When Sarah woke up, the first thing she remembered was that she was
supposed to babysit her brother today. For some reason, the thought of his
little fat face made her intensely sad. "That's curious," she murmured
sleepily into the pillow. "Is something wrong with him? Is he sick?"
Feeling reasonably sure that Toby was fine, Sarah opened her eyes and
frowned at the wall. The kernel of sorrow wouldn't go away and her eyes
felt puffy and sore, as if someone had scraped sandpaper over her corneas.
As she focused on the knotted boards in front of her nose, memory hit her
hard. It felt remarkably like getting punched in the stomach, and her
breath whooshed out in a gasp. She sat up and looked around the narrow
room, which had no windows because they would only let in the half-light
that hung unchanging over Tir-na-nOg. Sarah clutched the thin blanket to
her chin, and the admission that had been creeping around the back of her
brain for a long time now finally made its way into conscious thought. She
whispered to the chilly room, "I might never go home again."
Strange that she had read any number of stories that featured exile of a character, or heard real-life stories of refugees on the news, but had never imagined the feeling of utter desolation that swept over her as she finally faced the stark truth that there was a good chance she would never see her family again. Sarah had made the choice to stay away for the past eighteen months, but she had always known there was a home to go back to. Things had just started to turn around between her stepmother and herself. The thought of never seeing her dad again was unbearable, and the thought of never seeing Toby was devastating. Numbly, Sarah sat in bed and tried to come to grips with the idea of being cut off from all her family and friends, forever. It hurt far too much to even approach the concept, much less learn to cope with it. "Well then," Sarah whispered. Her voice came out weak and cracked, and she cringed at its hopeless tone. Clearing her throat, she said forcefully, "I'll find a way home. That's all there is to it. I refuse to accept any other possibility."
She flung the blanket aside and hurried to Jareth's door. Her hand was poised to knock when suddenly she remembered the smell of wildflowers. He had rocked her to sleep while she wept out her heart to him. Mortification froze her in mid-knock as blood rushed to her cheeks. Oh lord! What would he say? Would he smirk at her in that insufferable way of his, and hold it over her head for the rest of time that he had seen her at her weakest? She was sure he had spent the night congratulating himself on being his strong, invulnerable self. She couldn't see him reduced to tears on anybody's account. Suddenly wildly angry with the man, she drew back her fist and let fly at his door. With rather unfortunate timing, Jareth chose that particular moment to exit his chamber.
As he flung his door wide, Sarah yelled in surprise and barely managed to divert her blow, grazing his ear instead of punching his nose. Jareth emitted a hoarse shout and leapt backwards, hooked the edge of his heel on the door, and vanished quite suddenly from Sarah's field of view. Sticking her head timidly around the door, she asked the prostrate monarch, "Are you all right?"
He regarded the ceiling in silence for a moment, then replied, "I shall never quite recover from the sight of a red-faced, hedge-haired, violent banshee flinging herself at me first thing in the morning. I expect to have nightmares of the incident henceforward." He got haughtily to his feet and inquired, "I presume there is a reason, other than an impulsive desire to take a few years off my life, for such an enthusiastic attack on my person?"
Sarah said guiltily, "I've , uh, been thinking about our situation, and I thought we ought to decide on a course of action. I want to go home."
Jareth cocked his blue eye at her and said, "To do that, you would have to open the Sun Gate, which requires removing the seal from the Black Gate, which is exactly why Duath brought us here. You realize what that means."
Sarah raised her chin defiantly. "I didn't mean to imply that I would help the creep. I love my world. I know what I have to do." As soon as she said it, she realized with some surprise that it was true. Sometime in the night, or in the uncertain moments since waking, her subconscious had sorted her options and she had made her decision. She felt her resolve crystallize into a sharp dagger of determination. Casting a glance at Jareth, she added, "I need help, though."
He came to her and leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest. His wild eyes bored into hers and he murmured, "That depends entirely on what you have decided to do."
Sarah licked her lips. He was awfully close, and the force of his gaze was almost physically overwhelming. "Duath needs to be stopped," she whispered. "Men like him, they find a way. He'll break that seal eventually, and the Underground needs to be warned before that happens. You have to use your magic to get yourself back there, or at least talk with someone and let them know what's happening."
"Abandoning you here?" he asked idly.
Although she felt herself pale at the thought, Sarah nodded firmly. "If necessary."
Jareth leaned closer. Sarah went rigid, darting panicked glances toward him out of the corner of her eye. Her knees seemed to be turning to jelly for some reason. A strand of his unkempt hair brushed her neck and she jumped as if she had received an electric shock. His mouth was almost touching her ear, his voice a sweet warmth on her cheek as he breathed the word, "Impossible."
His breath on her cheek released her from her state of semi-paralysis. "What?" she gasped, jerking backwards.
His golden eye flared lazily at her from eyes suddenly half lidded as he leaned casually back against the wall, apparently oblivious of her discomfort. "Quite impossible," he repeated in a velvet purr. "A door such as Duath created swings only one way. Hence the need for Gates; otherwise we could all waltz in and out of Tir-na-nOg as we pleased. In places where the walls between the worlds are thin, I could scry into the Uplands or the Underground, but I could no more get a message through than I could transport myself across the barrier."
Sarah understood the gist of his speech, but she was having a hard time concentrating on his words. Her head was spinning in a very peculiar way. By sheer force of will, she dragged her thoughts back into the realm of coherence. "So we can't get a message out," she gabbled. "And we can't get ourselves out either. We'll have to find out what Duath's got - how likely it is that he'll break the seal - and then do what we can to sabotage him. We don't know anything about his army, or his father, or anything."
"That does seem to be the first order of business," Jareth confirmed, and turned his body to slide past her into the hall. Raising an eyebrow, he said, "Well, come on then." There was a peculiar, almost self-satisfied gleam in his eye. Sarah shook herself and issued a firm internal order to calm down and be sensible. Jareth's behavior might be bizarre, but that was no excuse for the way her stomach was churning. At least he hadn't brought up her storm of weeping, and that was almost sensitive of him - which was an adjective she never would have expected to apply to the Goblin King. In her experience, he alternated between "arrogant" and "insufferable." Sarah gritted her teeth and followed him down the stairs.
As she stepped into the taproom, she heard the crunch of breaking crystal, followed by a shiver of wind that passed over her face. She was not surprised to see that she was now following the scruffy soldier in white and that her hands looked like two gnarled tree branches when she held them in front of her face. Oh well, there were worse things than looking like a short, misplaced Ent for a few hours.
The same barkeeper stood sullenly rubbing a dirty cloth over an earthenware mug, and Jareth engaged him in casual conversation about the likelihood of a wandering soldier finding work hereabouts. Sarah stood at his elbow feeling like a conspicuously ugly third wheel until Jareth seemed satisfied and nodded at her to follow him out of the tavern.
As they stepped outside, Sarah sucked in a deep breath. The air was still and not particularly refreshing, but at least it was free from the fetid stink of food and bodies. She grinned at Jareth and said, "Where to?"
