Margaret Weis & Tracy Hickman - Deathgate Cycle 5 - The Hand of Chaos

INTRODUCTION

TO THE

FOUR REALMS

I AM CALLED HAPLO.

My name means single, alone. It was given to me by my parents as a sort of

prophecy, for they knew they would not survive the prison into which my

people, the Patryns, had been cast—the prison of dark and terrible magics

known as the Labyrinth.

I became a Runner—one who fights the Labyrinth. I was one of the lucky ones I

made it through the Final Gate, though I very nearly perished in the attempt.

If it had not been for this sausage-stealing dog who sits here beside me, I

would not be here, penning this account. The dog gave me the will to live when

I would have given up and died. He saved my life.

The dog gave me the will to live, but my lord Xar gave me a reason to live, a

purpose.

Xar was the first Patryn to escape the Labyrinth. He is old and powerful,

highly skilled in the rune-magic that gives both the Patryns and our enemies,

the Sartan, our strength. Xar escaped the Labyrinth, then immediately went

back into it. No other has ever had the courage to do so, and even now he

risks his life daily to rescue us.

Many of us have emerged from the Labyrinth. We live in the Nexus, which we

have made into a beautiful city. But have we been rehabilitated as our captors

had intended?

An impatient people, we learned patience in that hard school. A selfish

people, we learned self-sacrifice, loyalty. Above all, we learned to hate.

It is my lord Xar's goal—our goal—to take back the world that was snatched

from us, to rule it as we were always meant to rule, and to inflict dire

punishment on our enemies.

The realms used to be but one world, one beautiful green-blue world. It

belonged to us and the Sartan, for our rune-magic made us powerful. The other,

lesser races, whom we call mensch—the humans, elves, and dwarves—worshiped us

as gods.

But the Sartan thought we Patryns were gaining too much control. The balance

of power started to shift in our favor. Furious, the Sartan did the only thing

they could to stop us. Using their rune-magic—the magic based on

probabilities— the Sartan sundered the world and cast us into prison.

They formed four new worlds out of the rubble of the old, each from an element

of the original: air, fire, stone, water. The four are connected by the

magical Death's Gate—conduits through which those possessing the rune-magic

may safely travel. The four worlds should have worked to support each other:

Pryan, the world of fire, would supply energy to Abarrach, the world of stone.

Abarrach would supply ores and minerals to Chelestra, world of water, and so

forth. All was to be coordinated and fueled by a wondrous machine, the

Kicksey-winsey, which the Sartan constructed on Arianus.

But the plans of the Sartan went awry. Their populations on each of the worlds

began to mysteriously dwindle and die out. The Sartan on each world called for

help from the others, but their pleas went unanswered. Each world had its own

troubles.

I discovered this, you see, because it was my task—assigned to me by Xar—to

travel to each of the worlds. I was to spy them out and discover what had

happened to our ancient enemy. And so, I visited each realm. The complete

record of my adventures can be found in my journals, which have come to be

known as The Death Gate Cycle.

What I learned was a complete surprise. My discoveries changed my life—and not

for the better. When I set forth, I had all the answers. Now, I am left only

with questions.

My lord blames my unsettled state of mind on a Sartan I met during my travels.

A Sartan who calls himself by a mensch name—Alfred Montbank. And at first, I

agreed with my lord. I blamed Alfred, I was convinced he was tricking me.

But now, I am not so certain. I doubt everything—myself... my lord.

Let me try to teil you—in brief—what happened to me.

ARIANUS

The first world I visited was the world of air, Arianus. It is made up of

floating continents that exist on three levels. The Low Realm is the home of

the dwarves, and it is here, on Drevlin, that the Sartan built the great and

wondrous machine, the Kicksey-winsey. But before the Sartan could get the

machine working, they began to die. Panic-stricken, they placed their young

people into a state of suspended animation, hoping that when they awoke, the

situation would have stabilized.

