Haplo could picture Grundle, chin outthrust, shaking her side whiskers at the Sartan Councillor. The Patryn smiled. He wished he could have seen it.
“The mensch are here, staying in this house. They've been to see you as often as the Sartan would allow. In fact, I'm surprised they haven't come to visit before now. But, then, of course, this is the morning of the”
Alfred stopped in some confusion.
“The what?” Haplo demanded, suddenly suspicious.
“I really hadn't intended to mention it. I didn't want to worry you.”
“Worry me?” Haplo gazed at the Sartan in amazement, then burst out laughing. He laughed until he felt tears burn in his eyes, drew in a deep, shuddering breath. “I'm in a Sartan prison, stripped of my magic, taken captive by the most powerful Sartan wizard who ever lived, and you don't want to worry me.”
“I'm sor—” Alfred caught Haplo's baleful gaze, gulped, and kept quiet.
“Let me guess,” said Haplo grimly. “Today is the day the Council meets to decide what to do with us. That's it, isn't it?”
Alfred nodded. Returning to his bed, he sat down, long, ungainly arms dangling dejectedly between his legs.
“Well, what can they do to you? Slap you on the wrist? Make you promise to be a good boy and stay away from the nasty Patryn?”
It was supposed to have been a joke. Alfred didn't laugh.
“I don't know,” he said in low, fearful tones. “You see, I overheard Samah talking once and he said—”
“Hush!” Haplo warned, sat up.
A voice, a female voice, had begun to chant outside the door. The glowing runes of warding faded, began to disappear.
“Ah,” said Alfred, brightening, “that's Orla!”
The Sartan was transformed. Stooped shoulders straightened, he stood up tall, looked almost dignified. The door opened and a woman, ushering two mensch before her, stepped inside.
“Haplo!” Grundle cried, and, before the Patryn knew what was happening, she dashed forward and flung herself into his arms.
“Alake's dead!” she wailed. “I didn't mean for her to die. It's all my fault!”
“There now,” he said, patting her awkwardly on the broad, solid back. She clung to him, blubbering.
Haplo gave her a little shake. “Listen to me, Grundle.”
The dwarf gulped, sniffed, gradually quieted.
“What you three did was dangerous, foolhardy,” Haplo said sternly. “You were wrong. You shouldn't have gone there by yourselves. But you did, and nothing can change that. Alake was a princess. Her life was dedicated to her people. She died for her people, Grundle. For her people”— the Patryn looked at Sartan—“and maybe for a lot of other people, as well.”
The Sartan woman who had come in with them put her hand to her eyes and turned her face away. Alfred, going to her, hung about her timidly, his arm starting of its accord to steal around the woman's shoulders, to offer her comfort. The arm hesitated, drew back.
Blast the man! thought Haplo. He can't even make love to a woman properly.
Grundle snuffled a little, hiccuped.
“Hey, come on, now,” Haplo told her gruffly. “Cut it out. Look, you're upsetting my dog.”
The dog, who appeared to have taken this personally, had been adding his howls to hers. Grundle wiped away her tears, and managed a wan smile.
“How are you, sir?” Devon asked, sitting on the end of the bed.
“I've been better,” Haplo said. “But so have you, I'll wager.”
“Yes, sir,” Devon answered.
He was pale and unhappy. His terrible ordeal had left its mark on him. But he seemed more assured, more confident. He had come to know himself.
He wasn't the only one.
“We have to talk to you!” Grundle said, pulling on Haplo's wet sleeve.
“Yes, it's very important,” Devon added.
The two exchanged glances, looked over at the Sartan: Alfred and the woman he called Orla.
“You want to be alone. That's all right. We'll leave.” Alfred started to shuffle off.
The woman, smiling, laid her hand on his arm. “I don't think that would be possible.” She cast a significant glance at the door. The warding runes were not alight, but footsteps could be heard pacing outside—a guard.
Alfred seemed to shrivel up. “You're right,” he said in a low voice. “I wasn't thinking. We'll sit here and we won't listen. We promise.”
