The Tangle Box

“We have to get out of this circle,” he said quietly, and his hand stole back toward the handle of his sword.

In that instant, the two combative Gristlies attacked each other, tearing and ripping and shrieking horribly. Their fellows fell back before the onslaught, and the circle about the Knight and his companions collapsed. Instantly the Gargoyle bolted for the river. The Knight followed, pulling the Lady after him. To their surprise, the Gristlies did not give chase. The Knight looked back over his shoulder as he ran, but no one was there. From the shadow of the trees came the sounds of the battle between the two who had argued. Improbable as it seemed, the captives no longer appeared to matter.

They had reached the river’s edge and were looking for a way to cross over when the Gristlies reappeared. It was immediately apparent why they had been in no hurry. They bounded from the trees like cats, covering ground so fast that they were upon the three in seconds. There were only seven now, but they looked formidable in the dim light, massive bodies uncoiling, claws and teeth gleaming like knives.

“Draw your sword!” the Lady cried in warning, and, when he was too slow to act, seized the weapon in her own hands and tried to draw it free.

“Don’t!” he snapped, breaking her grip and thrusting her away.

She held her ground furiously. The Gristlies slowed and began circling. “Listen to me!” she snapped. “Your sword does more than you think! Remember the townsfolk? Remember the Gypsies? It was when you drew your sword and did battle that the Haze appeared!”

He stared at her in disbelief. “No! There is no connection!”

“There must be!” she hissed. “We have seen the Haze no other time. And when it comes, it never comes for us, only for those who threaten us! The two must be joined in some way! The Sword and the Haze, both weapons that eliminate our enemies! Think!”

She was breathing hard, and her pale face was bright with perspiration.

The Gargoyle had moved close to them, keeping his sharp eyes fixed on the circling Gristlies. “She may be right,” he said quietly. “Take heed of her.”

The Knight shook his head stubbornly. “No!” he said again, thinking,How could that be, how could it possibly ... ?

And suddenly he knew. The truth appeared like a beast come out of hiding, monstrous and terrible. He should have recognized it earlier; he should have seen it for what it was. He had suspected a link between the Haze and themselves, known there was a tie he could not fathom. He had thought all this time that the Haze hunted after them, a stalker awaiting its chance to strike. He had been wrong. The Haze did not track after them; it traveled with them. Because it belonged to him. The Haze was his missing armor. He went cold to the bone. His armor had not been there when he awoke in the Labyrinth, and yet he had sensed it close at hand. His armor had always been like that, hidden, awaiting its summons. It came on command and wrapped itself about him so that he could do battle against his enemies. That was how it worked.

But here, in the mists of the Labyrinth, its form had been altered. Magic had subverted it, had poisoned it, had made it over into a thing that was unrecognizable. His armor had become the Haze. It must be so. Why else would the Haze come to their rescue each time they were threatened and then retreat back into the mists? What other explanation was there?

He could not breathe, the cold so deep inside him that he was paralyzed. It was true, as he had feared, that he was responsible for the deaths of all those people, that he had destroyed the townsfolk and the River Gypsies, that he had killed them all in his warrior’s guise without even realizing what he was doing.

He stood there, stunned by the impact of his recognition. “No,” he whispered in despair.

He felt the Lady’s hands on his shoulders, bracing him, trying to give him strength. The Gristlies were edging closer, emboldened by his indecision, by his inability to act. “Do something!” the Lady cried. The Gargoyle made a quick feint at the Gristlies, but the foremost only snarled in challenge and held its ground.

“I have no magic!” the Lady wailed in despair, shaking the Knight violently.