“And this is the reason you came back? To find her?”
“Yes, Headman Vasu. That is the reason.”
“Look around, Haplo,” said Vasu softly.
Haplo looked. The street in which they stood was filled with children: boys and girls at play and at work, stopping to stare with bright eyes at the strangers; babes riding in harness on a parent’s back; toddlers getting underfoot, tumbling down, only to stand up again with the stubborn persistence of the very young.
“Many are orphans,” Vasu said gently, “who come to us by way of the beacon fire. And many of them are named Rue.”
“I know my search seems hopeless,” Haplo argued, “but—”
“Stop it!” Marit cried suddenly, angrily. She rounded on him. “Stop lying! Tell him the truth!”
Haplo stared, truly astonished. All of them stopped walking, waited to see what would happen next. Crowds of Patryns moved near, watching, listening. At a gesture from Vasu, the Patryns moved back a discreet distance, but still they waited.
Marit turned to face the headman. “Have you heard of Xar, the Lord of the Nexus?”
“Yes,” said Vasu, “we have heard of him. Even here, in the center of the Labyrinth, we have heard of Lord Xar.”
“Then you know that he is the greatest one of our people ever to have lived. Xar saved this man’s life.” Marit pointed at Haplo. “Xar loves this man like a son. And this man has betrayed him.”
Marit flung back her head, regarded Haplo with scorn.
“He is a traitor to his own people. He has conspired with the enemy”—her accusatory gaze went to Alfred—“and with the mensch”—her eyes shifted to Hugh the Hand—“to destroy Xar, Lord of the Patryns. Haplo’s true reason for coming to the Labyrinth is to raise an army. He plans to lead that army from the Labyrinth in a war against his lord.”
“Is this true?” Vasu asked.
“No,” Haplo replied, “but why should you believe me?”
“Why indeed, traitor?” came a voice from the crowd. “Especially since your minion carries an ancient knife of foul magic, wrought by the Sartan for our destruction!”
Astonished, Haplo looked to see who had spoken. The voice sounded vaguely familiar, perhaps that of the man who had accompanied Marit on the trail. Oddly, though, Marit herself appeared startled, perhaps even troubled by this latest accusation. She, too, it seemed, was trying to locate the person who had spoken.
“I had such a weapon.” Hugh the Hand took the pipe from his mouth, spoke up boldly. “But it was lost, as she well knows!” He pointed the pipe stem at Marit.
Only it wasn’t a pipe.
“Blessed Sartan!” cried Alfred in horror.
The assassin held the Cursed Blade, the iron knife, inscribed with Sartan runes of death.
Hugh the Hand flung the weapon from him. The knife fell to the ground and lay there squirming, wriggling like a live thing.
The sigla tattooed on Haplo’s skin flared to life, as did the runes on Vasu and Marit and every other Patryn in the vicinity.
“Pick it up!” Alfred said through pale and trembling lips.
“No!” The Hand shook his head vehemently. “I won’t touch the damn thing!”
“Pick it up!” Alfred commanded, his voice rising. “It feels threatened! Quickly!”
“Do it!” Haplo said grimly, dragging back the dog, which was trotting over to take a sniff.
Reluctantly, gingerly, as if he were preparing to grab a poisonous snake by the back of the head, Hugh the Hand bent dawn, retrieved the knife. He glared at it.
“I swear... I didn’t know I had it! My pipe...”
“The blade would not let him go,” Alfred intervened. The Sartan looked miserable. “I wondered at the time, when you said it was lost. The blade would find a way to stay with him, and it did so, by changing its form to that of his most valued possession...”
“Headman Vasu, I would most respectfully suggest that you disperse your people,” Haplo said, tense, his gaze on the knife. It was still glowing, although not quite as brightly as before. “The danger is very great.”
“And it grows proportionately,” Alfred added in a low voice, his face flushed with shame. So much for the crimes of the fathers. “With all these people around it...”
“Yes, I sense that,” Vasu said grimly. “You, return to your homes. Take the children indoors.”
Take the children. One little girl was trying to see, moving near, not understanding the danger. Her face was oval, her chin pointed—not unlike Marit’s. The child would be about the right age...
A man came to the girl, laid his hand protectively on her shoulder, drew her back. His eyes met Haplo’s for a brief instant. Haplo felt his face burn. The man led the child away.
The crowd dispersed swiftly, obeying the headman’s orders without question. But Haplo could see faces, eyes, watching him balefully, distrustfully from the shadows. He could guess that many hands were on weapons. And whose had been the voice that spoke? And what force had caused the knife to reveal its true nature?
“Alfred,” said Haplo, thinking back, “why didn’t the knife change when the tiger-men attacked us?”
Alfred shook his head. “I’m not sure. But as you recall, Sir Hugh was knocked out by a blow to the head.”
Or maybe it was the knife itself that had summoned the tiger-men.
“Never before in the history of Abri, which has been here since the beginning, has one of our own brought such danger to us,” Vasu was saying. The brown eyes were hard, stem and unforgiving.
“You must imprison them, Headman,” Marit told him. “My lord Xar is coming. He will deal with them.”.
So, Xar is coming, Haplo thought. How long has she known? A lot was beginning to make sense now...
“I do not want to imprison one of our own kind. Will you, Haplo, wait in Abri for Lord Xar?” Vasu asked. “Will you give me your word of honor that you will not attempt to flee?”
Haplo hesitated. He could see his own reflection in the headman’s brown eyes, so marvelously clear and soft. And in that moment, he made his decision. He came to know himself.
“No, I will not make such a pledge, for I could not keep it. Lord Xar is my lord no longer. He is being guided by evil. His ambition is not to rule but to enslave. I’ve seen where such ambition leads. I will no longer follow or obey him.” Haplo added quietly, “I will do all within in my power to thwart him.” Marit sucked in a sharp breath. “He gave you life!” She spat at his feet, turned on her heel, and stalked off.
“So be it,” said Vasu. “I have no choice but to deem you and your two companions a danger to the people. You will be held in prison to await the arrival of Lord Xar.”
“We will go peacefully, Headman,” said Haplo. “Hugh, put the knife away,” Scowling, not at Haplo but at the Cursed Blade, the assassin thrust it securely into his belt. “I suppose this means I’ve lost my pipe,” he said glumly.
Vasu made a gesture and several Patryns appeared out of the shadows, ready to escort the prisoners.
“No weapons,” Vasu commanded. “You will not need them.” He looked back at Haplo, who saw something in the brown eyes, something perplexing, unfathomable.
“I will accompany you,” Vasu offered. “If you don’t mind?” Haplo shrugged. He wasn’t in a position to mind.
“This way.” Vasu was brisk, efficient. He even offered a hand to Alfred, who had slipped on a pebble and was now lying on his back looking helpless, like an upturned turtle.
With the headman’s help, Alfred struggled to his feet. His stooped shoulders were bowed as if, once again, he had taken on some enormous burden. They walked toward the mountain, their destination probably the caverns, deep underground—caverns far below the beacon fire burning its welcome through the gray mists.
The dog crowded against Haplo’s leg, looked up at him questioningly with its liquid eyes. Do we go along with this indignity? it asked. Or do you want me to put a stop to it?
Haplo gave the animal a reassuring pat. With a sigh that said the dog hoped Haplo knew what he was doing, the animal trotted along meekly at its master’s side.