Blood Runes: Chapter 1
Chapter 1
Haplo sat by a small cook fire and watched the others around him without participating. He knew he should interact more with the others, that he was expected to be an ambassador of sorts between his people and the others now trapped in the Labyrinth with them. Just as the meaning of his name, “alone,” implied, Haplo was much happier on his own. It was why he had been eager to be assigned the scouting mission to the other worlds.
He understood the need to band together now, though. The Labyrinth had begun to behave differently. He wondered if it was the presence of a large group of Sartan here after such a long absence or simply that it sensed a more powerful and focused threat to itself with all the dragons and dragon-snakes here as well, but the Labyrinth had begun throwing larger and more organized groups of monsters at them. Marit was back in his life, but only time would tell whether they could make it work this time or if they would only bring one another more pain. Their daughter, Rue, was also somewhere out there in this suddenly even more deadly realm.
In Haplo’s recollection, monsters roamed all areas of the Labyrinth, and though wolfen packs were known to reach numbers greater than sixty, most groups of creatures were fairly small. On occasion, if a squatter settlement grew very large or an area seemed unusually peaceful, the prison would whip up a plague or other catastrophe, for the Patryn people were not allowed to be happy in this place, but Haplo had never seen anything like the swarms of creatures the Labyrinth was throwing at them now.
He scratched absently at his scarred heart rune. The injury inflicted by the dragon-snake Sang-drax had disrupted his magical abilities severely. They had yet to fully recover, and though he was still confident he could hold his own in battle, he couldn’t help but feel like a liability at times.
He reached down to his side, palm open, expecting the nuzzle of a cold nose and perhaps a lick, then frowned at the habit he had developed when he was uneasy. The dog wasn’t here anymore. Well, if Alfred was to be believed, it was, but Haplo was still having trouble accepting the idea that he had somehow conjured the animal from himself, a physical representation of his soul. He was also frustrated by his sadness at its loss because shouldn’t he be able to create it again, if he wanted it here?
Refusing to dwell on such self-centered sentimentality when there was work to be done and battles to be fought, Haplo had just risen to his feet when the ground in the area heaved mightily, knocking him back to the ground along with most of the others nearby. There was a bright flash of light in the distance, and Haplo revised his initial assessment that the tremor was a product of the Labyrinth because he would know the telltale glow of rune magic anywhere.
He and several others rushed to the site where the light was just beginning to dim and fade away. There was a crater in the ground, as though something had been flung to this place from a great distance. At the bottom of the sunken area was a body, and had the person truly fallen with enough force to create the depression, he or she should merely be a smear on the landscape. Even the protective rune magic of the Patryns could not grant full immunity from certain catastrophic traumas. Whatever powerful magic had transported the man, for now Haplo could see the person was a male Patryn, must have also been intended to make certain he arrived at his destination alive.
His rune tattoos showed no indication of the glow representative of immediate danger, so Haplo slid down the side of the shallow pit to get a closer look. It soon became evident that this man had not cast the transportation magic himself. He was deep in healing sleep, and it appeared that had not been a voluntary decision either--his hands were bound together with strips of cloth to keep the circle joined. Even though his healing was progressing, the young man had clearly taken a severe beating, the bruising and gashes still plain to see, his clothing torn and bloody. A faint glow came from the left side of the man’s chest, and at first Haplo thought it was his heart rune, but instead it was a complicated sigil Haplo did not recognize drawn directly on top of the heart rune in what appeared to be blood.
Haplo was reminded of the magic Alfred had wrought upon the child Bane and the assassin Hugh the Hand, a spell that brought both back from the dead. The rune was in the Patryn style, not Sartan, but that did not mean the other man might not have some insight into the matter. With the healing circle enforced as it was, Haplo saw no reason the man couldn’t be moved some place more convenient.
“Someone help me carry him into camp,” Haplo called up to the others peering down at the unconscious man curiously.
***
“I’m afraid I can’t make any sense of the meaning of the rune,” Alfred said with an apologetic sigh. He traced the mark with a long finger, never quite making contact with the skin of the sleeping man. “However, the location would seem to imply that it directly affects his life.”
“Parts of it look a little like runes used to imbue exchange,” Haplo offered, “but an exchange of what and for what? When we heal one another, our life forces come in contact, but that’s not a direct trade, and it wouldn’t require this extra magic.”
“Perhaps when he awakens he can tell us more?” Alfred mused.
“If he even knows anything,” Haplo grunted. “I think he may have already been out cold when this was done to him.”
