“Oh, yes, they did,” Haplo interrupted. “He had no need to use you to get to me. They wanted you to know their plans. They want our fear—”
“They’ve got it,” Alfred whispered unhappily.
“Haplo, they’re on their way here!” Marit said desperately. “They’re going to kill you. We’ve got to get out—”
“Yes,” said Vasu. “Time for questions later.” He obviously had a great many questions. “I will take you—”
“No, I don’t think you will,” came a hiss from the darkness. Sang-drax, still in Patryn form, and three of his fellows appeared in the chamber, walking through a wall.
“This will be simple, like shooting rats in a barrel. A pity I don’t have time to make it more fun. I would so like to see you suffer. Especially you, Serpent Mage!” The red eye focused on Alfred, glowing malevolently.
“I think you have the wrong person,” Alfred said meekly.
“I think we don’t. Your disguise is as easy to penetrate as my own.” Sang-drax whipped around to face Vasu. “Try if you like, Headman. You won’t find that your magic does you much good.”
Vasu stared in astonishment at the sigla he had cast, burning, in the air. The runes were coming unraveled, their magic dying, dwindling to meaningless wisps of smoke.
“Oh, dear,” said Alfred, and slid gracefully to the floor. The dragon-snakes moved in. The dog, snarling and yapping, crouched in front of Haplo and Marit. She held her spear in her hand. Haplo had her dagger. Not that the weapons would do them much good.
Weapon... weapon...
The Patryns were moving nearer and nearer. Sang-drax had chosen Haplo. The snake’s hand was outstretched, reaching for the heart-rune.
“I will finish what I began,” he said.
Haplo fell back, pulling Marit and the snarling dog with him. He came up against Hugh the Hand.
“The Sartan knife!” Haplo whispered. “Use it!” Hugh the Hand drew forth the Cursed Blade, jumped in front of Haplo. Sang-drax laughed, preparing to slaughter the human, then finish off the Patryns. Sang-drax found himself confronting a tytan, wielding a tree branch for a club.
Roaring, the giant struck savagely at the dragon-snake. Sang-drax ducked, fell back. The other snakes fought the tytan, hurling spears and magic. But their magic did nothing to stop the Cursed Blade.
“Retreat!” Sang-drax called. He grinned wickedly at Haplo. “A clever ploy. But now what will you do? Come, friends. Let their own weapon finish them.” The dragon-snakes vanished.
“Hugh, call it off!” Haplo cried.
But in the presence of its ancient enemy, the Cursed Blade continued to try to kill. The tytan raged around the chamber, bashing its club into walls, its sightless head sniffing them out.
Sigla burned again in the air, but almost immediately dwindled and died.
“I feared as much.” Vasu swore in frustration. “The snakes have cast some type of spell in this chamber. My magic won’t work.”
The tytan rounded on them, its head swiveling in response to Vasu’s voice.
“Don’t attack!” Haplo halted Marit, who was prepared to hurl her spear. “If it doesn’t feel threatened, perhaps it will leave us alone.”
“I think so long as any Patryn remains alive, it will feel threatened,” Hugh the Hand said grimly.
The tytan approached.
Hugh the Hand ran in front of the tytan, shouting at it, hoping to distract it. Haplo grabbed hold of the comatose Alfred, who was in danger of being trampled by the monster’s lumbering feet, and pulled him into a corner. Vasu and Marit tried circling around the giant, planning to attack it from behind. But the tytan sensed their movement. It whirled, struck. The tree branch whistled horribly, crashed into the wall behind Marit. If she had not thrown herself flat, the blow would have crushed her skull. Haplo slapped Alfred across the face. “Wake up! Damn it, wake up! I need you!” The dog added its help, covered Alfred’s cheeks with sloppy wet licks. The tytan’s huge, stamping feet shook the cavern. Hugh the Hand stood protectively in front of Haplo. Vasu was attempting to cast another spell and not having much success.
“Alfred!” Haplo shook the Sartan until his teeth rattled. Alfred opened his eyes, took one terrified look at the howling tytan, and, with a gentle groan, shut his eyes.
“No, you don’t!” Haplo gripped the Sartan by the neck, forced him to sit upright. “That’s not a real tytan. It’s the Sartan knife! There must be some sort of magic you can use to stop it! Think, damn it! Or it’s going to kill us all!”
“Magic,” Alfred repeated, as if this were a new and original concept. “Sartan magic. Why, you’re right. I believe there might be a way.” He clambered unsteadily to his feet. The tytan paid no attention to him. Its sightless head was fixed on the Patryns. A massive hand reached down, brushed Hugh the Hand to one side. The tytan headed for Haplo.
Alfred stepped in front of the giant. Solemnly, a comic figure in his shabby finery, his wispy hair trailing down from the bald spot on his head, he raised a trembling hand and, in a shaking voice, said, “Stop.” The tytan vanished.
On the cavern floor, at Hugh’s feet, was the Cursed Blade. It quivered an instant, its sigla gleaming. Its light flared, then went out.
“Is it safe now?” Haplo asked, staring hard at the knife.
“Yes,” said Alfred. “So long as nothing threatens Sir Hugh again.” Haplo glared at him. “Do you mean to tell me that you could have done that all along? Just say stop in Sartan?”
“I suppose so. It didn’t occur to me until you mentioned it. And I wasn’t really certain it would work. But once I thought about it, it seemed logical to me that the knife’s Sartan maker would have provided the user with some means of control. And it would have, in all probability, been something simple that could be taught easily to mensch...”
“Yeah, yeah,” Haplo said wearily. “Save the explanation. Just teach the damn word to Hugh, will you?”
“What does all this mean?” The assassin was in no great hurry to retrieve his weapon.
“It means that from now on you can control the knife. It won’t attack anything you don’t want it to. Alfred will teach you the magic you need to know.”
“We can leave,” said Vasu, staring around the chamber. “Whatever spell those creatures cast has ended. But I’ve never faced such power. It’s far greater than my own. Who are they? What are they? Who created them? The Sartan?” Alfred blanched. “I’m afraid so. Samah told me that he once asked the creatures that very question. ‘Who created you?’ ‘You did, Sartan,’ they said.”
“Odd,” remarked Haplo quietly. “That’s the very same answer they gave me when I asked, ‘Who created you?’ ‘You did,’ they said.”
“What does it matter who created them?” Marit cried impatiently. “They’re here and they’re going to attack the city. And then, when it’s destroyed...” She shook her head, arguing with herself. “I can’t believe it. Surely Sang-drax was bluffing.”
“What else did they say?” Haplo asked.
“Sang-drax said he was going to seal shut the Final Gate.”
45
Vasu made ready to leave the caverns, to prepare his people to face a dawn attack. He offered to take Hugh the Hand and Alfred with him; not that they could be of much help, but the headman wanted to keep watch on both of them—and the cursed knife. Marit should have gone with him—she could be of help—but when the headman looked in her direction, she was intently looking somewhere else and refused to catch his eye.
Vasu glanced at Haplo, who was playing with the dog, also keeping his gaze averted. The headman smiled and, taking Hugh and Alfred with him, departed. Haplo and Marit were alone, not counting the dog. It flopped on its belly on the floor, hiding what might have been a grin with its nose in its paws. Marit, suddenly uneasy, seemed astonished to find that they were the only two people in the room.