Into the Labyrinth (40 page)

“No, Lord.”

He was gone. Marit was alone. Very much alone. That was what she wanted, what she’d chosen. He travels fastest who travels alone. And she’d traveled fast, very fast indeed.

All the way back to where she’d started.

The four (and the dog) stood at the entrance to the cavern, the entrance to the Labyrinth. The gray light had grown not brighter, but stronger. Haplo judged it must be midday. If they were going, they should go now. No time was a good time to travel in the Labyrinth, but any time during the daylight was better than at night.

Marit had rejoined them. Her face was pale but set, her jaw clenched. “I will go with you,” was all she’d said, and she’d said that much sullenly, with reluctance.

Haplo wondered why she’d decided to come. But he knew asking would do no good. Marit would never tell him, and his asking would only alienate him from her further. She had been like this when they’d first met. Walled up inside herself. He had managed, with patience and care, to find a door—only a small one, but it had permitted him inside. And then it had slammed shut. The child—he knew now that was why she’d left him and he thought he understood.

Rue, she’d named the baby.

And now the door was closed and shuttered, walled up. There was no way in. And from what he could tell, she’d sealed the only way out.

Haplo glanced up at the Sartan sigil shining above the archway. He was entering the Labyrinth, the deadliest place in existence, without any weapons—except for his magic. But that, at least, wasn’t a problem. In the Labyrinth, there were always plenty of ways to kill.

“We should go,” Haplo said.

Hugh the Hand was ready, eager to get on with it. Of course, he had no idea what he was walking into. Even if he couldn’t die … and who knew? Against the Labyrinth’s cruel magic, the Sartan heart-rune might not protect him. Marit was frightened, but resolved. She was going forward, probably because she couldn’t go back.

Either that or she was still hoping to murder him.

And the one person—the last person Haplo would have said he needed or wanted …

“I wish you’d come, Alfred.”

The Sartan shook his head. “No, you don’t. I’d only be in your way. I would faint …”

Haplo regarded the man grimly. “You’ve found your tomb again, haven’t you? Just like in Arianus.”

“And this time I’m not going to leave.” Alfred gazed
fixedly downward. He must know his shoes very well by now. “I’ve caused too much trouble already.” He lifted his eyes, cast a quick glance at Hugh the Hand, lowered his eyes again. “Too much,” he repeated. “Good-bye, Sir Hugh. I’m really … very sorry.”

“Good-bye? That’s it?” the Hand demanded angrily.

“You don’t need me to end the … curse,” Alfred said softly. “Haplo knows where to go, what to do.”

No, Haplo didn’t, but then he figured it wouldn’t matter anyway. They’d likely never get that far.

He was suddenly angry. Let the damn Sartan bury himself. Who cared? Who needed him? Alfred was right. He’d only be in the way, be more trouble than he was worth.

Haplo entered the Labyrinth. The dog cast one mournful look back at Alfred, then trotted along at its master’s heels. Hugh the Hand followed. He looked grim but relieved, always grateful for action. Marit brought up the rear. She was very pale, but she didn’t hesitate.

Alfred stood at the entryway, staring at his shoes.

Haplo walked the path carefully. Coming to the first fork, he halted, examined both branches. One way looked much the same as the other, both probably equally bad. The tooth-like rock formations thrust out from all sides, blocking his view. He could see only upward, see what looked like dripping fangs. He could hear the dark water swirling onward, into the heart of the Labyrinth.

Haplo grinned to himself in the darkness. He touched the dog on the head, turned the dog’s head toward the entrance.

Toward Alfred.

“Go on, boy,” Haplo commanded. “Fetch!”

THE CITADEL
PRYAN

“I
DON’T LIKE THAT HORRID WIZARD, PAITHAN, AND I THINK YOU
should tell him to leave.”

“Orn’s ears, Aleatha, I can’t tell Lord Xar to leave. He has as much right to be here as we do. We don’t own this place—”

“We were here first.”

“Besides, we can’t send the old gentleman out into the arms of the tytans. It would be murder.”

The elf’s voice dropped, but not low enough that Xar couldn’t hear what was being said.

“And he could prove useful, help protect us if the tytans manage to break inside. You saw how he got rid of those monsters when he first came. Whoosh! Blue lights, magic fire.”

“As to that magic fire”—this was the human male, adding his small modicum of wisdom—“the wizard might do the same to us if we make him mad.”

“Not likely,” Xar murmured, smiling unpleasantly. “I wouldn’t waste the effort.”

The mensch were having a meeting—a private, secret meeting, or so they supposed. Xar knew all about it, of course. He was seated at his ease in the Sartan library in the citadel. The mensch were gathered down by the garden maze—a good distance away, but Xar clearly heard every word they were saying.

“What is it you don’t like about him, Aleatha?” the human female was asking.

What was her name? Xar couldn’t recall. Again, he didn’t waste the effort.

“He gave me this lovely necklace,” the human was continuing. “See. I think it must be a ruby. And look at the cunning little squiggly mark cut into it.”

