Alfred blinked.

One moment he had been in the cave, struggling against the Labyrinth. Now he stood before the Final Gate in his Sartan form, completely alone.

"What?" he wondered. He turned, searching for anyone who could explain what was going on.

That was when the ground opened up beneath his feet. Innocent-looking grass grew to enormous heights, wrapped around his shoulders. He staggered, yelping a rapid rune-chant.

The Sartan soared into the air, hovered just out of the grass's reach. He tensed, awaiting the Labyrinth's inevitable next move.

Sure enough, a gust of wind lashed out at him, whipping dirt into his skin and eyes. Alfred hummed a single note, remained in place. The wind didn't move him.

"Hello?" he called once the gust had passed. "Where is- what in all the worlds?"

He had caught a glimpse of the… thing (for in Alfred's mind, there was no other way to describe the wretched abomination) he was wearing. And he didn't like it, not one bit.

It was a coat- a green coat, the same color as his dragon form's scales, with two golden cuffs. Alfred had the horrible feeling that the rest of his clothing had transformed to match.

The sheer shock of finding himself dressed in something he'd never be caught dead wearing was enough to distract him. That, of course, was exactly what the Labyrinth had intended.

The whirlwind twisted, reversed direction. It slammed into the startled Sartan, pushing him towards the deadly forest. The plants grabbed at him, thorns wrapping around his arms and legs, grass tying his head to the ground, a tree's roots ensnaring his torso. He gasped, choked.

The demonic plants pulled, dragging him into the ground itself.

Was this the end? Would he really die today?

Patryns who had been in near-death situations (meaning each and every member of the race) spoke of their life flashing before their eyes. Now Alfred experienced the same thing.

He saw the crystal tombs, rows and rows of dead companions who would never sing or dance again. He saw Haplo's first dog, the one the Patryn had never named but which Alfred had privately thought of as Sausage, silently begging for a belly rub. He saw his grandchildren playing, something they'd never truly done in the Labyrinth, and enjoying every minute of it. He saw Haplo and Marit sitting side by side, their hands touching, smiling at him in amused exasperation.

And then he saw them in truth.

The strangling plants vanished. The world tilted crazily. Suddenly he was lying on his back, surrounded by Haplo and Marit and a couple drakes, free.

Of course, it took him a few seconds to realize that. Alfred continued struggling for several moments after his release, squirming and straining against restraints that were no longer there. Then the Patryns grabbed him by the hand, hauled him to his feet.

"You all right, Coren?" Haplo asked.

The Sartan stared at him in astonishment. "I'm not dead," he observed. Then, happily, "I'm not dead!"

"He looks fine to me," the relieved Marit observed.

Alfred glanced at his coat, was relieved to see that it wasn't dragon-green. His smile widened. Then his gaze wandered, fixated on the empty body he'd constructed for the Labyrinth. The smile faded. His thin shoulders squared as he drew himself up to his full height, taller than anyone around him. He backed away from the others, mild eyes determined. "This time, please don't wake me up."


The illusion world snapped, shattered. The Labyrinth was plunged back into reality. It staggered, disoriented by the sudden change.

How, it wondered, had the Serpent Mage escaped its trap? He had been about to die, buried under thousands of pounds of dirt, crushed to death by its sheer weight. One second, it had been dragging him underground to his death. The next, it was back in the physical world.

For a moment, it panicked. What if the Serpent Mage had copied its trick, faking his own death to lure his opponent away? But no- this was no mindscape, but the real world. Something had broken the spell, dragging them both back into the real world.

It cursed silently, enraged. A pox on the dragons of Pryan, and a thousand poxes on those who helped them! And ten thousand poxes on-

Another mind, scarred with solitude and throbbing with magic, latched onto its consciousness.

And the battle began anew.


Fighting the Labyrinth hurt. Not physically, for theirs was not a physical battle, but mentally, emotionally, spiritually.

And oh, how hard it was. The prison maze was strong, cunning, determined, ancient. He was… well, he had the strong part down pat. In his own way, he too was ancient, though he'd spent much of his life in the stasis sleep. It was the cunning and determined parts he had trouble with.

Of course, the determination bit had gotten a rather large boost by his brief reprieve in the real world. He wasn't going to be taken off-guard again.

You, he silently informed the struggling Labyrinth, are going to die today.

I think that you are confusing us, it hissed back. And once you are dead, Coren, know that your friends will be quick to join you.

I am not afraid of death. Neither are they.

An image entered his mind: row upon row of crystal tombs, each containing a precious comrade. Friends, neighbors, his brother and sister, his beautiful Lia….

No, Coren repeated, smiling at the Labyrinth's fool attempt to discourage him, I am not afraid of death.

Another image, or rather a series of images: the shambling undead of Abarrach, phantasms trailing uselessly behind them. Jera alive and well, then Jera the lazar tearing into Kleitus. The phantasm flitted in and out of her body, transforming its face from that of a living woman to that of a long-dead, rotted corpse. Hugh the Hand shaking him until his teeth rattled.

