Haplo didn’t move.
Engulfed by his magic, Xar didn’t notice.
Sang-drax reached into the folds of his clothing, drew forth a dagger, wrought in the shape of a striking snake.
Playing dead had saved Haplo’s life more than once in the Labyrinth. The trick was to control the magic, his body’s natural defense; prevent the sigla from reacting. The drawback was that this did, in fact, leave him defenseless. But Haplo knew that this Sang-drax the Second or the Second Millionth or whatever the serpent termed itself was not interested in him. The serpent was playing for far larger stakes. It was playing for control of the universe.
Forcing himself to relax, Haplo let his body go limp, absorbed the kick from the serpent without flinching. Fear and revulsion surged through him, his body aching to fight, to defend and protect against the evil that was nearly overwhelming his senses. Haplo grit his teeth. He risked a glance, peering through half-closed eyelids.
He saw Sang-drax and he saw the dagger—a hideous, sinuously curved blade the same gray color as, in its other form, the dragon-snake’s scaled body. Sang-drax had no further interest in Haplo. The serpent’s red-eyed gaze was fixed on Xar.
Haplo risked surveying the Chamber. Jonathon continued to sit at the white table. The lazar had made no move, seemed unconcerned, uncaring, dead. Haplo glanced back at the door leading to Death’s Gate. He couldn’t see Alfred through the swirling madness of the chaos, had no idea if the Sartan was dead or alive.
“If he’s alive, he’s probably fighting his own battle,” Haplo reasoned. “Sang-drax undoubtedly brought reinforcements.”
As if in response, he heard Alfred give a low cry of horror and despair. He wouldn’t be coming to Haplo’s aid. And there was nothing Haplo could do to help the Sartan.
Haplo had problems of his own.
Against a ghastly backdrop of storms and fire, of darkness and churning seas, Lord Xar was drawing the intricate pattern of runes that would, when complete, cause the elements of the four worlds to shift and alter, to break apart and collapse. Intent on his spell-casting, Xar did not dare allow his concentration to shift for even a minuscule fraction of a second. So difficult, so immense was the spell, he was forced to pour every portion of his being into it. His own defenses were lowered; the sigla on his wrinkled skin barely glowed.
The magic was a blazing inferno in front of the Lord of the Nexus. His back was unprotected.
Sang-drax raised the dagger. The serpent’s red eyes focused on the base of the lord’s skull, the place where the protective runes ended.
Silently, the serpent glided toward its victim. But in order to reach Xar, Sang-drax would have to go around Haplo.
If my lord dies, the spell he is casting will be disrupted. The worlds will be safe. I should let Xar die. As he let me die.
I should do nothing. Let my lord die ...
I must ...
“My Lord!” Haplo shouted as he sprang to his feet. “Behind you!”
32
Alfred stared in horror through Death’s Gate. Other serpents had left the battle in the Labyrinth, were speeding toward the open door. One, in the vanguard, was almost there.
“Haplo!” Alfred started to call for help and at that moment heard Haplo’s warning shout to Lord Xar.
Glancing back over his shoulder, down the chaotic corridor, Alfred could see the Patryn springing to attack the serpent.
Alfred choked back his own cry. He turned helplessly to the open doorway, to the serpent—red eyes gleaming—lunging for it. If that serpent succeeded in entering, it would join its fellow, and Haplo would be fighting two of them. His chances against one were slim; against two the odds would be insurmountable, particularly if Xar turned against him, as seemed very likely.
“I have to stop this one myself!” Alfred said, groping around within himself for the courage, for the other Alfred, for the Alfred whose name was truly Coren—The Chosen.
And suddenly the possibility was enacted that Alfred was back inside the mausoleum of Arianus.
He couldn’t believe it. He stared around, confused, yet immeasurably relieved, thankful, as if he’d wakened in his bed to find that the preceding had all been nothing but a terrible nightmare.
The tomb was peaceful, silent. He was secure, safe. The coffins of his friends, sleeping in tranquillity, surrounded him. And as he gazed around in thankful bewilderment, wondering what all this meant, Alfred saw the door of his own coffin open.
He had only to crawl inside, lie down, close his eyes.
Gratefully, he took a step toward it ... and fell over the dog.
He tumbled to the cold marble floor of the mausoleum, entangled in a confused flurry of paws and plumy tail. The animal yelped in pain. Alfred had landed squarely on top of it.
Crawling out from underneath the spread-eagled Sartan, the animal shook itself indignantly, regarded him with reproachful eyes.
“I’m sorry . . .” Alfred stammered.
His apology echoed through the chamber like the voice of a phantasm. The dog barked irritably.
“You’re right,” Alfred said, flushing, smiling faintly. “There I go—apologizing. I won’t let it happen again.”
The door to the coffin slammed shut.
He was back in Death’s Gate, inside the corridor, and the serpent was in the doorway.
Alfred let go ... and seized hold.
A green-scaled and golden-winged dragon, its burnished crest shining like a sun, shattered the corridor of chaos, burst out of Death’s Gate, and attacked the serpent.
The dragon’s powerful back claws slammed into the serpent’s body, slid through the gray-scaled skin, dug deep into flesh.
The serpent, impaled on the dragon’s claws, writhed and twisted in an attempt to free itself, but the movement only drove the claws deeper into its body. In terrible pain, the serpent fought back, its toothless, powerful jaws attempting to close around the dragon’s slender neck, crack and break it.
The dragon’s fangs closed over the snake’s snapping jaws, sank into the head, between the red, hatefilled eyes. Blood spurted, raining down on the Labyrinth. The serpent shrieked in its death throes, and its cries reached its fellows.
They began to close ranks around the dragon, preparing to rush in for the kill.
Alfred loosed his claws from the dead serpent, let it fall to the ground. He longed to return to the Chamber, to come to Haplo’s aid, but Alfred dared not leave the door unguarded.
The green and golden dragon flew before Death’s Gate, awaited the onslaught.
Haplo’s cry jolted Xar from his magic. He had no need to look around to know what was happening. The serpent had betrayed him. Xar had barely time enough to reestablish his body’s own magical defenses when he was hit from behind. A flash of pain seared the back of his head.
Xar stumbled, turned to defend himself.
Haplo was struggling with Sang-drax, both of them grappling for a bloodstained dagger.
“Lord Xar! This traitor tried to kill you!” Sang-drax snarled, striking viciously at Haplo.
Haplo said nothing, his breath coming in sharp, painful gasps. The sigla on his skin flared blue. There was blood on his hands.
Xar reached to touch the wound, drew back fingers wet with blood.
“Indeed,” he said and watched the battle between Haplo and the serpent with a strange detachment. The pain was a distraction, but he didn’t have time to heal himself. The rune-construct he had created blazed with a bright light in front of the four doors—the doors that led to the four worlds. But, here and there, the light was starting to fade. Bereft of the lord’s power, the magic he had cast was starting to unravel.
Xar irritably wiped away the blood that was starting to ooze down his neck and into his robes. The blood might have been someone else’s for all the thought he gave it.