The Patryn remembered his lie. "Oh, that. No, it's only on my hands."

He held them out. Aleatha gave the bandages a look of faint disgust.

"A pity. I am frightfully bored." She leaned up against the door again, studying him languidly. "The man with the bandaged hands. Just like that old looney predicted. I wonder if the rest of what he said will come true." A slight frown marred the smooth, white forehead.

"He really said that?" Haplo asked.

"Said what?"

"About my hands? Predicted ... my coming?"

Aleatha shrugged. "Yes, he said it. Along with a lot of other nonsense, about my not being married. Doom and destruction coming. Flying a ship to the stars. I'm going to be married." Her lips tightened. "I've worked too hard, gone through too much. And I won't stay in this house any longer than I have to."

"Why would your father want to go to the stars?" Haplo recalled the object he'd seen from his ship, the twinkling light, sparkling brightly in the sun-drenched sky. He'd only seen one. There were more, apparently. "What does he know about them?"

"... lunar rover! Looked like a bug." The old man's voice rose shrill and querulous. "Crawled around and picked up rocks."

"Know about them!" Aleatha laughed again. Her eyes were warm and soft, dark and mysterious. "He doesn't know anything about them! No one does. Do you want to kiss me?"

Not particularly. Haplo wanted her to keep talking.

"But you must have some legends about the stars. My people do."

"Well, of course." Aleatha moved nearer. "It depends on who is doing the telling. You humans, for example, have the silly notion that they're cities. That's why the old man-"

"Cities!"

"Goodness! Don't bite me! How fierce you look!"

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you. My people don't believe that."

"Don't they?"

"No. I mean, it's silly," he said, testing. "Cities couldn't rotate around the sky like stars."

"Rotate! Your people must be the ones rotating. Our stars never change position. They come and go, but always in the same place."

"Come and go?"

"I've changed my mind." Aleatha leaned closer. "Go ahead. Bite me."

"Maybe later," said Haplo politely. "What do you mean, the stars come and go?"

Aleatha sighed, fell back against the door, and gazed at him from beneath black eyelashes. "You and the old man. You're in this together, aren't you? You're going to swindle my father out of his fortune. I'll tell Callie-"

Haplo stepped forward, reached out his hands.

"No, don't touch me," Aleatha ordered- "Just kiss me."

Smiling, Haplo held his bandaged hands up and out to the side, leaned down, and kissed the soft lips. He took a step back. Aleatha was eyeing him speculatively.

"You weren't much different than an elf."

"Sorry. I'm better when I can use my hands."

"Maybe it's just men in general. Or maybe it's poets, yammering about burning blood, melting heart, skin on fire. Did you ever feel like that when you were with a woman?"

"No," Haplo lied. He could remember a time when the flame had been all he lived for.

"Well, never mind." Aleatha sighed. Turning to go, she placed her hand on the wooden doorknob. "I'm growing rather fatigued. If you'll excuse me-"

"About the stars?" Haplo put his hand on the door, keeping it shut.

Pressed between the door and Haplo's body, Aleatha looked up into the man's face. He smiled into the purple eyes, edged his body nearer, hinting that he was prolonging the conversation for one reason only. Aleatha lowered her eyelashes, but kept close watch from beneath.

"Perhaps I underrated you. Very well, if you want to discuss stars ..."

Haplo wound a strand of the ashen hair around his finger. "Tell me about the ones that 'come and go.' "

"Just that." Aleatha caught hold of the strand of hair, pulled it, drawing him closer to her, reeling him in like a fish. "They shine for so many years, then they go dark and stay dark for so many years."

"All of them at once?"

"No, silly. Some wink on and others wink off. I really don't know much about it. That lecherous old astrologer friend of father's could tell you more if you're truly interested." Aleatha glanced up at him. "Isn't it odd how your hair grows like that, just the opposite of the goddess. Perhaps you are a savior-one of Mother Peytin's sons come to rescue me from my sins. I'll give your kiss another try, if you like."