The green-eyed soldier shot her a snooty look, but the corners of his mouth quirked rebelliously upward as he replied, "No one in particular has come into town recently, so we are safe for the moment. I think we'll have a little look round."
They proceeded in a direction opposite from that in which they had arrived, and Sarah felt her spirits grow lighter with every step. The town was by no means bustling, but a steady stream of people passed them in the street and Sarah eagerly observed each one. Her fears of never going home were gradually subsumed by a sense that she was out on a once-in-a-lifetime adventure. After all, she had always dreamed of discovering magic or uncovering evidence of a fairy world and here she was, walking elbow to elbow with a real Goblin King.
Jareth seemed to be looking for something in particular. He gave most of the wooden signs no more than a passing glance, outpacing Sarah easily with his long strides, but at last he gave a satisfied "Hmph!" at a placard bearing a crossed sword and hammer burned into it and turned sharply down a narrow alley. A few steps later, they came to a large open area, roofed with wooden beams and glowing with heat. A squat, burly man with a ruddy, soot-smeared face stood with knobby hands braced on a low trestle, poring over a much-abused parchment. Black eyes flickered to Jareth, dismissed him, and settled on Sarah.
The little man let out a roar, then limped ponderously around his table to grab her hand. "By beard and flame! 'Tis sixty year an' more since I seen a blood brother. Well met, son o' my sire, well met indeed!" He pumped her hand enthusiastically, then pawed about under the trestle to produce a couple of battered cups. "Ale, by thunder! We'll drink to old times - to days when beer ran thick an' sweet, not this pigswill we brew today. Eh, cousin?" He dipped the cups into a small barrel close at hand and passed them to Sarah and Jareth. "To the Old King, may he rest in peace," the black-haired man (who, Sarah realized, must be an actual Dwarf) intoned solemnly, quaffing his mug in a single pull.
Well, Sarah thought, when in Rome. . . Mimicking his gesture, she growled in her gruffest voice, "To the Old King." Closing her eyes and praying for strength, she downed the contents of her cup. Womanfully suppressing her gag reflex, she saw Jareth's eyes dancing in amusement across his cup of the rancid brew, and threw him a baleful glare.
"But it is dark times indeed when a son o' the blood travels with a long- legged fellow such as this 'un," the man continued, fierce black brows drawing together as he waved his paw at Jareth, who bristled. "I am Harbargast, once of a mountain clan as was the bravest, fiercest sons that ever been. When the Gate closed, o' course, we fell to in-fighting, and then was easy prey for them as needed blood, for the long-legs outnumbered us by thousands. I thought I was the last o' us, 'til now." His fierce black eyes filled with tears, and he dragged Sarah into a smelly, unsteady embrace.
Her conscience was screaming at her six ways from Sunday, but there was more at stake than a poor old Dwarf's feelings. Making up a name on the spot, Sarah growled, "Hoggle at your service." Inspiration struck, and she gripped Harbargast tightly by the shoulder. "My clan was left on the other side of the Gate. What would you say if I told you the Gate could be opened again?"
"I'd say you're dreamin'," Harbargast said. "I hear that talk too. Every hundred year or so there comes a rumor that young Duath found a way out. I were at the first few gatherings, but naught came of it except more bloodshed. Cor, must be only a few hundred of us left, all told. We been slaughterin' each other for nigh on a thousand year, now."
Sarah raised an eyebrow at Jareth, who looked just as surprised as she felt. An army of hundreds? What threat could there be from that small number, even if the Underground was taken by surprise? Not to mention the fact that she herself had seen what must have been at least a hundred dead men, newly killed in battle just before she arrived in this world.
Jareth casually leaned forward and said, "It's touching to see such a happy reunion. I'm a plainsman myself, and I travel with Higgle-" ("Hoggle," Sarah hissed) "because I saved his life," he finished smoothly. Sarah glared at him. "We've been wandering the wilds these many years, and now we're looking for work. Is Duath recruiting, do you know?"
Harbargast helped himself to another cup of ale, and to her chagrin filled Sarah's cup too. "Well," he said slowly, "normalwise I don't mix in long- leg business. But if a son o' the blood is involved, I must tell ye - get ye back to the wilds, and come ne'er again near to Duath." The look on the Dwarf's face was impossible for Sarah to read. Despair? Denial? He continued, "What I heard, I won't repeat, for if it's false it ain't worth repeatin' and if it's true, can't no one do nothin' about it. But I'll have you know a band of Duath's finest, most trusted men come through here a few days ago. They said Duath had a new plan, and any creature under the sky with an ounce o' sanity would join 'em to stop it. They headed up to Hells Hills, and we hear there was a fearsome fight. Not a man left alive." Harbargast's voice had dropped to a husky whisper, and Sarah found herself shivering at the dark images his words conjured in her heart.
Jareth did not seem to be so affected. "A man needs to earn a living," he said easily. "Where are these hundreds camped?"
Harbargast stared at him, then stood up. "I ain't helpin' a son o' my sire commit suicide," he rumbled. "You, long-legs, can get ye gone. Hoggle," he continued, turning to Sarah, "I know a life debt is a heavy burden, but ye may stay happily here, with me. When the horrors of this place become too much, we'll help each other out o' the world, but not before."
Sarah laid a gentle hand on his. "I must stay with him," she said simply. The words rang in her ears like clear silver bells. As they left her lips, almost like magic, the lights went out.
Darkness engulfed her. Thick, impenetrable, complete blackness. Sarah cried out and reached to where her memory told her Jareth was standing, and she sobbed in relief as his forearm flailed into hers. Clinging to Jareth with one hand and with the other clutched by Harbargast, Sarah squeaked, "What is it? What happened?"
"I've no idea," Jareth muttered.
Just as suddenly as the darkness came, it was gone. The new light, however, was not the half-light of Tir-na-nOg, or even the warm sunlight of back home. It almost seemed like fluorescent light. Its harsh glare accentuated shadows and lines, and Sarah realized by the hollows under Jareth's mismatched eyes that he had not slept well after all.
She realized something else as well, just as Harbargast flung her hand from him with an oath and a hoarse cry of, "Ye ain't no son, no son at all!"
"Jareth, I can see you," she told him urgently.
He turned his head to listen. "They know we're here," he said. "Come on." They ran back up the alley and Jareth popped his head out into the street. "No one official in sight," he reported. "Our only chance is to make it out of town before they find us. Quickly!"
They sprinted from the alley, keeping close to the houses at the side of the street, staying in whatever shadow they could find. Under the strange white light, though, there was hardly anywhere to hide. Sarah expected shouts to follow them at any moment, but miraculously they seemed to have escaped detection. She saw the last row of houses and put on an extra burst of speed, only to pull up short as she ran into Jareth's back. He pointed wordlessly in front of him.