“I got one, too,” said the elf Paithan. “Mine’s a sapphire. And it has the same squiggle. Lord Xar said that when I wore it, someone would be watching over me. Isn’t it pretty, Aleatha?”

“I think it’s ugly.” The elf female spoke with scorn. “And I think
he’s
ugly—”

“He can’t help how he looks.”

“Something I’m certain
you
can understand, Roland,” Aleatha interjected coolly. “As to those ‘gifts,’ he tried to give me one. I refused. I didn’t like the look in his eye.”

“Come on, Thea. Since when have you turned down jewels? As for that look, you’ve seen it a thousand times before. Every man looks at you that way,” Paithan said.

“
Then
they get to know her,” Roland muttered.

Either Aleatha didn’t hear him or she chose to ignore him. “The old man only offered me an emerald. I’ve been offered better than that a hundred times over.”

“And taken them up on their offers a hundred times over, I’ll wager,” Roland said, more loudly this time.

“Come on, you two, stop it,” Paithan intervened. “What about you, Roland? Did Lord Xar give you one of these jewels?”

“Me?” Roland sounded amazed. “Look, Paithan, I don’t know about you elves, but among us humans, guys don’t give necklaces to other guys. As to guys who
accept
jewelry from other guys, well …”

“What are you saying?”

“Nothing, Paithan,” Rega intervened. “Roland’s not saying anything. He took the necklace; don’t let him fool you. I saw him asking Drugar about the jewel, trying to get it appraised.”

“What about it, Drugar? How much are they worth?”

“The gem is not of dwarf-make. I cannot tell. But I wouldn’t wear one. I get a bad feeling from them.” The dwarf’s voice was low and gruff.

“Sure you do,” Roland scoffed. “Such a bad feeling
you’d gladly take every one of them for yourself. Look, Drugar, old buddy, never try to swindle a swindler. I know all the tricks. It
has
to be dwarf-made. Your people are the only ones who dig deep enough below the leaf-level to find jewels like this. Come on. Tell me what it’s worth.”

“What does it matter what it’s worth?” Rega flared. “You’ll never get a chance to cash in on it. We’re trapped in here for the rest of our lives and you know it.”

The mensch all fell silent. Xar yawned. He was growing bored, and this mindless chatter was starting to irritate him. He was beginning to regret giving them the magical gems, which brought every word of what they said to him. Then suddenly he heard what he’d been wanting to hear all along.

“I guess that brings up the real reason for our meeting,” Paithan said quietly. “Do we tell him about the ship? Or keep it to ourselves?”

A ship! Sang-drax had been right. The mensch
did
have a ship hidden around here. Xar shut the Sartan book he’d been attempting to read, concentrated on listening.

“What difference does it make?” Aleatha asked languidly. “If a ship really does exist—which I doubt—we can’t reach it. We have only Cook’s word on it, and who knows what she and her brats thought they saw out there? The tytans have probably smashed it to toothpicks anyway.”

“No,” Paithan said after another moment’s silence. “No, they haven’t. And it does exist.”

“How do you know?” Roland demanded, suspicious.

“Because I’ve seen it. You can—from the top of the citadel. From the Star Chamber.”

“You mean all this time you knew that the others were telling the truth about what they saw? That a ship was out there and still in good shape and you didn’t tell us?”

“Don’t shout at me! Yes, damn it, I knew! And I didn’t tell you for the simple reason that you would have acted stupid the way you’re acting now and rushed out like the others and gotten your fool head bashed in—”

“Well, and so what if I did? It’s my head! Just because you’re sleeping with my sister doesn’t make you my big brother.”

“You could use a big brother.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah!”

“Stop it, both of you, please—”

“Rega, get out of my way. It’s time he learned …”

“You’re all behaving like children.”

“Aleatha! Where are you going? You shouldn’t go into that maze. It’s …”

“I’ll go where I please, Rega. Just because
you’re
sleeping with my brother—”

Imbeciles! Xar clenched his fists. For an instant he considered transporting himself down to them, shaking the truth out of them. Or perhaps choking it out of them. He grew calmer, however, and soon forgot about them. But not about what they’d said.

“You can see the ship from the top of the citadel,” he muttered. “I’ll go up there and look for myself. The elf might well be lying. And they’re not likely to come back soon.”

Xar had been meaning to take a look inside what the mensch referred to as the Star Chamber, but the elf—Paithan—had the annoying habit of hovering around the room, treating it as if it were his own personal and private creation. He’d very proudly offered to give Xar a tour. Xar had been careful not to evince too much interest, much to Paithan’s disappointment. The Lord of the Nexus would examine the Star Chamber in his own good time—by himself.

Whatever Sartan magic happened in the Star Chamber was the key to controlling the tytans. That much was evident.

“It’s the humming sound,” Paithan had said. “I think that’s what’s drawing them.”

Obvious enough that even a mensch had seen it. The humming sound undoubtedly did have a startling effect on the tytans. From what Xar had observed, the humming sent them into some sort of trance. And when it stopped, they flew into a frenzy, like a fretful child who will only be quiet when it hears its mother’s voice.