But only one of the Sartan survived—Alfred. He awoke to find himself the only

one of his friends and family still alive. The knowledge appalled him,

terrified him. He felt responsible for the chaos into which his world had

fallen—for the mensch were, of course, on the brink of all-out war. Yet he was

afraid of revealing the truth about himself. His rune-magic would give him the

power of a demigod over the mensch. He feared that the mensch would try to

force him to use his magic for their own destructive ends. And so Alfred hid

his power, refused to use it even to save himself. Today, whenever he is

threatened, instead of fighting back with his strong magic, Alfred faints.

The dog and I crash-landed on Arianus and nearly died. We were rescued by a

dwarf named Limbeck. The dwarves on Arianus are slaves to the Kicksey-winsey,

serving it mindlessly as it works away mindlessly, lacking any direction. But

Limbeck is a revolutionary, a freethinker. The dwarves were, at that time,

under the thumb of a strong nation of elves, who had set up a dictatorship on

the Mid Level of Arianus. The elves therefore control the only supply of fresh

water in the world, water that comes from the Kicksey-winsey.

The humans, who also dwell in the Mid Realm, have been at war with the elves

over water for most of the history of Arianus. The war raged on during my time

there, and the battle continues now—with one significant difference. An elven

prince has arisen who wants peace, unity among the races. This prince has

started a rebellion against his own people, but the only result, so far, has

been to cause more chaos.

I managed to assist Limbeck, the dwarf, in leading his people in a revolt

against both the humans and elves. And when I left, I brought with me a human

child—a changeling named Bane—who had figured out the secret to the

Kicksey-winsey. Once the machine is up and running, as the Sartan intended it

to be, then my lord will use its power to begin his conquest of the other

worlds.

I would have liked to have brought another mensch back with me—a human named

Hugh the Hand. A highly skilled assassin, Hugh was the one of the few mensch

I've met whom I could have accepted as a trusted ally. Unfortunately, Hugh the

Hand died fighting Bane's father, an evil human wizard. And who did I get for

a traveling companion?

Alfred.

But that is skipping ahead.

While I was on Arianus, I came across Alfred, who was acting as a servant to

the child Bane. I am ashamed to admit it, but Alfred discovered I was a Patryn

long before I knew he was a Sartan. When I found out, I intended to kill him,

but, at the moment, I had enough to do to save my own life...

But that is a long story.* Suffice it to say, I was forced to leave Arianus

without settling my score with the one Sartan who had fallen into my grasp.

*Dragon Wing, vol. I of The Death Gate Cycle.

PRYAN

The next world the dog and I visited was Pryan, world of fire. Pryan is a

gigantic world, a hollow sphere of rock, its size nearly incomprehensible to

the mind. Its sun burns in the center. Life and vegetation exist on the rock's

inner crust. Because the world does not rotate, Pryan's sun shines

continually— there is no night. Consequently, Pryan is a world of jungle life

so thick and heavy that few who live on the planet have ever seen the ground.

Entire cities are built in the limbs of huge trees, whose strong branches

support lakes, even oceans.

One of the first people I met on Pryan was a daft old wizard and the dragon

who appears to be the old man's keeper. The wizard calls himself Zifnab (when

he can remember to call himself anything at all!), and gives every indication

of being a raving lunatic. Except that there are times when his madness is all

too sane. He knows too much, this befuddled old fool; knows too much about me,

about the Patryns, about the Sartan, about everything. He knows too much, yet

tells exactly nothing.

Here on Pryan, as on Arianus, the mensch are at war with each other. Elves

hate the humans, the humans mistrust the elves, the dwarves hate and mistrust

everybody. I should know. I traveled with a bunch of humans, elves, and a

dwarf. You never saw such quarreling and bickering and fighting. I grew sick

of them and left. I have no doubt that they've all probably killed each other

by now. That, or the tytans have slaughtered them.

The tytans.

