The Labyrinth

by Kenneth McDonald

As the competitors entered the Labyrinth, the crowd watching from the bleachers leaned forward to stare down into the Viewing Pool. First-year students in plain tunics rushed forward to remove the crossing boards from the pool. The Labyrinth crystal continued to glow, but dimly now, with faint patterns of light that seemed to trickle within its depths like currents of water.

  A figure clad in a gray robe, its cowl up despite the heat of the day, emerged around the edge of one of the bleachers. He walked bent over like an old man, and as he made his way toward the pool, one of the guardsmen on duty noticed him and stepped forward to block him. The man made a gesture, and the guard froze. Stepping past the paralyzed man, the robed figure threw off his garment and straightened, revealing a startling appearance to the gathered crowd.

  He was lean and dark, his torso bare save for a harness of black leather that covered his chest and arms with interlocking strips. His skin shone with a sheen of sweat, and was decorated with odd designs, tattoos that could not fully obscure the marks of dozens of scars that covered his frame. His beard was narrow and trimmed to a point in the style of the Sokhali far to the south, and he wore a skullcap of battered metal that shone brightly in the intense sunlight.

  A stir ran through the crowd as the newcomer turned in place, lifting his arms as he scanned the gathered folk before settling his gaze on the mages atop the platform. The deans had risen to their feet as soon as he had appeared, and now watched him with expressions that ranged from surprise to anger.

  “So-called wizards of Sacreth!” the intruder announced, his voice booming naturally without the aid of magic. “I challenge the legitimacy of this competition! Your leaders insult you with their weak and limited definition of magic! They hide the truth from you!”

  “And what truth is that, Kaavan Zorr?” Dean Corinther returned. The elderly shield mage leaned against Dean Zharis for support, and his voice was feeble in contrast to the intruder, but the old man still carried an aura of power and authority about him. “Yes, we remember who you are, exile! You dare to return here, with your forbidden arts and vile arguments?”

  Zorr laughed. “You fear what you do not understand, you old fool! But I will show you, you and your charges, the next generation of mages. I demand the right to represent my school of magic in your Labyrinth!”

  Seris stepped forward, and where Corinther’s aura was one of stately dignity, the Paladin spoke with barely-constrained fire. “Blood magic is forbidden in Sacreth, and with good reason! When you were banished from the Valley Kingdom ten years ago, you were told that you returned only at your peril! Guards, arrest him!”

  A dozen guards had slowly closed a ring around the exiled mage while he had issued his challenge, and now they rushed forward to apprehend him. But Zorr reached down and drew out a short curved knife from a hidden pocket. The blade was only a few inches long, but the blood mage did not intend to use it as a weapon against the approaching men. Instead he lifted an arm and drew the knife across his own flesh, opening a deep gash that sprayed droplets of blood as he swept the injured limb in a wide arc in front of him. The guardsmen hesitated, just for a moment, but that was long enough for Zorr to work his magic.

  Sinuous black tendrils snapped up like whips from the ground, emerging from the spots where the mage’s blood had fallen. The guards cried out as the tendrils lashed around their bodies, twisting and tightening until they held them immobile. Their clubs and staves had no effect on the tendrils, passing through them as though they were vapor, but when they touched flesh they were as tough as leather, constricting around the guards like serpents.

  As cries of panic and alarm spread through the crowd, Zorr reached into a pouch at his hip and drew out a small object, which he hurled in the direction of the platform of notables. The object, barely larger than a clenched fist, landed with a sick squelching sound on the compacted grass. It glistened wetly there, a bloody heart, still quivering with some terrible animative force.

  The ground shook, and something else erupted from the sward where the heart had fallen. The huge tentacle dwarfed the black tendrils of Zorr’s earlier spell; this one rose a full ten strides into the air, and it was so thick around at the base that two men might have had difficulty touching hands around it. It was covered in a mottled green hide that glistened with a rank slickness, and as the tentacle extended fully into the air, a bulb at its tip split open to reveal snapping jaws full of rending teeth. A terrible noise issued from it, a challenge of destruction.

  Men and women were fleeing in every direction, but on the platform, the senior mages held their ground. The tentacle slammed down to crush them, but Dean Corinther lifted a golden amulet in the form of a shield, shouting defiance in the ancient language of magic. As the amulet flared with light a golden aura sprang into being around the platform. The tentacle hit that glow and rebounded, a hissing noise escaping from its jaws as it assaulted the barrier again without effect.

  Paladin sprang forward. He was unarmed, but as he leapt from the edge of the platform, he extended his hand toward one of the imprisoned guards. The man’s sword shot out from its scabbard and flew unerringly into the steel mage’s hand. The stout mage passed through the golden glow and dropped into a forward tumble as he landed, coming up next to the base of the huge tentacle. The sword lashed out, and there was a ringing noise like the sound of a clapper striking a bell as the weapon tore deeply into the substance of the tentacle. Black ichor hissed from the wound, but Paladin dodged the ugly spray, which burned the green grass that it touched to char.

  The alien conjuration responded, the snapping jaws darting down toward the mage, but Paladin moved in a blur, and the bulbous head slammed onto vacant ground, the long teeth tearing vicious gouges in the sod. The steel mage struck again, stabbing the sword deep into the rubbery texture of the tentacle, his face twisted with focus as he dragged the sword through it, tearing a ring around its girth. More of the black ooze spurted out, searing his arm and shoulder, but he didn’t stop until he’d completely bisected the thing. As he drew back the tentacle toppled over, almost crushing one of the bleachers, thankfully missing the few students that hadn’t yet fled the area. It was already starting to dissolve as it hit the ground, and within a few heartbeats, it was gone, leaving only a smoking hole in the ground and the black marks on the grass to indicate it had ever existed at all.

