Alfred ran to Haplo, extended his hand to help him up. “Quickly! They don’t stand a chance!”
An odd sensation stole over Haplo. He’d done this, or something like this, before. . . .
. . . The woman gave Haplo her hand, helped him to stand. He didn’t thank her for saving his life. She didn’t expect it.
Today, maybe the next, he’d return the favor. It was that way in the Labyrinth.
“Two of them,” he said, looking down at the corpses. The woman yanked out her spear, inspected it to make certain it was still in good condition. The other had died from the electricity she’d had time to generate with the runes. Its body still smoldered.
“Scouts,” she said. “A hunting party.” She shook her chestnut hair out of her face. “They’ll be going for the Squatters.”
“Yeah.” Haplo glanced back the way they’d come.
Wolfen hunted in packs of thirty, forty creatures. There were fifteen Squatters, five of them children.
“They don’t stand a chance.” It was an offhand remark, accompanied by a shrug. Haplo wiped the blood and gore from his dagger.
“We could go back, help fight them,” the woman said.
“Two of us wouldn’t do that much good. We’d die with them. You know that.” In the distance, they could hear hoarse shouts—the Squatters calling each other to the defense. Above that, the higher-pitched voices of the women, singing the runes. And above that, higher still, the scream of a child. The woman’s face darkened, she glanced that direction, irresolute.
“C’mon,” urged Haplo, sheathing his dagger. “There may be more of them around here.”
“No. They’re all in on the kill.”
The child’s scream rose to a shrill shriek of terror.
“It’s the Sartan,” said Haplo, his voice harsh. “They put us in this hell. They’re the ones responsible for this evil.”
The woman looked at him, her brown eyes flecked with gold. “I wonder. Maybe it’s the evil inside us.”
A terror-filled scream, the cry of a child. A hand stretched out to him. A hand not taken. Emptiness, a sadness for something irretrievably lost. The evil inside us.
Where did you come from? . . . Who created you? Haplo recalled his words to the dragon-snakes.
You did, Patryn.
The dog barked sharp warning. It ran up to him, eager, anxious, begging to be ordered to attack.
Haplo scrambled to his feet. “Don’t touch me,” he told Alfred harshly. “Keep away from me. Don’t get any water on you! It’ll disrupt your magic,” he explained impatiently, seeing Alfred’s confusion. “For whatever that’s worth.”
“Oh, yes!” Alfred murmured, and backed up hastily. Haplo drew his dagger, drew both daggers.
Instantly, Samah spoke a word. This time, his magic worked. Glowing sigla surrounded the Patryn, closed like manacles over his hands and bound his feet. The dog jumped back with a startled yelp, fled to Alfred.
Haplo could hear almost hear the dragon’s gloating laughter. “Let me go, you fool! I might be able to save them.”
“I will not fall for your trickery, Patryn.” Samah began to sing the runes.
“You don’t expect me to believe you care about these mensch!” No, Haplo didn’t expect Samah to believe it, because Haplo didn’t believe it himself. It was instinct, the need to protect the helpless, the weak. The look on his mother’s face as she shoved her child into the bushes and turned to fight her enemy.
“Haplo, help us!”
Alake’s screams rang in his ears. Haplo fought to escape his bonds, but the magic was too strong. He was being carried off. The sand, the water, the mountains began to fade from his sight. The cries of the mensch grew faint and far away.
And then, suddenly, the spell ended. Haplo found himself back standing on the beach. He felt dazed, as though he’d been dropped from a great height.
“Go on, Haplo,” said Alfred, standing beside him, stooped body upright, thin shoulders squared. “Go to the children. Save them, if you can.” A hand closed over his. Haplo looked down at his wrists. The manacles were gone. He was free.
Samah was cold with rage, his face contorted in fury. “Never in all the history of our people has a Sartan helped a Patryn. This dooms you, Alfred Montbank! Your fate is sealed!”
“Go on, Haplo.” Alfred ignored the Councillor’s ravings. “I’ll see to it that he doesn’t interfere.”
The dog was racing in circles around Haplo, barking warnings, darting a few steps toward the dragon-snakes, dashing back to urge his master on. His master, once again.
“I owe you one, Alfred,” said Haplo. “Though I doubt if I’ll live to repay it.”
He drew the daggers, their runes flared red and blue. The dog sped off, heading straight for the dragon-snakes.
Haplo followed.
31
The dragon-snakes had allowed the mensch to leave the cave safely, kept them in sight the entire time. The three reached the shoreline. They could see Haplo and his ship. Fear was dispelled. Hope returned. The three began to run toward him.
The dragon-snakes poured out of the cave, a hundred sinuous bodies surged over the ground in a writhing, slime-covered mass.
The three mensch heard their hissing, turned around in terror. The serpents’ red-green gaze caught the three, held them, fascinated. Tongues flicked out, tasting the air, smelling, savoring fear. The dragon-snakes closed in on their prey. But it was not their intent to kill swiftly. Fear made them strong, terror gave them power. They were always disappointed to see a victim die.
The snakes lowered their flame-eyed gazes, slowed their advance to a lazy crawl.
The mensch, freed of the paralyzing fascination, screamed and began running across the beach.
The dragon-snakes hissed in pleasure and slid rapidly behind. They kept close to the young people, close enough to let them smell the dank, putrid odor of the death they brought, close enough to let them hear the sounds that would be the last sounds they heard—except their own, dying screams. The giant bodies, sliding over the sand, ground it beneath them. Flat heads, looming over the mensch, cast horrid, swaying shadows before them. And the dragon-snakes watched, in glee, the battle between Patryn and Sartan, thrived on the hatred, and grew stronger still.
The mensch were weakening and, as their bodies weakened, so did their sheer terror. The dragon-snakes needed to prod their prey a bit, stir them back to action.
“Take one,” commanded the king dragon-snake, from his place at the head of the advance. “The human. Kill her.”
Day was dawning. Night was fading, the darkness lifting, as much as it could lift from this place of darkness. The sun’s light glimmered over the murky water. Haplo cast a shadow as he ran.
“We must help him!” Alfred urged Samah. “You can help him, Councillor. Use your magic. Between us, maybe we can defeat the dragons ...”
“And while I fight dragons, your Patryn friend escapes. Is that your plan?”
“Escape?” Alfred blinked watery blue eyes. “How can you say that? Look! Look at him! He’s risking his life—”
“Bah! He’s in no danger! The foul creatures are his to command! His people created them.”
“That’s not what Orla told me,” Alfred retorted angrily. “That’s not what the dragon-snakes said to you on the beach, is it, Councillor? ‘Who created you?’ you asked them. ‘You did, Sartan.’ That was their answer, wasn’t it?” Samah’s face was livid. He raised his right hand, started to trace a sigil in the air.
Alfred raised his left, traced the same sigil, only in reverse, nullified the magic.
Samah moved sideways in a sliding dance step, murmuring words beneath his breath.
Alfred slid gracefully the opposite direction, repeated the same words, backward.
Again, Samah’s magic was nullified.
But, behind him, Alfred could hear a furious hissing, the thrashing of reptile bodies, Haplo’s hoarse voice shouting instructions to the dog. Alfred longed to look to see what was happening, but he did not dare move his complete attention from Samah.