The cook's nephew leaped to the challenge, his brothers and cousins behind him. Paithan jumped in, attempted to keep the elf off Roland, and received a smart rap on the head from a human who had been a slave of the Quindiniar family since he was a child and who had long sought an opportunity to vent his frustrations. Rega, going in to help Paithan, found herself caught in the middle.

The melee became general, the ship rocked and lurched and Haplo swore. He'd been doing that a lot lately, he noticed. Aleatha had withdrawn to one side, watching with detached interest, keeping her skirt clear of possible blood.

"Stop it!" Haplo roared. Wading into the fight, he grabbed bodies, flung them apart. The dog dashed after him, snapping and growling and nipping painfully at ankles. "You'll knock us out of the air!"

Not exactly true, the magic would hold the ship up, but it was certainly a frightening concept and one that he calculated would end the hostilities.

The fight came to a reluctant halt. Opponents wiped blood from split lips and broken noses and glowered at each other.

"Now what the hell is going on?" Haplo demanded.

Everyone started to talk at once. At the Patryn's furious gesture, everyone fell silent. Haplo fixed his gaze on Roland. "All right, you started it. What happened?"

"It's Her Ladyship's turn to pump out the bilge," said Roland, breathing heavily and rubbing bruised abdominal muscles. He pointed at Aleatha. "She refused to do it. She came in here and ordered one of us to do it for her."

"Yeah! That's right!" The humans, male and female, agreed angrily.

Haplo had a brief and extremely satisfying vision of using his magic to part the ship's staves and send all these wretched and irritating creatures plummeting down however many hundreds of thousands of miles to the world below.

Why didn't he? Curiosity, the old man had said. Yes, I'm curious, curious to see where the old man wants to take these people, curious to see why. But Haplo could foresee a time-and it was rapidly approaching-when his curiosity would begin to wane.

Something of his ire must have been visible on his face. The humans hushed and fell back a pace before him. Aleatha, seeing his gaze come to focus on her, paled, but held her ground, regarding him with cold and haughty disdain. Haplo said nothing. Reaching out, he caught hold of the elf woman's arm and hauled her from the cabin.

Aleatha gasped, screamed, and held back. Haplo jerked her forward, dragging her off her feet. Aleatha fell to the deck. The Patryn yanked her back up, and kept going.

"Where are you taking her?" Paithan cried, real fear in the elf's voice. From out of the comer of his eye, Haplo saw Roland's face drain of color. From his expression, it looked as if he thought Haplo were going to hurl the woman from the top deck.

Good, he thought grimly, and continued on.

Aleatha soon had no breath left to scream; she had to cease her struggles and concentrate on keeping on her feet or be pulled along the deck. Haplo descended a ladder, the elf woman in tow, and stood between decks in the small, smelly, dark part of the ship where the bilge pump stood. Haplo shoved Aleatha forward. She stumbled headlong into the apparatus.

"Dog," he said to the animal, who had either followed him or materialized beside him, "watch!"

The dog sat obediently, head cocked, eyes on the elf woman.

Aleatha's face was livid. She glared at Haplo through a mass of disheveled hair. "I won't!" she snarled and took a step away from the pump.

The dog growled, low in its throat.

Aleatha glanced at it, hesitated, took another step.

The dog rose to its feet, the growl grew louder.

Aleatha stared at the animal, her lips tightened. Tossing her ashen hair, she walked past Haplo, heading for the passage that led out.

The dog covered the distance between them in a jump, planted itself in front of the woman. Its growl rumbled through the ship. Its mouth parted, showing sharp, curved, yellow-white teeth. Aleatha stepped backward hastily, tripped on her skirt, and nearly fell.

"Call him off!" she screamed at Haplo. "He'll kill me!"

"No, he won't," said the Patryn coolly. He pointed to the pump. "Not so long as you work."

Casting Haplo a look that the woman obviously wished was a dagger, Aleatha swallowed her rage, turned her back on the dog and the Patryn. Head held high, she walked over to the pump. Grasping the handle in both delicate, white hands, she lifted it up, shoved it down, lifted it up; shoved it down. Haplo, peering out a porthole, saw a spew of foul-smelling water gush out over the ship's hull, spray into the atmosphere below.

"Dog, stay. Watch," he instructed, and left.

The dog settled down, alert, vigilant, never taking its eyes from Aleatha.

Emerging from below deck, Haplo found most of the mensch gathered at the top of the ladder, waiting for him. He drew himself up level with them.

"Go back about your business," he ordered, and watched them slink off. He left them, returning to the bridge and his attempts to fix their position.

Roland massaged his aching hand, injured when he'd delivered a hard right to the elf. The human tried to tell himself Aleatha got just what she deserved, it served her right, it wouldn't hurt the bitch to turn her hand to a little work. When he found himself walking the passageway, heading for the pumping room, he called himself a fool.

Pausing in the hatchway, Roland stood silently and watched.

