Into the Labyrinth (45 page)

Then why? What does the Labyrinth fear from us? Her elation faded, left her chilled. She needed to talk to Xar, report to him what had occurred. She wanted his counsel. Chopping off another branch, she wondered how she could find an opportunity to slip off by herself.

“I don’t understand any of this,” said Hugh the Hand, glancing around nervously, his face darkening. “And I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen how that damn Cursed Blade took on a life of its own. But I know fear. I know how it works in a man and I suppose it’s no different in a bunch of intelligent rocks. Fear makes a man desperate, reckless.” The assassin looked down at his hands, smiled grimly. “I grew rich off other men’s fear.”

“And it will make the Labyrinth the same,” Haplo said. “Desperate, reckless. That’s why we can’t afford to stop. We’ve already spent too much time here as it is.” The sigla on his hands and arms were glowing a pale blue, tinged with red.

Marit glanced at the tattoos on her body, saw the same warning. Danger was not near, but it wasn’t far away either.

Alfred, pale and shaken, rose to his feet. “I’ll try,” he said gamely.

Marit traced a sigil of healing on the tree, then cut off another branch. Silently she handed the first crude spear she had made to Haplo. He hesitated, astonished that she should think of him, pleased that she was concerned. He accepted the spear, and as he took it, their hands touched.

He smiled that quiet smile of his. The light in his eyes,
in that smile, which was so achingly familiar, seeped into Marit’s heart.

But the only effect the light had was to illuminate the emptiness. She could see inside every part of her, see the bleak walls, barred windows, shuttered doors.

Better the darkness.

She turned away. “Which direction?”

Haplo didn’t answer immediately. When he did, his voice was cool, perhaps with disappointment. Or perhaps she was accomplishing her goal—perhaps he was learning to hate her.

“The top of that ridge up ahead.” He pointed. “We should be able to get a view of the countryside, maybe find a path.”

“There’s a path?” Hugh the Hand stared around in disbelief. “What made it? This place looks deserted.”

“It has been deserted, probably for hundreds of years. But yes, there’s a path. This is the Labyrinth, remember? A deliberately crafted maze, made by our enemies. The path runs all the way through it. The path leads the way out—in more ways than one. There’s an old saying, ‘You abandon the path at your peril. You keep to the path at your peril.’ ”

“Wonderful.” Hugh the Hand grunted. Reaching into the folds of his clothing, he drew out his pipe, regarded it with longing. “I don’t suppose there’s such a thing as stregno in this god-awful place?”

“No, but when we reach one of the Squatter villages, there’s a dried leaf mixture that they smoke on ceremonial occasions. They’ll give you some.” Haplo grinned, turned to Marit. “Do you remember that village ceremony where we—”

“You’d better see to your Sartan friend,” she interrupted. She had been thinking of exactly the same time. His hand was on the door of her being, trying to force it open. She put her shoulder to it, barred his entry. “He’s limping.”

They had only traveled a short distance and already the Sartan was lagging behind.

“I seem to have twisted my ankle,” Alfred said apologetically.

“It would have been more useful if he’d twisted his neck,” Marit muttered scornfully.

“I’m dreadfully sorry—” Alfred began. He caught Haplo’s baleful glance and swallowed the rest.

“Why don’t you use your magic, Alfred?” Haplo suggested with elaborate patience.

“I didn’t think there was time. The healing procedure—”

Haplo checked an exasperated exclamation. “Not to heal yourself! You can float, fly. As you did just now when you flew out of the cavern. Or have you forgotten already?”

“No, I didn’t forget. It’s just that—”

“You might even prove useful,” Haplo went on quickly. He didn’t want to give Alfred time to think. “You can see what’s ahead.”

“Well, if you really believe it would help—” Alfred still sounded dubious.

“Just do it!” Haplo said through clenched teeth.

Marit knew what he was thinking. The Labyrinth had left them in peace too long.

Alfred went into his little dance—a hopping sort of dance, on his sore foot. He waved his hands and hummed a tune through his nose. Slowly, effortlessly, he rose into the air, drifted gently forward. The dog, in a high state of excitement, gave a joyful bark and leapt playfully for Alfred’s dangling feet as the Sartan sailed overhead.

Haplo, breathing a sigh, turned and started up the ridge. He was almost at the top when the wind hit, slamming into him like a doubled-up fist.

The wind came out of nowhere, as if the Labyrinth had sucked in an enormous breath and was blowing it back out. The blast sent Marit staggering. Hugh the Hand, at her side, was cursing and rubbing his eyes, half-blinded by wind-blown dust. Haplo stumbled, unable to keep his balance.

Above them, Alfred let out a strangled cry. The wind caught hold of the floating Sartan. Arms and legs flapping wildly, he was being flung at incredible speed right into the mountain.

Only the dog was able to move. It raced after Alfred, snapped at the man’s flying coattails.

“Catch him!” Haplo shouted. “Drag him—” But before he could finish, the wind smote him a blast from behind, knocked him flat.

Hearing the urgency in its master’s voice, the dog bounded high into the air. Teeth closed over fabric. Alfred sagged down; then the fabric tore. The dog tumbled to the ground in a flurry of legs. The wind rolled the animal over and over. Alfred was blown away, and then suddenly he stopped. His body, his clothes, had become entangled in the limbs of one of the stunted trees. The wind fretted and whipped at him in frustration, but the tree refused to let loose.

“I’ll be damned,” said Hugh the Hand, wiping grit from his eyes. “The branches reached up and grabbed him!”

