On Abarrach, he’d found evidence that there might be a power for a greater good. If that was true, then he thought it quite likely that here, on Chelestra, he had discovered its opposite.
He wondered if Alfred had heard, and glanced across the room. Obviously not. The Sartan looked as white if he’d just taken a spear through the heart.
“Sartan!” Haplo said sharply. “You need to hear this. Tell them what you told me,” he urged Grundle, “about the dragon-snakes and Death’s Gate.” Alfred turned his head toward the dwarf. Shaken, he was obviously only half-listening. Orla, more composed, gave Grundle serious attention. Abashed at this audience, Grundle began her story somewhat flustered, grew more confident as she went along.
“I didn’t understand hardly any of it. I did, at the beginning, all about how they planned to flood your city with seawater and that would ruin your magic and you’d have to escape. But then they began to talk about something called ‘Death’s Gate’?”
She looked to Devon for verification. The elf nodded.
“Yes, that was it. ‘Death’s Gate.’ ”
Alfred was suddenly attentive. “Death’s Gate? What about Death’s Gate?”
“You tell them,” Grundle urged the elf. “You know the exact words they used. I never can remember.”
Devon hesitated, to make certain he had it right. “They said: ‘They will be forced to do what they were strong enough to resist doing ages before. Samah will open Death’s Gate!’ And then they said something after that about entering Death’s Gate ...”
Orla gasped, rose to her feet, her hand pressed to her breast. “That’s what Samah means to do! He talks of opening Death’s Gate if the mensch attack us!”
“And that will unleash this terrible evil on the other worlds,” Haplo said.
“The dragon-snakes will grow in numbers and in power. And who will be left to fight them?”
“Samah must be stopped,” said Orla. She turned to the dwarf and the elf. “Your people must be stopped.”
“We don’t want war,” Devon returned gravely. “But we must have a place to live. You leave us little choice.”
“We can work it out. We’ll bring everybody together, negotiate—”
“It is late for that, ‘Wife.’” Samah appeared, standing in the doorway. “War has begun. Hordes of mensch are sailing for our city. They are being led by the dragon-snakes.”
“But . . . that’s not possible!” Grundle cried. “My people are afraid of the dragon-snakes.”
“The elves would not follow the dragon-snakes without good reason,” stated Devon, eyeing Samah narrowly. “Something must have happened to force them to make such a drastic decision.”
“Something did happen, as you well know. You and the Patryn.”
“Us!” Grundle exclaimed. “How could we do anything! We’ve been here with you! Though we’d like to do something,” she added, but it was a mutter, into her whiskers.
Devon poked her in the back, and she subsided.
“I think you should explain yourself, Samah,” Orla intervened, “before you accuse children of starting a war.”
“Very well, ‘Wife.’ I will explain.”
Samah used the word as a whip, but Orla did not flinch beneath it. She stood calmly beside Alfred.
“The dragon-snakes went to the mensch and told them that we Sartan were responsible for the unfortunate death of the young human female. The dragons claimed that we took the other two children captive, that we are holding them hostage.”
His cold gaze turned to Devon and Grundle. “All very well planned—the way you two persuaded us to take you along. The Patryn’s idea, of course.”
“Yeah, sure,” muttered Haplo tiredly. “I thought it up right before I passed out.”
“We didn’t plan anything like that!” Grundle protested, her lower lip quivering. “We told you the truth! I think you’re a wicked man!”
“Hush, Grundle.” Devon put his arms around her. “What are you going to do to us?”
“We do not make war against children,” said Samah. “You will be returned safely to your families. And you will carry with you this message for your people: Attack us at your own peril. We know all about your plan to flood our city with seawater. You think that this will weaken us, but your ‘friends’ the Patryn and his evil minions, have willfully misled you. You will not find a city of a few helpless Sartan. You will find a city of thousands of Sartan, armed with the power of centuries, armored by the might of other worlds—”
“You’re going to open Death’s Gate,” said Haplo.
Samah did not deign to respond. “Repeat my words to your people. I want it to be remembered that we gave them fair warning.”
“You can’t be serious!” Alfred extended pleading hands. “You don’t know what you’re saying! Opening Death’s Gate would mean . . . disaster. The dragon-snakes would be able to enter other worlds. The dreadful lazar on Abarrach are waiting for just such a chance to enter this one!”
“So is my lord,” Haplo said, shrugging. “You’d be doing him a favor.”
“This is what the dragons want you to do, Samah,” Orla cried. “These children know. They overheard the dragons’ plotting.”
“As if I’d believe them ... or any of you.” Samah glanced around at them all in disdain. “At the first breach in the walls, I will open Death’s Gate. I will summon our brethren from the other worlds. And there are Sartan on other worlds. You cannot fool me with your lies.
“As for your lord”—Samah turned to Haplo—“he will be cast back into the Labyrinth along with the rest of your evil race. And this time, there will be no escape!”
“Councillor, don’t do this.” Alfred’s voice was calm, sad. “The true evil isn’t out there. The true evil is here.” He placed his hand on his heart. “It is fear. I know it well. I’ve given way to its power most of my life.
“Once, long ago, Death’s Gate was meant to stand open, to lead us from death into a new and better existence. But the time for that is past. Too much has changed. If you open Death’s Gate now, you will discover, to your bitter sorrow and regret, that you have uncovered a darker and more sinister aspect to the name Death’s Gate—a name that was once meant to stand for hope.” Samah listened in silence, with exemplary patience.
“Are you finished?” he asked.
“I am,” replied Alfred humbly.
“Very well. It is time these mensch were returned to their families.” Samah gestured. “Come, children. Stand together. Don’t be afraid of the magic. It will not harm you. You will seem to sleep, and when you wake up, you will be safely with your people.”
“I’m not afraid of you.” Grundle sniffed. “I’ve seen better magic than you could ever hope to make.”
Glancing conspiratorially at Alfred, she winked.
Alfred looked extremely confused.
“You remember what is it you have to say to your people?” Samah asked.
“We remember,” said Devon, “and so will our people. We’ll remember your words as long as we live. Farewell, Haplo.” The elf turned to him. “Thank you not only for my life, but for teaching me to live it.”
“Good-bye, Haplo,” said Grundle. She went over to him, hugged him around his knees.
“No more eavesdropping,” he said severely.
Grundle heaved a sigh. “I know. I promise.”
She stood a moment, fumbling at something she had nicked inside a pocket of her dress. The object was large, too large for the pocket, and now it was stuck fast. Grundle tugged, the pocket tore. Wrenching the object loose, she held it out to Haplo. It was a book, its leather-bound cover worn and stained with what might have been tears.
“I want you to have this. It’s a journal I kept when we left to go to the dragon-snakes. I asked the lady”—Grundle nodded at Orla—“to fetch it for me. She did. She’s nice. I was going to write some more in it, I was going to write the end, but ... I couldn’t. It’s too sad.
“Anyway,” she continued, wiping away a stray tear, “just ignore all the bad things I say about you at the beginning. I didn’t know you then. I mean . . . You’ll understand? . . .”