by Peter Wacht
Rodric looked over at Gregory. The King of Fal Carrach sat stiffly in his chair, holding Kaylie’s hand in his own. He was obviously having some difficulty controlling his anger and chose instead to ignore Rodric. The High King didn’t seem to mind.
“Therefore, we have decided to put you to the Trial rather than send you to the executioner. Let your actions determine your innocence. If you survive the maze, and the Makreen, you are free to go.”
Rodric said the last part gleefully, clearly not believing that he would survive the ordeal.
Thomas continued to stare straight ahead until Rodric was forced to break eye contact. He had the urge to look at Kaylie one more time, but he stopped himself. He refused to show any weakness. Kaylie was not to be trusted, not ever again.
“Good luck, boy,” said Rodric. “You will need it. You must survive on your wits alone. Are you sure you do not want to confess your guilt?”
Rodric waited almost a full minute for a response, the tension building in the arena as a low murmur began, but Thomas ignored him.
“So be it. The gladiators of old used to fight in their training shorts. The custom will continue today. Captain, remove his shirt.”
Krayjak stepped forward, but one look from Thomas froze him. Thomas pulled the shirt over his head. Gasps of shock accompanied the movement. Gregory’s face turned an angry red as he took in the scars of the whip crisscrossing his body, and Kaylie fought desperately to hold back her tears. She wanted to say something to him, anything, to take the betrayal from his eyes, but words failed her. She had failed him.
Thomas glanced around the arena a final time, then he turned back toward Rodric. He offered the High King a smile, one that turned Rodric’s blood cold. His fate had been determined for him. So be it. There was no place to go but down. Before the captain could order his soldiers to force him through the hole, Thomas jumped through the opening into darkness.
As he did so, memories of his lessons with Rynlin and Rya flashed through his mind. Lessons of the Trials. One fact stood out from the others. No one had ever defeated the Makreen. No one had ever entered the labyrinth and lived.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Getting Help
The howl drifted through the night, silencing the normal nighttime chatter heard along the Highland coast. Beluil waited expectantly on the sandy beach, having arrived a few hours before. Normally it would not have taken him two days to get from the western edge of Oakwood Forest to the eastern edge of the Highlands where it butted up against the Sea of Mist, but Thomas’ sword slowed him down. Having gotten the blade into its sheath, he dragged it behind him with the strap in his teeth.
The black wolf looked out across the darkened waves toward the faint outline of the Isle of Mist half a mile away. He knew the residents of the island could hear him. He need only wait. But they needed to hurry. Too much time had already passed. Beluil howled again, a sharp, piercing cry that contained all of his sorrow.
Off to the west an answering howl drifted down from the Highlands, but Beluil ignored it. Another time he would have gone off to visit with the pack, but not tonight. He howled again, the cry echoing along the coast, trapped by the steep cliffs. He was about to try again, but his call was finally answered.
A large eagle streaked out of the darkened sky and landed on the sand in front of Beluil. The wolf turned away from the brief flash of bright white light that followed. When he turned back, Rynlin stood before him. He appeared somewhat bedraggled, his hair going in every direction.
“Where have you two been, Beluil?” asked Rynlin, his irritation clear. “Rya has been worried sick about the two of—”
Rynlin looked around quickly, a tremor of fear rising up from the pit of his stomach. Something was terribly wrong. “Where’s Thomas?”
Beluil expected such a reaction from Rynlin. He motioned to the sand with his paw. Rynlin stepped forward and picked up the long, sleek object. Thomas’ sword. He pulled it free of its sheath. The bright steel flashed in the faint light of the quarter moon, the black splotches covering much of its length visible.
Blood, relatively fresh. Rynlin’s worry became a roiling ball in his stomach. Cursing his luck at not having Thomas’ ability to speak with animals, he would have to use a more mundane method to communicate. At least Thomas wasn’t dead. He would have known that thanks to the necklace.