The dog lay on the deck, nose on paws, eyes on Aleatha. The elf woman paused in her work, straightened and bent backward, trying to ease the stiffness and pain in a back unaccustomed to bending to hard labor. The proud head drooped, she wiped sweat from her forehead, looked at the palms of her hands. Roland recalled-more vividly than he'd expected-the delicate softness of the small palms. He could imagine the woman's skin, raw and bleeding. Aleatha wiped her face again, this time brushing away tears.

"Here, let me finish," offered Roland gruffly, stepping over the dog.

Aleatha whirled to face him. To his amazement, she stiff-armed him out of the way and began to work the pump with as much speed as the weariness of her aching arms and the smarting of her stinging palms would allow.

Roland glared at her. "Damn it, woman! I'm only trying to help!"

"I don't want your help!" Aleatha shook the hair out of her face, the tears out of her eyes.

Roland intended to turn on his heel, walk out, and leave her to her task. He was going to turn and go. He was leaving. He was ... putting his arm around her slender, waist and kissing her.

The kiss was salty, tasting of sweat and tears. But the woman's lips were warm and responsive, her body yielded to him; she was softness and fragrant hair and smooth skin-all tainted faintly by the foul reek of the bilge.

The dog sat up, a slightly puzzled expression in its eyes, and glanced around for its master. What was it supposed to do now?

Roland drew back, releasing Aleatha, who staggered slightly when his arms were withdrawn.

"You are the most pig-headed, selfish, irritating little snot I ever met in my life! I hope you rot down here!" said Roland coldly. Turning on his heel, he marched out.

Eyes wide in wonder, mouth parted, Aleatha stared after him.

The dog, confused, sat down to scratch an itch.

Haplo had finally almost figured it out. He had developed a crude theodolite that used the stationary position of the four suns and the bright light that was their destination as common reference points. By checking daily the positions of the other stars visible in the sky, the Patryn observed that they appeared to be changing their position in relationship to Dragon Star.

The motion was due to the motion of his ship, the consistency of his measurements led to a model of amazing symmetry. They were nearing the star, no doubt about it. In fact, it appeared ...

The Patryn checked his calculations. Yes, it made sense. He was beginning to understand, beginning to understand a lot. If he was correct, his passengers were going to be in for the shock of their- "Excuse me, Haplo?"

He glanced around, angry at being interrupted. Paithan and Rega stood in the doorway, along with the old man. Blast it-Zifnab'd show up now that the trouble was settled.

"What do you want? And make it quick," Haplo muttered.

"We ... uh ... Rega and I ... we want to be married."

"Congratulations."

"We think it will draw the people together, you see-"

"I think it'll more likely touch off a riot, but that's your problem."

Rega appeared a bit downcast, looked at Paithan uncertainly. The elf drew a deep breath, carried on.

"We want you to perform the ceremony."

Haplo couldn't believe he'd heard right. "You what?"

"We want you to perform the ceremony."

"By ancient law," struck in Zifnab, "a ship's captain can marry people when they're at sea."

"Whose ancient law? And we're not at sea."

"Why ... uh ... I must admit, I'm rather vague on the precise legal-"

"You've got the old man." The Patryn nodded. "Get him to do it."

"I'm not a cleric," protested Zifnab, indignant. "They wanted me to be a cleric, but I refused. Party needed a healer, they said. Hah! Fighters with all the brains of a doorknob attack something twenty times their size, with a bizillion hit points, and they expect me to pull their heads out of their rib cages! I'm a wizard. I've the most marvelous spell. If I could just remember how it went. Eight ball! No, that's not it. Fire something. Fire ... extinguisher! Smoke alarm. No. But I really think I'm getting close."

"Get him off the bridge." Haplo turned back to his work.

Paithan and Rega edged in front of the old man, the elf put his hand gingerly on the Patryn's tattooed arm. "Will you do it? Will you marry us?"

"1 don't know anything about elven marriage ceremonies."

"It wouldn't have to be elven. Or human, either. In fact it would be better if it weren't. That way no one would get mad."

"Surely your people have some kind of ceremony," suggested Rega. "We could use yours... ."

... Haplo didn't miss the woman.

Runners in the Labyrinth are a solitary lot, relying on their speed and strength, their wits and ingenuity to survive, to reach their goal. Squatters rely on numbers. Coming together to form nomadic tribes, the squatters move through the Labyrinth at a slower pace, often following the routes explored by the runners. Each respects the other, both share what they have: the runners, knowledge; the squatters, a brief moment of security, stability.

Haplo entered the squatter camp in the evening, three weeks after the woman had left him. The headman was there to greet him on his arrival; the scouts would have sent word of his coming. The headman was old, with grizzled hair and beard, the tattoos on his gnarled hands were practically indecipherable. He stood tall, though, without stooping. His stomach was taut, the muscles in the arms and legs dean cut and well defined. The headman clasped his hands together, tattooed backs facing outward, and touched his thumbs to his forehead. The circle was joined.

"Welcome, runner."

Haplo made the same gesture, forced himself to keep his gaze fixed on the squatter's leader. To do anything else would be taken for insult, perhaps would even be dangerous. It might appear that he was counting the squatter's numbers.