A wall of light stretched before them, shivering and rippling with transient, prism-like refractions as it arched overhead to disappear behind the houses. Sarah didn't know what walking through the shining stuff might do to them, but she was fairly sure it wouldn't be pleasant. Looking to all sides, she saw that it had been formed in the shape of a dome that completely enclosed Heldenholm and its inhabitants. She moaned in despair. No wonder their escape had been so easy! Their pursuers had no need to tire themselves out chasing panicked townsfolk; they would simply round everyone up and search the town from top to bottom at their leisure.
"What are we going to do?" she groaned. "Can you get past it?"
Jareth's face was a mask of concentration. "I'm trying," he grated, "but the thing's damned strong! It's drawing an enormous amount of power. I can't hope to breach it."
"Is there another way out?" Sarah grasped desperately at straws.
"Not a chance. They'll have thought of that."
She heard the chink of booted feet on the road, coming closer. "We're trapped!"
The proud angle of his mouth constricted, and then he raised his elegant profile and said, "We can fight. I expect I can take a score or more down with me, and I certainly don't plan on being captured for Duath's sacrifice. Stay behind me. I will protect you for as long as possible. If I can kill the wizard maintaining this wall, you have a decent chance."
Sarah stood, numb and frozen, barely able to grasp what he was saying. He looked so regal, so fierce as he calmly announced his own death. Her heart contracted, and she whispered, "There must be another way."
His only reply was to turn back down the road. "Get ready to run," he told her over his shoulder.
Sarah opened her mouth to tell him that she wasn't going anywhere, but suddenly her stomach folded in on itself. Her hands and feet went numb, and streaks of light and dark chased themselves across her vision. "Oh hell," she hissed through gritted teeth. Her breath started to come hard, and she fought it like she'd never fought it before. She could not black out on him and leave him to face Duath alone! She would not submit to the darkness! The pressure behind her eyes became unbearable and she fell to her knees, struggling to breath. She croaked out a desperate plea for help, but it sounded horribly thin even to her own ears. In the distance, she heard a clear, high yell. The fingers of blackness at the edge of her vision thickened into huge hands that came down to cover her eyes, fill her mouth, and carry her away.
She smelled burning, and fell bodiless through a tower of smoke lit with cinders that scorched her nonexistent skin. A huge wind blew through a valley of dust, and a clock chimed thirteen hours. She hung suspended in darkness, then slowly realized that she lay on a bed of feathers, their fine shafts tickling her cheeks.
No, that wasn't right. Sarah frowned, and cracked an eye open. Jareth's wild hair completely obscured her vision, and a few unruly strands had settled on her face. Irritably, she brushed them aside, and tried to sit up. A grip like a vise settled across her hips and shoulders, and she struggled and began to yell.
"Shut up, you fool girl!" his familiar tenor rasped at her. "We're still their quarry, and much too close for comfort."
She stilled and tried to figure out what on earth was going on. Duath's soldiers obviously didn't have them yet. Were they still in Heldenholm? Brushing Jareth's blond mane out of the way, Sarah could see rolling hills, certainly no houses or signs of a town. She was slung across Jareth's shoulders like a sack of grain, and she was utterly and thoroughly embarrassed.
"I'm sorry I fainted," she said angrily, furious with herself, "but you can put me down now. It never happens twice in a row. I can walk."
He paid no attention to her. She waited a few uncomfortable minutes until his shoulder blades really started to dig into her chest and abdomen, then started to squirm. "I'm all right, honest," she protested. "I just get these stupid fainting fits once in a while. Put me down!"
In one smooth motion he swung her down from his shoulders onto her feet. A little dizzy from the rapid descent, Sarah shook her head to clear it, asking, "What happened? Where are we?"
Jareth was looking at her with a most peculiar expression, intent and searching. Apparently finding nothing amiss, he shrugged and told her, "I heard you cry for help. When I turned, you had collapsed on the ground. The next few moments were very confused; there was an explosion of some sort on the other side of town - I think the residents were a little put off by Duath's presence - and smoke started pouring out of every building. I simply slung you over my shoulders and walked out of the village. The explosion must have either killed or distracted Duath's pet mage, because the barrier had been torn to shreds by the time I got clear of the smoke."
Sarah whistled. "I'll have to remember to send the mayor of Heldenholm a thank-you note." They continued on in silence, but Sarah noticed that Jareth kept sneaking furtive glances at her when he thought she wasn't looking. She was used to that. People either got very pitying or very protective of you after you fainted for no reason. Sarah was completely annoyed with herself, and a little puzzled as well. Usually the episodes came months apart, sometimes years, but here were two incidents in as many days. Maybe magic didn't agree with her system. Sarah sighed and tried to push it out of her mind. There was nothing she could do about it anyway.
As they went, Jareth outlined a plan of action. He had found a crude map at the bottom of the papers Sarah had taken from Duath's tent, and he showed her a blob that seemed to be Heldenholm and another, much larger blob, surrounded by a spidery sort of symbol, that seemed to be the Gate. "You were right about being steered somewhere," he told her. "That town lies along the old road between the Gates. Some vestige of power may call lost travelers to it and steer them one way or the other. As luck would have it, we've been heading for the Black Gate all along, and I imagine we're only a few days away. We'll reconnoiter, determine what resources Duath has at his disposal, and make a final decision as to our course of action."
Sarah craned her head to get a better angle and asked, "What is this funny design all around the Gate?"
Jareth looked at it for a long time, and then dismissed it perfunctorily. "Probably nothing. It can't possibly be right. Someone trying to discourage visitors, that's all."
"That sounds sort of sinister to me," Sarah said nervously. Jareth did not deign to respond.
They traveled in silence for a while, until Sarah found the quiet oppressive and began to talk. She told Jareth about her family, her college, and her hopes of being an author someday. "Or an actress," she confessed, "but even though writing's hard, it's not nearly as unrealistic as hoping to be the next Bernadette Peters. I just want something that will let me have some independence."
He listened attentively, and when she ran dry of subject material he surprised her by telling her about his kingdom. "The population is roughly half Goblin, half Man," he explained when she asked about his title. "Most of my duties involve keeping the peace between the two peoples. Fortunately, Goblins have no great affinity for cities. They prefer the independence of the plains. We are no large kingdom, but we survive. The Eastern Marches were once the pride of all the Underground," he said proudly. "The Black Gate opened a few short miles from my castle, and like any port city we were famous for our wealth, our artisans, and our universities. But it is many years since the Gate was sealed, and now my House is sunk in obscurity." His eyes grew dark and his gaze turned inward.
Intensely conscious of a burgeoning sense of camaraderie, Sarah quickly sought to distract him from his gloomy thoughts by telling him about all the ways she had found to get into trouble when she was a child. He actually threw back his head and laughed in a few places, which pleased her to an absurd degree. He then returned the favor and regaled her with tales of a wild, princely upbringing. Sarah even found herself able to talk about her mother, once she discovered that his own mother had also died when he was very young. Although time didn't flow normally in Tir-na-nOg, Jareth seemed to have an uncannily accurate internal clock. Three days of walking and talking passed more quickly than Sarah would have believed, and then they saw a distant haze of smoke rising from a hundred campfires, and knew they had found Duath's army.
