Inferno 7003

4. THE LABYRINTH

"So," said Greg, "how does this place work anyway?"

The ghost-woman rippled.

The two of them had been wandering through the bleak stone maze for what felt like hours. Greg's feet were sore. His back was sore. His arms were sore, because he was lugging that stupid obsidian sword again. Weird how something so awesome could become so tiresome when you had to carry it around.

And - he had to admit - the Labyrinth was not a terribly exciting place. All the dark corridors looked pretty much the same. They were dark. They were cold. They were long. Very, very long. And the ghost-woman was not terribly good company. All she did was ripple, as though a gust of wind had disturbed her smoky form.

"This place is really big, hey," Greg observed.

The ghost-woman glided around another corner. Greg scampered after her.

"Hey," a voice hissed.

Greg whirled around. "Kithra!" he roared, and the obsidian sword sprang to life, ready to hew. He found himself staring directly at Dalile's terrified face.

"It's me!" she gasped. "Don't kill me!"

"Whew!" Greg lowered his sword. "Boy, Dalile, am I glad to see you."

"Look out!" she said urgently. Greg turned just as the ghost-woman vanished around a corner. He dashed after her. "Fuck," he said. "Fuckfuck."

It was fine. She was just gliding down another long corridor.

"Stay close to her," said Dalile desperately, "or we'll never get out of here!"

"Yeah, yeah," said Greg. "Okay, but where have you been, Dalile? You look terrible!"

Dalile glanced down at herself. She was caked in dirt, her hair was matted with filth, and her already scanty clothes had been reduced to mere tatters that didn't really conceal anything. "I've been in here for a long time," she said. "There are a lot of skeletons. Also demonic dogs with glistening red eyes that breathe fire. And," she paused, "monsters composed entirely of tentacles."

"Jeez," said Greg. "What about the Walker in the Dark, though? Did the Duke give you a job or something?"

"Um, no," she said. "I passed through the portal and was trapped in the maze. I thought perhaps I would die in here. Have you seen Natalia or Ragak?"

"Nope."

She sighed. "It's as I feared. The maze has separated us. They will almost certainly perish, alone and afraid, in this limitless hell."

Greg wiped his forehead.

"Phew," he said. "That's heavy, man. That's real heavy."

"How did you procure the Guide?" said Dalile.

"Well." Greg thought about it for a moment. "Basically, I killed a monster and went through a portal, and then I met the Duke of Filth and he told me to go find another guy, Corvel the Burnt, and if I find that guy the Duke will give me the Princess Kithra, and I'll have completed my Quest, I guess, and then I'll feel like a real hero. I'm hoping. And then maybe I can get home. So I'm supposed to go to the Blighted Forest now."

Dalile frowned.

"I've heard of the Blighted Forest," she said. "It is a dark place, home to cannibalistic tribals that practice dark rituals. We will have to be careful."

"Oh, you want to come with?" said Greg. "Cool."

Dalile shrugged. "It's the best chance I have to enter the Court of Filth and find Gwendla, the object of my quest."

"I hear ya," said Greg. "Let's do it."

*

According to Dalile, the Labyrinth was not a fixed maze, but a constantly shifting network of ethereal walls. Every step you took in the Labyrinth reconfigured its shape, forming the corridors into symbols of arcane magick. Legend said that, if you knew the patterns, you could reconfigure the Labyrinth into any shape you desired, and with its power change the fundamental forms of the Universe. Unfortunately, its bizarre nature was beyond the comprehension of any power of Hell or the Eighty-Nine Worlds.

"Only the Guides know how to work the Labyrinth," said Dalile, "and they will only use it to create portals."

"Bummer," said Greg.

It was hard to tell how much time had passed in the Labyrinth. Time seem to shift and change just like the dark stone walls. But, at last, a passage opened into a larger room, the walls overgrown with thick vines. In its centre sat a portal that cast an eerie light on the walls.

The Guide floated up into the air, rippled violently, and then disappeared with a faint pop.

"I guess this the the Blighted Forest," said Greg.

He took a deep breath.

"So far," he said, "going through portals has been a bit of a mixed bag for me."

"I, too, am apprehensive," said Dalile grimly. "But we have no choice."

She raised her sword and charged into the portal. Greg stepped after her.

There was hardly even a sensation of movement, only the abrupt awareness of being in a totally different place. They were standing on a stone pavilion, its columns crumbling and overgrown. It was surrounded by the forest - a dark mass of trees that blocked out the sky and consumed the horizon.

"Phew," said Greg, sniffing. "Hell of a bad smell here."

"The Blighted Forest once had a different name, I've heard, and was a place of transcendent beauty," said Dalile in a low voice. "But then a Curse came upon it - the Curse of a creature from the deepest pits. I have heard it called the Blighted Prince."

"Right-o," said Greg. "Well, no need to worry about that guy. Let's just look for Corvel the Burnt."

Greg looked around for a minute.

