He turned his back on the bobbing Sartan, called the dog to heel, and set his mind to what he was doing, finding the way back along the path. He hoped Alfred struck his head on a rock.
The path inside the cavern proved all that Haplo had foreseen. It was wide, far easier to travel than even he’d supposed. A large wagon could have rolled through it without much difficulty.
Haplo kept to the sides of the cavern wall, making himself one with shadows. The dog, absolutely fascinated by a flying Alfred, lagged behind, staring upward in profound disbelief at the remarkable sight. The Sartan, hands clasped nervously before him, sailed sedately along after them.
They could hear the voices inside the cavern clearly now. It seemed that rounding the next corner in the twisting cave must bring the people speaking into view. But, as Haplo had said, sound bounced among the rocks and off the cavern ceiling. The Patryn and his companion traversed a considerable distance before the clarity of the words spoken warned Haplo that he was finally drawing near.
The magma stream decreased in width, the darkness grew thicker around them. Alfred was now little more than an indistinguishable blur in the fading light. The dog, whenever it stepped into deep shadow, vanished completely. The stream had once been broad and wide; Haplo could see its bed cut cleanly into the rock. But it was drying up, cooling, and he noted the resultant drop in temperature in the darkening cave. The stream ended altogether. Light failed, leaving them in impenetrable darkness.
Haplo came to a halt and was immediately struck from behind by a heavy object. Cursing beneath his breath, he fended off the floating Alfred who, not seeing the Patryn stop, had barreled right into him. Haplo was considering conjuring light—a simple skill, learned in childhood—but the blue glow of the runes would announce his presence on this world. He might as well shout it. Alfred would be no help either, for the same reason.
“Stay here,” he whispered to Alfred, who nodded, only too happy to obey. “Dog, watch him.”
The dog settled down, head cocked, studying Alfred inquisitively, as if trying to figure out how the man performed such a marvelous feat.
Haplo felt his way along the rock wall. The lava flow behind provided him with ambient light enough to know he wasn’t about to plunge into a chasm. He ventured around another bend in the path and saw, at the end, bright light, yellow light, fire light. Light produced by living beings, not light made by lava. And around the light, across the light, and beneath the light, moved the silhouetted shapes of hundreds of people.
The back of the cavern was vast, opening out into a large room capable of holding an army comfortably. And had he found an army? Was this the army that had sent the shore people scurrying away in panic? Haplo watched and listened. He heard them talking, understood what they said. The darkness grew deep around him, he struggled with overwhelming despair and defeat.
He had found an army—an army of Sartan!
What was to be done? Escape! Return through Death’s Gate, carry word of this disaster to his lord. But his lord would ask questions, questions Haplo could not now answer.
And Alfred? It had been a mistake to bring him. Haplo cursed himself bitterly. He should have left the Sartan behind on the ship, left him in ignorance. Then he could have taken the Sartan back to the Labyrinth, keeping him in complete ignorance of the fact that his people were alive and well on Abarrach, the world of stone. Now, with just one shout, Alfred could end Haplo’s mission, end his lord’s hopes and dreams, end Haplo.
“Blessed Sartan,” whispered a soft voice behind him, nearly causing Haplo to jump out of his rune-covered skin.
He turned swiftly, to find Alfred hovering in the air overhead, staring down at the fire-lighted bodies moving in the cavern. Haplo tensed, waiting, casting a furious glance at the dog, who had failed its trust.
At least I’ll have the satisfaction of killing one Sartan before I die.