Dumaka’s tribe was the largest on Phondra and the strongest, one reason he was chieftain over the entire human population. It had taken numerous wars to settle the question, apparently, but now he was undisputed ruler and, in general, most of the other tribes approved his leadership.
Dumaka did not hold power alone, however. The Coven wielded a strong influence in the community, whose people revered magic and all those who could use it.
“In the old days,” Alake explained, “the Coven and the chieftains were often at odds, each believing they had the best right to govern. My father’s own father died that way, murdered by a warlock, who thought that he should be chief. The war that followed was bitter and bloody. Countless numbers perished. My father swore that if the One made him chief, he would bring about peace between the tribes and the Coven. The One granted him victory over his enemies and it was then that he married my mother, daughter of the Priestess of the Coven.
“My parents divided the power between them. My father rules on all disputes that occur over land or possessions; he gives laws and stands in judgment. My mother and the Coven deal with all things magical. Phondra has been at peace for years now.”
Haplo looked around at the tribal village—the lodges made of poles and thatched grass; the women, babies on their hips, laughing and talking; the younger men, honing weapons, preparing to set off in pursuit of some wild beast. A group of men too old to go on the hunt sat in the warm, waning sunlight, reliving hunts of long ago. The air was soft to the touch, scented with smells of smoked meat, alive with the shrill cries of children having a play hunt of their own.
“It seems a pity it must all end,” Alake said softly, her eyes glimmering. Yes, it was a pity, Haplo caught himself thinking. He tried to shake off the thought, but he could not deny that in this place, with these people, he felt at peace and relaxed for the first time in a very long time. It was merely a reaction to his fear, he decided. A reaction to the initial terror of the dragon-snakes, to the even greater terror of believing he’d lost his magic.
I must have been weaker than I knew. I’ll use this time to regain my strength, for I’ll soon need it. When I face the ancient enemy. When we go to war against the Sartan.
There’s nothing I can do to hurry it, anyway, he told himself. It won’t do to offend these mensch. I need them, need their numbers, if not necessarily their skill at arms.
He had been thinking a lot about the forthcoming battle. The elves would be worse than useless. He must find something for them to do, keep them out of the way. The humans were warriors, trained and skilled and easily roused to blood lust. The dwarves, from what he had gathered from talking to Grundle, were solid, tough. Slow to anger, but that wouldn’t be a problem. Haplo thought it likely that the Sartan would inadvertently provide all the provocation he needed.
His only concern was that these Sartan might prove to be like Alfred. Haplo considered the matter briefly, shook his head. No, from what he knew of Samah, from the records left in the Nexus, the Councillor was as different from Alfred as the light and lush world of air differed from the dark, smothering world of stone.
“I’m sorry, but I must leave you alone for a time . . .” Alake was saying something to him, something about having to go to her mother. She was looking at him anxiously, fearful of offending him. Haplo smiled at her. “I’ll be fine on my own. And you don’t have to worry about entertaining me, much as I enjoy your company. I’ll just look around.” He waved a hand. “Get to know your people.”
“You like us, don’t you?” asked Alake, returning his smile.
“Yes,” said Haplo and only when the word was spoken did he realize he meant it. “Yes, I like your people, Alake. They remind me ... of someplace I was, once.”
He fell silent, abruptly, not particularly welcoming some of the memories, yet oddly grateful to greet them after a long absence.
“She must have been very beautiful,” said Alake, somewhat downcast. Haplo looked up at her swiftly. Women! Mensch, Patryn, all alike. What gave them that uncanny ability to crawl inside a man’s skull, inside the dark places he thought hidden to all?
“She was,” he said, and he hadn’t meant to say that either. It was this place. Too much like home. “You’d better run along. Your mother will be wondering where you are.”
“I’m sorry if I hurt you,” she said softly. Reaching out her hand, she touched his, clasped his fingers.
Her skin was smooth and soft, her hand strong. His fingers tightened over hers, he drew her hand closer, not thinking what he was doing. Only knowing that she was beautiful and she warmed some cold part of him.
“A little pain is good for us,” he said to her. “Reminds us we’re alive.” She didn’t understand, but she was reassured by his manner, and left him. Haplo’s gaze followed her until the hungry, lonely ache inside him made him feel just a little bit too much alive for comfort.
Standing up, stretching in the warm sun, he went off to join the young warriors in the hunt.
The hunt was long, exciting, strenuous. Whatever beast it was—and Haplo never did catch the name—was cunning, vicious, and savage. The Patryn deliberately refused to use his magic. He found he enjoyed the hard, physical exertion, enjoyed pitting wits and muscle against an enemy.
The stalking and chasing lasted for hours, the kill itself, involving nets and spears, was tense and danger-edged. Several of the men were injured; one came close to being gored by the swordlike horn on top of the brutish head. Haplo flung himself on the young man, dragged him out of harm’s way. The horn grazed the Patryn’s skin but, protected as he was by the runes, did no true damage. Haplo had never been in any danger, but the humans didn’t know that and acclaimed him the hero of the day. At the end of the hunt, when the young men returned, singing, to the camp, he enjoyed their comradeship, the feeling that he was, once again, one with a community.
This feeling wouldn’t last long. It never had in the Labyrinth. He was a Runner. He would grow restless and uneasy, chafe against walls only he could see. But for now, he permitted himself the pleasure.
“I’m building up their confidence in me, their trust.” That was his excuse. Pleasantly weary, he walked back to his hut, planning to lie down and rest before tonight’s feasting. “These men will follow me anywhere, now. Even to war against a far superior enemy.”
He lay on his pallet, the warm ache of fatigue relaxing his muscles and his mind. A unwelcome thought occurred to him—his lord’s instructions. You are to be an observer. Take no action that might give yourself away as a Patryn. Do not alert the enemy to our presence.
But the Lord of the Nexus could not have foreseen that Haplo would run into Samah the Councillor. Samah, the Sartan who had imprisoned the Patryns in the Labyrinth. Samah, who had been responsible for the deaths, the sufferings, the torments endured by Haplo’s people through countless generations.
“When I return, it will be with Samah, and my lord will once again trust me and think of me as his son ...”
Haplo must have fallen asleep, for he jerked awake, alarmed, aware of someone inside his hut with him. He reacted swiftly, instinctively, and startled Alake, who took an involuntary step or two back away from him.
“I’m . . . sorry,” muttered Haplo, seeing, by the lambent light of the campfires outside his hut, who it was. “I didn’t mean to jump at you. You took me by surprise, that’s all.”
“Never disturb the sleeping tiger,” said Alake. “So my father says. I called out and you answered, but you must have been dreaming. I’m sorry for waking you. I will leave . . .”