Into the Labyrinth (51 page)

“Very fine,” Haplo said, coming up to her. “Well made.”

Marit jumped up, her hand tightening reflexively around the haft of the spear.

“I’m sorry,” he said, startled at her reaction. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Marit shrugged, cold, nonchalant. “I didn’t hear you coming, that’s all. This horrible place,” she said abruptly, glancing around. “I’d forgotten how much I hate it!” Taking out a knife—another present, probably—she began improving a sigil carved on the spear’s head. She had not once looked directly at him. “I hate it,” she repeated in a low voice.

“This may sound strange,” said Haplo, “but I was thinking this morning that it was sort of good to be back. My memories aren’t all bad—” Impulsively he reached out to her.

Her head snapped back. She whipped around. Her hair, flying, struck him, stung his face. She held the spear between them. “We are even now. I saved your life. I owe you nothing. Remember that.”

Spear in hand, she walked off. Several of Kari’s group were heading out, going to scout the path ahead. Marit joined them, took her place beside the man who had given her the spear.

Confused, Haplo stared after her. Yesterday she had claimed him as hers, warned Kari away from him. Last night she’d talked to him. She had been glad—or so he had thought—to have him near her.

All was ended. All was suddenly different. What had happened between then and now?

Haplo couldn’t guess. Kari and her people were breaking down their crude camp, preparing to travel. The birds had fallen silent. The only sounds were the angry chattering of three squirrels, up a tree, throwing nutshells at the dog, barking beneath. Haplo looked at his skin; the sigla glowed softly. Danger, not near, but not far. Never far.

He gnawed at a piece of bread. It filled the stomach; that was about all he could say for it.

“Could … could I have some of that?” Alfred was standing beside him, eyeing the bread.

Haplo practically threw it at him.

Alfred fumbled, caught it, nibbled at a corner. He started to say something, but Haplo interrupted.

“Here, stupid dog!” He whistled. “Stop that noise!”

The animal, hearing the sharp and unaccustomed note of rebuff, fell immediately silent. Head down, it trotted back meekly, wondering what it had done wrong.

“Aren’t you hungry?” Alfred ventured.

Haplo shook his head.

“You really should eat—”

“You’re in danger here,” Haplo said grimly.

Alfred looked alarmed, nearly dropped the bread. He glanced fearfully around him, probably expecting to see packs of tiger-men swarming through the trees. Instead he saw only Hugh the Hand, stripped to the waist, plunging his head and shoulders into the rushing stream. Nearby, Kari and her group were ready to move out.

Kari waved to Haplo, motioned for him and his friends to join them. He waved back, indicating that she was to go on ahead. Kari looked at him dubiously, frowning. It wasn’t wise to split up. He knew that as well as she. But then, he thought bitterly, he wasn’t really part of her group anyway. He smiled reassuringly, held his hand up, palm out, to indicate that he would be all right, that they’d catch up in a moment. Kari shrugged and left.

“What you said about danger … I don’t understand—” Alfred began.

“You should go back.”

“Back where?” Alfred stared, helpless, confused.

“To the Vortex. Hugh the Hand’ll go. Hell, you
couldn’t pry him loose from you. You’d stand a pretty fair chance of making it, I think. The tiger-men—if they’re still around—will be tailing us.”

“But the Vortex is destroyed.”

“Not for you, Sartan. I’ve seen your magic! You killed the king dragon-snake. You raised the dead. You could probably lift up the pieces of that damn mountain and put it back together again.”

Alfred protested. “You said I wasn’t to use my magic. You saw what happened—”

“I think the Labyrinth will let you—especially if it knows you’re leaving.”

Alfred flushed. His head down, he glanced at Haplo sideways. “You … you said you needed me …”

“I lied. I don’t need you. I don’t need anyone. What I came to do is hopeless anyway. My child is dead. Murdered in your damn prison. Go on, Sartan. Get out.”

“
Not
‘Sartan.’ My name is—”

“Don’t say Alfred!” Haplo was suddenly furious. “That isn’t your name! Alfred’s a mensch name you took when you decided to hide out by becoming a mensch. No one knows what your real name is, because it’s a Sartan name and you’ve never trusted anybody enough to tell them. So just—”

“It is Coren.”

“What?” Haplo blinked, pulled up short.

“My name is Coren,” Alfred repeated quietly.

“I’ll be damned.” Haplo mulled over what he knew of Sartan rune-language. “That means ‘to choose’ or something like that.”

Alfred smiled faintly. “ ‘Chosen.’ Me—chosen. Ludicrous, isn’t it? The name doesn’t mean anything, of course. It’s quite common among Sartan. Almost every family has—er—
had
a boy they named Coren. Hoping for a self-fulfilling prophecy. You see why I never told you. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust you. I didn’t want you to laugh.”

“I’m not laughing,” Haplo said.

Alfred looked very uncomfortable. “You should be. It’s really quite amusing.”

Hugh the Hand, shaking the water off his head and shoulders, walked back up from the stream. He stopped to stare around the empty clearing, probably wondering what had happened to the others.

“You didn’t think that name of yours was so amusing when you woke up and found yourself alone in that mausoleum, did you, Coren?” Haplo asked quietly.

Alfred was red again, then pale. His hands trembled. He dropped the bread—to the extreme gratification of the dog. Sinking onto a tree stump, Alfred sighed, his breath rattling in his throat.

“You’re right. Chosen. Chosen to live when everyone I had ever loved had died. Why? For what? They were all so much better. So much more worthy.” Alfred looked up, his pale face hard. His trembling hand clenched. “I hated my name then. I
hated
it. I was happy to take the name I bear now. I planned to forget the other one. And I succeeded. I had forgotten it—until I met you.”

