The dragon-snakes. Without a doubt.
It seemed to Haplo that the ship had picked up speed. The vessel’s motion was less smooth, more erratic, and he sensed an increased vibration in the deck beneath his feet.
“I could always ask the dwarf. She would know,” Haplo muttered.
And, of course, he should tell the mensch that they were nearing the lair of the dragon-snakes. Warn them to make themselves ready . . .
To do what? Die?
Devon, the slender, delicate elf, had nearly decapitated himself with the battle-ax.
Alake had her magic spells, but hers were cantrips that any child in the Labyrinth could perform by the time it was past its second Gate. Against the awesome power of the dragon-snakes, it would be like pitting that child against an army of snogs.
Grundle. Haplo smiled, shook his head. If any one of those mensch could deal with the dragon-snakes, it would be the dwarf maid. If nothing else, she’d be too stubborn to die.
He ought to go tell them, do what he could to prepare them. He sat up.
“No,” he said suddenly, and flung himself back on the bed. “I’ve had enough dealings with the mensch for one day.”
What in the name of the Labyrinth had possessed him to make that promise to them? Not letting them come to harm! He’d be damn lucky if he could keep himself alive.
He clenched his hands to fists, studied the sigla drawn taut over bones and tendons. Raising his arms, he looked at the sharp, clean outline of the muscles beneath the tattooed skin.
“Instinct. The same instinct that led my parents to hide me in the bushes and lead the snogs away from me. The instinct to protect those weaker than ourselves, the instinct that allowed our people to survive the Labyrinth!”
He sprang to his feet, began pacing his small cabin. “My lord would understand,” he reassured himself. “My lord feels the same. Every day of his life, he returns to the Labyrinth, returns to fight and defend and protect his children, his people. It’s a natural emotion . . .” Haplo sighed, swore softly. “But it’s damn inconvenient!”
He had other, more urgent matters to think about than keeping three mensch kids alive. The foul seawater that washed away his rune magic faster than ordinary water washed away dirt. And the dragon-snakes’ promise.
At least, he assumed it was a promise.
Samah. The great Samah. Head of the Council of Seven. The Councillor who had engineered the Sundering, the Councillor who had brought about the Patryn’s downfall, imprisonment, and eons of suffering.
Councillor Samah. Many things had died in the Labyrinth, but not that name. It had been handed down from generation to generation, breathed with the last dying breath of father to son, spoken with a curse from mother to daughter. Samah had never been forgotten by his enemies, and the thought that Samah might be discovered alive filled Haplo with unspeakable joy. He didn’t even think to ask how it was possible.
“I’ll capture Samah and take him to my lord—a gift to make up for my past failures. My lord will see to it that Samah pays and pays dearly for every tear shed by my people, for every drop of blood. Samah will spend his lifetime paying. His days will be filled with pain, torment, fear. His nights with horror, agony, terror. No rest. No sleep. No peace, except in death. And soon, very soon, Samah will be begging to die.”
But the Lord of the Nexus would see to it that Samah lived. Lived a very long life . . .
A violent pounding on the door brought Haplo out of a blood-gilded reverie. The pounding had been going on for some time, but he’d been hearing thunder in his waking dreams of vengeance and hadn’t noticed.
“Perhaps we shouldn’t bother him, Grundle,” came Devon’s soft voice through the door, “He might be asleep …”
“Then he jolly well better wake up!” answered the dwarf.
Haplo rebuked himself for his lapse; such a slip would have cost him his life in the Labyrinth. Stalking over to the door, he yanked it open so suddenly that the dwarf, who had been beating on it with the handle of the battle-ax, tumbled inside.