He sat down on the bed, patted a place beside him. “Please, sit down.”
The woman looked at the bed, then at Alfred. She flushed deeply. Haplo thought back to Alake, looking the same, reacting the same.
Alfred turned a truly remarkable shade of red, jumped to his feet.
“I never meant— Of course, I wouldn't— What must you think? No chairs. I only intended—”
“Yes, thank you,” said Orla faintly, and sat down at the end of the bed.
Alfred resumed his seat at the opposite end of the bed, gaze fixed on his shoes.
Grundle, who had been watching with considerable impatience, took hold of Haplo's hand, dragged him off into a corner, as far from the Sartan as possible. Devon followed. The two, serious and solemn, began to tell their tale in loud whispers.
It might have seemed impossible, being in the same room with three people having an intense discussion and not listening, but the two Sartan managed it admirably. Neither of them heard a word spoken, both being far too intent on voices within to pay much attention to those without.
Orla sighed. Her hands twisted together nervously and she glanced at Alfred every few seconds, as if trying to make up her mind whether or not to speak.
Alfred, sensing her tension, wondered at the cause. A thought occurred to him.
“The Council. It's meeting now, isn't it?”
“Yes,” Orla answered, but without a voice.
“You're … you're not there?”
She started to reply, but ended up only shaking her head. “No,” she said, after a moment's pause. Lifting her chin, she spoke more firmly. “No, I'm not there. I quit the Council.'
Alfred gaped. To his knowledge, no Sartan had ever done such a thing. None had ever even contemplated it, so far as he knew.
“Because … of me?” Alfred asked timidly.
“Yes. Because of you. Because of him.” She looked at the Patryn. “Because of them.” Her gaze went to the mensch.
“What did— How did Samah—?”
“He was furious. In fact,” Orla added complacently, with a smile, “I'm on trial myself now, along with you and the Patryn.”
“No!” Alfred was appalled. “He can't! I won't allow you to—”
“Hush!” Orla rested her hand on his lips. “It's all right.” She took hold of Alfred's hand, the hand that was clumsy, rawboned, too large. “You've taught me so much. I'm not afraid anymore. Whatever they do to us, I'm not afraid.”
“What will Samah do?” Alfred's fingers closed over hers. “What happened to others, my dear? What happened to those of our people, who, long ago, discovered the truth?”
Orla turned to face him. Her eyes met his steadily, her voice was calm.
“Samah cast them into the Labyrinth.”
“WE HEARD THE DRAGON-SNAKES SAY THAT, HAPLO,” Grundle asserted, looking frightened at the memory. “They said it was all a trick and they were going to make our people slaughter each other and they were going to take you prisoner—”
“To your lord,” Devon struck in. “The dragon-snakes plan to take you back to your lord and denounce you as a traitor. They said all that. We heard them.”
“You have to believe us!” Grundle insisted.
The Patryn had listened closely, frowned at what he heard, but he hadn't spoken.
“You do believe us, don't you?” Devon asked.
“I believe you.”
Hearing conviction in his voice, the two relaxed, looked reassured. Haplo heard the echo of the snake's words. Chaos is our life }s blood. Death o
ur meat and drink.
On Abarrach, he'd found evidence that there might be a power for a greater good. If that was true, then he thought it quite likely that here, on Chelestra, he had discovered its opposite.
He wondered if Alfred had heard, and glanced across the room. Obviously not. The Sartan looked as white if he'd just taken a spear through the heart.
“Sartan!” Haplo said sharply. “You need to hear this.
Tell them what you told me,” he urged Grundle, “about the dragon-snakes and Death's Gate.”
Alfred turned his head toward the dwarf. Shaken, he was obviously only half-listening. Orla, more composed, gave Grundle serious attention.
Abashed at this audience, Grundle began her story somewhat flustered, grew more confident as she went along.
“I didn't understand hardly any of it. I did, at the beginning, all about how they planned to flood your city with seawater and that would ruin your magic and you'd have to escape. But then they began to talk about something called ‘Death's Gate’?”
She looked to Devon for verification. The elf nodded.