In an instant Rynlin took hold of the Talent. He stretched it out to the west, extending his senses as far as he could. He didn’t stop until he reached well into Dunmoor. Strangely he couldn’t locate his grandson through the necklace, a fact that boded ill. His worry increased tenfold. A slow, burning rage began churning within him.
“Where did you last see him, Beluil?”
Beluil smiled, glad that Rynlin was so perceptive. He didn’t want to waste any more time than necessary trying to explain the events of the past few days. They could be stuck there all night, and for Thomas, those precious hours could be crucial to his survival. Beluil turned around, facing toward the Highlands.
“To the west,” said Rynlin.
Beluil whipped back around, barking an acknowledgement.
“The Highlands? Fal Carrach? Dunmoor?” Beluil barked again. Good, they were narrowing the search area down.
“The Strand?” That seemed the most obvious choice, yet Beluil did not reply.
“Oakwood Forest?” Beluil barked again. Rynlin’s fear increased.
“Well done, Beluil,” said Rynlin, slipping the strap of the scabbard over his shoulder. “Return to where you last sensed Thomas in Oakwood Forest. I’ll meet you there before noon today.”
Beluil bolted off despite his weariness, running at a furious pace to the west. He would do as Rynlin commanded. His brother was in danger and now he could finally offer his help.
Rynlin watched the wolf go. His anger threatened to overwhelm him, and he had to fight to control it. Now was not the time to lose his temper. He could do that after he found Thomas. But first, he had a feeling that he would need some help.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
New Acquaintance
Thomas landed on the balls of his feet, crouching in the stillness of the pitch-black hole. Krayjak had closed the opening, eliminating the faintest trace of light. He shifted from side to side, listening, waiting for his vision to adjust. Slowly, the darkness changed, becoming more of a shadowy veil. He could understand why the Makreen never lost. Anyone without vision as good as his wouldn’t stand a chance.
The Makreen could strike any time he chose with its prey none the wiser. After a few seconds, Thomas began to pick out his surroundings. Made of sharply cut stone, the high-ceilinged tunnel stretched on into the darkness. A thin layer of dust covered the floor, a testament to how long it had been since the labyrinth had last been used.
As he studied his new battleground, he thought back to one of his lessons with Rynlin. He could even remember his grandfather’s pedantic tone. Rynlin was explaining how the Kingdoms used to put people through Trials to judge their innocence, based on the theory that if you survived, you had to be innocent. Thomas had lost interest in the lecture as Rynlin inevitably went down several tangential paths, so his mind had wandered. His grandfather had been holding onto a piece of paper, so Thomas decided to have a little fun.
Using the Talent, he set the piece of paper on fire, much to the surprise of his grandfather, who had dropped the burning parchment and leapt back, almost knocking his head on the low ceiling of the cottage. Of course, Rynlin had been furious, doubling Thomas’ chores for a month as a result, but it had been worth it. Rynlin had muttered to himself for the rest of the day, angrier with himself for not sensing Thomas’ use of the Talent than he was with Thomas for using it in such a manner.
Thomas pushed the memory away. He couldn’t afford to let his mind wander now. He had to focus on his survival. No one had ever made it through the labyrinth alive. The Makreen didn’t allow it.
If he remembered correctly, a thousand or more years
in the past a tribe of Makreen had lived in the Charnel Mountains. But with the coming of the Shadow Lord, eventually he had subverted them. As the story went, even the Shadow Lord had miscalculated, though, as to their vicious nature. Over time the Makreen broke free from their yokes. No one had ever offered a satisfactory explanation on how such a thing could occur, but there was no denying that it had happened.
After escaping the grasp of the Shadow Lord, the Makreen left the Charnel Mountains and ravaged the Kingdoms. The Shadow Lord originally had conquered them for a single purpose, and a single purpose only — to kill. They were the elite troops in his armies, and they performed their duty with a savage pleasure, killing anything and everything they could, if only for the joy of it.
