CHAPTER * 31
NECROPOLIS, ABARRACH
THE CONSPIRATORS PLEADED, ARGUED, AND BEGGED, AND FINALLY PERsuaded the old earl to allow Alfred to accompany them on their mission to the palace. Tomas spoke eloquently on Alfred’s behalf, a fact that considerably astonished the Sartan. Prior to this, Alfred had received the distinct impression that Tomas didn’t trust him. Alfred wondered, rather uneasily, at the cause for this change.
But he was determined to go to the castle, determined to go to Haplo’s aid, despite the nagging, inner voice that kept insisting it would be better, easier, simpler to let the Patryn die.
You know what villainy he plots, what villainy he’s done. He started a world war on Arianus.
Haplo was the spark, perhaps, Alfred argued with himself, but the powder was poured and ready to ignite long before he arrived. Besides, he countered, I need Haplo in order to escape this terrible world!
You don’t need Haplo! the inner voice scoffed. You could go back through Death’s Gate on your own. Your magic is strong enough. It took you to the Nexus. And if he is dying, what will you do? Save his life? Save his life as you saved Bane? The boy was dying, and he was brought back by you! Necromancer!
Alfred’s conscience squirmed in indecision. Again I’m confronted with that awful choice. And what if I save Haplo, only to save him for evil? The Patryn is capable of committing dreadful crimes, I know that. I’ve seen it in his mind. It would be easy, so very easy, to stay here, to turn my back to let the Patryn die. If the situation were reversed, Haplo would not lift one rune-covered hand to save me.
And yet. . . and yet. . . What about mercy? Compassion?
A whimpering sound drew the Sartan back from his confused musings, his attention drawn to the dog, lying at his feet. The animal could not lift its head, it could only feebly wag the tail that thumped weakly against the floor. Alfred had barely left the dog’s side all cycle; the animal appeared to rest easier when he was nearby and it could see him. Several times, he’d feared the animal had died, and had been forced to put his hand on its flanks to feel for a heartbeat. But the life’s pulse was present, fluttering beneath his gentle fingers.
The dog’s eyes gazed at him with an expression of confidence that seemed to say, I don’t know why I’m suffering like this, but I know you’re going to make everything all right.
Alfred reached down, stroked the animal’s head. The patient eyes closed, the dog was comforted by the touch.
Let’s just say, he told that bothersome inner voice, that I’m not saving Haplo, I’m saving Haplo’s dog. Or, rather, I will try to save him, he added, worried and unhappy.
“What was that?” Jera asked. “Alfred, did you say something?”
“I… I was just wondering if they knew what was wrong with my friend?”
“It is the preserver’s considered opinion,” answered Tomas, “that your friend’s magic is incapable of sustaining him in this world. Just as the mensch’s magic was incapable of sustaining them.”
“I understand,” Alfred murmured, but he didn’t understand and, what’s more, he didn’t believe it. Alfred hadn’t been in the Labyrinth (in Haplo’s body) long, but he was positive that a person who had survived that fearsome place would not drop over dead in Abarrach. Someone was lying to Tomas … or Tomas was lying to them. A nervous tremor convulsed one of Alfred’s legs. He clasped his hand over the twitching muscle and tried to keep his voice from quavering.
“In that case, I must insist on going with you. I’m certain I can help him.”
“And whether he can help his friend or he can’t,” Jera said to her father, who was glowering at Alfred, “we’ll need his help ourselves. Jonathan and I will be guiding the prince. Tomas can’t handle by himself a sick man or a—forgive me, sir, but we must be realistic about this—a dead one. We don’t want to leave Haplo behind, no matter what his condition, for the dynast.”