Suspicious mumbling around them prompted both Haplo and Alfred to look up from their charge to find Zifnab’s dragon companion and several other men he knew to be other dragons of Pryan approaching. The crazy old wizard wasn’t with them, thankfully, but the insufferable old fool was bound to make an appearance later. Zifnab’s dragon could never be said to be particularly cheerful, but his especially dour expression at the moment meant that whatever reason the dragon had for seeking out Haplo, Alfred, or both of them was nothing good.
The dragon’s human disguises were all unique in physical appearance, and Haplo wondered whether it was actual individual preference or simply that they understood that the people they were allied with were distinct and it was an effort to assimilate better. If that was the case, it wasn’t entirely effective because all of the dragons exhibited the same impassive and somewhat intrigued expression on their otherwise different faces when they dealt with non-dragons, as though they were gazing at fascinating bugs in a jar.
The dragon gestured to another of the creatures next to him with tousled dark hair and blue eyes. “One of our brethren has returned from scouting the activity of the agents of Chaos.”
“I assume he learned something?” Haplo hadn’t been aware that the dragon-snakes were under surveillance. The dragons of Pryan didn’t share very much with their so-called “allies.” Whether this was because they didn’t trust the ragtag group of Patryns and Sartan or simply felt they were incapable of contributing much to the plan of action was unclear.
The darker-haired dragon opened his mouth to speak, then abruptly closed it again and stared intently at the unconscious Patryn. Haplo knew the dragons had assigned themselves names, or in their own words “designations,” to make it easier to address them individually, but Haplo always found himself referring mentally to the first he’d met as “Zifnab’s dragon,” and he didn’t think he’d ever met this other one. He noticed that this new dragon wasn’t the only one fascinated with the strange Patryn--all the dragons were staring at the prone form.
“This man was not here before,” the dragon stated, finally looking up to lock eyes with Haplo. “When did he arrive?”
“Not long ago,” Haplo answered vaguely, deciding not to go into detail about the strange circumstances of the man’s appearance. He wasn’t sure why he was so hesitant to divulge the information. Perhaps the dragons weren’t the only parties slow to trust.
The dragon turned his gaze to Zifnab’s dragon and they shared a long look. Haplo suspected it had something to do with the scouting report, and now he was very eager to hear it.
The dark-haired dragon looked back at the unconscious man, crouched beside him, and reached out a hand slowly toward the Patryn’s left shoulder. He paused, just short of physical contact, the hesitance unusual in creatures that otherwise seemed so sure of themselves. Before he could close the remaining distance, the Patryn’s eyes shot open and he bolted upright, shoving the dragon away.
The dragon, and all his companions for that matter, looked completely taken aback. The dragon rubbed the spot on his chest where the Patryn had pushed him and Haplo realized why they were so shocked--the dragon was injured. Much like the dragon-snakes, the dragons of Pryan were all but impossible to physically harm, but this Patryn had somehow done it without even trying. Haplo had only seen the like when Alfred had assumed his “Serpent Mage” form, and that had required complex magic.
The man had his eyes closed, one hand held to his head as he swayed slightly. His return to consciousness looked to be short-lived.
“Where am I?” he mumbled hoarsely.
“You’re among friends,” Alfred told him in a soothing tone.
The man let out a short, harsh bark of bitter laughter. “I have no friends. I don’t have anyone.” With those words, he slumped to the ground again.
***
When the strange Patryn came to his senses again, it was to find himself surrounded by the dragons, Haplo and a few other Patryns, and Alfred. The man’s eyes darted about like a caged animal, and Haplo had no desire to fend off magical or physical attacks brought on by panic. He took a large step back, gesturing for those next him to do the same. The increase in personal space, however slight, calmed them man somewhat, though he still looked at them all suspiciously and remained sullenly silent.
When no one else seemed inclined to approach the young man, and deciding one of his own people might seem less threatening, Haplo spoke, careful to keep his tone neutral. “You arrived here very suddenly and strangely. I don’t mean to pry, but we’d very much like to know if we should be watching for something chasing after you.”
The stranger looked down at himself and traced his fingertips over wounds that were even now fading away as his body healed itself. “I don’t know how I wound up here,” he admitted. He looked up to meet Haplo’s eyes for a moment, as though daring the older man to accuse him of lying. “I’m not even sure where ‘here’ is.”
His eyes widened in alarm as he was informed of their current location not far from the Vortex and the center of the Labyrinth. Clearly, his body had been transported even farther than Haplo might have first guessed.