Jareth didn't want to disguise them with magic until he had to, because he suspected that Duath had employed a very sensitive witch-sniffer to track them to Heldenholm. They made themselves as grubby as possible by mundane means and crept stealthily toward the army. The land sloped gently upward as they went, and they encountered no sentries or any sign of surveillance. "Once of the perks of being the only army in the world," Jareth muttered. At last they made their way, crawling on their bellies, to the top of an embankment and peered over the other side for a look at Duath's army.
The first thing that came to Sarah's mind was an anthill. A huge valley stretched away before her with a hill at its center, like a bowl turned upside down in the middle of a giant plate, and the plate was crawling with little black specks. They were everywhere, thousands upon thousands of them, and their churning, roiling motion on the floor of the valley made her stomach feel a little queasy.
"How many do you think there are?" she asked Jareth, her eyes wide at the sight of the army spread out below her.
Jareth made a quick estimate and swore under his breath. "Hundreds of thousands at least. A million, possibly. And we can't see the other side of the valley from here."
"That's true," Sarah agreed. "There's that weird hill in the middle of it. Look, it has a tower sticking out of it or something. Do you think that's where the Gate is?"
Jareth continued to count and swear, ignoring her question, but Sarah thought that it was the only possible place the Gate could be. There was something odd about the hill, though. Although it was free from the crawling mass of bodies, it still seemed to be moving somehow. Her eyes had a hard time focusing on its slope, as if light found it slippery. She squinted and concentrated, and gradually began to see a pattern emerging. From this far away, it appeared as a tiny, twisting conglomeration of stone. At first, her eyes refused to separate any particular part from the rest except for the black tower at its center, reaching skyward like a decrepit claw. As she looked harder, she saw that the hill was riddled with passages turning hither and thither. In fact, it looked just like -
"A maze," she said.
Jareth froze. He turned his stately head to look her full in the face and asked, "What did you say?"
"Look," she said, pointing down to the hill. "It's a maze, with that tower in the center."
Jareth turned to follow her finger, an unreadable expression on his face. He stared at the hill for a long time, looking as if he had been turned to stone himself. "If I find the man who did this," he said finally, "he will wish he had never been born."
Sarah looked at him askance. "It's just a maze."
"It is a perversion," Jareth spat.
She drew breath to question him further, but at that moment they both heard the soft rattle of feet on loose stones behind them. Jareth cursed again, and Sarah had to admit that he knew quite a lot of creative swear words. As silently as possible, she rolled over and looked down the slope below her. One of the soldiers was coming up the embankment. He hadn't seen them, and he was gurgling to himself in a hissing, spitting voice. Sarah had a sudden, visceral sense that something was very wrong with this person. Before she could signal Jareth, the thing looked up and saw her.
"Meats!" it cried, its muzzle split wide in a ghastly grin, and sprang up the slope toward them. "You stay, you foolish man-things, even though the Master orders you away? You become lunch for Sebheorri!"
Jareth shouted and flung a crystal at the thing. It exploded against its twisted, sinuous body and a mesh of silver ropes wrapped themselves around the creature. Gurgling in hideous laughter, the thing shook itself and the ropes dropped away with a sizzling sound. "Meats with magics, even better!" it cried gleefully. "You must struggle for Sebheorri."
Jareth extended his hand, and suddenly it was filled with a silver sword. "Get away, demon-spawn," he said dangerously.
"Or else you tickle me with that poker?" the creature giggled. It flipped its claw almost lazily, and the sword exploded in a flash of fire. Jareth yelped and clutched his burned hand, shouting words of warding. The thing waded through the defenses as if they weren't even there.
This is it, Sarah thought desperately. We're going to die.
The creature reached out its twisted, tortured fingers to grab Jareth's throat. The King raised his arms to the sky and roared a single, terrible word. Flinching, the demon hissed and clawed at his face, but Jareth had the measure of his enemy now. His power flung the thing away from him, picked it up and shook it like a dog, and the Goblin King intoned a long incantation which Sarah could not hear through the fierce wind that whipped around him. He brought his hands together in a gesture of finality, and the creature disappeared.
The wind died, and Sarah found herself looking up at the most powerful mage in the Underground, his face stark and terrible with the potency of his magic, his eyes merciless and cold. Instead of fear, however, she felt her heart reach out to him as never before. Compassion for this lonely man swept over her, and she put a hand to his cheek before she thought better of it. He started at her touch, then seemed to come back to himself. His eyes gleamed at her in their familiar sardonic way, and he laughed a short, ugly laugh.
"If, by some miracle, I should ever see my old tutor again, I will elevate him to a lordship for making me learn my exorcisms. I deemed it such a waste at the time." Jareth turned to look over the embankment at the figures below, which were roiling about faster than ever and beginning to stream in their direction.
"I'm afraid our visitor has drastically reduced our options. The rest of them will be here shortly." Jareth held out his hand, and two crystals appeared at his fingertips. "It is time to choose," he said. "As his mortal army dwindled, Duath obviously turned to darker means. That army below us likely numbers in the millions, all of them demon ilk, and if the Gates are ever opened they will swarm through and raze both our worlds. I am a King. My duty is clear. I will enter the Labyrinth, fight my way to the tower, and destroy the Black Gate by any means possible." Sarah felt herself crumple at his words. He held out one of the spheres to her. "You, however, are just a girl. There may yet be a life for you in Tir-na- nOg. Take this, and it will send you to the other end of this world. It is a powerful magic; it will protect you from this horde and it will build a safe haven, a place where dreams may come true."
Sarah looked at the crystal, then up to his shuttered, guarded gaze. His offer was generous, even noble, but no part of her even considered taking it. "I love my world," she said softly. "I would give anything to protect it, and the people I love. I'll help you in any way I can."
Jareth closed his eyes and dropped the crystal. It vanished before it could hit the ground, and when he opened his eyes it was like the sun breaking through storm clouds after a week of rain. "We must be swift," he said, taking her hand in his. "Time is short. They will find a way to open the Gate with or without their sacrifices. Above all else, that must not happen. The architect seems to have followed the ancient rules when he built this Labyrinth, and therefore it will follow its own rules now that it is complete. We have as good a chance as anybody, I expect."
Sarah looked at his twisted mouth. "That isn't very good, is it?" she guessed.
"Not good at all," he replied. "The irony of this is simply chilling."
The time for subterfuge was clearly past, so Jareth flung a crystal into the air and took them directly to the gates of the Labyrinth. A flick of his fingers caused a wall of flame to spring up around them, and he placed an arrogant hand on the gate. "Open in the name of your King," he ordered. The gates stayed firmly shut. Sarah cringed, but Jareth merely murmured, "That would have been too easy." His tone grew imperious again. "Open for two who wish to test themselves against the Labyrinth!"
