“No, Brother,” Samah interrupted. “Nothing so difficult. You told Orla that the arrival of this dog on Chelestra meant that the dog’s master was also on Chelestra. You have the animal. We want you to find the master and bring him to us.”
“No,” said Alfred, flustered, nervous. “I couldn’t . . . He let me go, you see, when he could have taken me prisoner to the Labyrinth—”
“We have no intention of harming this Patryn.” Samah’s tone was soothing. “We only want to ask him questions, discover the truth about the Labyrinth, his people’s suffering. Who knows, Brother, but that this could be the beginning of peace negotiations between our people? If you refuse, and war breaks out, how could you live with yourself, knowing that it had once been in your power to prevent it?”
“But I don’t know where to look,” Alfred protested. “And I wouldn’t know what to say. He wouldn’t come—”
“Wouldn’t he? To face the enemy he has longed to challenge? Consider it,” Samah added before the flustered Alfred had time to think up another argument.
“Perhaps you can use the dog as your means of getting him to return.”
“Surely, you aren’t going to refuse a request of the Council?” asked Orla softly. “A request that is so reasonable? One that affects the safety of us all?”
“No, of ... of course not,” Alfred said unhappily. He looked down at the dog.
The animal cocked its head, thumped its plumy tail on the floor, and grinned.
14
Haplo lay flat on his bed, staring at the backs of his hands.
The sigla tattooed on the skin were a deeper, darker blue; his magic was growing stronger every moment. And the runes were beginning to glow faintly, the prickling sensation tingled over his body—the warning signal of danger, far away still, yet rapidly approaching.
The dragon-snakes. Without a doubt.
It seemed to Haplo that the ship had picked up speed. The vessel’s motion was less smooth, more erratic, and he sensed an increased vibration in the deck beneath his feet.
“I could always ask the dwarf. She would know,” Haplo muttered. And, of course, he should tell the mensch that they were nearing the lair of the dragon-snakes. Warn them to make themselves ready . . . To do what? Die?
Devon, the slender, delicate elf, had nearly decapitated himself with the battle-ax.
Alake had her magic spells, but hers were cantrips that any child in the Labyrinth could perform by the time it was past its second Gate. Against the awesome power of the dragon-snakes, it would be like pitting that child against an army of snogs.
Grundle. Haplo smiled, shook his head. If any one of those mensch could deal with the dragon-snakes, it would be the dwarf maid. If nothing else, she’d be too stubborn to die.
He ought to go tell them, do what he could to prepare them. He sat up.
“No,” he said suddenly, and flung himself back on the bed. “I’ve had enough dealings with the mensch for one day.”
What in the name of the Labyrinth had possessed him to make that promise to them? Not letting them come to harm! He’d be damn lucky if he could keep himself alive.
He clenched his hands to fists, studied the sigla drawn taut over bones and tendons. Raising his arms, he looked at the sharp, clean outline of the muscles beneath the tattooed skin.
“Instinct. The same instinct that led my parents to hide me in the bushes and lead the snogs away from me. The instinct to protect those weaker than ourselves, the instinct that allowed our people to survive the Labyrinth!” He sprang to his feet, began pacing his small cabin. “My lord would understand,” he reassured himself. “My lord feels the same. Every day of his life, he returns to the Labyrinth, returns to fight and defend and protect his children, his people. It’s a natural emotion . . .” Haplo sighed, swore softly. “But it’s damn inconvenient!”
He had other, more urgent matters to think about than keeping three mensch kids alive. The foul seawater that washed away his rune magic faster than ordinary water washed away dirt. And the dragon-snakes’ promise. At least, he assumed it was a promise.
Samah. The great Samah. Head of the Council of Seven. The Councillor who had engineered the Sundering, the Councillor who had brought about the Patryn’s downfall, imprisonment, and eons of suffering.
Councillor Samah. Many things had died in the Labyrinth, but not that name. It had been handed down from generation to generation, breathed with the last dying breath of father to son, spoken with a curse from mother to daughter. Samah had never been forgotten by his enemies, and the thought that Samah might be discovered alive filled Haplo with unspeakable joy. He didn’t even think to ask how it was possible.
“I’ll capture Samah and take him to my lord—a gift to make up for my past failures. My lord will see to it that Samah pays and pays dearly for every tear shed by my people, for every drop of blood. Samah will spend his lifetime paying. His days will be filled with pain, torment, fear. His nights with horror, agony, terror. No rest. No sleep. No peace, except in death. And soon, very soon, Samah will be begging to die.”
But the Lord of the Nexus would see to it that Samah lived. Lived a very long life . . .
A violent pounding on the door brought Haplo out of a blood-gilded reverie. The pounding had been going on for some time, but he’d been hearing thunder in his waking dreams of vengeance and hadn’t noticed.
“Perhaps we shouldn’t bother him, Grundle,” came Devon’s soft voice through the door, “He might be asleep ...”
“Then he jolly well better wake up!” answered the dwarf. Haplo rebuked himself for his lapse; such a slip would have cost him his life in the Labyrinth. Stalking over to the door, he yanked it open so suddenly that the dwarf, who had been beating on it with the handle of the battle-ax, tumbled inside.
“Well? What do you want?” Haplo snapped.
“We . . . we’ve wakened you,” said Alake, her gaze shifting nervously from him to the rumpled bed.
Devon stammered. “W—we’re sorry. We didn’t mean—”
“The ship’s picking up speed,” stated Grundle. Her own gaze rested suspiciously on Haplo’s skin. “And you’re glowing again.” Haplo said nothing, glared at her, trusting she’d take the hint and go away. Alake and Devon were already sidling backward.
But Grundle was not to be intimidated. She rested the battle-ax on her shoulder, planted her feet firmly on the swaying deck, and looked Haplo in the face. “We’re getting close to the dragon-snakes, aren’t we?”
“Probably,” he said, and started to close the door. Grundle’s stocky body blocked it.
“We want you to tell us what to do.”
How the hell should I know? Haplo felt like shouting back at her in exasperation. I’ve come near a magical power like this in the Labyrinth, but nothing this strong. And all these dragon-snakes have to do is toss a bucket of seawater on me and I’m finished!
The mensch stood quietly, looking at him, trusting him (well, two of them trusted him), all of them silently pleading, hoping.
Who had given them that hope? And did he have the right to destroy it?
Besides, he told himself coldly, they might be useful. In the back of his mind was a plan . . .
“Come in,” he said grudgingly, holding the door open wide. The mensch trooped inside.
“Sit down,” Haplo told them.
There was only the bed. Alake looked at it—rumpled, still warm from Haplo’s body. Her lashes fluttered, brushed against her cheeks. She shook her head.
“No, thank you. I will stand. I do not mind. . . .”
“Sit!” Haplo ordered grimly.
She sat, perched on the very edge of the bed. Devon took his place beside her, long legs spraddled uncomfortably. (Dwarven beds are built low to the floor.) Grundle plopped herself down near the head of the bed, her short legs swinging back and forth, heels scuffing against the deck. All three looked up at him, faces serious, solemn.