“I have to go,” he announced after a moment of thought. “I didn’t intend any harm or intrusion,” he added by way of a hasty and only half sincere apology. Haplo wondered what task could be so urgent that the man wasn’t even curious about the large gathering of uneasy allies.
“Wait!” Alfred reached after him as he turned away, pulling his hand back after an unfriendly glare from the stranger. “You’ve only just finished healing; a bit of rest would be a good idea. This camp would be a safe place to do so.”
“You’re not a Patryn,” the man observed, then cocked his head at the group of dragons, “and neither are they. I don’t always feel safe among my own people--what makes you think it would be any different with you?”
Alfred gaped like a fish out of water for a few moments as he tried to think of a response. Zifnab’s dragon stepped in before he was successful.
“You possess a unique level of potential,” the dragon stated bluntly. “This power would be of great help to us in the battles to come. I’m afraid we cannot let you simply wander away now that we have found you.”
The man squared his jaw and took a defensive stance. “And I’m afraid that if you want me to stay, you’re going to have to make me.” He shifted almost imperceptibly, perhaps uneasy under the unblinking gaze of all the dragons. “Why are you so interested in me, anyway? It looks like you’ve got plenty of my people around to choose from.”
“What we seek isn’t in any of the others here,” Zifnab’s dragon insisted. “It’s in your blood.”
***
Sam walked unhurried down the empty streets of the Nexus. He was one of the few who ever ventured this far into the city proper. The other Patryns had no need for the comforts of the city their jailers built for them; in fact, most were insulted by the very sight of it--the “reward” at the end of their “rehabilitation.” They used a few of the buildings on the edges of the city, but it was mostly out of necessity. Sam himself had no admiration for the architecture or efficient layout, he was drawn to this place for the knowledge to be found in the books and scrolls left here by the Sartan.
He knew he was an oddity among his people because he would rather exercise his mind than his body or his magic. While Lord Xar’s army prepared for his conquest of the sundered worlds, Sam slowly taught himself the language of the Sartan texts and worked his way through them. On occasion Xar would allow Sam to discuss something he had read, offering insight from his considerable experience, but as he had promised, he never pressed Sam to change his mind about fighting for his cause. Now he was gone.
The dragon-snakes brought the news of Xar’s death to his forces, spinning a tale of betrayal and conspiracy. Eager to avenge the great man who had saved their lives and given them an outlet for their hatred of the Sartan, the army allowed the creatures to redirect them against the Sartan and a group of dragons now trapped in this place with them after the fall of Death’s Gate.
Sam suspected the dragon-snakes were not entirely truthful in their rendition of the events surrounding Xar’s defeat, and he was certain many others felt the same, even if they didn’t outwardly show it. However, with no evidence to prove a lie, they were obliged to grant the dragon-snakes grudging respect. Sam tried to have as little to do with them as possible. He had never fought for Xar, whom he had grown to respect, so he wasn’t about to take up arms for such highly suspect “allies.” It certainly didn’t stop them from asking.
The library building was near the Nexus’ central tower. Sam had walked this route so many times that he didn’t even need to think about where he was going. Usually, he used the time to contemplate what he’d read the previous day, but today he couldn’t focus. He tried to remain externally calm, but he had the distinct impression that he was being watched. It wasn’t likely to be another Patryn--they’d hated this place before the loss of Lord Xar, and now it was like some kind of giant monument to his memory. That left only the dragon-snakes.
Sam entered the library and moved to the location of the current book he was reading, retrieved it, and took a seat at a table. He opened it to the page where he’d stopped the evening before, but he only pretended to be perusing the text. He suspected that his silent observer would be approaching soon.
Sure enough, a figure seemed to take form out of the shadows in a dark corner of the room. Sam suppressed a scoff. The dragon-snakes were prone to dramatic entrances, but if they hoped to provoke fear, they’d picked the wrong people to target. The Patryn race had practically made an art of suppressing fear. Still, Sam’s tattoos radiated a soft, blue light, signaling an unconscious reaction to potential danger. The figure’s eyes glowed crimson for a moment before he stepped out into the light and approached the table.
“Good evening, Sam,” the dragon-snake greeted him. The familiarity with which the creature used his name was irritating, both for the implication that were close in any way and for the fact that Sam could not readily recall the name the dragon-snake called himself. Sam felt his flesh crawl at the pure wrongness that seemed to ooze from the thing in front of him.