Soundlessly, the heavy gates swung open. Sarah's feet had no sooner passed the threshold than the gates swung silently closed, and all noise from the outside suddenly ceased. She shivered and somehow wasn't surprised when she looked behind her and discovered that the entrance was gone.
"Come on, Sarah," Jareth said, pulling her after him as he started off down the passage.
"I hope you know what you're doing," she said from between chattering teeth.
"I do, Sarah. I most certainly do."
Strange that she had read any number of stories that featured exile of a character, or heard real-life stories of refugees on the news, but had never imagined the feeling of utter desolation that swept over her as she finally faced the stark truth that there was a good chance she would never see her family again. Sarah had made the choice to stay away for the past eighteen months, but she had always known there was a home to go back to. Things had just started to turn around between her stepmother and herself. The thought of never seeing her dad again was unbearable, and the thought of never seeing Toby was devastating. Numbly, Sarah sat in bed and tried to come to grips with the idea of being cut off from all her family and friends, forever. It hurt far too much to even approach the concept, much less learn to cope with it. "Well then," Sarah whispered. Her voice came out weak and cracked, and she cringed at its hopeless tone. Clearing her throat, she said forcefully, "I'll find a way home. That's all there is to it. I refuse to accept any other possibility."
She flung the blanket aside and hurried to Jareth's door. Her hand was poised to knock when suddenly she remembered the smell of wildflowers. He had rocked her to sleep while she wept out her heart to him. Mortification froze her in mid-knock as blood rushed to her cheeks. Oh lord! What would he say? Would he smirk at her in that insufferable way of his, and hold it over her head for the rest of time that he had seen her at her weakest? She was sure he had spent the night congratulating himself on being his strong, invulnerable self. She couldn't see him reduced to tears on anybody's account. Suddenly wildly angry with the man, she drew back her fist and let fly at his door. With rather unfortunate timing, Jareth chose that particular moment to exit his chamber.
As he flung his door wide, Sarah yelled in surprise and barely managed to divert her blow, grazing his ear instead of punching his nose. Jareth emitted a hoarse shout and leapt backwards, hooked the edge of his heel on the door, and vanished quite suddenly from Sarah's field of view. Sticking her head timidly around the door, she asked the prostrate monarch, "Are you all right?"
He regarded the ceiling in silence for a moment, then replied, "I shall never quite recover from the sight of a red-faced, hedge-haired, violent banshee flinging herself at me first thing in the morning. I expect to have nightmares of the incident henceforward." He got haughtily to his feet and inquired, "I presume there is a reason, other than an impulsive desire to take a few years off my life, for such an enthusiastic attack on my person?"
Sarah said guiltily, "I've , uh, been thinking about our situation, and I thought we ought to decide on a course of action. I want to go home."
Jareth cocked his blue eye at her and said, "To do that, you would have to open the Sun Gate, which requires removing the seal from the Black Gate, which is exactly why Duath brought us here. You realize what that means."
Sarah raised her chin defiantly. "I didn't mean to imply that I would help the creep. I love my world. I know what I have to do." As soon as she said it, she realized with some surprise that it was true. Sometime in the night, or in the uncertain moments since waking, her subconscious had sorted her options and she had made her decision. She felt her resolve crystallize into a sharp dagger of determination. Casting a glance at Jareth, she added, "I need help, though."
He came to her and leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest. His wild eyes bored into hers and he murmured, "That depends entirely on what you have decided to do."
Sarah licked her lips. He was awfully close, and the force of his gaze was almost physically overwhelming. "Duath needs to be stopped," she whispered. "Men like him, they find a way. He'll break that seal eventually, and the Underground needs to be warned before that happens. You have to use your magic to get yourself back there, or at least talk with someone and let them know what's happening."
"Abandoning you here?" he asked idly.
Although she felt herself pale at the thought, Sarah nodded firmly. "If necessary."
Jareth leaned closer. Sarah went rigid, darting panicked glances toward him out of the corner of her eye. Her knees seemed to be turning to jelly for some reason. A strand of his unkempt hair brushed her neck and she jumped as if she had received an electric shock. His mouth was almost touching her ear, his voice a sweet warmth on her cheek as he breathed the word, "Impossible."
His breath on her cheek released her from her state of semi-paralysis. "What?" she gasped, jerking backwards.
His golden eye flared lazily at her from eyes suddenly half lidded as he leaned casually back against the wall, apparently oblivious of her discomfort. "Quite impossible," he repeated in a velvet purr. "A door such as Duath created swings only one way. Hence the need for Gates; otherwise we could all waltz in and out of Tir-na-nOg as we pleased. In places where the walls between the worlds are thin, I could scry into the Uplands or the Underground, but I could no more get a message through than I could transport myself across the barrier."
Sarah understood the gist of his speech, but she was having a hard time concentrating on his words. Her head was spinning in a very peculiar way. By sheer force of will, she dragged her thoughts back into the realm of coherence. "So we can't get a message out," she gabbled. "And we can't get ourselves out either. We'll have to find out what Duath's got - how likely it is that he'll break the seal - and then do what we can to sabotage him. We don't know anything about his army, or his father, or anything."
"That does seem to be the first order of business," Jareth confirmed, and turned his body to slide past her into the hall. Raising an eyebrow, he said, "Well, come on then." There was a peculiar, almost self-satisfied gleam in his eye. Sarah shook herself and issued a firm internal order to calm down and be sensible. Jareth's behavior might be bizarre, but that was no excuse for the way her stomach was churning. At least he hadn't brought up her storm of weeping, and that was almost sensitive of him - which was an adjective she never would have expected to apply to the Goblin King. In her experience, he alternated between "arrogant" and "insufferable." Sarah gritted her teeth and followed him down the stairs.
As she stepped into the taproom, she heard the crunch of breaking crystal, followed by a shiver of wind that passed over her face. She was not surprised to see that she was now following the scruffy soldier in white and that her hands looked like two gnarled tree branches when she held them in front of her face. Oh well, there were worse things than looking like a short, misplaced Ent for a few hours.
The same barkeeper stood sullenly rubbing a dirty cloth over an earthenware mug, and Jareth engaged him in casual conversation about the likelihood of a wandering soldier finding work hereabouts. Sarah stood at his elbow feeling like a conspicuously ugly third wheel until Jareth seemed satisfied and nodded at her to follow him out of the tavern.
As they stepped outside, Sarah sucked in a deep breath. The air was still and not particularly refreshing, but at least it was free from the fetid stink of food and bodies. She grinned at Jareth and said, "Where to?"
The green-eyed soldier shot her a snooty look, but the corners of his mouth quirked rebelliously upward as he replied, "No one in particular has come into town recently, so we are safe for the moment. I think we'll have a little look round."