I encountered many fearsome monsters in the Labyrinth, but few equaled the

tytans. Gigantic humanoids, blind, with limited intelligence, the tytans are

magical creations of the Sartan, who used them as overseers for the mensch. So

long as the Sartan survived, they kept the tytans under control. But on Pryan,

as on Arianus, the Sartan race mysteriously began to dwindle. The tytans were

left without instruction, without supervision. Now they wander Pryan in large

numbers, asking all the mensch they meet these strange questions:

"Where are the citadels? What is our purpose?"

When they receive no answer, the tytans fly into a rage and beat the wretched

mensch to death. Nothing, no one, can withstand these terrible creatures, for

they possess a rudimentary form of Sartan rune-magic. They came very close to

destroying me, in fact, but that too is another tale.*

* Elven Star, vol. 2 of The Death Gate Cycle.

And what is the answer to their question? Where are the citadels? What are the

citadels? This became my question as well. And I found at least part of the

answer.

The citadels are shining cities, built by the Sartan upon their arrival on

Pryan. As near as I can determine from records the Sartan left behind, the

citadels were intended to gather energy from Pryan's constantly burning sun

and transmit that energy to the other worlds, through Death's Gate, via the

power of the Kicksey-winsey. But Death's Gate remained closed; the

Kicksey-winsey didn't work. The citadels are empty, deserted. Their lights

shine feebly, if at all.

ABARRACH

I traveled next to Abarrach, world of stone.

And it was on this journey I picked up my unwanted traveling companion:

Alfred, the Sartan.

Alfred had been navigating Death's Gate in a futile attempt to locate Bane,

the child I'd taken from Arianus. Alfred bungled it, of course. The man can't

walk without falling over his own shoelaces. He missed his destination and

landed in my ship.

At this point, I made a mistake. Alfred was now my captive. I should have

returned him immediately to my lord. Xar would have been able to elicit,

painfully, all the secrets of this Sartan's soul.

But my ship had just entered Abarrach. I was loath to leave it, loath to

travel back through Death's Gate—a fearsome, disturbing journey. And, to be

honest, I wanted to keep Alfred around awhile. Passing through Death's Gate,

we had—quite unintentionally—switched bodies. For a short while, I found

myself in Alfred's mind, with his thoughts, fears, memories. He found himself

in mine. Each of us returned to his own body, but I know I was not quite the

same—though it was long before I could admit it to myself.

I had come to know and understand my enemy. And that made it difficult to

continue to hate him. Besides, as it turned out, we needed each other for our

very survival.

Abarrach is a terrible world. Cold stone on the outside, molten rock and lava

on the inside. The mensch the Sartan brought here could not long live in its

hellish caverns. It took all our magical strength—both Alfred's and mine—to

survive the blistering heat rising from the molten oceans, the poisonous fumes

that fill the air. But people live on Abarrach.

And so do the dead.

It was here, on Abarrach, that Alfred and I discovered debased descendants of

his race—the Sartan. And it was here we found the tragic answer to what had

happened to his people. These Sartan on Abarrach had begun to use the

forbidden art of necromancy. The Sartan were raising the dead, giving them a

semblance of cursed life, using the corpses of their own people as slaves.

According to Alfred, this arcane art was prohibited anciently because it was

discovered that whenever one of the dead is brought back to life, one of the

living will die untimely. Either the Sartan on Abarrach had forgotten the

prohibition—or were ignoring it.

Having survived the Labyrinth, I thought myself hardened, inured to the sight

of almost any atrocity. But the walking dead of Abarrach still haunt my

darkest dreams. I tried to convince myself that necromancy would prove a most

valuable skill to my lord. An army of the dead is indestructible, invincible,

undefeatable. With such an army, my lord could easily conquer the other

worlds, without the tragic waste of the lives of my people.

I very nearly ended up a corpse myself, on Abarrach. The thought of my body

continuing to live on in mindless drudgery horrified me. I could not bear the

thought of this happening to others. I resolved, therefore, not to tell my

lord that the art of necromancy was being practiced by the Sartan on that

wretched world. That was my first act of rebellion against my lord.