The dragon-snakes’ true forms were enormous and disturbing to behold, or so Sam had heard, but he almost thought anything would be better than the mockery of this guise. At first glance, the other occupant of the room appeared to be another Patryn, but closer examination revealed that what would be the carefully ordered and interconnected rune work of the tattoos on a true Patryn was a chaotic jumble on one of these creatures.
“You don’t need to bother with fake pleasantries,” Sam stated coolly, never looking up from the book. “Whatever it is that you want from me, I’m still not interested in giving it to you.”
“How can you be so certain,” the dragon-snake asked with a smirk, “when you haven’t even heard what I have to say?”
Sam didn’t argue that the request was always the same because it would simply be a waste of breath. He decided to just wait out the usual speech. Eventually the dragon-snake would leave and he would finally be left to study in solitude.
“I’m not here to convince you to join the battle front.” Sam looked up at that, expression skeptical. The dragon-snake grinned, eyes flashing red again for a moment. “I have a proposition much better suited to a man of more...intellectual pursuits.”
“So...” Sam paused, waiting for the dragon-snake to supply a name.
“You can call me Azazel.”
“You really believe the fact that it’s mentally challenging makes a difference?” Sam fought hard to keep the curiosity out of his expression. He told himself it was self-preservation. If the dragon-snakes were up to something new, he should know what it was, just in case.
“It does to you,” the creature insisted in a low, conspiratorial tone, as if anyone else were around to hear. “You’re not like the others here in the Nexus.” It almost seemed to Sam that the dragon-snake meant more than just his interest in reading. “You’re special, Sam, and we’ve got a plan that simply can’t go on without you.”
“Why should I believe anything you say?”
“Believe me or don’t,” Azazel declared with a casual shrug. “I’ll say my piece and you’ll think about. That’s all I want, you know--for you to think about it.” Sam didn’t give any acknowledgement, but the dragon-snake apparently took his lack of response as a cue to continue. “By now, you’ve heard about Death’s Gate and how it can’t be used to leave here anymore. Well, there’s an old saying that whenever one door closes, another one opens. Truth is, the other door isn’t open just yet, but we think we’ve figured out how to do it. We have a few things to gather to make it work, and I’m certain one of those things is you.”
“What if I think about your plan and decide I still want no part in it?”
“I don’t think that will be a problem.” Azazel’s toothy grin made Sam think of things that liked to bite. “You’ve been telling yourself that all you want is a quiet life, but I think we both know you want what all your people want. You want out of this prison. You’d give anything to get your dear old dad and brother out of here alive too, wouldn’t you?”
Sam had no difficulty seeing that comment for the threat that it was. “I think I’ll be leaving now.”
“Oh no, you stay,” Azazel insisted, already backing away. “I got what I wanted--you’re already thinking about the plan. I’ll be seeing you around, Sam.” The dragon-snake faded back into the shadows, his glowing eyes the last things to disappear.
***
Sam looked over the small collection of items spread in front of him. The journal he’d been using to record what he’d learned from the library was accompanied by a rune inscribed quill pen that never ran dry or blotted. Hunters wrote down all they learned and heard and old habits died hard. He sought out the few books and scrolls in the library that made mention of portal magic. A hunting knife inscribed with runes of strength and sharpness was the only weapon currently in his possession, but he could make a spear or steal a weapon from one of the monsters in the Labyrinth that used them. A water skin and a few flat loaves of bread rounded out his possessions. He bundled all of the items together into a small pack that he slung on his back.
He could hardly believe he was going back into the Labyrinth, but in a twist he never would have foreseen, he truly believed he would feel safer hidden among the perils there than staying under the scheming eyes of the dragon-snakes. He still wasn’t entirely sure what they wanted from him, but he’d decided not to give it to them.
He’d let himself get too comfortable here, too sloppy. “One thing you must never do, boys,” he heard his father’s voice in the back of his mind, “is be predictable. It leaves too many openings to exploit.” He could only hope that breaking the pattern he’d fallen into would come as a surprise to the dragon-snakes, giving him time to disappear into the last place any sane, escaped Patryn except the late Xar would ever go.
He didn’t plan to actively seek out his family--he clearly remembered his father’s last words to him--but if he happened to come across them, it was only common courtesy to warn them.
His time away from life as a Hunter had not robbed him of his ability to move silently when he chose, and he slipped out of the Patryn encampment and headed for the Final Gate of the Labyrinth, stubbornly willing himself the courage to enter that hated place again. He was so focused, he never saw the red eyes watching him leave from the shadows.
