantic serpents, wounded and thrashing about, wreaking havoc on her people. And even though I might kill both of them, how can I reach Haplo ahead of Sang-drax? She was wasting time. Leave the dragon-snakes for now. Her magic would take her to Haplo, as it had once before, on Arianus. She drew the sigla in the air, imagined herself with Haplo...

Nothing. The magic failed. Of course, she cursed bitterly. He is in a prison. He can’t get out. I can’t get in!

“Vasu,” she said to herself. “I must find him. He holds the key. He can take me there.”

And if the headman proved reluctant...

Marit fingered her dagger. She’d force him to obey her. But now she had to find out where he lived... and quickly.

Marit ran into the street, searching for some wakeful Patryn who could give her information. She hadn’t gone far when she stumbled into ajnan, muffled in a cloak, who stepped out of the shadows.

Startled, nervous, Marit fell back a pace. “I must find Headman Vasu,” she said, eyeing the cloaked figure suspiciously. “Don’t come near me. Just tell me where he lives.”

“You have found him, Marit,” said Vasu, throwing back the hood of his cloak. She could see her glowing skin reflected in his eyes. And she saw, beneath his cloak, the sigla on his skin glowing.

Marit clutched at him gratefully, never stopping to wonder how he came to be here. “Headman, you must take me to Haplo! Right now!”

“Certainly,” Vasu said. He took a step toward the cavern.

“No, Headman!” Marit dragged him back. “We must use the magic. Haplo is in dire peril. Don’t ask me to explain—”

“You mean from the intruders?” Vasu asked coolly. Marit gaped at him.

“I have been aware of them ever since they came. We have kept them under surveillance. I am pleased to know,” he added with more gravity, the brown eyes intent on her, “that you are not in league with them.”

“Of course not! They are hideous, evil.” Marit shivered.

“And Haplo and the others?”

“No, Headman, no! Haplo warned me... He warned Xar...” Marit fell silent.

“And what of Lord Xar?” Vasu asked her gently.

Guided by evil...

Marit shook her head. “Please, Headman, there is no time! The dragon-snakes are in the cave right now! They are going to kill Haplo—”

“They will have to find him first,” Vasu said. “And they may discover that task more difficult than they imagine. But you are right. We should make haste.”

The headman gestured, and the streets Marit had thought slumbered so peacefully were suddenly alive with Patryns. No wonder she hadn’t seen them. They were all cloaked, to hide the glowing, warning runes on their bodies. At a sign from Vasu, the Patryns left their posts and began gliding stealthily toward the cavern.

Vasu took hold of Mark’s arm, swiftly traced a series of runes with his hand. The sigla surrounded them, blue and red, and then there was darkness. Haplo lay on a pallet on the floor, gazing up into the shadows. Like the walls of the small, squarish cavern, the ceiling was covered with sigla, gleaming faintly, red and blue. That and four small burning cresset-stones, placed in the comers of the chamber, gave the only light.

“Relax, boy,” he said to the dog.

The animal was restive and unhappy. It had been pacing about the small chamber until it began to make Haplo himself nervous. He ordered it again to settle down. The dog obeyed, relapsing by his side. But though it lay still, it kept its head up, ears pricking to sounds only it could hear. Occasionally it would growl deep in its throat.

Haplo soothed it as best he could, patting it on the head and telling it that all was fine.

He wished someone would pat him on the head, tell him the same thing. Neither of his companions was much comfort.

Alfred was enthralled by the chamber, by the sigla on the walls, by the spell that reduced all possibilities to a single possibility that there were no possibilities. He asked questions, gabbled on about how brilliant it all was until Haplo wished for just one other possibility, and that was a window out of which he could throw Alfred.

Eventually, thankfully, the Sartan fell asleep and was now sprawled on his pallet, snoring softly.

Hugh the Hand had not said a word. He sat bolt upright, as far from the glowing wall as he could get. His left hand clasped and unclasped. Occasionally he would absentmindedly lift his hand to his mouth, as if he held his pipe. Then, remembering, he would scowl and lower his hand back to his leg, where it lay clasping and unclasping.

“You could use the pipe,” Haplo advised him. “It would be a real pipe, so long as nothing threatens you.”

Hugh the Hand shook his head, glowered. “Never. I know what it is. If I put in my mouth, I could taste the blood on it. Curse the day I ever saw it.” Haplo lay back on his pallet. Stranded in time, he was trapped within this chamber, but his thoughts were free to roam beyond it. Not that they were doing much good. His thoughts kept traveling in the same circle—going nowhere, coming back to the beginning.

Marit had betrayed him. She was going to turn him over to Xar. Haplo should have expected as much—after all, she had been sent to kill him. But if so, why hadn’t she tried to kill him when she had the chance? They were even. She had saved his life. The law was satisfied, if she had ever cared about the law. Perhaps that had just been an excuse. Why the change? And Xar was coming for him now. Xar wanted him. Why? Or did it matter? Marit had betrayed him... He looked up to find Marit standing over him.

“Haplo!” She gasped in relief. “You’re safe! You’re safe!” Haplo was on his feet, staring at her. And suddenly she was in his arms, and he was in her arms, neither with any clear idea of how it happened. The dog, not to be left out, crowded between them.

He held her tightly. The questions didn’t matter. None of it mattered. Not the betrayal, not whatever danger had brought her here. At that moment, Haplo could have blessed it. And he could have wished this moment frozen in time, with no possibility of its ending.

The sigla on the walls flared and went dark. Vasu stood in the center of the room, the spell broken.

“Sang-drax,” Marit said, and that was all she needed to say. “He’s here. He’s coming to kill you.”

“What? What? What’s going on?” Alfred was sitting up, blinking sleepily at them like an aging owl.

Hugh the Hand was on his feet, poised, ready for trouble.

“Sang-drax!” Suddenly Haplo felt extremely tired. The wound over his heart began to throb painfully. “He was the one who knew about the cursed knife.”

“Yes,” Marit answered, her fingers digging into his arms. “And, oh, Haplo! I heard Sang-drax and the other dragon-snakes talking! They’re going to attack the city and—”

“Attack Abri?” Alfred repeated, startled. “Who is Sang-drax?”

“He’s one of the dragon-snakes of Chelestra,” Haplo said grimly. Alfred went ashen, staggered backward against the wall. “How... how did those monsters get here?”

“They entered Death’s Gate—courtesy of Samah. They’re in every world now, spreading chaos and evil. And they’re here now, too, apparently.”

“And preparing to attack Abri?” Vasu couldn’t believe it. He shrugged. “Many have tried—”

“Sang-drax spoke of armies,” Marit said urgently. “Maybe thousands! Snogs, chaodyn, wolfen—all our enemies. Coming together. Organized. They’re going to attack at dawn. But first he’s going to kill you, Haplo, and—someone called the Serpent Mage, who killed the king dragon-snake.”