They proceeded in a direction opposite from that in which they had arrived, and Sarah felt her spirits grow lighter with every step. The town was by no means bustling, but a steady stream of people passed them in the street and Sarah eagerly observed each one. Her fears of never going home were gradually subsumed by a sense that she was out on a once-in-a-lifetime adventure. After all, she had always dreamed of discovering magic or uncovering evidence of a fairy world and here she was, walking elbow to elbow with a real Goblin King.
Jareth seemed to be looking for something in particular. He gave most of the wooden signs no more than a passing glance, outpacing Sarah easily with his long strides, but at last he gave a satisfied "Hmph!" at a placard bearing a crossed sword and hammer burned into it and turned sharply down a narrow alley. A few steps later, they came to a large open area, roofed with wooden beams and glowing with heat. A squat, burly man with a ruddy, soot-smeared face stood with knobby hands braced on a low trestle, poring over a much-abused parchment. Black eyes flickered to Jareth, dismissed him, and settled on Sarah.
The little man let out a roar, then limped ponderously around his table to grab her hand. "By beard and flame! 'Tis sixty year an' more since I seen a blood brother. Well met, son o' my sire, well met indeed!" He pumped her hand enthusiastically, then pawed about under the trestle to produce a couple of battered cups. "Ale, by thunder! We'll drink to old times - to days when beer ran thick an' sweet, not this pigswill we brew today. Eh, cousin?" He dipped the cups into a small barrel close at hand and passed them to Sarah and Jareth. "To the Old King, may he rest in peace," the black-haired man (who, Sarah realized, must be an actual Dwarf) intoned solemnly, quaffing his mug in a single pull.
Well, Sarah thought, when in Rome. . . Mimicking his gesture, she growled in her gruffest voice, "To the Old King." Closing her eyes and praying for strength, she downed the contents of her cup. Womanfully suppressing her gag reflex, she saw Jareth's eyes dancing in amusement across his cup of the rancid brew, and threw him a baleful glare.
"But it is dark times indeed when a son o' the blood travels with a long- legged fellow such as this 'un," the man continued, fierce black brows drawing together as he waved his paw at Jareth, who bristled. "I am Harbargast, once of a mountain clan as was the bravest, fiercest sons that ever been. When the Gate closed, o' course, we fell to in-fighting, and then was easy prey for them as needed blood, for the long-legs outnumbered us by thousands. I thought I was the last o' us, 'til now." His fierce black eyes filled with tears, and he dragged Sarah into a smelly, unsteady embrace.
Her conscience was screaming at her six ways from Sunday, but there was more at stake than a poor old Dwarf's feelings. Making up a name on the spot, Sarah growled, "Hoggle at your service." Inspiration struck, and she gripped Harbargast tightly by the shoulder. "My clan was left on the other side of the Gate. What would you say if I told you the Gate could be opened again?"
"I'd say you're dreamin'," Harbargast said. "I hear that talk too. Every hundred year or so there comes a rumor that young Duath found a way out. I were at the first few gatherings, but naught came of it except more bloodshed. Cor, must be only a few hundred of us left, all told. We been slaughterin' each other for nigh on a thousand year, now."
Sarah raised an eyebrow at Jareth, who looked just as surprised as she felt. An army of hundreds? What threat could there be from that small number, even if the Underground was taken by surprise? Not to mention the fact that she herself had seen what must have been at least a hundred dead men, newly killed in battle just before she arrived in this world.
Jareth casually leaned forward and said, "It's touching to see such a happy reunion. I'm a plainsman myself, and I travel with Higgle-" ("Hoggle," Sarah hissed) "because I saved his life," he finished smoothly. Sarah glared at him. "We've been wandering the wilds these many years, and now we're looking for work. Is Duath recruiting, do you know?"
Harbargast helped himself to another cup of ale, and to her chagrin filled Sarah's cup too. "Well," he said slowly, "normalwise I don't mix in long- leg business. But if a son o' the blood is involved, I must tell ye - get ye back to the wilds, and come ne'er again near to Duath." The look on the Dwarf's face was impossible for Sarah to read. Despair? Denial? He continued, "What I heard, I won't repeat, for if it's false it ain't worth repeatin' and if it's true, can't no one do nothin' about it. But I'll have you know a band of Duath's finest, most trusted men come through here a few days ago. They said Duath had a new plan, and any creature under the sky with an ounce o' sanity would join 'em to stop it. They headed up to Hells Hills, and we hear there was a fearsome fight. Not a man left alive." Harbargast's voice had dropped to a husky whisper, and Sarah found herself shivering at the dark images his words conjured in her heart.
Jareth did not seem to be so affected. "A man needs to earn a living," he said easily. "Where are these hundreds camped?"
Harbargast stared at him, then stood up. "I ain't helpin' a son o' my sire commit suicide," he rumbled. "You, long-legs, can get ye gone. Hoggle," he continued, turning to Sarah, "I know a life debt is a heavy burden, but ye may stay happily here, with me. When the horrors of this place become too much, we'll help each other out o' the world, but not before."
Sarah laid a gentle hand on his. "I must stay with him," she said simply. The words rang in her ears like clear silver bells. As they left her lips, almost like magic, the lights went out.
Darkness engulfed her. Thick, impenetrable, complete blackness. Sarah cried out and reached to where her memory told her Jareth was standing, and she sobbed in relief as his forearm flailed into hers. Clinging to Jareth with one hand and with the other clutched by Harbargast, Sarah squeaked, "What is it? What happened?"
"I've no idea," Jareth muttered.
Just as suddenly as the darkness came, it was gone. The new light, however, was not the half-light of Tir-na-nOg, or even the warm sunlight of back home. It almost seemed like fluorescent light. Its harsh glare accentuated shadows and lines, and Sarah realized by the hollows under Jareth's mismatched eyes that he had not slept well after all.
She realized something else as well, just as Harbargast flung her hand from him with an oath and a hoarse cry of, "Ye ain't no son, no son at all!"
"Jareth, I can see you," she told him urgently.
He turned his head to listen. "They know we're here," he said. "Come on." They ran back up the alley and Jareth popped his head out into the street. "No one official in sight," he reported. "Our only chance is to make it out of town before they find us. Quickly!"
They sprinted from the alley, keeping close to the houses at the side of the street, staying in whatever shadow they could find. Under the strange white light, though, there was hardly anywhere to hide. Sarah expected shouts to follow them at any moment, but miraculously they seemed to have escaped detection. She saw the last row of houses and put on an extra burst of speed, only to pull up short as she ran into Jareth's back. He pointed wordlessly in front of him.
A wall of light stretched before them, shivering and rippling with transient, prism-like refractions as it arched overhead to disappear behind the houses. Sarah didn't know what walking through the shining stuff might do to them, but she was fairly sure it wouldn't be pleasant. Looking to all sides, she saw that it had been formed in the shape of a dome that completely enclosed Heldenholm and its inhabitants. She moaned in despair. No wonder their escape had been so easy! Their pursuers had no need to tire themselves out chasing panicked townsfolk; they would simply round everyone up and search the town from top to bottom at their leisure.