Awful images, each and every one of them. Yet they affected Coren in the last way the Labyrinth had expected. He grew stronger, more confident, fear sloughing away like a serpent's skin. If the Labyrinth had resorted to these memories, these empty threats, then it had nothing better to threaten him with.

My people have given up necromancy, as you well know. The nightmares of Abarrach hold no fear for me.

Coren's mind wrapped around that of the Labyrinth, scrambling for a hold. It flinched away instinctively, just as he'd anticipated.

He latched on, forcing himself to ignore the filth of its mind, the snarls and screams and memories of pain. The Labyrinth screamed horrible threats- all the Patryns shall die for this, die in screaming agony; I will take you with me, binding us together until the end of time, and do you really think that your friends will kill me if my death will bring yours?

But Coren persevered, wrapping tighter around the Labyrinth's mind.

The effort affected him physically and mentally. He was tired, yearned for sleep. His mind felt strained, wrung out like a sponge. Sweat condensed all over his body.

But magic was coursing as his blood, and he was so close to binding the Labyrinth for good, and if he succeeded then no one would ever have to suffer like Haplo had, like Marit had, like his poor beloved grandchildren….

Pity, mercy, compassion. Even more than magic, these three things had always been his source of strength.

For a single, heart-stopping moment, Coren and the Labyrinth were balanced on the edge of a cliff. One step, and they would fall into the unknown. One step- letting go, seizing hold- and the Labyrinth would be bound forever.

But it was fighting, a desperate frenzy of red claw and white fang and blood-tinted magic. It was afraid, and even a mouse would fight when cornered.

Redemption, Coren sang, imbuing the misnomer with all his strength. And took the step.


Haplo was a man of action. He despised sitting by idly, doing nothing. He especially despised sitting around twiddling his thumbs while others were in danger. Especially if that other was Alfred, his dearest friend, whose main talents involved getting into trouble and making powerful enemies who had no compunctions about murdering him.

The Patryn was tempted- strongly tempted- to grab his Sartan friend by the arm, call his true name, and drag him out of his trance. "Come on, Alfred," he muttered, fists clenched.

"Have faith," the drake murmured. "You know that he is stronger than he appears."

"He doesn't."

The dragon flinched. "True."

At that moment, several things happened at once. Alfred opened his eyes and mouth, jabbering something that was cut off in the horrendous wailing of his piscine creation. The Labyrinth fish (for wont of a better word) was screaming in fury, thrashing around, trying to knock its enemies to the ground.

Alfred jumped almost out of his skin. He blinked once at the fish, which was flopping clumsily toward him with murder in its eyes, and yelped a word that he would normally never use. "Don't kill it yet! It's not wholly bound!"

Haplo could see that. The piscine's body was filled with a dark fog, straining against the blazing blue runes. In most places, the rune-light shone triumphant. At the mouth, however, a thin stream of darkness had managed to escape.

Alfred danced towards the creature, his hands forming new runes. The tiny trail of fog snapped back into the fish body. Runes formed over the mouth, sealing it for good.

But the Labyrinth was nothing if not spiteful. It lunged forward. Its jaws clamped down on the Sartan's hand. Yelping in startled pain, the mage fell, dragged down by the creature's weight.

The Patryns took that as permission to kill it.

The Labyrinth didn't stand a chance. Every Patryn within a hundred-foot radius was armed to the teeth. They plunged their weapons into the monster's hide. It screamed in pain and fury, releasing Alfred (who scurried away, superbly thankful that this particular species of fish didn't have very strong jaws, or else he'd have lost a hand).

But nothing can survive being impaled again and again by almost two dozen weapons. The Labyrinth's cries weakened, faded, stopped.

The darkness within its new body seemed to curdle. It contracted, growing smaller and denser but somehow fainter. For an infinite moment a speck of foul magic lurked within the fish's heart. Then it was gone.

The rune-structure unwound, its task accomplished. Alfred, clutching his wounded hand to his chest, imagined that he could hear the magic singing, feel it running insubstantial fingers over his shoulders. It seemed to him that the magic was thanking him, glad to have been used so extensively and well.

And perhaps, he thought with a tiny shiver, it was. After all, if the Labyrinth was sentient….

No, he corrected himself, it had been sentient. Had been, past tense. Had been, as in not any longer. Had been, as in it was dead.

Alfred stretched to his full height, looked over the crowd of Patryns and Sartan to watch the body unwinding. A goofy grin plastered itself across his face. His injured hand dangled by his side, completely forgotten.

"It worked," he told Marit, the first to come and check on him. Beaming almost as brightly as his dragon-self, he grabbed her in a hug, dancing around in a tiny circle. "It worked!"

"Should I be jealous?" Haplo asked dryly, extracting himself from the crowd that had gathered around the disintegrating Labyrinth fish. "Because that's my wife you're holding, Sartan."

