“No, Lord. I beg of you! You must believe me...”
Xar silenced her voice as he would silence the woman herself when he next encountered her. She was probably attempting to invade his thoughts, spy on him.
This is one of Haplo’s tricks—trying to lure me back into the Labyrinth with these foolish tales.
“I will return to the Labyrinth,” Xar said grimly, rising to his feet, his strength renewed, far more than if he’d slept a fortnight. “And both of you, my children, will be sorry to see me.”
But first he needed to find the mensch, particularly that elf woman who had run off with the dwarf’s amulet.
Xar listened, magically extending his hearing, listened for the bickering voices of the mensch, the hideous growl of the dragon. He had a difficult time hearing either at first. The irritating humming from the top of the citadel seemed louder than ever. Then, fortunately, the humming ceased, the light shut off.
And then he heard the mensch, and what he heard amazed and appalled him. They were opening the gates to the tytans! The idiots, the fools, the... Words failed him.
Xar strode over to the solid stone wall, drew a sigil on the marble. A window appeared, as if one had existed in that wall all along. Xar was able to see the gate now, could see the mensch huddled together like the stupid sheep they were. He watched the gate open, saw the tytans marching inside. Xar waited—with a certain grim anticipation—for the tytans to beat the mensch to a bloody pulp. It would only serve them right, though their deaths in such a manner considerably upset his plans. Still, he might be able to take advantage of the tytans’ momentary distraction to make good his escape. To Xar’s astonishment, the tytans walked past the four mensch, not quite oblivious to them—one tytan actually picked up the human male and moved him from its path with a gentle hand—but neither paying them much attention. The giants’ eyeless heads tilted upward. The light of the citadel came back on, beamed down on them, illuminated them, made them almost beautiful. The tytans were heading in Xar’s direction. Their destination was the citadel. The seven chairs. Giants who could not see, who would not be affected by the mind-shattering light. The tytans were coming back to the citadel to fulfill their destiny—whatever that might be.
But most important—the gate stood open. The tytans were distracted. The dragon was nowhere around. This was Xar’s chance.
He left the library, moved swiftly through the building, exiting from the back just as the tytans were entering at the front.
Keeping to the side streets, Xar hastily made his way to the gate. Once it was in sight, he stopped to reconnoiter. Only seven tytans had entered the citadel. The rest remained outside, but on their faces was the same beatific expression worn by those within. The three mensch stood just inside the gate, staring in bug-eyed astonishment at the tytans. The fourth mensch, the elf woman, stood directly in Xar’s path, blocking the gate. His gaze focused eagerly on the bloodstained amulet she held in her hands.
The amulet would get him past the Sartan runes, onto the Sartan ship. Apparently he no longer had to worry about the tytans.
The seven tytans were walking slowly and steadily, two abreast, toward the citadel. Xar took a chance, stepped out in plain sight. The tytans walked past, never noticing him.
Excellent, he thought, rubbing his hands.
He walked swiftly to the gate.
Of course the sight of him threw the mensch into an uproar. The human woman shrieked; the elven male yammered; the human male dashed forward to do Xar bodily harm. The lord tossed a sigil at them as he might have tossed a bone to a pack of ravening wolves. The sigil struck them and the mensch went very quiet, stood very still.
The elven female had turned to face him. Her eyes were wide and frightened. Xar approached her, his hand outstretched.
“Give me the amulet, my dear,” he said to her softly, “and no harm will come to you.”
The elf’s mouth opened, but no words came out. Then, drawing a deep breath, she shook her head. “No!” She hid the amulet behind her back. “This was Drugar’s. I... I don’t care what you do to me, you can’t have it. Without it, I can’t travel to the other city...”
Nonsense, all of it. Xar had no idea what she was talking about, didn’t care. He was about to suck her dry, leave her a pile of dust—with the amulet resting safely on top—when one of the tytans stepped through the gate and came to stand in front of Aleatha.
You will not harm her. The voice resounded in Xar’s head. She is under our protection.
Sartan magic, crude but immensely powerful, shone from the tytan as the starlight shone from the top of the citadel.
Xar could have fought the magic, but he was weak from his battle with the dragon, and besides, a fight wasn’t necessary.
The lord simply chose the possibility that he was standing behind the elf woman instead of in front. She had the amulet clutched in her hands, safely—so she thought—behind her back. Xar switched places, reached out, plucked the amulet from her fingers, and hastened out the gate.
Behind him, he could hear the elf woman crying in dismay.
The tytans paid no heed to Xar as he ran past them, on his way into the jungle, on his way to the ship and, from there, to the Labyrinth.
“Poor Drugar,” said Rega softly. She brushed her hand across her eyes. “I wish... I wish I’d been nicer to him.”
“He was so alone.” Aleatha knelt beside the body of the dwarf, holding his cold hand in her own.
“I feel rotten,” said Paithan. “But who knew? I thought he wanted to be by himself.”
“Which of us bothered to ask?” Roland said quietly. “Too busy thinking about ourselves.”
“Or some machine,” Paithan added beneath his breath. He cast a surreptitious glance in the direction of the Star Chamber.
The tytans were up there now, probably sitting in those huge chairs. Doing what? The machine was dark; the starlight hadn’t come on for a long time now. Yet the air quivered with tension, a good tension, a suppressed excitement. Paithan wanted more than anything to go up there and see for himself. And he would go. He wasn’t afraid of the tytans anymore. But he owed this to Drugar. He owed a lot to Drugar... and it seemed the only way he could repay him was to stand over the dwarf’s body and feel wretched.
“He looks happy,” Rega ventured.
“Happier than he was here with us,” Paithan muttered.
“Come on, Aleatha,” Roland said, helping her to stand. “There’s no need for you to cry. You were kind to him. I... I have to say I admire you for that.” Aleatha turned, looked at him in astonishment. “You do?”
“So do I, Aleatha,” said Rega timidly. “I used to not like you very much; I thought you were weak and silly. But you’re the strongest one of all of us. I want... I really want to be your friend.”
“You’re the only one of us with any eyes,” Paithan added ruefully. “The rest of us were as blind as the tytans. You saw Xar for what he was. And you saw Drugar for what he was.”
“Lonely,” Aleatha murmured. She stared down at the dwarf. “So very lonely.”
“Aleatha, I love you,” Roland said. Reaching out, he took hold of her shoulders, drew her near. “And what’s more, I like you.”
“You like me?” Aleatha repeated, amazed.
“Yes, I do.” Roland flushed, uncomfortable. “I didn’t used to. I loved you, but I didn’t like you. You were so... beautiful.” He said the word with contempt. Then his eyes grew warm; he smiled. “Now you’re beautiful.” Aleatha was confused. She touched her hair, which was filthy, unkempt, straggling over her thin shoulders. Her face was streaked with dirt, stained with tears, her nose swollen, her eyes red. He loved her, but he hadn’t liked her. Yes, she could understand that. No one had ever liked her. Not even herself.