It was not to be my last.

Another experience happened to me on Abarrach, one that is painful,

perplexing, irritating, confusing, yet inspires me with awe whenever I recall

it.

Fleeing pursuit, Alfred and I stumbled into a room known as the Chamber of the

Damned. Through the magic of that chamber I was transported back in time,

thrust again into another body, the body of a Sartan. And it was then, during

this strange and magical experience, that I encountered a higher power. I was

given to know that I was not a demigod, as I had always believed, that the

magic I controlled was not the strongest force in the universe.

Another, stronger force exists, a benevolent force, a force that seeks only

goodness and order and peace. In the body of this unknown Sartan, I longed to

contact this force, but before I could, other Sartan—fearful of our newfound

truth—swept into the chamber and cut us down. Those of us gathered in that

chamber died there. All knowledge of us and our discovery was lost, except for

a mysterious prophecy.

When I awoke, in my own time, in my own body, I could only imperfectly

remember what I had seen and heard. And I tried very hard to forget even that

much. I didn't want to face the fact that—compared to this power—I was as weak

as any mensch. I accused Alfred of attempting to trick me, of creating this

illusion himself. He denied it, of course. He swore that he had experienced

exactly the same thing that I did.

I refused to believe him.

We barely escaped Abarrach with our lives.* When we left, the Sartan on that

dreadful world were busy destroying each other, turning the living into

lazar—dead bodies whose souls are eternally trapped inside their lifeless

shells. Different from the ambulating corpses, the lazar are far more

dangerous, for they have minds and purpose—dark and dread purpose.

I was glad to leave such a world. Once inside Death's Gate, I let Alfred go

his way, as I went mine. He had, after all, saved my life. And I was sick of

death, of pain, of suffering. I'd seen enough.

I knew well what Xar would do to Alfred, if my lord got hold of him.

*Fire Sea, vol. 3 of The Death Gate Cycle.

CHELESTRA

I returned to the Nexus, made my report on Abarrach to my lord in the form of

a message, for I feared that if I had to face Xar, I could not hide the truth

from him. But Xar knew I lied. He sought me out before I had a chance to

escape from the Nexus. He chastised me, very nearly killed me. I deserved the

punishment. The physical pain I endured was far easier to bear than the pain

of my guilt. I ended up telling Xar everything I had found on Abarrach. I told

him about the art of necromancy, about the Chamber of the Damned, about the

higher power.

My lord forgave me. I felt cleansed, whole. All my questions had been

answered. I once more knew my purpose, my goal. They were Xar's. I was Xar's.

I traveled to Chelcstra— the world of water—strong in my resolve to renew my

lord's faith in me.

And here an odd circumstance occurred. The dog—my constant companion ever

since he saved my life in the Labyrinth—disappeared. I searched for the beast,

for though he is a nuisance sometimes, I'd grown used to having him around. He

was gone. I felt bad about this, but only for a while. I had more important

matters on my mind.

Chelestra is a world comprised solely of water. Drifting in the cold depths of

space, its outer surface is made up of solid ice. But inside Chelestra, the

Sartan placed a sun that burns magically in the water, lights and warms the

world's interior.

The Sartan intended to control the sun, but they discovered that they lacked

the power. And so the sun drifts freely through the water, warming only

certain areas of Chelestra at one time, leaving others to freeze until the

sun's return. Mensch live on Chelestra, on what are known as seamoons. Sartan

live on Chelestra, as well, although I did not know this at first.

My arrival on Chelestra was not propitious. My ship plunged into the water and

instantly began breaking apart. The destruction was astonishing, since my ship

was protected by rune-magic on the outside and very few forces—certainly not

ordinary seawater—could break down the powerful runes.

Unfortunately, this was not ordinary seawater.