"No, you wounded me deeply. I'll never be the same."

Haplo gave a silent whistle. The woman's aimless throws were hitting their target too near center. He needed to get rid of her, needed to think. There came a scratching sound at the door.

"My dog," said Haplo, removing his hand.

Aleatha made a face. '"Ignore it."

"That wouldn't be wise. He probably has to go out."

The scratching sound grew louder, more insistent. The dog began to whine.

"You wouldn't want him to ... uh ... well, you know ... in the house."

"Callie would stew your ears for breakfast. Take the mutt out, then." Aleatha opened the door, and the dog bounded inside. Jumping up on Haplo, it planted its paws on his chest.

"Hi, boy! Did you miss me?" Haplo ruffled the dog's ears, patted its flanks. "Come on, let's go for a walk."

The dog leapt down, yelping gleefully, darting off, then dashing back to make certain Haplo was serious about his offer.

"I enjoyed our conversation," he said to Aleatha.

She had moved aside, standing against the open door, her hands behind her back. "I was less bored than usual."

"Perhaps we could discuss stars again?"

"I don't think so. I've reached a conclusion. Poets are liars. You better get that beast out of here. Callie won't put up with that howling."

Haplo walked past her, turned to add something about poets. She slammed the door shut in his face.

He led the dog outside, sauntered around to the open area where his ship was moored, and stood staring up into the sunlit sky. He could see the stars clearly. They burned bright and steadily, not "twinkling" as the poets were wont to say.

He tried to concentrate, tried to consider the confusing tangle in which he'd found himself-a savior who had come to destroy. But his mind refused to cooperate.

Poets. He had been going to reply to Aleatha's final comment. She was wrong. Poets told the truth.

It was the heart that lied...

... Haplo was in his nineteenth year in the Labyrinth when he met the woman. Like him, she was a runner, almost his age. Her goal was the same as his-to escape. They traveled together, finding pleasure in each other's company. Love, if not unknown in the Labyrinth, is not admitted. Lust is acceptable-the need to procreate, to perpetuate the species, to bring children into the world to fight the Labyrinth. By day the two traveled, seeking the next Gate. By night, their rune-tattooed bodies twined together.

And then one day, the two came upon a group of squatters-those in the Labyrinth who travel in packs, who move slowly and represent civilization as far as anything can in that hellish prison. As was customary, Haplo and his companion brought a gift of meat and, as was customary, the squatters invited them to accept the use of their crude lodgings and find a measure of peace and security for a few nights.

Haplo, sitting at ease by the fire, watched the woman play with the children. The woman was lithe and lovely. Her thick chestnut hair fell over firm, round breasts, tattooed with the magical runes that were both shield and weapon. The baby she held in her arms was likewise tattooed-every child was from the day it was born. She looked up at Haplo and something special and secret was shared between them-his pulse quickened.

"Come on," he whispered, kneeling beside her. "Let's go back to the hut."

"No," she said, smiling and looking at him from a veil of thick hair. "It's too early. It would offend our hosts."

"The hell with our hosts!" Haplo wanted her in his arms, wanted to lose himself in the warmth and the sweet darkness.

She ignored him, singing to the baby, teasing him throughout the remainder of the evening until his blood was on fire. When they eventually sought the privacy of their hut, there was no sleep for either of them that night.

"Would you like a baby?" she asked, in one of their quiet moments after the transports of pleasure.

"What does that mean?" He looked at her with a fierce, hungry eagerness.

"Nothing. Just ... would you want one? You'd have to become a squatter, you know."

"Not necessarily. My parents were runners and they had me."

Haplo saw his parents dead, bodies hacked to pieces. They'd clouted him on the head, knocked him out so that he wouldn't see, so that he wouldn't scream. He said nothing more about babies that night.

The next morning, the squatters had news-a Gate up ahead had supposedly fallen. The way was still dangerous, but if they could get through, it would mean another step nearer to escape, another step nearer reaching the rumored safe haven of the Nexus. Haplo and the woman left the squatters' village.