“Yes, that was it. ‘Death's Gate.’”
Alfred was suddenly attentive. “Death's Gate? What about Death's Gate?”
“You tell them,” Grundle urged the elf. “You know the exact words they used. I never can remember.”
Devon hesitated, to make certain he had it right. “They said: They will be forced to do what they were strong enough to resist doing ages before. Samah will open Death's Gate!' And then they said something after that about entering Death's Gate …”
Orla gasped, rose to her feet, her hand pressed to her breast. “That's what Samah means to do! He talks of opening Death's Gate if the mensch attack us!”
“And that will unleash this terrible evil on the other worlds,” Haplo said. “The dragon-snakes will grow in numbers and in power. And who will be left to fight them?”
“Samah must be stopped,” said Orla. She turned to the dwarf and the elf. “Your people must be stopped.”
“We don't want war,” Devon returned gravely. “But we must have a place to live. You leave us little choice.”
“We can work it out. We'll bring everybody together, negotiate—”
“It is late for that, ‘Wife.’” Samah appeared, standing in the doorway. “War has begun. Hordes of mensch are sailing for our city. They are being led by the dragon-snakes.”
“But… that's not possible!” Grundle cried. “My people are afraid of the dragon-snakes.”
“The elves would not follow the dragon-snakes without good reason,” stated Devon, eyeing Samah narrowly. “Something must have happened to force them to make such a drastic decision.”
“Something did happen, as you well know. You and the Patryn.”
“Us!” Grundle exclaimed. “How could we do anything! We've been here with you! Though we'd like to do something,” she added, but it was a mutter, into her whiskers.
Devon poked her in the back, and she subsided.
“I think you should explain yourself, Samah,” Orla intervened, “before you accuse children of starting a war.”
“Very well, ‘Wife.’ I will explain.”
Samah used the word as a whip, but Orla did not flinch beneath it. She stood calmly beside Alfred.
“The dragon-snakes went to the mensch and told them that we Sartan were responsible for the unfortunate death of the young human female. The dragons claimed that we took the other two children captive, that we are holding them hostage.”
His cold gaze turned to Devon and Grundle. “All very well planned—the way you two persuaded us to take you along. The Patryn's idea, of course.”
“Yeah, sure,” muttered Haplo tiredly. “I thought it up right before I passed out.”
“We didn't plan anything like that!” Grundle protested, her lower lip quivering. “We told you the truth! I think you're a wicked man!”
“Hush, Grundle.” Devon put his arms around her. “What are you going to do to us?”
“We do not make war against children,” said Samah. “You will be returned safely to your families. And you will carry with you this message for your people: Attack us at your own peril. We know all about your plan to flood our city with seawater. You think that this will weaken us, but your ‘friends’ the Patryn and his evil minions, have willfully misled you. You will not find a city of a few helpless Sartan. You will find a city of thousands of Sartan, armed with the power of centuries, armored by the might of other worlds—”
“You're going to open Death's Gate,” said Haplo.
Samah did not deign to respond. “Repeat my words to your people. I want it to be remembered that we gave them fair warning.”
“You can't be serious!” Alfred extended pleading hands. “You don't know what you're saying! Opening Death's Gate would mean … disaster. The dragon-snakes would be able to enter other worlds. The dreadful lazar on Abarrach are waiting for just such a chance to enter this one!”
“So is my lord,” Haplo said, shrugging. “You'd be doing him a favor.”
“This is what the dragons want you to do, Samah,” Orla cried. “These children know. They overheard the dragons' plotting.”
“As if I'd believe them … or any of you.” Samah glanced around at them all in disdain. “At the first breach in the walls, I will open Death's Gate. I will summon our brethren from the other worlds. And there are Sartan on other worlds. You cannot fool me with your lies.
“As for your lord”—Samah turned to Haplo—“he will be cast back into the Labyrinth along with the rest of your evil race. And this time, there will be no escape!”
“Councillor, don't do this.” Alfred's voice was calm, sad. “The true evil isn't out there. The true evil is here.” He placed his hand on his heart. “It is fear. I know it well. I've given way to its power most of my life.