Previous || Master Post || Next
Haplo sat by a small cook fire and watched the others around him without participating. He knew he should interact more with the others, that he was expected to be an ambassador of sorts between his people and the others now trapped in the Labyrinth with them. Just as the meaning of his name, “alone,” implied, Haplo was much happier on his own. It was why he had been eager to be assigned the scouting mission to the other worlds.
He understood the need to band together now, though. The Labyrinth had begun to behave differently. He wondered if it was the presence of a large group of Sartan here after such a long absence or simply that it sensed a more powerful and focused threat to itself with all the dragons and dragon-snakes here as well, but the Labyrinth had begun throwing larger and more organized groups of monsters at them. Marit was back in his life, but only time would tell whether they could make it work this time or if they would only bring one another more pain. Their daughter, Rue, was also somewhere out there in this suddenly even more deadly realm.
In Haplo’s recollection, monsters roamed all areas of the Labyrinth, and though wolfen packs were known to reach numbers greater than sixty, most groups of creatures were fairly small. On occasion, if a squatter settlement grew very large or an area seemed unusually peaceful, the prison would whip up a plague or other catastrophe, for the Patryn people were not allowed to be happy in this place, but Haplo had never seen anything like the swarms of creatures the Labyrinth was throwing at them now.
He scratched absently at his scarred heart rune. The injury inflicted by the dragon-snake Sang-drax had disrupted his magical abilities severely. They had yet to fully recover, and though he was still confident he could hold his own in battle, he couldn’t help but feel like a liability at times.
He reached down to his side, palm open, expecting the nuzzle of a cold nose and perhaps a lick, then frowned at the habit he had developed when he was uneasy. The dog wasn’t here anymore. Well, if Alfred was to be believed, it was, but Haplo was still having trouble accepting the idea that he had somehow conjured the animal from himself, a physical representation of his soul. He was also frustrated by his sadness at its loss because shouldn’t he be able to create it again, if he wanted it here?
Refusing to dwell on such self-centered sentimentality when there was work to be done and battles to be fought, Haplo had just risen to his feet when the ground in the area heaved mightily, knocking him back to the ground along with most of the others nearby. There was a bright flash of light in the distance, and Haplo revised his initial assessment that the tremor was a product of the Labyrinth because he would know the telltale glow of rune magic anywhere.
He and several others rushed to the site where the light was just beginning to dim and fade away. There was a crater in the ground, as though something had been flung to this place from a great distance. At the bottom of the sunken area was a body, and had the person truly fallen with enough force to create the depression, he or she should merely be a smear on the landscape. Even the protective rune magic of the Patryns could not grant full immunity from certain catastrophic traumas. Whatever powerful magic had transported the man, for now Haplo could see the person was a male Patryn, must have also been intended to make certain he arrived at his destination alive.
His rune tattoos showed no indication of the glow representative of immediate danger, so Haplo slid down the side of the shallow pit to get a closer look. It soon became evident that this man had not cast the transportation magic himself. He was deep in healing sleep, and it appeared that had not been a voluntary decision either--his hands were bound together with strips of cloth to keep the circle joined. Even though his healing was progressing, the young man had clearly taken a severe beating, the bruising and gashes still plain to see, his clothing torn and bloody. A faint glow came from the left side of the man’s chest, and at first Haplo thought it was his heart rune, but instead it was a complicated sigil Haplo did not recognize drawn directly on top of the heart rune in what appeared to be blood.
Haplo was reminded of the magic Alfred had wrought upon the child Bane and the assassin Hugh the Hand, a spell that brought both back from the dead. The rune was in the Patryn style, not Sartan, but that did not mean the other man might not have some insight into the matter. With the healing circle enforced as it was, Haplo saw no reason the man couldn’t be moved some place more convenient.
“Someone help me carry him into camp,” Haplo called up to the others peering down at the unconscious man curiously.
***
“I’m afraid I can’t make any sense of the meaning of the rune,” Alfred said with an apologetic sigh. He traced the mark with a long finger, never quite making contact with the skin of the sleeping man. “However, the location would seem to imply that it directly affects his life.”
“Parts of it look a little like runes used to imbue exchange,” Haplo offered, “but an exchange of what and for what? When we heal one another, our life forces come in contact, but that’s not a direct trade, and it wouldn’t require this extra magic.”
“Perhaps when he awakens he can tell us more?” Alfred mused.
“If he even knows anything,” Haplo grunted. “I think he may have already been out cold when this was done to him.”
