“But it would be more fun if they were real. Oh, Drugar, sometimes I wish you’d never brought me here! I like it, but it makes me so homesick... Drugar, what are you doing?”
The dwarf ignored her. Removing the amulet from around his neck, he knelt down in the center of the starburst and placed the amulet in the empty spot, just as he had placed it in the same empty spot in the center of the city gate. He heard Aleatha scream, but the sound was distant, far distant, and he wasn’t certain he was even hearing it at all...
A hand clapped him on the back.
“You, sir!” A voice boomed, speaking dwarven. A silver mug waved in front of Drugar’s nose. “You’ll be a stranger to our fair city, I’m wagering. Now, sir, how would you like a taste of the finest ale in all of Pryan?”
38
Haplo woke the next morning, healed and rested, and lay quietly for long moments, listening to the sounds of the Labyrinth. He had hated this place while he was trapped here. It had taken from him everything he had ever loved. But it had given him everything he had ever loved as well. Only now did he realize it; only now did he come to admit it.
The tribe of Squatters that had taken him in when he was a boy, after his parents had been killed. He couldn’t remember any of their names, but he could see their faces in the pale gray light that was little more than a brightening of the darkness, but was morning to the Labyrinth. He hadn’t thought about them in a long time, since the day he’d left. He’d put them out of his mind then, as he’d assumed they must have put him out of their minds. Now he knew better.
The men who’d rescued that frightened little boy might still think about him. The old woman who’d housed and fed him must wonder about him, wonder where he was, what had happened to him. The young man who’d taught him the art of inscribing the sigla on weapons might be interested to know that his teaching had proved valuable. Haplo would have given a great deal now to find them, to tell them, to thank them.
“I was taught to hate,” he mused, listening to the rustle of small animals, the bird calls he’d never truly heard until now, never truly forgotten. He rubbed the jowls of the dog, which was snoozing with its head on its master’s chest. “I was never taught to love.”
He sat up suddenly, disturbing the dog, which yawned, stretched, and dashed off to annoy foraging squirrels. Marit lay by herself, apart from Haplo and his group, apart from the other Patryns. She slept as he remembered seeing her sleep, curled up in the same tight ball. He remembered sleeping beside her, his body wrapped around hers, his stomach pressed against her back, his arms cradling her protectively. He wondered what it might have been like, sleeping with her and the baby, the child between them, sheltered, protected, loved. To his astonishment, his eyes burned with tears. Hastily, embarrassed and half-angry at himself, he rubbed the moisture dry.
A stick snapped behind him.
Haplo started to turn, but before he could hoist himself up, Hugh the Hand had leapt to his feet, was confronting Kari.
“It’s all right, Hugh,” Haplo said, standing up. He spoke human. “She let us know she was coming.”
True enough. Kari had stepped on the stick on purpose, courteously calling attention to her nearness.
“These you term mensch, don’t they require sleep?” she asked Haplo. “My people noticed your friend was awake all night.”
“They have no rune-magic to protect them,” Haplo explained, hoping she hadn’t taken offense. “We have been through many dangers. He... that is, they”—Haplo had to remember to include Alfred—“are naturally nervous, being in such a strange and terrifying place.”
And why have they come to this strange and terrifying place? was the question on Kari’s lips. Haplo could hear the words as surely as if she’d spoken them. But to ask such a question was not her duty. She gave Hugh the Hand a pitying look, spoke a few words in Patryn to Haplo, then handed over a chunk of hard bread.
“What was that all about?” the Hand wondered, glowering darkly after Kari. Haplo grinned. “She says that you must be able to run like a rabbit, otherwise you’d never have lived this long.”
Hugh the Hand wasn’t amused. He glanced around grimly. “I’m amazed anything lives long around here. There’s a bad feeling to these woods. I’ll be glad to get out of them.” He stared morosely at the lumps of colorless dough Haplo held in his hands. “That breakfast?”
Hapto nodded.
“I’ll pass.” Pipe in his mouth, the assassin wandered over to the stream. Haplo glanced to where Marit had been sleeping. She was awake now, doing what a Patryn always did first thing in the morning—checking old weapons, making new ones. She was eyeing a spear, a full-sized one with a sigla-engraved rock head. It was a fine weapon, most likely a gift from one of the Patryns. Haplo recalled the man who had met her by the stream. Yes, he’d been carrying a spear like that.
“Very fine,” Haplo said, coming up to her. “Well made.” Marit jumped up, her hand tightening reflexively around the haft of the spear.
“I’m sorry,” he said, startled at her reaction. “I didn’t mean to scare you.” Marit shrugged, cold, nonchalant. “I didn’t hear you coming, that’s all. This horrible place,” she said abruptly, glancing around. “I’d forgotten how much I hate it!” Taking out a knife—another present, probably—she began improving a sigil carved on the spear’s head. She had not once looked directly at him. “I hate it,” she repeated in a low voice.
“This may sound strange,” said Haplo, “but I was thinking this morning that it was sort of good to be back. My memories aren’t all bad—” Impulsively he reached out to her.
Her head snapped back. She whipped around. Her hair, flying, struck him, stung his face. She held the spear between them. “We are even now. I saved your life. I owe you nothing. Remember that.”
Spear in hand, she walked off. Several of Kari’s group were heading out, going to scout the path ahead. Marit joined them, took her place beside the man who had given her the spear.
Confused, Haplo stared after her. Yesterday she had claimed him as hers, warned Kari away from him. Last night she’d talked to him. She had been glad—or so he had thought—to have him near her.
All was ended. All was suddenly different. What had happened between then and now?
Haplo couldn’t guess. Kari and her people were breaking down their crude camp, preparing to travel. The birds had fallen silent. The only sounds were the angry chattering of three squirrels, up a tree, throwing nutshells at the dog, barking beneath. Haplo looked at his skin; the sigla glowed softly. Danger, not near, but not far. Never far.
He gnawed at a piece of bread. It filled the stomach; that was about all he could say for it.
“Could... could I have some of that?” Alfred was standing beside him, eyeing the bread.
Haplo practically threw it at him.
Alfred fumbled, caught it, nibbled at a corner. He started to say something, but Haplo interrupted.
“Here, stupid dog!” He whistled. “Stop that noise!” The animal, hearing the sharp and unaccustomed note of rebuff, fell immediately silent. Head down, it trotted back meekly, wondering what it had done wrong.
“Aren’t you hungry?” Alfred ventured.
Haplo shook his head.
“You really should eat—”
“You’re in danger here,” Haplo said grimly.
Alfred looked alarmed, nearly dropped the bread. He glanced fearfully around him, probably expecting to see packs of tiger-men swarming through the trees. Instead he saw only Hugh the Hand, stripped to the waist, plunging his head and shoulders into the rushing stream. Nearby, Kari and her group were ready to move out.
Kari waved to Haplo, motioned for him and his friends to join them. He waved back, indicating that she was to go on ahead. Kari looked at him dubiously, frowning. It wasn’t wise to split up. He knew that as well as she. But then, he thought bitterly, he wasn’t really part of her group anyway. He smiled reassuringly, held his hand up, palm out, to indicate that he would be all right, that they’d catch up in a moment. Kari shrugged and left.