"What are we going to do?" she groaned. "Can you get past it?"
Jareth's face was a mask of concentration. "I'm trying," he grated, "but the thing's damned strong! It's drawing an enormous amount of power. I can't hope to breach it."
"Is there another way out?" Sarah grasped desperately at straws.
"Not a chance. They'll have thought of that."
She heard the chink of booted feet on the road, coming closer. "We're trapped!"
The proud angle of his mouth constricted, and then he raised his elegant profile and said, "We can fight. I expect I can take a score or more down with me, and I certainly don't plan on being captured for Duath's sacrifice. Stay behind me. I will protect you for as long as possible. If I can kill the wizard maintaining this wall, you have a decent chance."
Sarah stood, numb and frozen, barely able to grasp what he was saying. He looked so regal, so fierce as he calmly announced his own death. Her heart contracted, and she whispered, "There must be another way."
His only reply was to turn back down the road. "Get ready to run," he told her over his shoulder.
Sarah opened her mouth to tell him that she wasn't going anywhere, but suddenly her stomach folded in on itself. Her hands and feet went numb, and streaks of light and dark chased themselves across her vision. "Oh hell," she hissed through gritted teeth. Her breath started to come hard, and she fought it like she'd never fought it before. She could not black out on him and leave him to face Duath alone! She would not submit to the darkness! The pressure behind her eyes became unbearable and she fell to her knees, struggling to breath. She croaked out a desperate plea for help, but it sounded horribly thin even to her own ears. In the distance, she heard a clear, high yell. The fingers of blackness at the edge of her vision thickened into huge hands that came down to cover her eyes, fill her mouth, and carry her away.
She smelled burning, and fell bodiless through a tower of smoke lit with cinders that scorched her nonexistent skin. A huge wind blew through a valley of dust, and a clock chimed thirteen hours. She hung suspended in darkness, then slowly realized that she lay on a bed of feathers, their fine shafts tickling her cheeks.
No, that wasn't right. Sarah frowned, and cracked an eye open. Jareth's wild hair completely obscured her vision, and a few unruly strands had settled on her face. Irritably, she brushed them aside, and tried to sit up. A grip like a vise settled across her hips and shoulders, and she struggled and began to yell.
"Shut up, you fool girl!" his familiar tenor rasped at her. "We're still their quarry, and much too close for comfort."
She stilled and tried to figure out what on earth was going on. Duath's soldiers obviously didn't have them yet. Were they still in Heldenholm? Brushing Jareth's blond mane out of the way, Sarah could see rolling hills, certainly no houses or signs of a town. She was slung across Jareth's shoulders like a sack of grain, and she was utterly and thoroughly embarrassed.
"I'm sorry I fainted," she said angrily, furious with herself, "but you can put me down now. It never happens twice in a row. I can walk."
He paid no attention to her. She waited a few uncomfortable minutes until his shoulder blades really started to dig into her chest and abdomen, then started to squirm. "I'm all right, honest," she protested. "I just get these stupid fainting fits once in a while. Put me down!"
In one smooth motion he swung her down from his shoulders onto her feet. A little dizzy from the rapid descent, Sarah shook her head to clear it, asking, "What happened? Where are we?"
Jareth was looking at her with a most peculiar expression, intent and searching. Apparently finding nothing amiss, he shrugged and told her, "I heard you cry for help. When I turned, you had collapsed on the ground. The next few moments were very confused; there was an explosion of some sort on the other side of town - I think the residents were a little put off by Duath's presence - and smoke started pouring out of every building. I simply slung you over my shoulders and walked out of the village. The explosion must have either killed or distracted Duath's pet mage, because the barrier had been torn to shreds by the time I got clear of the smoke."
Sarah whistled. "I'll have to remember to send the mayor of Heldenholm a thank-you note." They continued on in silence, but Sarah noticed that Jareth kept sneaking furtive glances at her when he thought she wasn't looking. She was used to that. People either got very pitying or very protective of you after you fainted for no reason. Sarah was completely annoyed with herself, and a little puzzled as well. Usually the episodes came months apart, sometimes years, but here were two incidents in as many days. Maybe magic didn't agree with her system. Sarah sighed and tried to push it out of her mind. There was nothing she could do about it anyway.
As they went, Jareth outlined a plan of action. He had found a crude map at the bottom of the papers Sarah had taken from Duath's tent, and he showed her a blob that seemed to be Heldenholm and another, much larger blob, surrounded by a spidery sort of symbol, that seemed to be the Gate. "You were right about being steered somewhere," he told her. "That town lies along the old road between the Gates. Some vestige of power may call lost travelers to it and steer them one way or the other. As luck would have it, we've been heading for the Black Gate all along, and I imagine we're only a few days away. We'll reconnoiter, determine what resources Duath has at his disposal, and make a final decision as to our course of action."
Sarah craned her head to get a better angle and asked, "What is this funny design all around the Gate?"
Jareth looked at it for a long time, and then dismissed it perfunctorily. "Probably nothing. It can't possibly be right. Someone trying to discourage visitors, that's all."
"That sounds sort of sinister to me," Sarah said nervously. Jareth did not deign to respond.
They traveled in silence for a while, until Sarah found the quiet oppressive and began to talk. She told Jareth about her family, her college, and her hopes of being an author someday. "Or an actress," she confessed, "but even though writing's hard, it's not nearly as unrealistic as hoping to be the next Bernadette Peters. I just want something that will let me have some independence."
He listened attentively, and when she ran dry of subject material he surprised her by telling her about his kingdom. "The population is roughly half Goblin, half Man," he explained when she asked about his title. "Most of my duties involve keeping the peace between the two peoples. Fortunately, Goblins have no great affinity for cities. They prefer the independence of the plains. We are no large kingdom, but we survive. The Eastern Marches were once the pride of all the Underground," he said proudly. "The Black Gate opened a few short miles from my castle, and like any port city we were famous for our wealth, our artisans, and our universities. But it is many years since the Gate was sealed, and now my House is sunk in obscurity." His eyes grew dark and his gaze turned inward.
Intensely conscious of a burgeoning sense of camaraderie, Sarah quickly sought to distract him from his gloomy thoughts by telling him about all the ways she had found to get into trouble when she was a child. He actually threw back his head and laughed in a few places, which pleased her to an absurd degree. He then returned the favor and regaled her with tales of a wild, princely upbringing. Sarah even found herself able to talk about her mother, once she discovered that his own mother had also died when he was very young. Although time didn't flow normally in Tir-na-nOg, Jareth seemed to have an uncannily accurate internal clock. Three days of walking and talking passed more quickly than Sarah would have believed, and then they saw a distant haze of smoke rising from a hundred campfires, and knew they had found Duath's army.
Jareth didn't want to disguise them with magic until he had to, because he suspected that Duath had employed a very sensitive witch-sniffer to track them to Heldenholm. They made themselves as grubby as possible by mundane means and crept stealthily toward the army. The land sloped gently upward as they went, and they encountered no sentries or any sign of surveillance. "Once of the perks of being the only army in the world," Jareth muttered. At last they made their way, crawling on their bellies, to the top of an embankment and peered over the other side for a look at Duath's army.
