“Yes,” said Haplo, accepting the gift. “I’ll understand.” Devon took Grundle’s hand, the two stood together before Samah. The Councillor sang the runes. Fiery trails of sigla formed in the air, encircled the dwarf and the elf. Their eyes closed, heads drooped, they leaned against each other. The runes flared, and the two were gone.
The dog gave a dismal howl. Haplo rested his hand on the animal’s head, counseling silence.
“That’s accomplished,” said Samah briskly. “Now, we have a most unpleasant task. The sooner we get it done, the better.
“You, who call yourself Alfred Montbank. Your case has been brought before the Council. After careful deliberation, we have found you guilty of consorting with the enemy, of plotting against your own people, of attempting to deceive us with lies, of speaking heresy. We have passed sentence upon you. Do you, Alfred Montbank, concede that the Council has the right and the wisdom to pass such sentence upon you that will enable you to learn from your mistakes and make reparation for them?”
The speech was a mere formality, always asked of each person who came before the Council. But Alfred listened to it intently, appeared to be considering each word carefully.
“ ‘Learn from my mistakes and make reparation for them,’” he repeated to himself. He looked up at Samah and when he answered, his voice was firm and steadfast. “Yes, Councillor, I do.”
“Alfred , you can’t!” Orla flung herself upon her husband. “Don’t go through with this, Samah! I beg you! Why won’t you listen?”
“Be silent, Wife!” Samah thrust her back, away from him. “Your sentence, too, has been passed. You have a choice. You can go with him or remain among us. But either way, you will be stripped of your powers of magic.” Orla stared at him, her face livid. Slowly, she shook her head. “You’re insane, Samah. Your fear has driven you mad.”
Coming to stand beside Alfred, she took hold of his arm. “I choose to go with him.”
“No, Orla,” Alfred told her, “I can’t allow it. You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“Yes, I do. You forget,” she reminded him, smiling at him tremulously, “I’ve shared your visions.” She looked over at the Patryn. “I know what we face and I’m not afraid.”
Haplo wasn’t paying attention. The Patryn had been studying the Sartan who stood guard at the door, calculating the odds on jumping the man and making good his escape. The chances were slim, almost hopeless, but it beat hanging around here, waiting for Samah to give him another bath.
He tensed, prepared to attack. Samah turned suddenly, spoke to the guard. Haplo forced himself to relax, tried to look nonchalant.
“Ramu. Take these two to the Council Chamber and make them ready for the sending. We must cast this spell immediately, before the mensch attack. Gather together all the members of the Council. They will all be needed to perform magic of this magnitude.”
“What spell of sending?” Haplo was instantly on his guard, thinking it had something to do with him. “What’s going on?”
Ramu entered, stood beside the door.
Alfred walked forward, Orla at his side. The two moved calmly, with dignity. And for once, Haplo noted in wonder, Alfred didn’t fall over anything. Haplo moved to block Alfred’s path. “Where are they sending you?”
“To the Labyrinth,” Alfred answered.
“What?”
Haplo laughed, thinking this was some bizarre plot to trap him, though for what purpose he couldn’t imagine. “I don’t believe it!”
“Others were sent before us, Haplo. We are not the first. Long ago, during the Sundering, the Sartan who discovered and embraced the truth were cast into prison along with your people.”
Haplo stared, dazed. It didn’t make sense. It wasn’t possible. And yet he knew Alfred was telling the truth. The Sartan couldn’t lie.
“You can’t do this!” Haplo protested to Samah. “You’re sentencing them to death!”
“Drop the concerned act, Patryn. It will gain you nothing. You will be joining your ‘friend’ soon enough, after we have questioned you fully concerning this so-called Lord of the Nexus and his plans.”
Haplo ignored the man, turned to Alfred. “You’re going to let him send you to the Labyrinth? Just like that? You’ve been there! In my mind! You know what it’s like. You won’t last two minutes. You or her! Fight, damn it! For once in your life, stand up and fight!”
Alfred paled, looked troubled. “No, I couldn’t . . .”
“Yes, you can! Grundle was right. You were the dragon, weren’t you? You saved our lives on Draknor. You’re powerful, more powerful than Samah, more powerful than any Sartan who has ever lived. The dragon-snakes know it. Serpent Mage, they call you. He knows it. That’s why he’s getting rid of you.”
“Thank you, Haplo,” Alfred said gently, “but even if what you say is true, and I did turn myself into a dragon, I can’t remember how I did it. No, it’s all right. Please, understand.”
He reached out, rested a hand on the Patryn’s muscle-clenched arm. “All my life I’ve been running away from what I am. Either that, or fainting. Or apologizing.” He was calm, almost serene. “I’m not running anymore.”
“Yeah,” said Haplo harshly. “Well, you better not faint either. Not in the Labyrinth.” He jerked his arm away from the Sartan’s touch.
“I’ll try to remember.” Alfred smiled.
The dog whimpered, crowded close, rubbing its muzzle against Alfred’s leg. He patted it gingerly. “Take care of him, boy. Don’t lose him again.” Ramu stepped between them, began to chant the runes.
Sigla flashed, blinding Haplo. The heat drove him back. When he could see again, the red runes of warding burned before the door, blocked the windows. The Sartan were gone.
34
Haplo lay back down on the bed. Nothing he could do except wait. His skin was starting to dry. The sigla on his body were visible once again, faintly. It would take a long time for his magic to return fully, time he guessed he didn’t have. The Sartan would be back soon, douse him with water, then try to force him to talk.
That should prove entertaining.
In the meantime, he supposed, he should try to get what rest he could. The loss of his magic made him feel tired, weak. He wondered if this was a real, physical reaction or only in his mind. He wondered about other things, lying on his back, attempting to comfort the grieving dog.
Sartan men and women in the Labyrinth. Sent there with their enemies. What had happened to them? Presumably, of course, the Patryns, in their fury, would have turned on them, killed them.
But what if they didn’t? Haplo mused. What if those longtime enemies were forced to put aside their hatred and their anger and work together in order to survive? And what if, during the long, dark nights, they lay down together; sought comfort in each other’s arms, a respite from their terror? Could it be that, long ago, Patryn and Sartan blood had mingled?
The thought staggered Haplo. It was too overwhelming to comprehend. The possibilities it presented were too confusing.
His hand stroked the dog’s head, which rested on his chest. The animal’s eyes closed, it sighed and nestled near him, on the bed. Haplo was almost asleep himself when the world rippled.
His eyes flared open. He tensed, alarmed, panicked by the terrifying sensation, yet unable to move a muscle to combat it. The ripple effect began at his feet, spread upward, carried sickness and dizziness with it. He could only watch, feel it, helpless to act.
Once before, he’d experienced this. Once before, the world around him had rippled. Once before, he had seen himself, without shape or dimension, pasted flat against his surroundings that were themselves as thin and brittle as a dead leaf.
The waves spread above him, bending the room, bending the walls, the ceiling. The red warding runes that barred the doors and windows winked out, but Haplo could not take advantage of their absence. He couldn’t move. Last time, the dog had vanished, too. He grabbed hold of it. This time, it remained, dozing quietly, sleeping through everything.