Alfred turned redder than a Labyrinth dragon's scales. Marit just laughed, joy making her giddy and silly, and planted a very small kiss on her friend's cheek. Alfred turned even redder, which should not have been physically possible but somehow was. "Yes, Haplo, you should be jealous," she teased him.

Haplo laughed. Marit wasn't the only one feeling silly with joy, with relief, with hope. "Somehow, though, I don't feel threatened."

The two Patryns looked over Alfred: crimson-faced almost to the bald spot on his head, skinny as a stick, with enormous hands and even larger feet, and completely enamored with his friends' love. He'd name himself High King of the Dragon-snakes before meddling with Haplo and Marit's relationship.

"I can't imagine why," the Patryn woman joked. She hugged Alfred again.

Haplo, grinning, joined in. "Nice work, Coren," he murmured.

"Thank you," the embarrassed Sartan mumbled back. His blush faded somewhat, though it was still present.

"Well done indeed," laughed another drake. This one wore its dragon form, a huge mass of glittering green-blue scales. Even as the three friends looked up at it, it seemed to grow larger, sleeker, stronger, taking strength from their happiness.

Haplo and Marit pulled away. The Patryn woman glanced at her hand, wondering what the sticky substance on it was. Oh, blood. Alfred's blood, to be specific. She glanced at his still-unhealed hand, which was only just beginning to clot.

The Rescuer rolled her eyes fondly. "Only you could get yourself mauled by a fish," she muttered, voice filled with affection. "Do you want healing?"

No answer. He obviously hadn't heard her. "Alfred," she said, louder this time. The Sartan turned to her. "Do you want healing?" Normally she wouldn't waste magic on a wound so trivial, but Alfred had just destroyed the Labyrinth. She figured that he deserved a bit of slack.

"No thank you, my dear. It looks worse than it really is."

At this point, the other Patryns and Sartan recovered from the stunning realization that yes, the Labyrinth was indeed dead. A great cheer went up from them, laughter and triumph combined.

"You should run," the drake stage-whispered to Alfred, eyes twinkling merrily, "else they'll carry you on their shoulders back to the city."

"Excellent idea," said Vasu, who by then had come over to check on them. "The carrying part, I mean, not the running bit."

"You wouldn't want to do that," Alfred babbled. "I'm too big."

Vasu nodded indulgently, placed a hand on the Sartan's shoulder.

Alfred's smile faded. "Headman, I think you should redouble the Rescuers' efforts. The Labyrinth and I… not quite spoke, but certainly conversed, when I was trying to bind it. It told me that it restrained its creatures from slaughtering your people indiscriminately. I don't know if it was telling the truth, but-"

"It was not," the drake interrupted. "Many of the monsters here prefer easier prey than Patryns- the griffins, the bats and birds, chaodyn and even snogs. Not dragons, I'm afraid, nor creatures that are part human, but the creatures I named might just cease their attacks entirely."

The Sartan sagged with relief. "Oh, thank all the ancestors…."

A wave of exhaustion rolled over him. Suddenly he could barely keep his eyes open, much less focus on the conversations around him. He was vaguely aware of people congratulating him, fierce proud Patryns with tears in their eyes, but the world had gone so fuzzy and strange….

Haplo caught him, kept him from falling. "Someone give me a hand," he called. "He's exhausted." Then, to the Sartan, in an uncharacteristically gentle voice, "Go to sleep, my friend."

"'m no' fain'in," Alfred slurred. Telling his friends that his unfortunate old habit hadn't resurrected itself seemed very important to him.

"I know you're not fainting," Haplo said. As always, he understood the older man perfectly. "But you're still sleep-deprived from your five-day all-nighter and you just got through an absurdly powerful spell, and the Labyrinth almost killed you before you bound it. Go to sleep, get your strength back- you've earned it."

The Sartan shook his head. He flexed his wounded hand, grimaced at the pain. But provoking the injury had the effect he'd desired: he was more awake now, able to form a sentence without tripping over his own words. "I'll sleep once we get back."

His friend nodded, accepting that. "You realize that we'll be riding dragon-back, right?"

Alfred groaned, wishing that he'd listened to the younger man and gone to sleep.

Somehow, he made it through the journey home. Somehow, he made it to his room, onto his soft warm bed. But on his way to bed, he had to pass through the rest of the house. Through his grandchildren, who had been waiting anxiously for their family to return.

"How'd it go?" demanded Enno, trailing alongside him.

Alfred smiled, ruffled the little Patryn's hair. "Your parents will have to tell you the specifics, because I'm ready to collapse, but the short of it is that the Labyrinth is dead."


Huzzah! Rejoice and be merry, for the Labyrinth is dead! Hip hip hooray!

Superare: Latin for "to overcome." Alternate chapter titles were "Occidere," "to kill," and "Vicere," "to conquer."

Next chapter will be the end. I'm kind of surprised that it even lasted this long- it was originally a one-shot, then a two-shot. Now it's apparently a five-shot. Okay, then. Works for me.

-Antares