Suspicious mumbling around them prompted both Haplo and Alfred to look up from their charge to find Zifnab’s dragon companion and several other men he knew to be other dragons of Pryan approaching. The crazy old wizard wasn’t with them, thankfully, but the insufferable old fool was bound to make an appearance later. Zifnab’s dragon could never be said to be particularly cheerful, but his especially dour expression at the moment meant that whatever reason the dragon had for seeking out Haplo, Alfred, or both of them was nothing good.
The dragon’s human disguises were all unique in physical appearance, and Haplo wondered whether it was actual individual preference or simply that they understood that the people they were allied with were distinct and it was an effort to assimilate better. If that was the case, it wasn’t entirely effective because all of the dragons exhibited the same impassive and somewhat intrigued expression on their otherwise different faces when they dealt with non-dragons, as though they were gazing at fascinating bugs in a jar.
The dragon gestured to another of the creatures next to him with tousled dark hair and blue eyes. “One of our brethren has returned from scouting the activity of the agents of Chaos.”
“I assume he learned something?” Haplo hadn’t been aware that the dragon-snakes were under surveillance. The dragons of Pryan didn’t share very much with their so-called “allies.” Whether this was because they didn’t trust the ragtag group of Patryns and Sartan or simply felt they were incapable of contributing much to the plan of action was unclear.
The darker-haired dragon opened his mouth to speak, then abruptly closed it again and stared intently at the unconscious Patryn. Haplo knew the dragons had assigned themselves names, or in their own words “designations,” to make it easier to address them individually, but Haplo always found himself referring mentally to the first he’d met as “Zifnab’s dragon,” and he didn’t think he’d ever met this other one. He noticed that this new dragon wasn’t the only one fascinated with the strange Patryn--all the dragons were staring at the prone form.
“This man was not here before,” the dragon stated, finally looking up to lock eyes with Haplo. “When did he arrive?”
“Not long ago,” Haplo answered vaguely, deciding not to go into detail about the strange circumstances of the man’s appearance. He wasn’t sure why he was so hesitant to divulge the information. Perhaps the dragons weren’t the only parties slow to trust.
The dragon turned his gaze to Zifnab’s dragon and they shared a long look. Haplo suspected it had something to do with the scouting report, and now he was very eager to hear it.
The dark-haired dragon looked back at the unconscious man, crouched beside him, and reached out a hand slowly toward the Patryn’s left shoulder. He paused, just short of physical contact, the hesitance unusual in creatures that otherwise seemed so sure of themselves. Before he could close the remaining distance, the Patryn’s eyes shot open and he bolted upright, shoving the dragon away.
The dragon, and all his companions for that matter, looked completely taken aback. The dragon rubbed the spot on his chest where the Patryn had pushed him and Haplo realized why they were so shocked--the dragon was injured. Much like the dragon-snakes, the dragons of Pryan were all but impossible to physically harm, but this Patryn had somehow done it without even trying. Haplo had only seen the like when Alfred had assumed his “Serpent Mage” form, and that had required complex magic.
The man had his eyes closed, one hand held to his head as he swayed slightly. His return to consciousness looked to be short-lived.
“Where am I?” he mumbled hoarsely.
“You’re among friends,” Alfred told him in a soothing tone.
The man let out a short, harsh bark of bitter laughter. “I have no friends. I don’t have anyone.” With those words, he slumped to the ground again.
***
When the strange Patryn came to his senses again, it was to find himself surrounded by the dragons, Haplo and a few other Patryns, and Alfred. The man’s eyes darted about like a caged animal, and Haplo had no desire to fend off magical or physical attacks brought on by panic. He took a large step back, gesturing for those next him to do the same. The increase in personal space, however slight, calmed them man somewhat, though he still looked at them all suspiciously and remained sullenly silent.
When no one else seemed inclined to approach the young man, and deciding one of his own people might seem less threatening, Haplo spoke, careful to keep his tone neutral. “You arrived here very suddenly and strangely. I don’t mean to pry, but we’d very much like to know if we should be watching for something chasing after you.”
The stranger looked down at himself and traced his fingertips over wounds that were even now fading away as his body healed itself. “I don’t know how I wound up here,” he admitted. He looked up to meet Haplo’s eyes for a moment, as though daring the older man to accuse him of lying. “I’m not even sure where ‘here’ is.”
His eyes widened in alarm as he was informed of their current location not far from the Vortex and the center of the Labyrinth. Clearly, his body had been transported even farther than Haplo might have first guessed.