I was forced to abandon my vessel and found myself swimming in a vast,

unending ocean. I knew I must surely drown, but I discovered—to my pleasure

and amazement—that I could breathe the water as easily as I breathed air. I

also discovered—with far less pleasure—that the water had the effect of

completely destroying my rune-magic, leaving me powerless, helpless as a

mensch.

On Chelestra, I uncovered additional evidence of a higher power. However, this

power is not working for good, but for evil. It thrives on fear, feeds on

terror, delights in inflicting pain. It lives only to promote chaos, hatred,

destruction.

Embodied in the forms of enormous dragon-snakes, the evil power very nearly

seduced me into serving it. I was saved by three mensch children, one of whom

later died in my arms. I saw the evil for what it was. I came to understand

that it was intent on destroying everything—including my people.

I determined to fight it, though I knew I could not win against it. This power

is immortal. It lives within each of us. We created it.

At first, I thought I fought alone, but someone joined me in the battle—my

friend, my enemy.

Alfred, too, had arrived on Chelestra, at about the same time I did, although

we landed in far different places. Alfred found himself in a crypt similar to

the one where most of his people lay dead on Arianus. But the people in the

crypt on Chelestra were alive—the Sartan Council, those who had been

responsible for the sundering of the world centuries ago.

Threatened by the evil dragon-snakes, unable to fight them due to the fact

that the seawater nullified their magic, the Sartan sent out a call for help

to their brethren. Then they placed themselves in suspended animation to await

the coming of other Sartan.

The only one who came—and he did so by accident—was Alfred.

Needless to say, he was not quite what the Council expected.

The head of the Council, Samah, is a mirror image of my lord, Xar (though

neither would thank me for the comparison!). Both are proud, ruthless,

ambitious. Both believe that they wield the ultimate power in the universe.

The thought that there might be a stronger force, a higher power, is anathema

to both of them.

Samah discovered that Alfred not only believed in this higher power, but that

he had actually come close to contacting it. Samah considered this open

rebellion. He attempted to break Alfred, destroy his faith. It was rather like

trying to break bread dough. Alfred meekly absorbed every punch, every blow.

He refused to recant, refused to accept Samah's dictates.

I must admit I almost felt sorry for Alfred. At last he had found the people

he so longed to find, only to discover that he couldn't trust them. Not only

that, he came to learn a terrible truth about the Sartan's past.

With the help of an unlikely confederate (my very own dog, to be exact),

Alfred accidentally stumbled (literally) into a secret Sartan library. Here he

discovered that Samah and the Council had discovered the existence of this

higher power. The Sundering had not been necessary. With the help of this

power, the Sartan could have worked for peace.

Samah did not want peace, however. He wanted the world his way—and only his

way. And so he broke the world apart. Unfortunately, when he tried to put it

back together, the world crumbled into smaller and smaller pieces, began to

slip through his fingers.

Alfred now knew the truth. Alfred became a threat to Samah.

But it was Alfred—meek, bumbling Alfred, who fainted at the very mention of

the word "danger"—who joined my fight against the dragon-snakes.* He saved my

life, the lives of the mensch, and very probably the lives of his own

ungrateful people.

*Serpent Mage, vol. 4 of The Death Gale Cycle.

Despite this—or perhaps because of it—Samah sentenced Alfred to a dire fate.

Samah cast Alfred and Orla, the woman who loves him, into the Labyrinth.

Now I am the only one left who knows the truth about the danger we face. The

evil forces embodied in the dragon-snakes do not seek to rule us—they desire

nothing that constructive. Suffering, agony, chaos, fear—this is their goal.

And they will attain it, unless we all join together to find some way to stop

them. For the dragon-snakes are powerful, far more powerful than any of us.

Far more powerful than Samah. Far more powerful than Xar.

I must convince my lord of this—a task that will not be easy. He already

suspects me of being a traitor. How can I prove to him that my loyalty to him,

to my people, was never greater than it is now?