The Labyrinth was tricky, intelligent. It had been known to send in imposters. Only by adhering strictly to the forms would Haplo be allowed to enter the camp. But he couldn't help darting a furtive glance around the people gathered to inspect him. Particularly, he looked at the women. Not catching, right off, a glimpse of chestnut hair, Haplo wrenched his attention back to his host.

"May the gates stand open for you, headman." Hands to his forehead, Haplo bowed.

"And for you, runner." The headman bowed.

"And your people, headman." Haplo bowed again. The ceremony was over.

Haplo was now considered a member of the tribe. The people continued on about their business as if he were one of themselves, though sometimes a woman paused to stare, give him a smile, and nod toward her hut. At another time in his life, this invitation would have sent fire through his veins. A smile back and he would have been taken into the hut, fed and accorded all the privileges of a husband. But Haplo's blood seemed to run cold these days. Not seeing the smile he wanted to see, he kept his expression carefully guarded, and the woman wandered away in disappointment.

The headman had waited politely to see if Haplo accepted any of these invitations. Noting that he did not, the headman graciously offered his own dwelling place for the evening. Haplo accepted gratefully and, seeing the surprise and somewhat suspicious glint in the headman's eyes, added, "I am in a purification cycle."

The headman nodded, understanding, all suspicion gone. Many Patryns believed, rightly or wrongly, that sexual encounters weakened their magic. A runner planning on entering unknown territory often entered a purification cycle, abstaining from the company of the opposite sex several days before venturing out. A squatter going out on a hunting expedition or facing a battle would do the same thing.

Haplo, personally, didn't happen to believe in such nonsense. His magic had never failed him, no matter what pleasures he had enjoyed the night before. But it made a good excuse.

The headman led Haplo to a hut that was snug and warm and dry. A fire burned brightly in the center, smoke trailing up from the hole in the top. The headman settled himself near it. "A concession to my old bones. I can run with the youngest of them and keep pace. I can wrestle a karkan to the ground with my bare hands. But I find I like a fire at night. Be seated, runner."

Haplo chose a place near the hut entryway. The night was warm, the hut was stifling.

"You come upon us at a good time, runner," said the headman. "We celebrate a binding this night."

Haplo made the polite remark without thinking much about it. His mind was on other matters. He could have asked the question at any time now; all the proper forms had been observed. But it stuck in his throat. The headman asked about the trails, and they fell into talk about Haplo's journeying, the runner providing what information he could about the land through which he'd traveled.

When darkness fell, an unusual stir outside the hut reminded Haplo of the ceremony about to take place. A bonfire turned night to day. The tribe must feel secure, Haplo thought, following the headman out of the hut. Otherwise they would never have dared. A blind dragon could see this blaze.

He joined the throng around the fire.

The tribe was large, he saw. No wonder they felt secure. The scouts on the perimeters would warn them in case of attack. Their numbers were such that they could fend off most anything, perhaps even a dragon. Children ran about, getting in everyone's way, watched over by the group.

The Patryns of the Labyrinth share everything-food, lovers, children. Binding vows are vows of friendship, closer akin to a warrior's vows than marriage vows. A binding may take place between a man and a woman, between two men, or between two women. The ceremony was more common among squatters than runners, but occasionally runners bound themselves to a partner. Haplo's parents had been bound. He himself had considered binding. If he found her ...

The headman raised his arms in the air, the signal for silence. The crowd, including the youngest baby, hushed immediately. Seeing all was in readiness, the headman stretched his hands out and took hold of the hands of those standing on either side of him. The Patryns all did the same, forming a gigantic circle around the fire. Haplo joined them, clasping hands with a well-formed man about his age on his left and a young woman barely into her teens (who blushed deeply when Haplo took her hand) on his right.

"The circle is complete," said the headman, looking around at his people, an expression of pride on the lined and weathered face. "Tonight we come together to witness the vows between two who would form their own circle. Step forward."

A man and a woman left the circle, that instantly closed behind them, and came to stand in front of the headman. Leaving the circle himself, the old man extended his hands. The two clasped them, one on either side, then the man and the woman took hold of each other's hands.

"Again, the circle is complete," said the old man. His gaze on the two was fond, but stern and serious. The people gathered around, watching in solemn silence.

Haplo found that he was enjoying himself. Most of the time, particularly the last few weeks, he'd felt hollow, empty, alone. Now he was warm, with a sense of being filled. The cold wind didn't howl through him so dismally anymore. He found himself smiling, smiling at everything, everyone.

"I pledge to protect and defend you." The couple was repeating the vows, one immediately after the other in an echoing circle. "My life for your life. My death for your life. My life for your death. My death for your death."

The vows spoken, the couple fell silent. The headman nodded, satisfied with the sincerity of the commitment. Taking the hands he held in his, he placed the two hands together.

"The circle is complete," he said, and stepped back into the circle, leaving the couple to form their own circle inside the larger community. The two smiled at each other. The outer circle gave a cheer and broke apart, separating to prepare for the feast.

Haplo decided he could ask the question now. He sought out the headman, standing near the roaring blaze.

"I'm looking for someone, a woman," said Haplo, and described her. "Stands so tall, chestnut hair. She's a runner. Has she been here."

The headman thought back. "Yes, she was here. Not more than a week ago."