“I have to go,” he announced after a moment of thought. “I didn’t intend any harm or intrusion,” he added by way of a hasty and only half sincere apology. Haplo wondered what task could be so urgent that the man wasn’t even curious about the large gathering of uneasy allies.
“Wait!” Alfred reached after him as he turned away, pulling his hand back after an unfriendly glare from the stranger. “You’ve only just finished healing; a bit of rest would be a good idea. This camp would be a safe place to do so.”
“You’re not a Patryn,” the man observed, then cocked his head at the group of dragons, “and neither are they. I don’t always feel safe among my own people--what makes you think it would be any different with you?”
Alfred gaped like a fish out of water for a few moments as he tried to think of a response. Zifnab’s dragon stepped in before he was successful.
“You possess a unique level of potential,” the dragon stated bluntly. “This power would be of great help to us in the battles to come. I’m afraid we cannot let you simply wander away now that we have found you.”
The man squared his jaw and took a defensive stance. “And I’m afraid that if you want me to stay, you’re going to have to make me.” He shifted almost imperceptibly, perhaps uneasy under the unblinking gaze of all the dragons. “Why are you so interested in me, anyway? It looks like you’ve got plenty of my people around to choose from.”
“What we seek isn’t in any of the others here,” Zifnab’s dragon insisted. “It’s in your blood.”
***
Sam walked unhurried down the empty streets of the Nexus. He was one of the few who ever ventured this far into the city proper. The other Patryns had no need for the comforts of the city their jailers built for them; in fact, most were insulted by the very sight of it--the “reward” at the end of their “rehabilitation.” They used a few of the buildings on the edges of the city, but it was mostly out of necessity. Sam himself had no admiration for the architecture or efficient layout, he was drawn to this place for the knowledge to be found in the books and scrolls left here by the Sartan.
He knew he was an oddity among his people because he would rather exercise his mind than his body or his magic. While Lord Xar’s army prepared for his conquest of the sundered worlds, Sam slowly taught himself the language of the Sartan texts and worked his way through them. On occasion Xar would allow Sam to discuss something he had read, offering insight from his considerable experience, but as he had promised, he never pressed Sam to change his mind about fighting for his cause. Now he was gone.
The dragon-snakes brought the news of Xar’s death to his forces, spinning a tale of betrayal and conspiracy. Eager to avenge the great man who had saved their lives and given them an outlet for their hatred of the Sartan, the army allowed the creatures to redirect them against the Sartan and a group of dragons now trapped in this place with them after the fall of Death’s Gate.
Sam suspected the dragon-snakes were not entirely truthful in their rendition of the events surrounding Xar’s defeat, and he was certain many others felt the same, even if they didn’t outwardly show it. However, with no evidence to prove a lie, they were obliged to grant the dragon-snakes grudging respect. Sam tried to have as little to do with them as possible. He had never fought for Xar, whom he had grown to respect, so he wasn’t about to take up arms for such highly suspect “allies.” It certainly didn’t stop them from asking.
The library building was near the Nexus’ central tower. Sam had walked this route so many times that he didn’t even need to think about where he was going. Usually, he used the time to contemplate what he’d read the previous day, but today he couldn’t focus. He tried to remain externally calm, but he had the distinct impression that he was being watched. It wasn’t likely to be another Patryn--they’d hated this place before the loss of Lord Xar, and now it was like some kind of giant monument to his memory. That left only the dragon-snakes.
Sam entered the library and moved to the location of the current book he was reading, retrieved it, and took a seat at a table. He opened it to the page where he’d stopped the evening before, but he only pretended to be perusing the text. He suspected that his silent observer would be approaching soon.
Sure enough, a figure seemed to take form out of the shadows in a dark corner of the room. Sam suppressed a scoff. The dragon-snakes were prone to dramatic entrances, but if they hoped to provoke fear, they’d picked the wrong people to target. The Patryn race had practically made an art of suppressing fear. Still, Sam’s tattoos radiated a soft, blue light, signaling an unconscious reaction to potential danger. The figure’s eyes glowed crimson for a moment before he stepped out into the light and approached the table.
“Good evening, Sam,” the dragon-snake greeted him. The familiarity with which the creature used his name was irritating, both for the implication that were close in any way and for the fact that Sam could not readily recall the name the dragon-snake called himself. Sam felt his flesh crawl at the pure wrongness that seemed to ooze from the thing in front of him.