And Alfred, what do I do about Alfred? The kind, vague, and bumbling Sartan

will not long survive the Labyrinth. I could return there to save him ... if I

dared.

But—I must admit to myself—I am afraid.

I am more afraid now than I have ever been in my life. The evil is very great,

very powerful, and I face it alone, as my name foretold.

Alone, except for a dog.

PROLOGUE

I WRITE THIS AS I SIT IN A SARTAN PRISON CELL, AWATTENG MY FREEDOM*

*Written in the human language, in Haplo's hand, the entry can be found in the

back of the journal left the Patryn by the dwarf maid, Grundle. Patryns

typically use mensch language to record events and thoughts, considering their

own magical nine language far too powerful to be used indiscriminately.

It will be a long time coming, I think, for the level of the seawater that

will free me is rising very slowly. Undoubtedly the water level is being

controlled by the mensch, who do not want to harm any of the Sartan, but

merely rid them of their magic.* The seawater of Chelestra is breathable as

air, but a wall of water sent crashing through the land would cause a

considerable amount of destruction. Remarkably practical-minded of the mensch

to think of such an angle. I wonder, though, how they have managed to force

the dragon-snakes— the serpents—to cooperate.

* Reference to the fact that the seawater on the world of Chelestra nullifies

tile powerful magics of both Sartan and Patryn. See Serpent Mage, vol. 4 of

The Death Gate Cycle.

The serpents* of Chelestra...

* "Dragon-snake" is a mensch term, coined by Grundle. The Sartan word for the

creature is "serpent." Haplo adopts the Sartan word used in this volume, a

change from his previous work. Why he made the change is unclear. One reason

suggests itself—he did not want to confuse these false "dragons" with the true

dragons who inhabit the worlds. Haplo used a Sartan word because the Patryns,

having never encountered this evil, have no word for it.

I knew evil before them—I was born in, survived, and escaped the Labyrinth.

But I have never known evil like them. It is these creatures who have taught

me to believe in a higher power—a power over which we have little control, a

power that is inherently evil.

Alfred, my old nemesis, you would be horrified, reading that statement. I can

almost hear you stuttering and stammering in protest.

"No, no! There is a corresponding power for good. We've seen it, you and I."

That is what you would tell me.

Did you see it, Alfred? And if so, where? Your own people denounced you as a

heretic, sent you to the Labyrinth, or so they threatened. And Samah doesn't

seem to me to be the type who makes threats lightly. What do you think of your

power for good now, Alfred? ... as you fight for your life in the Labyrinth.

I'll tell you what I think of it. I think it's a lot like you— weak and

bumbling. Although I must admit that you came through for us in our fight

against the serpents—if that was you who turned into the serpent mage, as

Grundle claimed.

But when it came to standing up for yourself against Samah (and I'll lay odds

that you could have taken the bastard), you "couldn't remember the spell." You

let yourself and the woman you love be led meekly away, sent to a place where,

if you are still alive, you probably wish you weren't.

The seawater is starting to seep under the door now. Dog doesn't know what to

make of it. He's barking at it, trying to convince it to turn around and

leave. I know how he feels. It is all I can do to sit here calmly and wait,

wait for the tepid liquid to creep over the toe of my boot, wait for the

terrible feeling of panic that comes when I feel my magic start to dissolve at

the water's touch.

The seawater is my salvation. I have to remind myself of that. Already, the

Sartan runes that keep me prisoner in this room are beginning to lose their

power. Their red glow fades. Eventually it will wink out altogether and then I

will be free.

Free to go where? Do what?

I must return to the Nexus, warn my lord of the danger of the serpents. Xar

will not believe it; he will not want to believe. He has always held himself

to be the most powerful force in the universe. And, certainly, he had every

reason to think that was true. The dark and dreadful might of the Labyrinth

could not crush him. Even now, he defies it daily to bring more of our people

out of that terrible prison.

