The tytan paused, turned its head, slavering mouth gaped open in confusion. Haplo began to breathe again.
Sigla, glowing red and blue, had twined together, draping themselves like huge curtains over the jungle trees. The spell wrapped completely around the coppice, surrounding the tytan. The creature turned this way and that. The runes were reflecting its own image back to it, flooding its brain with pictures and sensations of itself.
“You’re all right. I’m not going to hurt you,” said Haplo soothingly, speaking in his own language-the language of the Patryns, similar to that of the Sartan. “I’ll let you go, but first we’re going to talk about the citadel. Tell me what it is.”
The tytan lunged in the direction of Haplo’s voice. The Patryn moved, darting aside. The tytan grabbed wildly at air.
Haplo, having expected this attack, repeated his question patiently.
“Tell me about the citadel. Did the Sartan-”
Sartan!
The tytan’s fury struck, astonishing in its raw power, a stunning blow to Haplo’s magic. The runes wavered, crumbled. The creature-freed from the illusion-turned its head toward Haplo.
The Patryn fought to regain his control, and the runes strengthened. The tytan lost him, groped blindly for its prey.
You are Sartan!
“No,” replied Haplo. Praying his strength held, he wiped sweat from his face. “I am not a Sartan. I am their enemy, like yourself!”
You lie! You are Sartan! You trick us! Build the citadel, then steal our eyes! Blind us to the bright and shining light!
The tytan’s rage hammered at Haplo, he grew weaker with every blow. His spell wouldn’t hold much longer. He had to escape now, while the creature was, for the moment, still confused. But it had been worth it. He had gained something. Blind us to the bright and shining light. He thought he might be starting to understand. Bright and shining . . . before him . . . above him. . . .
“Dog!” Haplo turned to run, stopped dead. The trees had vanished. Standing before him, all around him, everywhere he looked, he saw himself.
The tytan had turned the Patryn’s own magical spell against him.
Haplo fought to quell his fear. He was trapped, no escape. He could shatter the spell surrounding him, but that would shatter the spell surrounding the tytan at the same time. Drained, exhausted, he didn’t have the strength to weave another rune fabric, not one that would stop the creature. The Patryn turned to his right, saw himself. He turned left, faced himself-wide-eyed, pale. The dog, at his feet, dashed about in frantic circles, barking wildly.
Haplo sensed the tytan, blundering about, searching for him. Sooner or later, the creature would stumble into him. Something brushed against him, something warm and living, perhaps a gigantic hand . . .
Blindly, Haplo hurled himself to one side, away from the creature, and slammed into a tree. The impact bruised him, drove the breath from his body. He gasped for air, and realized suddenly that he could see! Trees, vines! The illusion was ending. Relief flooded him, banished instantly by fear.
That meant the rune spell was unwinding. If he could see where he was, then so could his enemy.
The tytan loomed over him. Haplo lunged, diving into the moss, scrabbling to escape. He heard the dog behind him, valiantly trying to defend its master, heard a sharp, pain-filled whine. A dark, furry body crashed to the ground beside him.
Grabbing a tree branch, Haplo staggered to his feet.
The tytan plucked the weapon from his grip, reached down, grabbed his arm. The tytan’s hand was enormous, the palm engulfed the bone and muscle, fingers squeezed. The tytan pulled, wrenched Haplo’s arm from the socket. He sagged to the ground.
The tytan jerked him back up, tightened its grip. Haplo fought the pain, fought gathering darkness. The next rug would rip the limb from his body.
“Pardon me, sir, but may I be of any service?”
Fiery red eyes poked up out of the moss, almost on a level with Haplo.
The tytan pulled; Haplo heard cracking and snapping, the pain nearly made him lose consciousness.
The red eyes flared, a scaly green head, festooned with vines, thrust up from the moss. A red-rimmed mouth parted, shining white teeth glistened, the black tongue flickered.