The Kingdoms hunted down the Makreen and had virtually succeeded in eliminating them as a threat, though at a terrible price. For every Makreen killed, ten men or more often perished because of the beasts’ savagery and skill with weapons. Only a few survived, usually in the remote regions where men dared not go — and here in the Labyrinth, of course. Here where Thomas had no choice but to go forward.
With Thomas’ eyes, it seemed like he was in a perpetual twilight, yet twilight was often the most dangerous time of the day in the forest, the time when many predators came out to hunt. About thirty paces down the passageway, it branched off to the left and the right. Thomas stepped forward quietly, placing his feet carefully. Silence reigned in the Labyrinth, so much so he felt like he walked in a tomb. His tomb. Coming to the fork, he peered down each hallway, looking for some sign of movement. Nothing. The only sound came from his own breathing.
Not knowing which way to go, he chose the left. He went slowly, treading softly on the stone floor. As he made his way through the tunnel, he had a feeling that he had forgotten something. That feeling continued to play in the back of his mind, nagging him with his every step. He didn’t have time to ponder it.
Coming up on another intersection, a blur of movement and flash of steel caught his eye. Thomas dove to the floor, trying to evade the attack. He almost didn’t make it. The attacker’s blade slid across his ribs rather than through them. He immediately regained his feet and leapt backward, just in time to avoid another thrust from the sharp blade.
This wasn’t working. Eventually his attacker would strike true. Thomas had to change his strategy, quickly.
The shadow in front of him lunged forward again. Thomas sidestepped the attack, but this time, instead of backing away, he moved forward. Reaching for the haft of the weapon, he ripped it from the hands of his surprised attacker, then jumped back, holding the blade in front of him to prevent another attack. Thomas saw shock register in the eyes of his opponent, yet only for a split second. As fast as the shadow had first appeared, it blended into the darkness and ducked back around a corner.
Still, his attacker was visible long enough for Thomas to get a good view of what he was up against, and it wasn’t promising. The Makreen stood fully twelve feet tall. Green scales covered its heavily muscled torso and legs, its face resembling that of a goblin, with small, curling horns set atop its head.
Certain that the Makreen was no longer a threat, at least at the present time, Thomas examined the slash across his ribs. It was a painful wound, but the blade hadn’t cut deeply. Still, blood dripped down his side and soaked his shorts, and he had nothing with which to stanch the flow.
He would have to continue and hope for the best. With the cut on his head and now the one on his side, his endurance could become a problem. And time was now an even bigger problem. The quicker he was out of the Labyrinth, the better.
Thomas’ disposition brightened somewhat as he examined his newly acquired weapon. Quite impressive. Quite impressive indeed. At first he had thought it was a spear, but then realized his mistake. He had never seen a weapon quite like this one. It was actually a quarterstaff with a few nasty surprises, the most obvious being the slightly curved two-foot blades affixed to both ends.
Thomas smiled in admiration. It was slightly larger than what he was used to, as it had been made for a creature the size of the Makreen. Still, it was a weapon that he could certainly use. His chances for getting through the Labyrinth alive had just improved immeasurably. Now if only he could remember what still nagged at him.
Thomas hadn’t expected the Makreen to run off so quickly, though it had clearly been surprised by Thomas’ action. The beasts were known as fierce warriors, fear not being a part of their makeup. Then again, they were also known for playing with their prey and inflicting as much pain as possible before finishing them. Perhaps that was the tactic the Makreen had decided on.
Twirling the quarterstaff in his hands, Thomas continued back down the passageway, more confident, but wary of what was to come.
“I won’t be easy meat,” he whispered to himself. “I won’t.”
Besides, he refused to give Rodric the satisfaction of dying so easily.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Filled With Worry
Kaylie wrung her hands in fear and frustration, glancing every so often at the darkened doorway that led out from the Labyrinth to the pit just below her. She hoped to see Thomas leap out, victorious and free, yet with each passing second her fear of his demise increased.
