“And they defeated you? Mensch defeated you?” Xar was regarding Sang-drax with disgust.
“They did not defeat us, Lord,” Sang-drax answered with dignity. “As I said, we withdrew. We feared the Kicksey-winsey might suffer harm if we pursued the battle. We knew that you did not want the great machine damaged, and so, in deference to your wishes, we left Arianus.”
Sang-drax looked up; the single eye gleamed. “There was no urgency. What my lord wants, my lord will take. As to the mensch, they may have found peace for the time being, but they will soon misplace it. Such is their way.” Xar glared at the dragon-snake, who stood chastened and abashed before him.
“What is happening on Arianus now?”
“Alas, Lord, as I said, our people all left. I can send them back, if you truly believe it necessary. However, might I suggest that my lord’s true interest lies in Pryan—”
“Pryan again! What is so important about Pryan?”
“The dragon’s scale that was discovered in the old man’s cell—”
“Yes, what about it?” Xar demanded impatiently.
“Such creatures come from Pryan, Lord.” Sang-drax paused, then added in a low voice, “In the ancient days, Lord, these dragons were servants of the Sartan. It has occurred to me that perhaps the Sartan left something behind on Pryan that they wished to keep secret, well guarded, undisturbed... such as the Seventh Gate.”
Xar’s anger cooled. He was suddenly thoughtful. He had just recalled where he’d heard about the citadels of Pryan. “I see. And you say these dragons exist only on this world?”
“Haplo himself reported so, Lord. And it was there he ran into the crazed old Sartan. Undoubtedly the dragon and the old Sartan have returned to Pryan. And if they were able to travel here, to Chelestra, who knows but that next time they will return with an army of tytans?”
Xar was not about to let the dragon-snake see his excitement. “Perhaps I will go to Pryan,” he said noncommittally. “We will discuss this later, Sang-drax. Know that I am displeased with you. You are dismissed.” Flinching beneath the lash of Xar’s anger, the dragon-snake slunk out of the lord’s presence.
Xar was silent long moments after Sang-drax’s departure. Marit wondered if he had changed his mind about sending her to Arianus, since he’d heard what was happening from the dragon-snake. He was apparently thinking along the same lines, for he said to himself, “No, I do not trust him!”
But was he, Marit wondered suddenly, speaking of Sang-drax... or of Haplo?
He turned to her, decision made.
“You will travel to Arianus, Daughter. You will learn the truth of the matter. Sang-drax kept this concealed from me for a reason, and I do not believe it was to save me from grief! Although,” he added in a softer tone, “the betrayal of one of my own people, particularly Haplo...”
He paused a moment, thoughtful. “I have read that in the ancient world, before the Sundering, we Patryns were a stern and cold people who did not love, who prided ourselves on never feeling affection, not even for each other. Lust was permissible, encouraged, for lust perpetuates our species. The Labyrinth taught us many hard lessons. I wonder if it didn’t teach us to love.” Xar sighed. “Haplo’s betrayal has inflicted a pain on me worse than any I have endured from the creatures of the Labyrinth.”
“I do not believe he would betray you, Lord,” said Marit.
“No?” Xar asked, gazing at her intently. “And why not? Is it possible that you love him, too?”
Marit flushed. “That is not the reason. I do not believe any Patryn could be so disloyal.”
He stared at her as if probing for some deeper meaning. She returned his gaze steadfastly, and he was satisfied.
“That is because your heart is true, Daughter. And therefore you cannot conceive of one that is false.” He paused, then said, “If Haplo is proven a traitor—not only to me, but to our people—what punishment would he merit?”
“Death, Lord,” said Marit calmly.
Xar smiled, nodded. “Well spoken, Daughter. Tell me,” he added with that same piercing stare, “have you ever rune-joined with any man or woman, Marit?”
“No, Lord.” She was at first startled by his question, then understood what he was truly asking. “You are mistaken, Lord, if you think that Haplo and I—”
“No, no, Daughter,” Xar interrupted smoothly. “I do not ask because of that—although I am glad to hear it. I ask for another, more selfish reason.” Walking to his desk, Xar lifted a long bodkin that lay on it. Also on his desk was a jar of ink, so blue as to be almost black. He muttered over the ink several words of the rune-language used by the Patryns. Then he drew his hood back from his face and lifted the long hair that fell over his forehead to reveal a single blue sigil tattooed there.
“Will you rune-join with me, Daughter?” he asked gently. Marit stared at him in astonishment; then she fell to her knees. Her fists clenched, she bowed her head. “Lord, I am not worthy of this honor.”
“Yes, Daughter. Most worthy.”
She remained kneeling before him, lifted her face to his. “Then, yes, Lord, I will rune-join with you, and count it the greatest joy of my life.” Reaching to the open-necked blouse she wore, she ripped it open, laying bare her rune-marked breasts.
Over the left breast was tattooed her own heart-rune.
Xar brushed back Mark’s brown hair from her forehead. Then his hand sought her breasts, which were firm and small and rode high upon the strong muscles of her chest. His hand moved down over her smooth, slender neck to cup and fondle her left breast.
She closed her eyes and shivered, more in awe than in pleasure, at his touch. Xar noticed. His gnarled hand ceased its caress. She heard him sigh. “Few times I regret my lost youth. This is one.”
Marit’s eyes flared open. She burned with shame that he should so mistake her.
“Lord, I will gladly warm your bed—”
“Ah, that is what you would be doing, Daughter—warming my bed,” Xar said dryly. “I am afraid I could not return the favor. The fire died in these loins of mine long ago. But our minds will join, if our bodies cannot.” He placed the point of the bodkin on the smooth skin of her forehead and pricked her flesh.
Marit shuddered, though not at the pain. From the moment of birth, Patryn children are tattooed at various times throughout their lives. They not only become accustomed to the pain but are taught to endure it without flinching. Marit shuddered at the rush of magic into her body, magic which flowed from the lord’s body to her own, magic which would grow stronger as he formed the sigla which would bind them together—his heart-rune, entwined with hers. Over and over he repeated the process, inserting the bodkin into Marit’s smooth skin more than a hundred times until the complicated pattern was completely drawn. He shared her ecstasy, which was of the mind rather than the body. After the ecstasy of rune-joining, sexual coupling is generally a letdown.
When he had finished his work and set down the blood—and ink-stained bodkin, he knelt before her and took her in his arms. The two pressed their foreheads together, sigil touching sigil, the circles of their beings closing in one. Marit cried out in gasping pleasure and went limp and trembling in his grasp. He was pleased with her and held her in his arms until she grew calm again. Then he put his hand on her chin and looked into her eyes.
“We are one. No matter that we are apart, our thoughts will fly each to the other as we desire.”
He held her with his eyes, his hands. She was transfixed, adoring. Her flesh was soft and pliable beneath his fingers.
It seemed to her as if all her bones had dissolved at his touch, his look.
“You did once love Haplo.” He spoke gently.
Marit hesitated, then lowered her head in shameful, silent acquiescence.
“So did I, Daughter,” Xar said softly. “So did I. That will be a bond between us. And if I deem that Haplo must die, you will be the one to slay him.” Marit lifted her head. “Yes, Lord.”