“You were going to find Alfred and take him to Abarrach with you,” Zifnab continued in a soft voice. “Why? Because there, on Abarrach, in the so-called Chamber of the Damned, there’s where you’ll find the answers. You can’t get into the chamber on your own. The Sartan have it well guarded. And Alfred’s the only Sartan who would dare disobey the orders of the Council and unlock the runes of warding. That’s what you were thinking, wasn’t it, Haplo?” Haplo shrugged. He was staring moodily at the Final Gate. “What if it was?”
“It isn’t time, yet. You must get the machine working. Then the citadels will begin to shine. The durnai will awaken. When all that happens—if all that happens—the Labyrinth will start to change. Better for you. Better for them.” Zifnab gave the Gate an ominous nod.
Haplo glared at him. “Do you ever make sense?”
Zifnab looked alarmed, shook his head. “I try not to. Gives me gas. But now you’ve interrupted. What else was I going to say?”
“He is not to go alone,” intoned the dragon.
“Ah, yes. You’re not to go alone, my boy,” said Zifnab brightly, as if he’d just thought of it himself. “Not into the Labyrinth, not into the Vortex. Certainly not into Abarrach.”
The dog barked, deeply wounded.
“Oh, I beg your pardon,” said Zifnab. Reaching out, he gave the animal a timid pat. “Sincere apologies and all that. I know you’ll be with him, but that won’t be enough, I’m afraid. I was thinking more in terms of a group. Commando squads. The Dirty Dozen. Kelly’s Heroes. The Seven Samurai. Debbie Does Dallas. That sort of thing. Well, perhaps not Debbie Wonderful girl, Debbie, but—”
“Sir,” said the dragon, exasperated, “need I remind you that we are in the Nexus. Not exactly the place I’d choose to indulge in prepubescent fantasies.”
“Ah, yes. Perhaps you’re right.” Zifnab clutched his hat, glanced about nervously. “Place has changed a lot since I was here last. You Patryns have done wonders. I don’t suppose I’d have time to pop over and look at—”
“No, sir,” said the dragon firmly.
“Or maybe—”
“Nor that either, sir.”
“I suppose not.” Zifnab sighed, pulled the shapeless and battered hat over his eyes. “Next time. Good-bye, dear boy.” Groping about blindly, the old man solemnly shook hands with the dog, apparently mistaking it for Haplo. “Best of luck. I’ll leave you with the advice Gandalf gave Frodo Baggins. ‘When you go, go as Mr Underhill.’ Worthless bit of advice, if you ask me. As a wizard, Gandalf was highly overrated. Still, it must have meant something, else why would they have bothered to write it down. I say, you should really consider clipping your nails—”
“Get him out of here,” Haplo advised the dragon. “My lord could be along any moment.”
“Yes, sir. I believe that would be the best idea.” An enormous green-scaled head swooped out of the clouds.
Haplo’s sigla flared, he backed up until he stood against the Final Gate. The dragon ignored the Patryn, however. Huge fangs, protruding from lower and upper jaws, caught hold of the wizard by the back of his mouse-colored robes and, none too gently, heaved the old man off his feet.
“Hey, let go of me, you twisted toad!” Zifnab shouted, flailing about wildly in midair. He began to wheeze and cough. “Ugh! Your breath is enough to flatten Godzilla. Been in the cat’s tuna again, haven’t you? I say, put me down!”
“Yes, sir,” the dragon said through clenched teeth. He was holding the wizard about twenty feet off the ground. “If that’s really what you want, sir.” Zifnab lifted the brim of his hat, peered out from underneath. Shuddering, he pulled the hat back over his eyes.
“No, I’ve changed my mind. Take me ... where is it Samah said we were to meet him?”
“Chelestra, sir.”
“Yes, that’s the ticket. Hope it isn’t one-way. To Chelestra, there’s a good fellow.”
“Yes, sir. With all dispatch, sir.”
The dragon, carrying the wizard, who looked, from this distance, very much like a limp mouse, disappeared into the clouds.
Haplo waited tensely to be certain the dragon was gone. Slowly, the blue light of the sigla faded. The dog relaxed, sat down to scratch.
Haplo turned to face the Final Gate. He could see, through the iron bars, the lands of the Labyrinth. Barren plains, without a tree, shrub, bush, or any type of cover, stretched from the Gate to dark and distant woods. The last crossing, the most deadly crossing. From those woods, you can see the Gate, see freedom. It seems so close.
You start to run. You dash into the open, naked, exposed. The Labyrinth allows you to get halfway across, halfway to freedom, then sends its foul legions after you. Chaodyn, wolfen, dragons. The grasses themselves rise up and trip you, vines entangle you. And that was getting out.
It was far worse, going back in.
Haplo knew, he’d watched his lord battle it every time he entered the Gate. The Labyrinth hated those who had escaped its coils, wanted nothing more than to drag its former prisoner back behind the wall, punish him for his temerity.
“Who am I kidding?” Haplo asked the dog. “The old man’s right. Alone, I’d never make it alive to the first line of trees. I wonder what the old man meant about the Vortex? I seem to recall hearing my lord mention something about that once. Supposedly the very center of the Labyrinth. And Alfred’s there? It’d be just like Alfred to get himself sent to the very center of the Labyrinth!”
Haplo kicked at a pile of broken stone, rubble. Once, long ago, the Patryns had attempted to tear down the wall. The lord had stopped them, reminded them that though the wall kept them out, it also kept the evil in. Perhaps it’s the evil in us, she’d said, before she left him.
“A son,” said Haplo, staring through the Gate. “Alone, maybe. Like I was. Maybe he saw his mother die, like I did. He’d be what—six, seven, now. If he’s still alive.”
Picking up a large, jagged-edged chunk of rock, Haplo threw it into the Gate. He threw it as hard as he could, wrenching his arm, nearly dislocating his shoulder. Pain flashed through his body, felt good. At least better than the bitter aching in his heart.
He watched to see where the stone landed—a far distance inside. He had only to walk in the Gate, walk as far as the stone. Surely, he had that much courage. Surely, he could do that much for his son....
Haplo turned, abruptly walked away. The dog, caught flat-footed by his master’s sudden move, was forced to run to catch up.
Haplo berated himself for a coward, but the accusation was halfhearted. He knew his own worth, knew that his decision wasn’t based on fear but on logic. The old man had been right.
“Getting myself killed won’t help anyone. Not the child, not his mother—if she’s still alive—not my people. Not Alfred.
“I will ask my lord to come with me,” Haplo said, walking faster, his excitement, determination mounting. “And my lord will come. He’ll be eager to, when I tell him what the old man said. Together, we’ll go deep into the Labyrinth, deeper than he’s ever gone. We’ll find this Vortex, if it exists. We’ll find Alfred and... whoever else. Then we’ll go to Abarrach. I’ll take my lord to the Chamber of the Damned and he will learn for himself—”
“Hullo, Haplo. When did you get back?”
Haplo’s heart lurched. He looked down.
“Oh, Bane,” he muttered.
“I’m glad to see you, too,” said Bane, with a sly smile that Haplo ignored. He was back in the Nexus, he’d entered the city without even knowing it. After his greeting, Bane raced off. Haplo watched him go. Running through the streets of the Nexus, Bane dodged the Patryns, who regarded him with patient tolerance. Children were rare and precious beings—the continuation of the race. Haplo was not sorry to see the boy leave. He needed to be alone with his thoughts.
He recalled vaguely that he was supposed to take Bane back to Arianus, start the machine working.
Start the machine working.