“Since one of them betrayed his people,” she returned scornfully. “You are now more Sartan than Patryn. So my lord says.”
Haplo sighed. He called the dog to his side. The animal, ears alert, tail wagging happily, trotted over. Haplo scratched its head. “If it were just me, Marit, I’d give up. I’d go with you. I’d die at my lord’s hands. But I’m not alone. There’s our child. You did bear my child, didn’t you?”
“I bore her. Alone. In a Squatter’s hut.” Her voice was hard, sharp as the blade in her hand.
Haplo was silent, then asked, “A girl-child?”
“Yes. And if you’re thinking to soften me, it won’t work. I learned well the one lesson you taught me, Haplo. Caring about something in the Labyrinth brings only pain. I gave her a name, tattooed the heart-rune on her chest, and then I left her.”
“What did you name her?”
“Rue.”
Haplo flinched. He was pale; his fingers curled, dug into the dog’s flesh. The animal yelped, gave him a reproachful glance.
“Sorry,” he muttered.
The ship had descended, was skimming over the tops of the trees, moving at an incredible speed, far faster than when Haplo had first visited this world. Xar’s magic, drawing them to him.
Below, the jungle was a dizzying green blur. A flash of blue, briefly seen and then gone, was an ocean. The ship was dropping lower and lower. In the distance Haplo could see the sparkling beauty of a white city: one of the Sartan citadels. Probably the one he himself had discovered. It would be logical for Xar to visit the citadel; he had Haplo’s account to guide him.
What does Xar expect my corpse to tell him? Haplo wondered suddenly. Obviously he suspects me of having hidden knowledge. Something I’ve kept from him. But what? I’ve told him everything... almost... And what’s left isn’t important to anyone but me.
“Well?” Marit demanded impatiently. “Have you made your decision?” The spires of the citadel loomed above them. The ship was flying over the wall, descending into an open courtyard. Two mensch standing beneath were staring up at them in open-mouthed astonishment. Haplo could not see Xar, but the lord must be somewhere nearby.
If I’m going to make my move, it has to be now.
“I won’t go back, Marit,” Haplo said. “And I won’t fight you. It’s what Sang-drax wants us to do.” His gaze shifted from the porthole, slid with deliberate slowness around the ship, flicked over Hugh the Hand, returned to Marit.
Haplo wondered how much the human had understood of what had passed. Haplo had spoken in human for the assassin’s benefit, but Marit had been using the Patryn language.
Well, if he didn’t understand before, he would now.
“I guess you’ll have to kill me,” said Haplo.
Hugh the Hand dove for the knife—not the Cursed Blade, but Haplo’s knife, stained with the human’s own blood, which lay on the deck. He intended to distract the woman; he knew he didn’t stand a chance of stopping Marit. She heard him, whirled, stretched out her hand. The sigla on her skin flashed. Runes danced in the air, spun themselves into a flaring rope of fire that wrapped around the human. Hugh screamed in agony and crashed to the deck, the blue and red runes twining around him.
Haplo took advantage of the diversion to grasp the steering stone. He spoke the runes, willed the ship to leave.
Resistance. Xar’s magic held them fast.
The dog gave a warning bark. Haplo turned. Marit had dropped the knife. She was going to use her magic to kill him. Sigla on the backs of her hands began to gleam.
The Cursed Blade came to life.
19
The Cursed Blade altered form a tytan—one of the terrifying, murderous giants of Pryan—stood over them.
The tytan’s huge hands were clenched to fists as big around as boulders. Its blind face contorted in rage; it lashed out brutally at creatures it sensed rather than saw.
Marit heard the thing roaring above her, saw on Haplo’s face a look of fear and astonishment that was certainly not feigned. Her magic changed swiftly from an offensive attack to a defensive shield.
Haplo plummeted into her, dragged her with him to the deck. The giant’s fist swung harmlessly over them. Marit struggled to regain her feet, her mind still concentrating on killing Haplo. She didn’t fear the monster until she suddenly realized that her defensive shield-magic was beginning to crumble. Haplo saw her runes starting to fade, saw her look of astonishment.
“The tytans know Sartan magic!” he shouted to her above the giant’s roar. Haplo himself couldn’t believe what was happening, and his confusion hindered his ability to respond. Either the ship had expanded to accommodate the giant, or the giant had shrunk to fit inside the ship.
Hugh the Hand, freed of Marit’s spell, lay groaning near one of the bulkheads. The sound attracted the tytan’s notice. It turned, raised its enormous foot over the prostrate man, prepared to stamp him to death. Then, unaccountably, the tytan lowered its foot, left him alone. The giant shifted its attention back to the Patryns.
The Sartan blade, Haplo realized. It’s not a real tytan at all, but a creation of the blade. It won’t hurt its master.
But the Hand was barely conscious; there was no hope now of his controlling the blade, if he ever could—something Haplo was beginning to doubt. Death’s Gate. Perhaps it had been only coincidence, but the bat had disappeared; the blade’s magic had failed when they entered Death’s Gate.
“Dog, attack!” Haplo cried.
The dog darted around behind the giant, nipped at the tytan’s heel. The dog’s bite must have seemed less than a beesting to the giant, but apparently hurt it enough to distract it. The tytan swung around, stamping in rage. The dog nimbly sprang to one side, dove in again, sinking its teeth into the other heel.
Haplo cast a defensive spell. Blue sigla flared around him, looking like an eggshell and just as fragile. He turned to Marit, who was crouched on the deck, staring up at the giant. Her sigla were fading. She was muttering the rune-language, apparently about to cast another spell.
“You can’t stop it!” Haplo grabbed hold of her. “Not by yourself. We’ve got to create the circle.”
She shoved him aside.
The tytan kicked the dog, sent the animal flying across the deck. Its body crashed into a wall, quivered, and lay still. The tytan’s eyeless head turned this way and that, sniffing out its prey.
“Create the circle!” Haplo yelled at her savagely. “It’s our only chance. The thing is a Sartan weapon. It means to kill us both!”
The giant’s fist hammered down on Haplo’s magic shield. The sigla started to crack, began to fade. Marit stared at it. Perhaps she was beginning to understand. Or perhaps the instinct for survival, honed in the Labyrinth, goaded her to action. She reached out, grasped hold of Haplo’s hands. He held fast to hers. They spoke the runes swiftly together.
Combined, both their magicks strengthened; they formed a shield stronger than the strongest steel. The tytan’s fist slammed down on the glowing rune-structure.
The sigla wavered but held fast, Haplo saw a tiny break in it, however. The shield wouldn’t last long.
“How do we fight it?” Marit demanded, begrudging his help but aware of the necessity.
“We don’t,” he said grimly. “We can’t. We’ve got to get out of here. Listen to me: the bat that attacked you vanished when we entered Death’s Gate. The gate’s magic must somehow disrupt the blade’s magic.”
The tytan, in a frustrated rage, rained blow after blow down on the glowing shield, kicking at it with its feet, drumming on it with its hands. The cracks widened.
“I’ll hold it off!” Haplo yelled above the tytan’s roars. “You take us back to Death’s Gate!”
“This is a trick,” she cried, glaring at him, hating him. “You’re only trying to escape your fate. I can fight this thing.”
She broke loose of Haplo’s grasp. The shield around them burst into flame, engulfing the tytan’s hands. It shrieked in pain, snatched its hands back out of the blaze. Sucking in a huge breath, it blew on the fire, and suddenly the flames were engulfing Marit.