Margaret Weis - Dragon Wing

“Be at ease, Haplo. come in and make yourself comfortable. Sit down. There are no formalities between us.”

“Allow me to fill your glass. We drink what was once called the stirrup cup, a salute to your long journey.

“You like the port? Ah, my talents are many and manifold, as you know, but I begin to think that only time—not magic—can produce a truly fine port. At least that’s what the old books teach. I’ve no doubt our ancestors were right about that ... no matter how wrong they were in other things. There is something about the drink I miss, a warmth, a mellowness that comes with age. This port is too harsh, too aggressive. Fine qualities in men, Haplo, but not in wine.

“So, you are prepared for your journey? Is there any need or want I can satisfy? Say so, and it’s yours. Nothing?

“Ah, I do envy you. My thoughts will be with you every moment, waking and sleeping. Another salute. To you, Haplo, my emissary to an unsuspecting world.

“And they must not suspect. I know we’ve been over this before, but I want to stress this again. The danger is great. If our ancient enemy catches even the slightest hint that we’ve escaped their prison, they will move land, sea, sun, and sky—as they did once—to thwart us. Sniff them out, Haplo. Sniff them out as that dog of yours sniffs out a rat, but never let them catch a whiff of you.

“Let me refill your glass. Another salute. This one to the Sartan. You hesitate to drink. Come. I insist. Your rage is your strength. Use it, it will give you energy. Therefore...

“To the Sartan. They made us what we are.

“How old are you, Haplo? You have no idea?

“I know—time has no meaning in the Labyrinth. Let me think. When I first saw you, you looked to be just over twenty-five years. A long life for those of the Labyrinth. A long life, and one that had almost ended.

“How well I remember that time, five years ago, I was about to reenter the Labyrinth when you emerged. Bleeding, barely able to walk, dying. Yet you looked up at me with an expression—I will never forget it—Triumph! You had escaped. You had beaten them. I saw that triumph in your eyes, in your exultant smile. And then you collapsed at my feet.

“It was that expression which drew me to you, dear boy. I felt the same when I escaped from that hell so long ago. I was the first one, the first one to make it through alive.

“Centuries ago, the Sartan thought to defeat our ambition by sundering the world that was ours by rights and throwing us into their prison. As you well know, the way out of the Labyrinth is long and tortuous. It took centuries to solve the twisting puzzle of our land. The old books say the Sartan devised this punishment in hopes that our bounding ambition and our cruel and selfish natures would be softened by time and suffering.

“You must always remember their plan, Haplo. It will give you the strength you’ll need to do what I ask of you. The Sartan had dared to assume that, when we emerged into this world, we would be fit to take our places in any of the four realms we chose to enter.

“Something went wrong. Perhaps you’ll discover what it was when you enter Death Gate. It seems, from what I have been able to decipher in the old books, that the Sartan were to have monitored the Labyrinth and kept its magic in check. But, either through malicious intent or for some other reason, they forsook their responsibility as caretakers of our prison. The prison gained a life of its own—a life that knew only one thing, survival. And so, the Labyrinth, our prison, came to see us, its prisoners, as a threat. After the Sartan abandoned us, the Labyrinth, driven by its fear and hatred of us, turned deadly.

“When at last I found my way out, I discovered the Nexus, this beautiful land the Sartan had established for our occupation. And I came across the books. Unable to read them at first, I worked and taught myself and soon learned their secrets. I read of the Sartan and their ‘hopes’ for us and I laughed aloud—the first and only time in my life I have ever laughed. You understand me, Haplo. There is no joy in the Labyrinth.

“But I will laugh again, when my plans are complete. When the four separate worlds—Fire, Water, Stone, and Sky—are again one. Then I will laugh long and loudly.

“Yes. It’s time for you to leave. You’ve been patient with the ramblings of your lord. Another salute.

“To you, Haplo.

“As I was the first to leave the Labyrinth and enter the Nexus, so you shall be the first to enter Death Gate and walk the worlds beyond.

“The Realm of the Sky. Study it well, Haplo. Come to know the people. Search out their strengths and their weaknesses. Do what you can to cause chaos in the realm, but always be discreet. Keep your powers hidden. Above all, take no action that will draw the attention of the Sartan, for if they discover us before I am ready, we are lost.

“Death first, before you betray us. I know you have the discipline and the courage to make that choice. But more important, Haplo, you have the skill and the wits to make such a choice unnecessary. This is why I’ve chosen you for this mission.

“You have one other task. Bring me someone from this realm who will serve as my disciple. Someone who will return to preach the word, my word, to the people. It can be someone of any race—elven, human, dwarven. Make certain that he or she is intelligent, ambitious, . . . and pliable.

“In an ancient text, I came across a fitting analogy. You; Haplo, shall be the voice of one crying in the wilderness.

“And now, a final salute. We will stand for this one.

“To Death Gate. ‘Prepare ye the way.’ ”

The crudely built cart lurched and bounced over the rough coralite terrain, its iron wheels hitting every bump and pit in what passed for a road. The cart was being pulled by a tier [0] In the wild, these enormous birds are a dragon’s favorite prey. Tiers’ wings are large and covered with soft feathers and are almost completely useless. They can, however, run extremely fast on their powerful legs. They make excellent beasts of burden and are extensively used as such in the realms of the humans. Elves consider the tier repulsive and unclean. , its breath snorting puffs in the chill air. It took one man to lead the stubborn and unpredictable bird while four more, stationed on either side of the vehicle, pushed and shoved the cart along. A small crowd, garnered from the outlying farms, had gathered in front of Yreni Prison, planning to escort the cart and its shameful burden to the city walls of Ke’lith. There, a much larger crowd awaited the cart’s arrival. Dayside was ending. The glitter of the firmament began to fade as the Lords of Night slowly drew the shadow of their cloaks over the afternoon stars. Night’s gloom was fitting for this procession.

The country folk—for the most part—kept their distance from the cart. They did this not out of fear of the tier—although those huge birds had been known to suddenly turn and take a vicious snap at anyone approaching them from their blind side—but out of fear of the cart’s occupant.

The prisoner was bound around the wrists by taut leather thongs attached to the sides of the cart, and his feet were manacled with heavy chains. Several sharp-eyed bowmen marched beside the cart, their feathered shafts nocked and ready to be let loose straight at the felon’s heart if he so much as twitched the wrong way. But such precautions did not appear to offer the cart’s followers much comfort. They kept their gaze—dark and watchful—fixed on the man inside as they trudged along behind at a respectful distance that markedly increased when the man turned his head. If they’d had a demon from Hereka chained up in that cart, the local farmers could not have gazed on it with any greater fear or awe.