Alfred hung from the tree limbs, dangling helplessly, gazing about in bewilderment. The strange wind had ceased blowing as suddenly as it had started, but there remained an ominous feeling in the air, a sullen anger.

The dog dashed over to stand protectively beneath Alfred. The Sartan was starting to sing and wave his hands.

“Don’t!” Haplo shouted urgently, scrambling to his feet. “Don’t move or say or do anything! Especially not magic!”

Alfred froze.

“His magic,” Haplo muttered; then he began to swear beneath his breath. “Every goddamn time he uses his magic. And what will happen to him if he doesn’t? How can he get through the Labyrinth alive without it? Not that he’s going to get through alive
with
it. This is hopeless.-Hopeless. You’re right,” he said bitterly to Marit. “I am a fool.”

She could have answered him.
The tree saved him. You didn’t see it, but I did. I saw it catch hold of him. Some force is working for us, trying to help us. There is hope. If we’ve brought nothing else, we’ve brought hope.

But she didn’t say that. She wasn’t certain hope was what she wanted.

“I suppose we’ll have to get him down,” growled Hugh the Hand.

“What’s the use?” Haplo demanded dispiritedly. “I’ve brought him here to die. I’ve brought us all here to die. Except you. And maybe that’s worse. You’ll be forced to just keep on living …”

Marit edged close to him. Instinctively, she reached out a hand to comfort him, then realized what she was doing.
She stopped, confused. It seemed she was two different people—one hating Haplo, the other … 
not
hating him. And she didn’t much trust either.

Where am
I
in all this? she wondered angrily. What is it I want?

That doesn’t matter, Wife. She could hear Xar’s voice. What
you
want is not important. Your job is to bring Haplo to me.

And I’ll do it, she decided. Me! Not Sang-drax!

Hesitantly Marit brushed her fingers against Haplo’s arm.

Startled at her touch, he turned.

“What the human said is true,” Marit told him, swallowing. “Don’t you understand? The Labyrinth’s acting out of fear. And that makes us its equal.” She moved closer to him. “I’ve been thinking about my child, my daughter. I do sometimes, at night. When I’m all alone, I wonder if
she
is all alone. I wonder if she ever thinks of me, as I think of her. If she wonders why I left her … I want to find her, Haplo. I want to explain …”

Tears filled her eyes. She hadn’t meant that to happen. She lowered the lids swiftly so that he wouldn’t see.

But it was too late. And then, because she wasn’t looking at him, she couldn’t move away from him fast enough to prevent his putting his arms around her.

“We’ll find her,” he was saying softly. “I promise.”

Marit looked up at him. He was going to kiss her.

Xar’s voice was in Marit’s head.
You slept with him. You bore his child. He loves you still.
This was perfect. What Xar wanted. She would lull Haplo into feeling secure around her; then she would disable him, capture him.

She closed her eyes. Haplo’s lips touched hers.

Marit shivered all over and suddenly shrank back, pulled away.

“You’d better go get your Sartan friend out of the tree.” Her voice was sharp as the knife clutched tightly in her hand. “I’ll keep watch. Here, you’ll need this.”

Marit handed him the knife, left him, not looking back. She was shaking all over, tremors tightening her arms and the muscles of her thighs, and she walked blindly, hating him, hating herself.

Reaching the top of the ridge, she leaned against a huge boulder, waited for the shaking to cease. She permitted
herself one swift glance behind to ascertain what Haplo was doing. He had not followed her. He had gone off, the dog trotting along at his heels, to try to extricate Alfred from the treetop.

Good, Marit told herself. The trembling was under control. She quelled her inner turmoil, forced herself to scan the area carefully, closely, searching for telltale signs of an enemy.

She felt calm enough to talk to Xar.

But she didn’t get the chance.

THE LABYRINTH

A
LFRED DANGLED HELPLESSLY FROM THE TOP OF THE TREE; A
sturdy limb running up the back of his frock coat supported him like a second—and in Alfred’s case firmer—backbone. The Sartan’s legs and arms waved feebly; there was no way he could get himself down.

The dog paced beneath, mouth open in a tongue-lolling grin, as if it had treed a cat. Haplo, arriving on the scene, stared upward.

“How the devil did you manage that?”

Alfred spread his hands. “I … I really haven’t any idea.” Twisting his head, he struggled to peer over his shoulder. “If … if it didn’t sound too strange, I’d say the tree caught me as I went flying past. Unfortunately, it now appears reluctant to let me go.”

“I don’t suppose there’s any chance of that back seam on your coat ripping?” Haplo called.

Alfred shifted his weight experimentally, began to sway back and forth. The dog, cocking its head, was fascinated.

“It’s a very well-made coat,” Alfred returned with an apologetic smile. “The dressmaker to Her Majesty, Queen Anne, fashioned the first one for me. I became quite fond of it and so I’ve … well … I’ve made them myself from the same pattern ever since.”

“
You
made it.”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Using your rune-magic?”

“I’ve become rather good at tailoring,” Alfred answered defensively.

“Raising people from the dead and tailoring,” Haplo muttered. “Just what I need.”

The sigla on his body continued to glow faintly, but now they had begun to itch and burn. The danger, whatever it was, was drawing nearer. He peered up at the ridge. He couldn’t see Marit, but then he shouldn’t be able to see her. He guessed she had hidden herself in the shadow of a large rock.

“I don’t remember the damn tree being this tall,” Hugh the Hand remarked, craning his neck to see. “You could stand on my shoulders and we still wouldn’t be able to reach him. If he’d unbutton his coat and free his arms from the sleeves, he’d drop down.”