Margaret Weis - Elven Star

Ahead lay the weird and warped, ever-changing, deadly vistas of the Labyrinth. The lord glanced around at those who stood near him. All eyes were fixed on the Labyrinth. The lord saw faces lose the color of life, he saw hands clench to fists, sweat trickle down rune-covered skin.

“Who will enter with me?” he asked.

He looked at each one. Each person tried to meet the lord’s eyes, each person failed and eventually lowered his gaze. Some sought valiantly to step forward, but muscle and sinew cannot act without the mind’s will, and the minds of those men and women were overcome with remembered terror. Shaking their heads, many of them weeping openly, they turned away.

Their lord walked up to them and laid his hands soothingly upon them. “Do not be ashamed of your fear. Use it, for it is strength. Long ago, we sought to conquer the world, to rule over those weak races not capable of ruling themselves. Our strength and our numbers were great and we had nearly succeeded in our goal. The only way the Sartan could defeat us was to sunder the world itself, sundering it into four separate parts. Divided by the chaos, we fell to the Sartan’s might, and they locked us away in a prison of their own creation—the Labyrinth. Their ‘hope’ was that we would come out of it ‘rehabilitated.’

“We have come out, but the terrible hardships we endured did not soften and weaken us as our enemies planned. The fire through which we passed forged us into sharp, cold steel. We are a blade to cut through our enemies, we are a blade that will win a crown.

“Go back. Go back to your duties. Keep always before you the thought of what will come when we return to the worlds. Keep always behind you the memory of what was.”

The Patryns, comforted, were no longer ashamed. They watched their lord enter the Labyrinth, watched him enter the Gate with firm, unfaltering step, and they honored and worshipped him as a god.

The Gate started to swing shut on him. The lord halted it with a sharp command. He had found, lying near the Gate, stretched prone on the ground, a young man. The muscular, sigil-tattooed body bore the marks of terrible wounds—wounds that the young man had healed by his own magic, apparently, but which had almost drained him of his life. The lord, examining the young Patryn anxiously, could not see any sign that he was breathing.

Stooping, reaching out his hand to the young man’s neck to feel for a pulse, the lord was brought up short by a low growling sound. A shaggy head rose up from near the young man’s shoulder.

A dog, the lord saw in astonishment.

The animal itself had suffered serious injury. Though its growl was menacing and it was attempting valiantly to protect the young man, it could not hold up its head. The muzzle sank down feebly onto bloodied paws, But the growl continued.

“If you harm him,” it seemed to say, “somehow, someway, I’ll find the strength to tear you apart.”

The lord, smiling slightly—a rare thing for him—reached out gently and stroked the dog’s soft fur.

“Be at ease, small brother. I mean your master no harm.” The dog allowed itself to be persuaded and, crawling on its belly, managed to lift its head and nuzzle the young man’s neck. The touch of the cold nose roused the Patryn. He glanced up, saw the strange man bending over him and, with the instinct and will that had kept him alive, struggled to stand.

“You need no weapon against me, my son,” said the lord. “You stand at the Last Gate. Beyond is a new world, one of peace, one of safety. I am its lord. I welcome you.”

The young man had made it to his hands and knees. Swaying weakly, he lifted his head and stared through the Gate. His eyes were glazed, he could see little of the wonders of the world. But a slow smile spread across his face.

“I’ve made it!” he whispered hoarsely, through blood-caked lips. “I’ve beaten them!”

“Such were my words when I stood before this Gate. What are you called?” The young man swallowed, coughed before he could reply. “Haplo.”

“A fitting name.” The lord put his arms around the young man’s shoulders.

“Here, let me help you.”

To the lord’s amazement, Haplo thrust him away. “No. I want to walk … through … on my own.”

The lord said nothing, his smile broadened. He rose to his feet and stood aside. Gritting his teeth against the pain, Haplo struggled to stand upright. He paused a moment, swaying with dizziness. The ford, fearing he would fall, took a step forward, but Haplo warded him off with outstretched hand.

“Dog,” he said in a cracked voice. “To me.” The animal rose weakly and limped over to its master. Haplo placed his hand upon the animal’s head, steadying himself. The dog stood patiently, its eyes fixed upon Haplo.

“Let’s go,” said the young man.

Together, step by faltering step, they walked toward the Gate. The Lord of the Nexus, marveling, came behind. The Patryns on the other side, seeing the young man emerge, did not applaud or cheer, but awarded him respectful silence. None offered to help him, though each saw that every movement caused the young man obvious pain. They all knew what it meant to walk through that last gate by oneself, or aided only by a trusted friend.

Haplo stood in the Nexus, blinking under the dazzling sun. Sighing, he keeled over. The dog, whimpering, licked his master’s face.

Hastening to the young man’s side, the lord knelt down. Haplo was still conscious. The lord took hold of the pale, cold hand.

“Never forget!” whispered the lord, pressing the hand close to his chest. Haplo looked up at the Lord of the Nexus and grinned… .

“Well, dog,” said the Patryn, glancing around, giving his ship one last inspection, “I think we’re ready. How about it, boy? You ready?” The animal’s ears pricked. It barked once, loudly.

“Good, good. We have My Lord’s blessing and his final instructions. Now, let’s see how this bird flies.”

Reaching out, he held his hands over the steering stone and began to recite the first runes. The stone rose up from the deck, supported by magic, and came to rest beneath Haplo’s palms. Blue light welled up through his fingers, matched by red light glowing from the runes on his hands.

Haplo sent his being into the ship, poured his magic into the hull, felt it seep like blood into the dragonskin sails, carrying life and power to guide and control. His mind lifted and it brought the ship with him. Slowly, the vessel began to rise from the ground.

Guiding it with his eyes, his thoughts, his magic, Haplo set sail into the air, granting the ship more speed than its original builders had ever imagined, and flew up and over the Nexus. Crouched at its master’s feet, the dog sighed and resigned itself to the journey. Perhaps it remembered its first trip through Death’s Gate, a hip that had very nearly proved fatal. Haplo tested his craft, experimented with it. Flying leisurely over the Nexus, he enjoyed the unusual view of the city from a bird’s eye (or dragon’s eye) vantage.

The Nexus was a remarkable creation, a marvel of construction. Broad, tree-lined boulevards stretched out like spokes of a wheel from a center point to the dimly seen horizon of the far-off Boundary. Fabulous buildings of crystal and marble, steel and granite, adorned the streets. Parks and gardens, lakes and ponds provided places of quiet beauty in which to walk, to think, to reflect. Far away, near the Boundary, stretched green, rolling hills and fields, ready for the planting.

No farmers plowed that soil, however. No people lingered in the parks. No traffic filled the city streets. The fields, the parks, the avenues, the buildings stood empty, lifeless, waiting.

Haplo steered the ship around the center point of the Nexus, a crystal-spired building—the tallest in the land—which his lord had taken for his palace. Within the crystal spires, the Lord of the Nexus had come across the books left behind by the Sartan, books that told of the Sundering, the forming of the four worlds. Books that spoke of the imprisoning of the Patryns, of the Sartan’s hope for their enemies’ “salvation.” The Lord of the Nexus had taught himself to read the books and so had discovered the Sartan’s treachery that had doomed his people to torment. Reading the books, the lord had developed his plan of revenge. Haplo dipped the ship’s wings in a gesture of respect to his lord.