  The other mages had not been idle during the brief battle. Even as the tentacle-thing died, Dean Kalas triggered a spell-gem, the faceted stone flaring with light as the magic stored inside it was released. The head of the school of gem magic directed that light in a beam that slashed across the field, doing no harm to the men it touched, but cutting through the black tendrils like an impossibly-sharp knife. The guardsmen staggered back, free now but still wary of the blood mage.

  Zorr lifted his bloody knife to unleash another spell, but even as he began his conjuration, Ayas, Dean of Steel Magic, launched her own attack. She drew a small metal object from her belt, which snapped open into a tri-blade with wickedly sharp edges. She threw the weapon with a smooth motion, and it spun in a curving arc that took it around several of the guardsmen, streaking unerringly through their circle until it caught the blood mage in the shoulder, one of the sharp prongs biting deep into his flesh. The impact knocked Zorr off his feet, and he grunted as he landed hard on his back.

  Dean Zharis had unrolled a scroll from the compact case attached to his belt, and he uttered the words of magic inscribed there, each rune flashing and disappearing as its power was triggered. A cube fashioned out of glowing bars of light materialized around the fallen blood mage, imprisoning him within.

  The guards approached the magical cage warily, but kept their distance. They made room for Paladin as the short mage stepped forward. Ugly black marks covered his arms and torso where the splatter from the conjured tentacle had burned away his tunic and scored his flesh, but he betrayed no hint of pain as he fixed a cold gaze at the fallen blood mag
e.

  Zorr had reached up to grab the tri-blade, and with a groan tore it free from his shoulder. His fingers were deeply gashed by the other blades in the process, but like the steel mage, he did not seem to feel pain in the same manner of other men. Or perhaps, he had become inured to it.

  Sensing the presence of the other, he stirred himself and rose, the bloody weapon still held in his hand.

  “You would be wise to stay down,” Paladin said. “A healer will attend to your wounds.”

  “So you can hang me intact? I think not.” He laughed, a grim, nasty sound. “I think that you Sacrethans still have a lot to learn about the true meaning of power. You will pay for your hubris with the blood of your young ones!”

  Paladin tensed, but when the blood mage lunged, he went not toward the steel mage, but against the far side of the cage. He lifted the bloody hand still clutching the tri-blade, and as droplets of his blood hit the glowing bars they tore slashes in the barrier. He struck the cage himself a moment later, and with a sizzling flash he tore through, staggering as he reached the far side. The closest guards rushed toward him, but with another sweep of his bloody hands the men were flung from their feet, as if struck by a ram. Paladin was already charging around the cage to block Zorr’s escape, but too late he realized that escape was not the mage’s intent.

  Zorr leapt up onto the edge of the Viewing Pool. Paladin lunged for him, but the blood mage was faster, and before anyone could intervene he plunged one of the tri-blade’s bloody prongs into his chest, piercing his skin, the slender blade driving between two of his ribs and into his heart. He toppled forward, landing with a splash into the water of the pool.

  Paladin grabbed Zorr’s boots before he could drift out of reach, and with considerable strength dragged him clear of the pool. A bright plume of red had already spread from his body, however, and as the steel mage watched, it continued to expand, roiling through the water like thunderclouds. The other deans arrived at his side, but there was nothing they could do to stop the workings of the blood mage’s death-spell. The plume spread to fill the entire pool, dissolving until the waters cleared enough for them to see once more into the Labyrinth, their view still tainted by a faint tinge of red. The light from the crystal had dimmed, and the striations within pulsed erratically, almost as though something inside was trying to get out.

  “What has he done?” Kalas asked.

  “We have to get them out of there,” Zharis said. Ayas and Kalas were already grabbing one of the discarded boards, and together they laid it down to form a bridge to the crystal. Paladin jumped onto it as soon it was settled, and crossed to the sphere. He lifted a hand toward it, and incanted the spell that would release those inside.

  There was a flare of light, and the mage staggered back, clutching his hand. Paladin cursed and turned again to the crystal, but before he could try again, Corinther forestalled him. “Do not bother, Seris. The curse is too strong; even if you could overpower the ward, you would only disrupt the stability of the Labyrinth itself, and almost certainly risk the lives of our young mages along with it.”

  “There has to be something we can do!” Kalas said, as Paladin retreated back across the bridge to join them.

  “Corinther’s right,” Paladin said. “We cannot cleanse the Labyrinth while people are inside it.”

  “What about a counterspell?” Ayas asked.

  Paladin nodded. “Get as many of your senior mages here as you can, and we’ll need to send word to the Council as well.” But as the five mages looked at each other, they each saw the same truth in the others’ eyes; even if they could undo the blood mage’s final spell, it would take time. And time had suddenly become their enemy.

  Zharis stared down at the scene visible through the Viewing Pool. The portal was one-way only, and did not transmit sound. He could see their charges, but couldn’t speak to them, couldn’t warn them of what was coming. “Get out of there,” he whispered, willing them to hear him. “Get yourselves out of there.”

  * * * * *

  Chapter 4