Startled, Marit jumped, which made the dog jump, too, causing both to fall backward, eye each other warily.
“Oh, it’s you,” Marit said, and while not understanding the words, the dog understood the tone, which, while not exactly welcoming, wasn’t unfriendly either.
The woman sounded lonely and unhappy, desperately unhappy. The dog, forgiving her for startling it, once again came forward, tail wagging, to renew old acquaintance.
“Go away,” she said, but at the same time her hand caressed the dog’s head. The caress changed to a desperate clutch; her fingers dug painfully into the animal’s flesh.
This was not very comfortable, but the dog restrained a yelp, sensing that she was in pain herself and that somehow this helped. The animal stood calmly at the woman’s side, letting her maul its ears and crush its head against her thigh, wagging its tail slowly and gently, giving its presence, since it could give nothing more.
Haplo lifted his head, looked over at them. “Here, dog! What are you doing? Don’t bother her. She doesn’t like you. Keep close to me.” Marit’s fingers had stopped their painful kneading, were soft and stroking. But suddenly she jabbed sharp nails into the dog’s flesh.
Now it yelped.
“Get!” Marit said viciously, pushing the animal away. The dog understood. It always understood.
If only it could impart such understanding to its master.
“We can cross now. It’s safe,” Kari reported. “Safe enough, at any rate.” Made of a single narrow span of rock, carved with runes, the bridge across the river was no wider than a man’s foot. Slick with the spray of the turbid water rushing far below, the bridge was part of the defenses the Patryns had established around their city. Only one person could cross at a time, and that with the utmost care. One slip and the river would claim its victim, drag him down into its bone-chilling black and foaming rapids.
The Patryns, accustomed to the crossing and bolstered by their natural magic, ran over the bridge with ease. Once on the other side, several headed for the city, probably alerting the headman to their coming. Marit crossed over in one of the first groups, but—Haplo noticed obliquely—she waited on the shore. Kari came up to Haplo. She and three other Patryns were spread out along the riverbank, keeping watch on the woods behind them. “Have your people cross now,” she said. “Tell them to hurry.” She looked down at the sigla on her skin, on Haplo’s. Both glowed blue, brighter than before.
Hugh the Hand, pipe in his mouth, frowned down at the narrow bridge, examined it closely; then, shrugging, he strolled across with nothing more than a wobble or two, a pause to ascertain his footing. The dog trotted along behind, pausing midway to bark at something it thought it saw in the water. And that left Haplo. And Alfred.
“I... I have to... to...” The Sartan stared at the bridge and stammered.
“Yes, you have to,” Haplo replied.
“What’s the matter with him?” Kari asked irritably.
“He’s afraid of...” Haplo shrugged, left the rest of the sentence unsaid. Kari could fill in the blank.
She was suspicious. “He possesses magic.”
“Didn’t Marit tell you about that, too?” Haplo knew he sounded bitter, but he didn’t particularly care. “He can’t use his magic. The last time he did, the Labyrinth caught it, used it on him. The way the chaodyn will catch a thrown spear, use it on the one who threw it. Damn near killed him.”
“He is our enemy—” she began.
“That’s strange,” Haplo said quietly. “I thought the Labyrinth was our enemy.” Kari opened her mouth, shut it again. She shook her head. “I don’t understand this. Any of this. I will be glad to turn you over to Headman Vasu. You had better find some way to get your friend across—quickly.” Haplo went over to where Alfred stood, staring with wide, frightened eyes at the narrow bridge. Kari and her three companions kept an uneasy watch on the forest behind them. The other Patryns waited for them on the opposite shore.
“Come on,” Haplo urged. “It’s just a river.”
“No, it isn’t,” Alfred said, with a shuddering glance at the rushing water. “I get the feeling... it hates me.”
Haplo paused, startled. Well, yes, as a matter of fact, the river might very well hate him. He considered telling Alfred a comforting lie, but knew Alfred wouldn’t believe him. The truth was probably better than whatever Alfred might dredge up out of his imagination.
“This is the River of Anger. It winds through the Labyrinth, runs deep and fast. According to legend, this river is the one thing in the Labyrinth we Patryns created. When the first of our people were cast into this prison, their rage was so terrible that it spewed forth from their mouths, became this river.”
Alfred stared at him in horror.
“The water is deathly cold. Even I, protected by my rune-magic, could only survive in it a short time. And if the cold doesn’t kill you, the water will batter you to death on the rocks, or the weeds will drag you down and hold you underneath the water until you drown.”
Alfred had gone white. “I can’t...”
“You crossed the Fire Sea,” said Haplo. “You can cross this.” Alfred smiled faintly. A tinge of color returned to his pale cheeks. “Yes, I did cross the Fire Sea, didn’t I?”
“Crawl on your hands and knees,” Haplo advised, prodding Alfred toward the bridge. “And don’t look down.”
“I crossed the Fire Sea,” Alfred was repeating to himself. Reaching the narrow span, he blanched, gulped, and, drawing in a deep breath, placed his hands on the wet stone. He shivered.
“And you’d better hurry,” Haplo advised, leaning over to speak in his ear. “Something nasty’s gaining on us.”
Alfred stared at him, his mouth open. He might have thought Haplo was just saying this to urge him on, but the Sartan saw the blue glow on the Patryn’s skin. Nodding dismally, Alfred squinched his eyes tight shut and, by feel alone, started crawling across.
“What’s he doing?” Kari demanded, amazed.
“Crossing the bridge.”
“With his eyes closed?”
“He doesn’t manage all that well with his eyes open,” Haplo said dryly. “I figure this gives him a chance.”
“It’s going to take him the rest of the day,” Kari observed after a tense few moments spent watching Alfred inching his way along.
And they didn’t have the rest of the day. Haplo scratched at his hand; the rune-glow, warning of danger, was growing brighter. Kari peered back into the forest. The Patryns on the opposite shore watched with dark expressions. Several people had arrived, coming from the direction of the city. In their midst was a young man, probably near Haplo’s age. Absorbed in mentally urging Alfred along, Haplo would not have noticed one man among the rest except that this particular man was markedly unusual.
Most Patryns—male and female alike—are lean and hard-muscled, from lives spent either in running or in fighting to survive. This man’s sigla-covered flesh was soft, his body rounded, shoulders heavy, stomach protruding. But by the deferential way the other Patryns treated him, Haplo guessed that this was the headman—Vasu, a name that meant “bright,”
“beneficent,”
“excellent.” Vasu came to stand on the shoreline, watching, listening with slightly inclined head as several Patryns explained what was happening. He gave no commands. Kari was, by rights, in charge here. It was her group. In this situation, the headman was an observer, taking control only if things began to fall apart.
And so far, everything was going well. Alfred was making progress. Better than Haplo had dared hope. The bridge’s rock surface, though wet, was rough. The Sartan was able to dig his fingers into cracks and crevices and pull himself along. Once his knee slipped. Catching himself, he managed to hang on. He straddled the bridge with his legs. Eyes tightly shut, he gamely kept going. He was halfway across when the howl rose from the forest.