Margaret Weis - Dragon Wing

Be at ease, Haplo. come in and make yourself comfortable. Sit down. There are no formalities between us.

Allow me to fill your glass. We drink what was once called the stirrup cup, a salute to your long journey.

You like the port? Ah, my talents are many and manifold, as you know, but I begin to think that only timenot magiccan produce a truly fine port. At least thats what the old books teach. Ive no doubt our ancestors were right about that ... no matter how wrong they were in other things. There is something about the drink I miss, a warmth, a mellowness that comes with age. This port is too harsh, too aggressive. Fine qualities in men, Haplo, but not in wine.

So, you are prepared for your journey? Is there any need or want I can satisfy? Say so, and its yours. Nothing?

Ah, I do envy you. My thoughts will be with you every moment, waking and sleeping. Another salute. To you, Haplo, my emissary to an unsuspecting world.

And they must not suspect. I know weve been over this before, but I want to stress this again. The danger is great. If our ancient enemy catches even the slightest hint that weve escaped their prison, they will move land, sea, sun, and skyas they did onceto thwart us. Sniff them out, Haplo. Sniff them out as that dog of yours sniffs out a rat, but never let them catch a whiff of you.

Let me refill your glass. Another salute. This one to the Sartan. You hesitate to drink. Come. I insist. Your rage is your strength. Use it, it will give you energy. Therefore...

To the Sartan. They made us what we are.

How old are you, Haplo? You have no idea?

I knowtime has no meaning in the Labyrinth. Let me think. When I first saw you, you looked to be just over twenty-five years. A long life for those of the Labyrinth. A long life, and one that had almost ended.

How well I remember that time, five years ago, I was about to reenter the Labyrinth when you emerged. Bleeding, barely able to walk, dying. Yet you looked up at me with an expressionI will never forget itTriumph! You had escaped. You had beaten them. I saw that triumph in your eyes, in your exultant smile. And then you collapsed at my feet.

It was that expression which drew me to you, dear boy. I felt the same when I escaped from that hell so long ago. I was the first one, the first one to make it through alive.

Centuries ago, the Sartan thought to defeat our ambition by sundering the world that was ours by rights and throwing us into their prison. As you well know, the way out of the Labyrinth is long and tortuous. It took centuries to solve the twisting puzzle of our land. The old books say the Sartan devised this punishment in hopes that our bounding ambition and our cruel and selfish natures would be softened by time and suffering.

You must always remember their plan, Haplo. It will give you the strength youll need to do what I ask of you. The Sartan had dared to assume that, when we emerged into this world, we would be fit to take our places in any of the four realms we chose to enter.

Something went wrong. Perhaps youll discover what it was when you enter Death Gate. It seems, from what I have been able to decipher in the old books, that the Sartan were to have monitored the Labyrinth and kept its magic in check. But, either through malicious intent or for some other reason, they forsook their responsibility as caretakers of our prison. The prison gained a life of its owna life that knew only one thing, survival. And so, the Labyrinth, our prison, came to see us, its prisoners, as a threat. After the Sartan abandoned us, the Labyrinth, driven by its fear and hatred of us, turned deadly.

When at last I found my way out, I discovered the Nexus, this beautiful land the Sartan had established for our occupation. And I came across the books. Unable to read them at first, I worked and taught myself and soon learned their secrets. I read of the Sartan and their hopes for us and I laughed aloudthe first and only time in my life I have ever laughed. You understand me, Haplo. There is no joy in the Labyrinth.

But I will laugh again, when my plans are complete. When the four separate worldsFire, Water, Stone, and Skyare again one. Then I will laugh long and loudly.

Yes. Its time for you to leave. Youve been patient with the ramblings of your lord. Another salute.

To you, Haplo.

As I was the first to leave the Labyrinth and enter the Nexus, so you shall be the first to enter Death Gate and walk the worlds beyond.

The Realm of the Sky. Study it well, Haplo. Come to know the people. Search out their strengths and their weaknesses. Do what you can to cause chaos in the realm, but always be discreet. Keep your powers hidden. Above all, take no action that will draw the attention of the Sartan, for if they discover us before I am ready, we are lost.

Death first, before you betray us. I know you have the discipline and the courage to make that choice. But more important, Haplo, you have the skill and the wits to make such a choice unnecessary. This is why Ive chosen you for this mission.

You have one other task. Bring me someone from this realm who will serve as my disciple. Someone who will return to preach the word, my word, to the people. It can be someone of any raceelven, human, dwarven. Make certain that he or she is intelligent, ambitious, . . . and pliable.

In an ancient text, I came across a fitting analogy. You; Haplo, shall be the voice of one crying in the wilderness.

And now, a final salute. We will stand for this one.

To Death Gate. Prepare ye the way.

Yreni Prison, Dandrak, Mid Realm

The crudely built cart lurched and bounced over the rough coralite terrain, its iron wheels hitting every bump and pit in what passed for a road. The cart was being pulled by a tier, its breath snorting puffs in the chill air. It took one man to lead the stubborn and unpredictable bird while four more, stationed on either side of the vehicle, pushed and shoved the cart along. A small crowd, garnered from the outlying farms, had gathered in front of Yreni Prison, planning to escort the cart and its shameful burden to the city walls of Kelith. There, a much larger crowd awaited the carts arrival. Dayside was ending. The glitter of the firmament began to fade as the Lords of Night slowly drew the shadow of their cloaks over the afternoon stars. Nights gloom was fitting for this procession.

The country folkfor the most partkept their distance from the cart. They did this not out of fear of the tieralthough those huge birds had been known to suddenly turn and take a vicious snap at anyone approaching them from their blind sidebut out of fear of the carts occupant.

The prisoner was bound around the wrists by taut leather thongs attached to the sides of the cart, and his feet were manacled with heavy chains. Several sharp-eyed bowmen marched beside the cart, their feathered shafts nocked and ready to be let loose straight at the felons heart if he so much as twitched the wrong way. But such precautions did not appear to offer the carts followers much comfort. They kept their gazedark and watchfulfixed on the man inside as they trudged along behind at a respectful distance that markedly increased when the man turned his head. If theyd had a demon from Hereka chained up in that cart, the local farmers could not have gazed on it with any greater fear or awe.

The mans appearance alone was striking enough to arrest the eye and send a shiver over the skin. His age was indeterminate, for he was one of those men whom life has aged beyond cycles. His hair was black without a touch of gray. Sleeked back from a high, sloping forehead, it was worn braided at the nape of his neck. A jutting nose, like the beak of a hawk, thrust forward from between dark and overhanging brows. His beard was black and worn in two thin short braids twisted beneath a strong chin. His black eyes, sunken into high cheekbones, almost disappeared in the shadows of the overhanging brows. Almost, but not quite, for no darkness in this world, it seemed, could quench the flame that smoldered in those depths.