But against the magical power of the evil serpents—and I begin to think they

are only evil's minions—Xar must fall. This dread, chaotic force is not only

strong, it is cunning and devious. It works its will by telling us what we

want to hear, by pandering to us and fawning on us and serving us. It does not

mind demeaning itself, it has no dignity, no honor. It uses lies made powerful

because they are lies we tell ourselves.

If this evil force enters Death's Gate, and nothing is done , to stop tt, I

foresee a time when this universe will become a prison house of suffering and

despair. The four worlds—Arianus, Pryan, Abarrach, and Chelestra—will be

consumed. The Labyrinth will not be destroyed as we had hoped. My people will

emerge from one prison only to find themselves in another.

I must make my lord believe! But how, when at times I am not certain that I

truly believe myself,...

The water is up to my ankle. Dog has given up barking. He is eyeing me with

reproach, demanding to know why we don't leave this uncomfortable place. He

tried lapping the water and got it up his nose.

No Sartan are visible on the street beneath my window, where the water now

flows in a wide and steady river. I can bear, in the distance, horn calls—the

mensch, probably, moving onto the Chalice, as the Sartan call this haven of

theirs. Good, that means there will be ships nearby—mensch submersibles. My

ship, the dwarven submersible I magically altered to take me through Death's

Gate, is moored back on Draknor, the ?Hide? of the serpents.

I don't look forward to going back there, but I have no choice. Rune-enhanced,

that ship is the only vessel on this world that can carry me safely through

Death's Gate. I have only to glance down at my legs, now wet with seawater, to

see blue runes tattooed on my skin fading. It will be a long tone before I

will be able to use my magic to alter another ship. And I am running out of

time. My people are running out of time. With luck, I can slip into Draknor

unnoticed, steal back my ship, and leave. The serpents must all be intent on

assisting the attack on the Chalice, although I think it is odd, and perhaps a

bad sign, that I've seen nothing of them. But, as I said, they are devious and

cunning and who knows what they are plotting?

Yes, dog, we're going. I trust dogs can swim. It seems to me I remember

hearing somewhere that all the lower forms of animals can swim enough to keep

themselves afloat.

It is man who thinks and panics and drowns.

CHAPTER 1

SURUNAN

CHELESTRA

THE SEAWATER RAN SLUGGISHLY THROUGH THE STREETS OF SURUNAN, the city built by

the Sartan. The water rose slowly, flowed through doors and windows, eased

over low rooftops. Fragments of Sartan life floated on the water's surface—an

unbroken pottery bowl, a man's sandal, a woman's comb, a wooden chair.

The water seeped into the room of Samah's house used by the Sartan as a prison

cell. The prison room was located on an upper floor and was, for a time, above

the rising tide. But, eventually, the seawater slid under the door, flowed

across the floor, crept up the room's walls. Its touch banished magic,

canceled it, nullified it. The dazzling runes, whose flesh-searing heat kept

Haplo from even approaching the door, sizzled... and went out. The runes that

guarded the window were the only ones yet left unaffected. Their bright glow

was reflected in the water below.

Prisoner of the magic, Haplo sat in enforced idleness watching the runes'

reflections in the rising seawater, watched them move and shift and dance with

the water's currents and

eddies. The moment the water touched the base of the runes on|the window, the

moment their glow began to glimmer and fade, Haplo stood up. The water came to

his knees.

The dog whined. Head and shoulders above the water, the fanimal was unhappy.

"This is it, boy. Time to leave." Haplo thrust the book in which he'd been

writing inside his shirt, secured it at his waist, tucked it between pants and

skin.

He noticed, as he did so, that the runes tattooed on his body had almost

completely faded. The seawater that was his blessing, that was allowing him to

escape, was also his curse. His magical power gone, he was helpless as a

newborn child, and had no mother's comforting, protecting arms to cradle him.

Margaret Weis & Tracy Hickman - Deathgate Cycle 5 - The Hand of Chaos

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