"Okay," he said. "So, um, see any signs of Corvel the Burnt?"

"No," said Dalile. "But if he passed this way recently, he no doubt left a magical residue that the spirits of the Kullites can detect. Give me a moment to call upon my ancestral powers."

"Sure thing," said Greg.

Dalile closed her eyes and hummed something dissonant and unsettling. After a moment she floated up into the air slightly, and all her hair stood straight up.

"KULLA NATURA, KULLA PATHERA," she boomed in a voice of unspeakable resonance. A moment later she dropped back down to earth.

"Got him," she said. "Or at least I think it's him. Two beings passed this way, not long ago... going that way."

She sniffed the air and started out into the woods. Greg hurried after her.

"This, um, ancestral power," he said. "Can you do anything else with it?"

"Given sufficient preparation," she said, "I can enter a Battle-Trance, which the Knights of the Shimmering Empire learned to their peril during the Battle of the Dark Plain. Four hundred mad Kullites destroyed an army of thousands."

"Incredible," said Greg.

"All the Kullites died too, unfortunately," said Dalile. "The Battle-Trance is hard to come out of. Also, I can commune with the undead, dispel evil enchantments and illusions, and levitate slightly."

"You'll have to teach me that trick sometime," said Greg.

"Unfortunately it is only possible for the bloodline of Kullgar, our Great Ancestor," said Dalile. "But you have power of your own, Greg of Earth-Land. I've witnessed it with my own eyes."

"Yeah." Greg looked at his obsidian sword. "Yeah, I guess it's just because I'm so dedicated in my love of Princess Kitra."

"Were you lovers in your world?" said Dalile curiously.

"Hm," said Greg. "Well... not exactly, no. It's more of an oath kind of thing."

"Say no more," said Dalile. "My people understand the power of a binding oath. Wait here for a moment."

Their track through the forest had led them to a rippling stream. Dalile stepped into the water and began rubbing the filth from her body.

"I would prefer not to have the refuse of the Labyrinth on me in these forsaken groves," she explained.

"Ah, yes," said Greg, beginning to pay close attention to how little clothing she was wearing.

*

In a dark room a man sat at a table of jet-black. On the dark stone walls hung tattered tapestries depicting scenes arcane and bizarre: pigs dancing under a blood-red moon, the dead speaking in a forsaken language. The man himself wore torn red robes and a crown of dark iron on his head. His face was expressionless.

Across from him was a jewelled golden throne, looking extremely out of place in its gloomy surroundings, and on it sat a woman of extraordinary beauty, clad in a gown of sky-blue and wearing a light circlet in her dark hair. She was resting her chin in her hand and looking bored. A faint shimmer in the air hinted at the magical cage than encircled her.

The two of them sat there, silently, for some time. At last at invisible door in the wall opened, and the Duke of Filth entered, his long limbs swaying like noodles. The Duke's three mouths grinned.

"Lord Pazgul," said the Duke. "Any progress."

The man in the red robes shook his head sharply, as though waking up from a nap.

"No," he said. "The wards of Alharazed are strong, even in death."

"Mm." The Duke approached the throne, stopping short of the magical barrier, and waved one limp hand.

"Good evening, Princess Kitra," he said.

The Princess's bright green eyes met his briefly, and her face contorted with disgust.

"Release me immediately," she said, "and perhaps I will convince the nobles of Kithros not to annihilate your spirit utterly, sending you to the Pits from whence none return, and in which agony is unending."

Lord Pazgul rolled his eyes. "She's like this all the time," he said.

"Mm." The Duke sat at the jet-black table. "Well, Pazgul, I thought you deserved a break. I've sent for refreshments."

He whistled, and a naked girl hurried through the doorway. Her arms were bound behind her; from her shoulders and legs hung a tray with two black goblets upon it. Filling her mouth was a fat, writhing worm. The Duke took the two goblets and set them on the table.

"Pour," he ordered.

The girl leaned over, and the worm excreted a thick green fluid into both goblets. Pazgul raised one with a sigh.

"To your eternal dominance, my king and master," he said. They touched goblets and drank.

"Now," said the Duke, "I have important things to tell you. Will you take your pleasure of this maiden? She was once a Priestess of the White Heights, you know."

Pazgul waved. Delicately the Duke removed the worm from the girl's mouth and put it on the table, where it writhed and then went limp. The girl licked her lips and crawled under the table.

"That warrior who slew you in Princess Kitra's name," said the Duke, "back on the Plains of Blood. That wasn't Alharazed."

"I didn't think it was."

"Nonetheless, he had Alharazed's enchanted blade," said the Duke. "The blade binds itself to its rightful master, and cannot be stolen. If summoned, it will always return to its master's hand. That is what made Alharazed so perilous - and it is why we must have Greg of Earth-Land as our ally."

Pazgul nodded.

"As you wish, my lord," he said dolefully. "Though I would surely love to slay that filthy bastard myself."

The Duke's three mouths grinned hugely. He didn't say anything.