This person, hidden away in a dark room, doted on the lord and thus had come to know every fleeting expression on the man’s face. The unseen watcher now saw, illuminated by the firelight, the narrowing of Xar’s eyes, the minute darkening of certain lines amidst the cobweb of wrinkles on Xar’s forehead. The unseen observer knew his lord was angry, knew that Haplo had made a mistake, and the observer reveled in the knowledge.
The observer was so elated that he injudiciously wriggled at the thought, with the result that the stool on which he was seated scraped across the floor. The dog’s head lifted instantly, ears pricked.
The observer froze. He knew the dog, remembered it, respected it. Wanted it. He did not move again, held still to the point of holding his breath, afraid even breathing might give him away.
The dog, hearing nothing further, apparently concluded it was a rat, and resumed its fitful nap.
“Perhaps,” said Xar casually, making a small movement with his hand, “you think that the Sartan are the ones who are capable of defeating this ‘almighty power.’ ”
Haplo shook his head, smiled into the fire’s dying blaze. “No, Lord. They are as blind as—” He checked the words, afraid of what he’d been about to say.
“—as I am,” Xar finished dryly.
Haplo looked up swiftly, the flush in his cheeks darkened. It was too late to recall the thought, too late to deny it. Any attempt at explanation would make him sound like a whining child, trying to weasel out of just punishment. Haplo rose to his feet, faced the Lord of the Nexus, who remained seated, gazing up at him with dark, unfathomable eyes.
“Lord, we have been blind. And so have our enemies. The same things have blinded us both: hatred and fear. The serpents—or whatever force they are or represent—have taken advantage of it. They have grown strong and powerful.
“Chaos is our life’s blood,’ the serpents said. ‘Death our meat and drink.’ And now that they have entered Death’s Gate, they can spread their influence throughout the four worlds. They want chaos, they want bloodshed, they want us to go to war, Lord!”
“And thus you counsel we should not, Haplo? You say we should not seek revenge for the centuries of suffering inflicted on our people? Not avenge the deaths of your parents? Not seek to defeat the Labyrinth, free those still left trapped within? Should we let Samah pick up where he left off? He will, you know that, my son. And this time, he will not imprison us. He will destroy us, if we let him! And is it your counsel, Haplo, that we let him?” Haplo stood before the lord, staring down at him.
“I don’t know, Lord,” he said brokenly, fists clenching, unclenching. “I don’t know.”
Xar sighed, lowered his eyes, rested his head in his hand. If he had been angry, if he had railed and shouted, accused and threatened, he would have lost Haplo.
Xar said nothing, did nothing but sigh.
Haplo fell to his knees. Grasping the lord’s hand, he pressed it to his lips, clasped it, held it fast. “Father, I see hurt and disappointment in your eyes. I beg your forgiveness if I’ve offended you. But the last time I was in your presence, the time before I sailed to Chelestra, you showed me that my salvation lay in telling you the truth. I have done so, Father. I’ve bared my soul to you, though it shames me to reveal my weakness.
“I don’t offer counsel, Lord. I’m quick-thinking, quick to act. But I’m not wise. You are wise, Father. That is why I bring this very great dilemma to you. The serpents are here, Father,” Haplo added in grim, dark tones. “They are here. I’ve seen one of them. He has disguised himself as one of our people. But I knew him for what he was.”
“I am aware of this, Haplo.” Xar clasped the hand that held his.
“You know?” Haplo sat back on his haunches, expression startled, wary.
“Of course, my son. You say I am wise, but you must not think I am very bright,” Xar said with some asperity. “Do you imagine that I do not know what is happening in my own homeland? I have met the serpent and talked with him, both last night and today.”
Haplo stared, silent, stunned.
“He is, as you say, powerful.” Xar bestowed the compliment magnanimously. “I was impressed. A contest between we Patryns and these creatures would be interesting, though I have no doubt who would be the victor. But such a contest is not to be feared. It will never come about, my son. The serpents are our allies in this campaign. They have pledged their allegiance to me. They have bowed before me and called me Master.”
“So they did with me,” said Haplo in a low voice. “And they betrayed me.”
“That was you, my son,” said Xar, and the anger was back, this time visible to both the seen and the unseen observers. “This time they bowed to me.” The dog jumped to its feet with a “whuff,” glared about fiercely.
“Easy, boy,” Haplo said absently. “It was just a dream.” Xar glanced at the animal with displeasure. “I thought you got rid of that creature.”
“He came back,” Haplo replied, troubled, uneasy. He rose to his feet from where he knelt beside his lord, remained standing, as if thinking the interview might be at an end.
“Not precisely. Someone brought the dog back to you, didn’t he?” Xar stood up. A tall man, the lord was easily Haplo’s equal in height, very probably his match in physical strength, for Xar had not permitted age to soften his body. He was more than Haplo’s equal in magical prowess. Xar had taken the younger Patryn apart once, the time of which Haplo spoke, the time he’d lied to his lord. Xar could have killed Haplo then, but the lord chose to let him live.
“Yes, Lord,” Haplo said. He stared down at the dog, at the floor. “Someone did bring him back to me.”
“The Sartan called Alfred?”
“Yes, Lord,” Haplo answered without voice.
Xar sighed. Haplo heard the sigh, closed his eyes, bent his head. The lord rested his hand on the younger man’s shoulder.
“My son, you have been deceived. I know it all. The serpents told me. They did not betray you. They saw your danger, sought to help you. You turned on them, attacked them. They had no choice but to defend themselves...”
“Against mensch children?” Haplo lifted his head, his eyes flashed.
“A pity, my son. They said you were fond of the girl. But you must admit, the mensch acted as mensch always do: recklessly, foolishly, without thinking. They aspired too high, meddled in affairs they could not possibly understand. In the end, as you well know, die dragons were forgiving. They helped the mensch defeat the Sartan.”
Haplo shook his head, turned his gaze from his lord to the dog. Xar’s frown deepened. The hand on Haplo’s shoulder tightened its grip. “I have been extremely lenient with you, my son. I have listened patiently to what some might term fantastic metaphysical speculations. Do not mistake me,” he added, when Haplo would have spoken. “I am pleased that you brought these thoughts to me and shared them. But, once having answered your doubts and questions—as I believe I have—I am displeased to see you continue in your wrong-thinking.
“No, my son. Let me finish. You claim to rely on my wisdom, my judgment. And once you used to do so, Haplo, implicitly. This was the main reason I chose you for these delicate tasks which, up to now, you have performed satisfactorily. But do you now rely on me, Haplo? Or have you come to rely on another?”
“If you mean Alfred, Lord, you’re wrong!” Haplo snorted derisively, made a swift, negating gesture with his hand. “He’s gone now, anyway. Probably dead.” He stood staring down at the fire or the dog or both for long moments. Then suddenly, resolutely, he raised his head, looked directly at Xar.