“Once, long ago, Death's Gate was meant to stand open, to lead us from death into a new and better existence. But the time for that is past. Too much has changed. If you open Death's Gate now, you will discover, to your bitter sorrow and regret, that you have uncovered a darker and more sinister aspect to the name Death's Gate—a name that was once meant to stand for hope.”
Samah listened in silence, with exemplary patience.
“Are you finished?” he asked.
“I am,” replied Alfred humbly.
“Very well. It is time these mensch were returned to their families.” Samah gestured. “Come, children. Stand together. Don't be afraid of the magic. It will not harm you. You will seem to sleep, and when you wake up, you will be safely with your people.”
“I'm not afraid of you.” Grundle sniffed. “I've seen better magic than you could ever hope to make.”
Glancing conspiratorialiy at Alfred, she winked.
Alfred looked extremely confused.
“You remember what is it you have to say to your people?” Samah asked.
“We remember,” said Devon, “and so will our people. We'll remember your words as long as we live. Farewell, Haplo.” The elf turned to him. “Thank you not only for my life, but for teaching me to live it.”
“Good-bye, Haplo,” said Grundle. She went over to him, hugged him around his knees.
“No more eavesdropping,” he said severely.
Grundle heaved a sigh. “I know. I promise.”
She stood a moment, fumbling at something she had tucked inside a pocket of her dress. The object was large, too large for the pocket, and now it was stuck fast. Grundle tugged, the pocket tore. Wrenching the object loose, she held it out to Haplo. It was a book, its leather-bound cover worn and stained with what might have been tears.
“I want you to have this. It's a journal I kept when we left to go to the dragon-snakes. I asked the lady”—Grundle nodded at Orla—“to fetch it for me. She did. She's nice. I was going to write some more in it, I was going to write the end, but… I couldn't. It's too sad.
“Anyway,” she continued, wiping away a stra
y tear, “just ignore all the bad things I say about you at the beginning. I didn't know you then. I mean … You'll understand? …”
“Yes,” said Haplo, accepting the gift. “I'll understand.”
Devon took Grundle's hand, the two stood together before Samah. The Councillor sang the runes. Fiery trails of sigla formed in the air, encircled the dwarf and the elf. Their eyes closed, heads drooped, they leaned against each other. The runes flared, and the two were gone.
The dog gave a dismal howl. Haplo rested his hand on the animal's head, counseling silence.
“That's accomplished,” said Samah briskly. “Now, we have a most unpleasant task. The sooner we get it done, the better.
“You, who call yourself Alfred Montbank. Your case has been brought before the Council. After careful deliberation, we have found you guilty of consorting with the enemy, of plotting against your own people, of attempting to deceive us with lies, of speaking heresy. We have passed sentence upon you. Do you, Alfred Montbank, concede that the Council has the right and the wisdom to pass such sentence upon you that will enable you to learn from your mistakes and make reparation for them?”
The speech was a mere formality, always asked of each person who came before the Council. But Alfred listened to it intently, appeared to be considering each word carefully.
“‘Learn from my mistakes and make reparation for them,’” he repeated to himself. He looked up at Samah and when he answered, his voice was firm and steadfast. “Yes, Councillor, I do.”
“Alfred, you can't!” Orla flung herself upon her husband. “Don't go through with this, Samah! I beg you! Why won't you listen?”
“Be silent, Wife!” Samah thrust her back, away from him. “Your sentence, too, has been passed. You have a choice. You can go with him or remain among us. But either way, you will be stripped of your powers of magic.”
Orla stared at him, her face livid. Slowly, she shook her head. “You're insane, Samah. Your fear has driven you mad.”
Coming to stand beside Alfred, she took hold of his arm. “I choose to go with him.”
“No, Orla,” Alfred told her, “I can't allow it. You don't know what you're saying.”
“Yes, I do. You forget,” she reminded him, smiling at him tremulously, “I've shared your visions.” She looked over at the Patryn. “I know what we face and I'm not afraid.”
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