This person, hidden away in a dark room, doted on the lord and thus had come to know every fleeting expression on the man’s face. The unseen watcher now saw, illuminated by the firelight, the narrowing of Xar’s eyes, the minute darkening of certain lines amidst the cobweb of wrinkles on Xar’s forehead. The unseen observer knew his lord was angry, knew that Haplo had made a mistake, and the observer reveled in the knowledge.
The observer was so elated that he injudiciously wriggled at the thought, with the result that the stool on which he was seated scraped across the floor. The dog’s head lifted instantly, ears pricked.
The observer froze. He knew the dog, remembered it, respected it. Wanted it. He did not move again, held still to the point of holding his breath, afraid even breathing might give him away.
The dog, hearing nothing further, apparently concluded it was a rat, and resumed its fitful nap.
“Perhaps,” said Xar casually, making a small movement with his hand, “you think that the Sartan are the ones who are capable of defeating this ‘almighty power.’ ”
Haplo shook his head, smiled into the fire’s dying blaze. “No, Lord. They are as blind as—” He checked the words, afraid of what he’d been about to say.
“—as I am,” Xar finished dryly.
Haplo looked up swiftly, the flush in his cheeks darkened. It was too late to recall the thought, too late to deny it. Any attempt at explanation would make him sound like a whining child, trying to weasel out of just punishment.
Haplo rose to his feet, faced the Lord of the Nexus, who remained seated, gazing up at him with dark, unfathomable eyes.
“Lord, we have been blind. And so have our enemies. The same things have blinded us both: hatred and fear. The serpents—or whatever force they are or represent—have taken advantage of it. They have grown strong and powerful. “Chaos is our life’s blood,’ the serpents said. ‘Death our meat and drink.’ And now that they have entered Death’s Gate, they can spread their influence throughout the four worlds. They want chaos, they want bloodshed, they want us to go to war, Lord!”
“And thus you counsel we should not, Haplo? You say we should not seek revenge for the centuries of suffering inflicted on our people? Not avenge the deaths of your parents? Not seek to defeat the Labyrinth, free those still left trapped within? Should we let Samah pick up where he left off? He will, you know that, my son. And this time, he will not imprison us. He will destroy us, if we let him! And is it your counsel, Haplo, that we let him?”
Haplo stood before the lord, staring down at him.
“I don’t know, Lord,” he said brokenly, fists clenching, unclenching. “I don’t know.”
Xar sighed, lowered his eyes, rested his head in his hand. If he had been angry, if he had railed and shouted, accused and threatened, he would have lost Haplo.
Xar said nothing, did nothing but sigh.
Haplo fell to his knees. Grasping the lord’s hand, he pressed it to his lips, clasped it, held it fast. “Father, I see hurt and disappointment in your eyes. I beg your forgiveness if I’ve offended you. But the last time I was in your presence, the time before I sailed to Chelestra, you showed me that my salvation lay in telling you the truth. I have done so, Father. I’ve bared my soul to you, though it shames me to reveal my weakness.
“I don’t offer counsel, Lord. I’m quick-thinking, quick to act. But I’m not wise. You are wise, Father. That is why I bring this very great dilemma to you. The serpents are here, Father,” Haplo added in grim, dark tones. “They are here. I’ve seen one of them. He has disguised himself as one of our people. But I knew him for what he was.”
“I am aware of this, Haplo.” Xar clasped the hand that held his.
“You know?” Haplo sat back on his haunches, expression startled, wary.
“Of course, my son. You say I am wise, but you must not think I am very bright,” Xar said with some asperity. “Do you imagine that I do not know what is happening in my own homeland? I have met the serpent and talked with him, both last night and today.”