Since when?
I can’t even blame that on Alfred. It all happened before he bumbled in. It was my doing. My undoing, Haplo thought bitterly. The danger was present from the beginning. But I wouldn’t admit it. My own hatred blinded me. Just as the serpents knew it would.
He eyed Alfred, who, sensing some sort of inner battle within Haplo, kept quiet, waited anxiously for the outcome.
Haplo felt the dog’s cold nose press against his hand. He glanced down. The animal looked up, wagged its tail gently. Haplo stroked its head, the dog crowded near him.
“The war with the mensch is the least of your problems, Sartan,” Haplo said finally.
He gazed back at the cave, which could be clearly seen, despite the darkness, a hole of black torn out of the side of the mountain. “I’ve been near evil before. In the Labyrinth. . . . But never anything like that.” He shook his head, turned back to Alfred. “Warn your people. As I’m going to warn mine. These dragons don’t want to conquer the four worlds. They want to destroy them.”
Alfred blanched. “Yes . . . Yes. I sensed that. I’ll talk to Samah, to the Council. I’ll try to make them understand—”
“As if we would talk with a traitor!”
Runes flared, sparkling in the night like a cascade of stars. Samah stepped from the midst of the magic.
“Why am I not surprised.” Haplo smiled grimly, glanced at Alfred. “I almost trusted you, Sartan.”
“I swear, Haplo!” Alfred cried. “I didn’t know—I didn’t mean—”
“There is no need to continue to try to deceive us, Patryn,” said Samah.
“Every move this ‘Alfred’—your compatriot—makes has been watched. It must have been quite easy for you to seduce him, to draw him into your evil designs. But surely, considering his ineptness, by now you must be regretting your decision to make use of such a clumsy, bumbling oaf.”
“As if I’d sink so low as to make use of any of your weak and sniveling race,” Haplo scoffed. Silently, he was saying, If I could capture Samah, I could leave this place now! Leave the dragon-snakes and the mensch, leave Alfred and the damn dog. The submersible’s ready, the runes will take us safely back through Death’s Gate. . . .
Haplo cast a sidelong glance at the cavern. The dragon-snakes were nowhere to be seen, although they must have known of the presence of the Sartan Councillor on their isle. But Haplo knew they were watching, knew it as surely as if he could see the green-red eyes glowing in the darkness. And he felt them urging him on, felt them eager for the battle.
Eager for fear, chaos. Eager for death.
“Our common enemy’s in there. Go back to your people, Councillor,” Haplo said.
“Go back and warn them. As I intend to go back and warn mine.” He turned, started walking toward his ship.
“Halt, Patryn!”
Glowing red sigla exploded, a wall of flame blocked Haplo’s escape. The heat was intense, scorched his flesh, seared his lungs.
“I’m going back and you’re coming back with me, as my prisoner,” Samah informed him.
Haplo turned to face him, smiled. “You know I won’t. Not without a fight. And that’s just what they want.” He pointed toward the cave. Alfred extended trembling, pleading hands. “Councillor, listen to him! Haplo’s right—”
“Silence, traitor! Don’t you think I understand why you side with this Patryn? His confessions will seal your guilt. I am taking you with me to Surunan, Patryn. I prefer that we go peacefully, but, if you choose to fight . . .” Samah shrugged. “So be it.”
“I’m warning you, Councillor,” Haplo said quietly. “If you don’t let me go, the three of us will be lucky to escape with our lives.” But as he talked, he was already beginning to construct his magic.
Anciently, open warfare between Patryn and Sartan had been rare. The Sartan—maintaining as they did to the mensch that warfare was wrong—had their image to consider and would generally refuse to be drawn into a fight. They found subtler means to defeat their enemy. But occasionally battle could not be avoided and a contest would be waged. Such battles were always spectacular, generally deadly. They were held secretly, in private. It would never do for the mensch to see one of their demigods die.
Battle between two such opponents is long and tiring, both mentally and physically.[49] Some warriors were known to collapse from sheer exhaustion alone. Each opponent must not only prepare his own offense, drawing his magic from the countless possibilities that are present at that particular moment, but he must also prepare a defense against whatever magical attack his opponent might be launching.
Defense is mainly guesswork, although each side claimed to have developed ways to fathom the mental state of an opponent and therefore be able to anticipate his next move.[50]
Such was the battle both were proposing to wage. Haplo had been dreaming of it, yearning for it, all his life. It was every Patryn’s dearest wish, for though much had been lost to them through the eons, they had held fast to one thing: hatred. But now that the moment he’d lived for was finally here, Haplo could not savor it. He tasted nothing but ashes in his mouth. He was conscious of the audience, of the slit red eyes, watching every move. Haplo forced the thought of the dragon from his mind, forced himself to concentrate. Haplo called upon the magic, felt it answer. Elation surged through him, submerged all fear, all thoughts of the dragons. He was young and strong, at the height of his power. He was confident of victory. The Sartan had one advantage that the Patryn didn’t anticipate. Samah must have fought in such magical battles before. Haplo had not.
The two faced each other.
“Go on, boy,” Haplo said quietly, giving the dog a shove. “Go back to Alfred.” The animal whimpered, didn’t want to leave.
“Go!” Haplo glared at it.
The dog, ears drooping, obeyed.
“Stop it! Stop this madness!” Alfred cried.
He dashed forward with some wild intent of hurling himself bodily between the combatants. Unfortunately, Alfred wasn’t watching where he was going and fell, headlong, over the dog. The two went down in a confused and yelping tangle in the sand.
Haplo cast his spell.
The sigla on the Patryn’s skin flared blue and red, twisted suddenly into the air, wound together to form a chain of steel that glimmered red in the firelight. The chain streaked out with the speed of lightning to bind Samah in its strong coils, Patryn rune-magic would render him helpless. Or that was how it was supposed to work.
Samah had apparently anticipated the possibility that Haplo would try to take him prisoner. The Councillor invoked the possibility that when the Patryn’s attack was launched against him, he wouldn’t be there to receive it. And he wasn’t.
The steel chain wrapped around air. Samah stood some distance away, regarding Haplo with disdain, as he might have regarded a child throwing stones at him. The Councillor began to sing and dance.
Haplo recognized an attack. He was faced with an agonizing decision, and one that had to be made in a heartbeat. He could either defend against an attack—and to do so would require that he instantly sort through myriad possibilities open to his enemy—or he could launch another attack himself, hoping to catch Samah defenseless, in midspell. Unfortunately, such a maneuver would leave Haplo defenseless, as well.
Frustrated and angry over being thwarted by an enemy he’d considered a pushover, Haplo was anxious to end the battle swiftly. His steel chain still hung in the air. Haplo instantly rearranged the magic, altered the sigla’s form into that of a spear, and hurled it straight at Samah’s breast. A shield appeared in Samah’s left hand. The spear struck the shield; the chain of Haplo’s magic began to fall apart.
50
Extremely unlikely, considering the wide degree of difference in the magical constructs of each race. Most battles were won through sheer luck, though you would never find the victor who would admit it.