Margaret Weis - Into the Labyrinth

“What else did they say?” Haplo asked.

“Sang-drax said he was going to seal shut the Final Gate.”

Vasu made ready to leave the caverns, to prepare his people to face a dawn attack. He offered to take Hugh the Hand and Alfred with him; not that they could be of much help, but the headman wanted to keep watch on both of them—and the cursed knife. Marit should have gone with him—she could be of help—but when the headman looked in her direction, she was intently looking somewhere else and refused to catch his eye.

Vasu glanced at Haplo, who was playing with the dog, also keeping his gaze averted. The headman smiled and, taking Hugh and Alfred with him, departed. Haplo and Marit were alone, not counting the dog. It flopped on its belly on the floor, hiding what might have been a grin with its nose in its paws. Marit, suddenly uneasy, seemed astonished to find that they were the only two people in the room.

“I guess we should go. There’s a lot of work—”

Haplo took her in his arms. “Thank you,” he said, “for saving my life.”

“I did it for our people,” Marit said, stiff in his grasp, still not looking at him. “You know the truth about Sang-drax. You’re the only one. Xar—” She paused, horrified. What had she been about to say?

“Yes,” said Haplo, his grip on her tightening. “I know the truth about Sang-drax. And Xar does not. Is that what you were going to say, Marit?”

“It’s not his fault!” she protested. Against her will and inclination, she found herself relaxing in Haplo’s strong arms. “They flatter him, beguile him. They don’t let him see their true shape—”

“I used to tell myself that,” Haplo said softly. “But I stopped believing it. Xar knows the truth. He knows they are evil. He listens to their flattery because he enjoys it. He thinks he controls them. But the more he thinks that, the more they control him.”

Xar’s sigil burned into Marit’s skin. Her hand started to touch it, rub it as one rubs a bruise, to rub out the pain. She caught herself. The thought of Haplo seeing that mark turned her stomach to water.

And yet, she asked herself angrily, why shouldn’t he see it? Why should I be ashamed? It is an honor, a great honor. He is wrong about Xar. Once my lord knows the truth about the dragon-snakes...

“Xar is coming,” she said stubbornly. “Perhaps he will arrive during the battle. He will save us, his people, fight for us, as he has always fought for us. And then he will understand. He will see Sang-drax for what he is...” Marit pushed Haplo away, turned her back on him. She put her hand to her forehead, scratched the mark hidden beneath her thick hair. “I think we should help with the defenses. Vasu will be needing us—”

“Marit,” said Haplo, “I love you.”

The sigil on her forehead was like an iron band around her skull, tightening, constricting. Her temples throbbed.

“Patryns don’t love,” Marit said thickly, not turning around.

“No, we only hate,” Haplo replied. “Maybe if I had loved more and hated less, I wouldn’t have lost you. I wouldn’t have lost our child.”

“You’ll never find her, you know.”

“Yes, I will. I have, in fact. I found her today.” Marit turned, stared at him. “What? How could you be certain—” Haplo shrugged. “I’m not. In fact, I don’t suppose it was her. But it could have been. And it’s because of her we’ll fight. And we’ll win because of her. And somehow, for her sake, we’ll keep Sang-drax from shutting the Final Gate...”

Marit was in his arms again, holding him fast. The circles of their beings joined to form one circle, unbroken, never ending.

Seeing that no one was likely to need a dog for a while, the animal sighed contentedly, rolled over, and went to sleep.

Outside the caverns, walking the streets of Abri, Vasu made his preparations for war. Surrounded by a hostile environment, continually under threat, if not attack, the city walls were reinforced with magic; the very roofs of the dwelling places were marked with protective runes. Very few of the Labyrinth’s creatures attempted to attack Abri. They lurked beyond the walls, in the forests, waiting to ambush groups of farmers, pick off the herders. Occasionally one of the winged beasts—dragons, griffins, the like—would take it into its head to raid within the city walls. But such an occurrence was rare.

It was this talk of armies that worried Vasu. As Haplo had said, the monsters in the Labyrinth had up until now remained largely unorganized. The chaodyn often attacked wolfen. Wolfen were continually defending their territory against roving tiger-men. Marauding dragons killed whatever looked fit to eat. But Vasu wasn’t deluding himself. Such minor rivalries and disputes would be fast forgotten if a chance came to band together and invade the fortress city that had stood against them for so long.

Vasu sounded the alarm, gathered the people together in the large central meeting place, and told them of their danger. The Patryns took the dire news calmly, if grimly! Their silence spoke their support. Dispersed, they went about their tasks efficiently, with a minimum of talk. Weapons had to be gathered, their magic strengthened. Families parted, said good-bye briefly, without tears. Adults took up duty on the walls. Older children led younger ones into the mountain caverns, which were unsealed to receive them. Scouting parties, shrouded in black to hide the runes that now glowed ominously, slipped out of the iron gate, ranged along the river, reinforcing the magic on the bridges, attempting to gauge the strength and disposition of the enemy.

“What about that damn fire?” Hugh the Hand squinted up at the beacon flame. “You say there are dragons around here. That will draw them like moths.”

“It has never been doused,” said Vasu. “Not since the beginning.” He glanced down at the gleaming sigla on his skin. “I don’t think it will make much difference,” he added dryly. “The moths are already swarming.” Hugh the Hand shook his head, unconvinced. “Mind if I take a look around at the rest of your defenses? I’ve had some experience in this sort of thing.” Vasu appeared dubious.

“The Cursed Blade will be safe enough now,” Alfred assured him. “And Sir Hugh knows how to control it. Tomorrow, though, if there is fighting—” Hugh the Hand winked. “I’ve got an idea about that. Don’t worry.” Alfred sighed, gazed bleakly around the city.

“Well, we have done all we can,” Vasu said, echoing Alfred’s sigh. “I, for one, am hungry. Would you like to come to my house? I am certain you are in need of food and drink.”

Alfred was pleased, astonished. “I would be honored.” As they walked through the city, Alfred noticed that no matter how busy or preoccupied, every Patryn they met accorded Vasu some show of respect, even if it was nothing more than a slight inclination of the head or a gesture of a hand, drawing a swift ritual friendship sigil in the air. Vasu unfailingly returned the sign with one of his own.

His home was no different from any of the other Patryn dwellings, except that it appeared older than most and stood apart. Braced against the mountain, it was like a stalwart guard who plants his back against a secure surface to take on his foes.

Vasu entered first. Alfred followed, tripping over the doorstep but managing to catch himself before he fell face first on the floor. The dwelling was clean and neatly kept and, like all Patryn homes, almost devoid of furniture.

“You are not marrier... joined?” Alfred asked, seating himself awkwardly on the floor, his long legs folding beneath him with difficulty. Vasu was taking bread from a basket suspended from the ceiling. Rows of sausages, also hanging from the ceiling, brought Alfred a fond memory of Haplo’s dog.