The dragon-snakes’ true forms were enormous and disturbing to behold, or so Sam had heard, but he almost thought anything would be better than the mockery of this guise. At first glance, the other occupant of the room appeared to be another Patryn, but closer examination revealed that what would be the carefully ordered and interconnected rune work of the tattoos on a true Patryn was a chaotic jumble on one of these creatures.
“You don’t need to bother with fake pleasantries,” Sam stated coolly, never looking up from the book. “Whatever it is that you want from me, I’m still not interested in giving it to you.”
“How can you be so certain,” the dragon-snake asked with a smirk, “when you haven’t even heard what I have to say?”
Sam didn’t argue that the request was always the same because it would simply be a waste of breath. He decided to just wait out the usual speech. Eventually the dragon-snake would leave and he would finally be left to study in solitude.
“I’m not here to convince you to join the battle front.” Sam looked up at that, expression skeptical. The dragon-snake grinned, eyes flashing red again for a moment. “I have a proposition much better suited to a man of more...intellectual pursuits.”
“So...” Sam paused, waiting for the dragon-snake to supply a name.
“You can call me Azazel.”
“You really believe the fact that it’s mentally challenging makes a difference?” Sam fought hard to keep the curiosity out of his expression. He told himself it was self-preservation. If the dragon-snakes were up to something new, he should know what it was, just in case.
“It does to you,” the creature insisted in a low, conspiratorial tone, as if anyone else were around to hear. “You’re not like the others here in the Nexus.” It almost seemed to Sam that the dragon-snake meant more than just his interest in reading. “You’re special, Sam, and we’ve got a plan that simply can’t go on without you.”
“Why should I believe anything you say?”
“Believe me or don’t,” Azazel declared with a casual shrug. “I’ll say my piece and you’ll think about. That’s all I want, you know--for you to think about it.” Sam didn’t give any acknowledgement, but the dragon-snake apparently took his lack of response as a cue to continue. “By now, you’ve heard about Death’s Gate and how it can’t be used to leave here anymore. Well, there’s an old saying that whenever one door closes, another one opens. Truth is, the other door isn’t open just yet, but we think we’ve figured out how to do it. We have a few things to gather to make it work, and I’m certain one of those things is you.”
“What if I think about your plan and decide I still want no part in it?”
“I don’t think that will be a problem.” Azazel’s toothy grin made Sam think of things that liked to bite. “You’ve been telling yourself that all you want is a quiet life, but I think we both know you want what all your people want. You want out of this prison. You’d give anything to get your dear old dad and brother out of here alive too, wouldn’t you?”
Sam had no difficulty seeing that comment for the threat that it was. “I think I’ll be leaving now.”
“Oh no, you stay,” Azazel insisted, already backing away. “I got what I wanted--you’re already thinking about the plan. I’ll be seeing you around, Sam.” The dragon-snake faded back into the shadows, his glowing eyes the last things to disappear.
***
Sam looked over the small collection of items spread in front of him. The journal he’d been using to record what he’d learned from the library was accompanied by a rune inscribed quill pen that never ran dry or blotted. Hunters wrote down all they learned and heard and old habits died hard. He sought out the few books and scrolls in the library that made mention of portal magic. A hunting knife inscribed with runes of strength and sharpness was the only weapon currently in his possession, but he could make a spear or steal a weapon from one of the monsters in the Labyrinth that used them. A water skin and a few flat loaves of bread rounded out his possessions. He bundled all of the items together into a small pack that he slung on his back.
He could hardly believe he was going back into the Labyrinth, but in a twist he never would have foreseen, he truly believed he would feel safer hidden among the perils there than staying under the scheming eyes of the dragon-snakes. He still wasn’t entirely sure what they wanted from him, but he’d decided not to give it to them.
He’d let himself get too comfortable here, too sloppy. “One thing you must never do, boys,” he heard his father’s voice in the back of his mind, “is be predictable. It leaves too many openings to exploit.” He could only hope that breaking the pattern he’d fallen into would come as a surprise to the dragon-snakes, giving him time to disappear into the last place any sane, escaped Patryn except the late Xar would ever go.
He didn’t plan to actively seek out his family--he clearly remembered his father’s last words to him--but if he happened to come across them, it was only common courtesy to warn them.
His time away from life as a Hunter had not robbed him of his ability to move silently when he chose, and he slipped out of the Patryn encampment and headed for the Final Gate of the Labyrinth, stubbornly willing himself the courage to enter that hated place again. He was so focused, he never saw the red eyes watching him leave from the shadows.
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