Alfred sighed again. He smiled sadly.

Haplo looked back at the assassin, made him a sign.

Hugh swung himself easily up into the branches of a tree, gazed ahead, in the direction the other Patryns had taken. He motioned back, raised one finger.

So Kari was keeping an eye on them. She’d left one of the group to wait for them. Courtesy again. She was concerned, didn’t want them to get lost.

Haplo snorted.

Alfred was prattling on, obviously deeply relieved to talk.

“Whenever you spoke to me, Haplo, even though you called me Alfred, I kept hearing Coren. It was frightening. And yet it felt good to me, all at the same time. Frightening because I didn’t understand. Yet good—you reminded me of my past, my distant past, when my family and friends were still alive.

“How could you do this? I wondered. Who are you? At first I thought you might be one of my people, but I knew immediately that wasn’t right. Yet you obviously weren’t a mensch. And then I remembered. I remembered the ancient history. I remembered the stories about the—forgive me—the old enemy.

“That night on Arianus, when we were imprisoned in the vat, I cast a spell on you, put you to sleep.”

Haplo stared, astonished. “A spell on
me!
You?”

Alfred flushed. “I’m afraid so. It was only a sleep spell. You wore the bandages around your hands, to hide the
tattoos. I crept over, lifted one of the bandages, and I saw …”

“So that’s how you knew.” Haplo motioned for the assassin to join them. “I wondered. And as fascinating as this trip down memory lane has been, Coren, it doesn’t change the fact that you’re in danger and you should leave—”

“But it does,” Alfred said, standing up so swiftly that he startled the dog. It bounded to its feet with a whuff, ears up, hackles raised, wondering what was wrong. “Now I know what my name means.”

“It’s just a name, damn it! It doesn’t mean anything. You said so yourself.”

“But it does mean something—to me. You have taught me, Haplo. You even said it. Not ‘chosen,’ past tense. But ‘to choose.’ Present tense. Everyone else has always made my choices for me. I faint.” Alfred spread his hands helplessly. “Or fall down. Or”—he cast a guilty glance at Hugh the Hand—“when I
do
take action, I forget.’ ”

Alfred stood up very straight, very tall. “But now that’s different. I choose to be here, Haplo. You said you needed me. You made me ashamed. You had the courage to come into this dreadful place—for what? For ambition? For power? No. You came for love. The Labyrinth is afraid. Yes, but not of me. It’s afraid of you, Haplo. You have brought into it the one weapon it doesn’t know how to fight.”

Reaching down, Alfred timidly petted the dog, stroked its silky ears. “I know it’s dangerous and I’m not certain how much help I can be, but I choose to be here,” he said softly, not looking at Haplo. “I choose to be here with you.”

“They’re watching us,” said Hugh the Hand, coming up from behind. “In fact, four of them have started back in this direction. They’re all armed. Of course, it
could
be that they like us so much they can’t bear to let us out of their sight. But I doubt it.”

The Hand took the pipe out of his pocket, studied it thoughtfully. Putting it into his mouth, he spoke through his teeth. “She betrayed us, didn’t she?”

“Yes,” said Haplo, looking far back the way they’d come, far back to the ruined mountain.

THE CITADEL
PRYAN

R
OLAND, REGA, AND PAITHAN STOOD OUTSIDE THE STAR CHAM
ber. Bright light welled out from under the door. Both Paithan and Roland were rubbing their eyes.

“Can you see yet?” Rega asked anxiously.

“Yeah,” said Roland bitterly. “Spots. If you’ve blinded me, elf—”

“It’ll go away.” Paithan was surly. “Just give it time.”

“I
told
you not to look down!” Roland snarled. “But no. You have to go stare into that damn well and pass out—”

“I did not! My hands slipped! As for the well”—Paithan shivered—“it’s fascinating, in a creepy kind of way.”

“Sort of like your sister,” Roland sneered.

Paithan aimed a blow in the human’s general direction. Missing, slamming his fist into a wall, he groaned and began to suck on his bleeding knuckles.

“Roland’s just teasing, Pait,” said Rega. “He doesn’t mean anything. He’s so in love with her himself he can’t see straight.”

“I may never be able to see anything!” Roland retorted. “As for my being in love with that slut—”

“Slut!” Paithan hurled himself bodily at Roland. “Apologize!”

The two went down in a heap, rolling around, pummeling each other.

“Stop it!” Rega stood over them, screaming and occasionally kicking the one who happened to roll nearer her. “Stop it, both of you! We’re supposed to be going to the party …” Her voice died away.

Xar had appeared at the bottom of the stairs leading to the Star Chamber. Arms crossed over his chest, he was staring up at them, the expression on his face dark and grim.

“Party,” Rega repeated nervously. “Paithan! Xar’s here! Get up. Roland, come on! You look like idiots! Both of you!”

Still not able to see too well, but hearing the note of tension in Rega’s voice, Paithan left off hitting, staggered to his feet. His face burned with shame. He could imagine what the old man must be thinking.

“You knocked a tooth loose,” Roland mumbled. His mouth was bloody.

“Shut up!” Rega hissed.

The aftereffects of the bright light were wearing off; Paithan could see the wizard now. Xar was trying to look as if he found them amusing, but though the lines around his eyes were crinkled in a tolerant smile, the eyes themselves were colder and darker than the well in the Star Chamber. Staring into them, Paithan had the same sort of queasy feeling in his stomach. He even found himself taking an involuntary step backward, away from the edge of the staircase.

“Where are the other ones?” Xar asked, voice pleasant, benign. “I want all of you to come to my party.”