When she wasn’t looking for Thomas, she watched the nobility crowded into the gallery. The people around her made her sick. Everyone in the High King’s gallery was talked gaily, making bets as to how long it would take the Makreen to finish Thomas off. The whole thing repulsed her. How could you bet on someone’s life so callously? She simply couldn’t understand it.
Her father remained at her side, patting her on the knee from time to time in an effort to provide some comfort. His expression was calm, but his eyes were grim. He clearly wasn’t happy with what was going on, but he was not in a position to do anything about it.
Kaylie tried to take strength from her father, refusing to cry or show any other outward sign of weakness. But on the inside, she was in turmoil. Because of her Thomas was in the Labyrinth. Because of her he was fighting the Makreen, one of the most gruesome beasts ever to walk the earth. Because of her, he would probably die.
She didn’t think she could bear such a curse. She looked once again at the doorway leading out to the pit, but nothing emerged. Instead the darkness teased her, the opening resembling the maw of some ancient beast, grinning at her wickedly.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Surprise
Thomas crept silently down the tunnel, not wanting to make even the slightest sound and alert the Makreen to his presence. Thomas’ luck had held during the first attack. He hoped it would stay with him. As he made his way down the roughly cut tunnel, he tried to block away the new pain in his side.
The first skirmish with the Makreen had reopened the wound on his head, a small trickle of blood flowing down his face. The blood on his side had begun to congeal around the wound on his ribs, yet it would be a long time before it stopped bleeding completely. By then, if he didn’t find something to wrap around it to stop the flow, he would probably be dead.
As the pain pushed against his awareness, Thomas’ thoughts wandered. How could Kaylie have done this to him? His bitterness welled up within him. He had tried to be her friend and this was how she repaid him. Tricking him and then handing him over to Rodric. If he got out of this— Well, he didn’t have time to think about the future. Not yet, anyway. He forced his thoughts back to the present.
As the minutes crept by, the buzz in the back of his head continued to annoy him. There was something he was forgetting, something important that escaped him during the Makreen’s attack. He just couldn’t dredge it out of his memory.
The tunnel finally came to an end. Yet this time there were three branches from which to choose. Which one should he take? There was nothing remarkable about either one, yet if he made the incorrect choice, he could end up wandering the Labyrinth until the Makreen caught him unprepared.
That was something he
did not want to allow. He was tired of being hunted. It was time to reverse the roles. His anger flared anew as he considered his predicament once more. Unfortunately, he had no outlet for it, and his irritation offered little assistance in deciding which way to go.
A memory suddenly came to mind, one that had been buried within him for quite some time. He remembered being in the tunnel underneath the Crag, escaping from what had been his home. The tunnel and his anger had been much the same then. Wait a moment. Maybe there was a way he could improve his odds.
He had used the Talent, though somewhat awkwardly, while under the Crag. Perhaps he could do the same now. The Talent was often difficult to control in castles or towns because the stones used in their construction had been shaped by man, thereby eliminating some of their natural vitality. But here the stone remained intact for the most part, the tunnels having been carved from it. Maybe he could use that to his advantage.
Thomas reached for the Talent, the power flowing within him offering a renewed confidence. He suddenly realized, though, that he could not grasp as much as he desired. His struggle with Chertney the night before and his two recent injuries had sapped much of his physical and mental strength, two factors that played a large part in determining how much of the Talent he could wield at any one time.
What about Chertney? He was obviously a warlock, or something worse. Would he be able to feel Thomas’ power up in the gallery? Probably not, Thomas decided. The stone would hide it from him, and since Thomas could only manage a relatively small amount at the moment, he didn’t think he had anything to worry about, except for finding a way out of the Labyrinth.
Thomas extended his senses, pushing the Talent into the stone. Much to his annoyance, it didn’t go very far at all. Was he doing something wrong? He had done the same thing he always did when using it in the forest to— that must be it.