They made their cautious, wary way through the thick forest. Both were expert fighters-the only reason they had lived this long-and they recognized the signs, the smell, and the prickling of the runes upon their flesh. They were, therefore, almost prepared.

A huge, furry shape, man size, leapt from the leafy darkness. It caught Haplo around the shoulders, trying to sink its teeth in his neck for a quick kill. Haplo grabbed the shaggy arms and jerked it over his head, letting the beast's own momentum carry it forward. The wolfen crashed to the ground, but twisted around and was on its feet before Haplo could drive his spear into its body. Wild yellow eyes fixed on his throat. It jumped again and hauled him to the ground. Grappling for his dagger, he saw-as he fell-the woman's runes on her skin glow bright blue. He saw one of the creatures dive for her, heard the crackle of magic, and then his vision was blocked by a hairy body trying to tear out his life.

The wolfen's fangs slashed at his neck. The runes protected him and he heard the creature snarl in frustration. Lifting his dagger, he stabbed the body on top of his and heard it grunt in pain, saw its yellow eyes blaze in anger. Wolfen have thick hides and are tough to kill. Haplo had done little more than infuriate it. It was after his face, now-the one place on his body not protected by runes.

He blocked it with his right arm, struggling to push it away, and kept stabbing at it with his left. The wolfen's claw-fingered hands grasped his head. One twist, and it would break his neck.

Claw-fingers dug into his face. Then the creature's body stiffened, it gave a gurgling scream, and slumped over his. Haplo heaved the corpse off of his body, found the woman standing over him. The blue glow was fading from her runes. Her spear was in the wolfen's back. She gave Haplo a hand, helped him to stand. He didn't thank her for saving his life. She didn't expect it. Today, maybe the next, he'd return the favor. It was that way ... in the Labyrinth.

'Two of them," he said, looking down at the corpses.

The woman yanked out her spear, inspected it to make certain it was still in good condition. The other had died from the electricity she'd had time to generate with the runes. Its body still smoldered.

"Scouts," she said. "A hunting party." She shook her chestnut hair out of her face. "They'll be going for the squatters."

"Yeah." Haplo glanced back they way they'd come.

Wolfen hunted in packs of thirty, forty creatures. There were fifteen squatters, five of them children.

"They don't stand a chance." It was an offhand remark, accompanied by a shrug. Haplo wiped the blood and gore from his dagger.

"We could go back, help fight them," the woman said.

'Two of us wouldn't do that much good. We'd die with them. You know that."

In the distance, they could hear hoarse shouts-the squatters calling each other to the defense. Above that, the higher pitched voices of the women, singing the runes. And above that, higher still, the scream of a child.

The woman's face darkened, she glanced in that direction, irresolute.

"C'mon," urged Haplo, sheathing his dagger. "There may be more of them around here."

"No. They're all in on the kill."

The child's scream rose to a shrill shriek of terror.

"It's the Sartan," said Haplo, his voice harsh. "They put us in this hell. They're the ones responsible for this evil."

The woman looked at him, her brown eyes flecked with gold. "I wonder. Maybe it's the evil inside us."

Hefting her weapon, she started to walk. Haplo remained standing, looking after her. She was moving down a different path than the one they'd been walking. He could hear, behind them, the sounds of battle lessening. The child's scream abruptly ended, mercifully cut short.

"Are you carrying my baby?" Haplo called after her.

If the woman heard him, she didn't answer, but kept walking. The dappled shadows of the leaves closed over her. She was lost to his sight. He strained to listen, to hear her moving through the brush. But she was a runner, she was good. She was silent.

Haplo glanced at the bodies lying at his feet. The wolfen would be occupied with the squatters for a long time, but eventually they'd smell fresh blood and come looking for it.

After all, what did it matter? A kid would only slow him down. He left, heading alone down the path he'd chosen, the path that led to the Gate, to escape.

CHAPTER 22.