“When at last I found my way out, I discovered the Nexus, this beautiful land the Sartan had established for our occupation. And I came across the books. Unable to read them at first, I worked and taught myself and soon learned their secrets. I read of the Sartan and their ‘hopes’ for us and I laughed aloud-the first and only time in my life I have ever laughed. You understand me, Haplo. There is no joy in the Labyrinth.
“But I will laugh again, when my plans are complete. When the four separate worlds-Fire, Water, Stone, and Sky-are again one. Then I will laugh long and loudly.
“Yes. It’s time for you to leave. You’ve been patient with the ramblings of your lord. Another salute.
“To you, Haplo.
“As I was the first to leave the Labyrinth and enter the Nexus, so you shall be the first to enter Death Gate and walk the worlds beyond.
“The Realm of the Sky. Study it well, Haplo. Come to know the people. Search out their strengths and their weaknesses. Do what you can to cause chaos in the realm, but always be discreet. Keep your powers hidden. Above all, take no action that will draw the attention of the Sartan, for if they discover us before I am ready, we are lost.
“Death first, before you betray us. I know you have the discipline and the courage to make that choice. But more important, Haplo, you have the skill and the wits to make such a choice unnecessary. This is why I’ve chosen you for this mission.
“You have one other task. Bring me someone from this realm who will serve as my disciple. Someone who will return to preach the word, my word, to the people. It can be someone of any race – elven, human, dwarven. Make certain that he or she is intelligent, ambitious, . . . and pliable.
“In an ancient text, I came across a fitting analogy. You; Haplo, shall be the voice of one crying in the wilderness.
“And now, a final salute. We will stand for this one.
“To Death Gate. ‘Prepare ye the way.’ ”
CHAPTER 1
YRENI PRISON, DANDRAK,
MID REALM
THE CRUDELY BUILT CART LURCHED AND BOUNCED OVER THE ROUGH CORALITE
terrain, its iron wheels hitting every bump and pit in what passed for a road. The cart was being pulled by a tier, its breath snorting puffs in the chill air. It took one man to lead the stubborn and unpredictable bird while four more, stationed on either side of the vehicle, pushed and shoved the cart along. A small crowd, garnered from the outlying farms, had gathered in front of Yreni Prison, planning to escort the cart and its shameful burden to the city walls of Ke’lith. There, a much larger crowd awaited the cart’s arrival.
Dayside was ending. The glitter of the firmament began to fade as the Lords of Night slowly drew the shadow of their cloaks over the afternoon stars. Night’s gloom was fitting for this procession.
The country folk-for the most part-kept their distance from the cart. They did this not out of fear of the tier-although those huge birds had been known to suddenly turn and take a vicious snap at anyone approaching them from their blind side-but out of fear of the cart’s occupant.
The prisoner was bound around the wrists by taut leather thongs attached to the sides of the cart, and his feet were manacled with heavy chains. Several sharp-eyed bowmen marched beside the cart, their feathered shafts nocked and ready to be let loose straight at the felon’s heart if he so much as twitched the wrong way. But such precautions did not appear to offer the cart’s followers much comfort. They kept their gaze-dark and watchful-fixed on the man inside as they trudged along behind at a respectful distance that markedly increased when the man turned his head. If they’d had a demon from Hereka chained up in that cart, the local farmers could not have gazed on it with any greater fear or awe.
The man’s appearance alone was striking enough to arrest the eye and send a shiver over the skin. His age was indeterminate, for he was one of those men whom life has aged beyond cycles. His hair was black without a touch of gray. Sleeked back from a high, sloping forehead, it was worn braided at the nape of his neck. A jutting nose, like the beak of a hawk, thrust forward from between dark and overhanging brows. His beard was black and worn in two thin short braids twisted beneath a strong chin. His black eyes, sunken into high cheekbones, almost disappeared in the shadows of the overhanging brows. Almost, but not quite, for no darkness in this world, it seemed, could quench the flame that smoldered in those depths.