The first thing that came to Sarah's mind was an anthill. A huge valley stretched away before her with a hill at its center, like a bowl turned upside down in the middle of a giant plate, and the plate was crawling with little black specks. They were everywhere, thousands upon thousands of them, and their churning, roiling motion on the floor of the valley made her stomach feel a little queasy.
"How many do you think there are?" she asked Jareth, her eyes wide at the sight of the army spread out below her.
Jareth made a quick estimate and swore under his breath. "Hundreds of thousands at least. A million, possibly. And we can't see the other side of the valley from here."
"That's true," Sarah agreed. "There's that weird hill in the middle of it. Look, it has a tower sticking out of it or something. Do you think that's where the Gate is?"
Jareth continued to count and swear, ignoring her question, but Sarah thought that it was the only possible place the Gate could be. There was something odd about the hill, though. Although it was free from the crawling mass of bodies, it still seemed to be moving somehow. Her eyes had a hard time focusing on its slope, as if light found it slippery. She squinted and concentrated, and gradually began to see a pattern emerging. From this far away, it appeared as a tiny, twisting conglomeration of stone. At first, her eyes refused to separate any particular part from the rest except for the black tower at its center, reaching skyward like a decrepit claw. As she looked harder, she saw that the hill was riddled with passages turning hither and thither. In fact, it looked just like -
"A maze," she said.
Jareth froze. He turned his stately head to look her full in the face and asked, "What did you say?"
"Look," she said, pointing down to the hill. "It's a maze, with that tower in the center."
Jareth turned to follow her finger, an unreadable expression on his face. He stared at the hill for a long time, looking as if he had been turned to stone himself. "If I find the man who did this," he said finally, "he will wish he had never been born."
Sarah looked at him askance. "It's just a maze."
"It is a perversion," Jareth spat.
She drew breath to question him further, but at that moment they both heard the soft rattle of feet on loose stones behind them. Jareth cursed again, and Sarah had to admit that he knew quite a lot of creative swear words. As silently as possible, she rolled over and looked down the slope below her. One of the soldiers was coming up the embankment. He hadn't seen them, and he was gurgling to himself in a hissing, spitting voice. Sarah had a sudden, visceral sense that something was very wrong with this person. Before she could signal Jareth, the thing looked up and saw her.
"Meats!" it cried, its muzzle split wide in a ghastly grin, and sprang up the slope toward them. "You stay, you foolish man-things, even though the Master orders you away? You become lunch for Sebheorri!"
Jareth shouted and flung a crystal at the thing. It exploded against its twisted, sinuous body and a mesh of silver ropes wrapped themselves around the creature. Gurgling in hideous laughter, the thing shook itself and the ropes dropped away with a sizzling sound. "Meats with magics, even better!" it cried gleefully. "You must struggle for Sebheorri."
Jareth extended his hand, and suddenly it was filled with a silver sword. "Get away, demon-spawn," he said dangerously.
"Or else you tickle me with that poker?" the creature giggled. It flipped its claw almost lazily, and the sword exploded in a flash of fire. Jareth yelped and clutched his burned hand, shouting words of warding. The thing waded through the defenses as if they weren't even there.
This is it, Sarah thought desperately. We're going to die.
The creature reached out its twisted, tortured fingers to grab Jareth's throat. The King raised his arms to the sky and roared a single, terrible word. Flinching, the demon hissed and clawed at his face, but Jareth had the measure of his enemy now. His power flung the thing away from him, picked it up and shook it like a dog, and the Goblin King intoned a long incantation which Sarah could not hear through the fierce wind that whipped around him. He brought his hands together in a gesture of finality, and the creature disappeared.
The wind died, and Sarah found herself looking up at the most powerful mage in the Underground, his face stark and terrible with the potency of his magic, his eyes merciless and cold. Instead of fear, however, she felt her heart reach out to him as never before. Compassion for this lonely man swept over her, and she put a hand to his cheek before she thought better of it. He started at her touch, then seemed to come back to himself. His eyes gleamed at her in their familiar sardonic way, and he laughed a short, ugly laugh.
"If, by some miracle, I should ever see my old tutor again, I will elevate him to a lordship for making me learn my exorcisms. I deemed it such a waste at the time." Jareth turned to look over the embankment at the figures below, which were roiling about faster than ever and beginning to stream in their direction.
"I'm afraid our visitor has drastically reduced our options. The rest of them will be here shortly." Jareth held out his hand, and two crystals appeared at his fingertips. "It is time to choose," he said. "As his mortal army dwindled, Duath obviously turned to darker means. That army below us likely numbers in the millions, all of them demon ilk, and if the Gates are ever opened they will swarm through and raze both our worlds. I am a King. My duty is clear. I will enter the Labyrinth, fight my way to the tower, and destroy the Black Gate by any means possible." Sarah felt herself crumple at his words. He held out one of the spheres to her. "You, however, are just a girl. There may yet be a life for you in Tir-na- nOg. Take this, and it will send you to the other end of this world. It is a powerful magic; it will protect you from this horde and it will build a safe haven, a place where dreams may come true."
Sarah looked at the crystal, then up to his shuttered, guarded gaze. His offer was generous, even noble, but no part of her even considered taking it. "I love my world," she said softly. "I would give anything to protect it, and the people I love. I'll help you in any way I can."
Jareth closed his eyes and dropped the crystal. It vanished before it could hit the ground, and when he opened his eyes it was like the sun breaking through storm clouds after a week of rain. "We must be swift," he said, taking her hand in his. "Time is short. They will find a way to open the Gate with or without their sacrifices. Above all else, that must not happen. The architect seems to have followed the ancient rules when he built this Labyrinth, and therefore it will follow its own rules now that it is complete. We have as good a chance as anybody, I expect."
Sarah looked at his twisted mouth. "That isn't very good, is it?" she guessed.
"Not good at all," he replied. "The irony of this is simply chilling."
The time for subterfuge was clearly past, so Jareth flung a crystal into the air and took them directly to the gates of the Labyrinth. A flick of his fingers caused a wall of flame to spring up around them, and he placed an arrogant hand on the gate. "Open in the name of your King," he ordered. The gates stayed firmly shut. Sarah cringed, but Jareth merely murmured, "That would have been too easy." His tone grew imperious again. "Open for two who wish to test themselves against the Labyrinth!"
Soundlessly, the heavy gates swung open. Sarah's feet had no sooner passed the threshold than the gates swung silently closed, and all noise from the outside suddenly ceased. She shivered and somehow wasn't surprised when she looked behind her and discovered that the entrance was gone.
"Come on, Sarah," Jareth said, pulling her after him as he started off down the passage.
"I hope you know what you're doing," she said from between chattering teeth.
"I do, Sarah. I most certainly do."