Into the Labyrinth by Margaret Weis, Tracy Hickman Page A

clenched. “You said ‘If Haplo doesn’t kill
me
 …!’ Do you go to this man seeking his death or your own?”
    Hugh put his hand to his head. “I … was confused. That’s all.” His voice was gruff. “The wine …”
    “… speaks the truth, as the saying goes.” Ciang shook her head. “No, Hugh the Hand. You will not come back to us.”
    “Will you send the knife around on me?” he asked harshly.
    Ciang considered. “Not until after you have fulfilledthe contract. Our honor is at stake. And therefore, the Brotherhood will help you, if we can.” She glanced at him and there was an odd glint in her eye. “If you want …”
    Carefully she closed the book and placed it on a table beside the chair. From the table she lifted an iron key, which hung from a black ribbon. Extending her hand to Hugh, she allowed him the privilege of helping her to stand. She refused his assistance in walking, making her way slowly and with dignity to a door on a far wall.
    “You will find what you seek in the Black Coffer,” she told him.
    The Black Coffer was not a coffer at all but a vault, a repository for weapons—magical or otherwise. Magical weapons are, of course, highly prized, and the Brotherhood’s laws governing them are strict and rigorously enforced. A member who acquires or makes such a weapon may consider it his or her own personal possession, but must apprise the Brotherhood of its existence and how it works. The information is kept in a file in the Brotherhood’s library, a file which may be consulted by any member at any time.
    A member needing such a weapon as he finds described may apply to the owner and request the weapon’s loan. The owner is free to refuse, but this almost never happens, since it is quite likely that the owner himself will need to borrow a weapon someday. If the weapon is not returned—something else that almost never happens—the thief is marked, the knife sent around.
    On the owner’s death, the weapon becomes the property of the Brotherhood. In the case of elderly members, such as the Ancient, who come back to the fortress to spend their remaining years in comfort, the deliverance of any magical weapons is easily facilitated. For those members who meet the sudden and violent end considered an occupational hazard, collecting the weapons of the deceased can present a problem.
    These have sometimes been irrevocably lost, as in cases where the body and everything on it have been burned in a funeral pyre or tossed in rage off the floating isles into the Maelstrom. But so prized are the weapons that once the word goes around that the owner has died (which it does with remarkable swiftness) the Brotherhood is quick to act. All is done quietly, circumspectly. Very often grievingfamily members are surprised by the sudden appearance of strangers at their door. The strangers enter the house (sometimes before the body is cold) and leave almost immediately. Usually an object leaves with them—the black coffer.
    To facilitate the passing on of valuable weapons, members of the Brotherhood are urged to keep such weapons in a plain black box. This has become known as the black coffer. It is thus natural that the repository for such weapons in the Brotherhood’s fortress should have become known—in capital letters—as the Black Coffer.
    If a member requests the use of a weapon kept in the Black Coffer, he or she must explain in detail the need and pay a fee proportionate to the weapon’s power. Ciang has the final say on who gets what weapons, as well as the price to be paid.
    Standing before the door of the Black Coffer, Ciang inserted the iron key into the lock and turned it.
    The lock clicked.
    Grasping the handle of the heavy iron door, she pulled. Hugh was ready to assist her if she asked, but the door, revolving on silent hinges, swung easily at her light touch. All was dark inside.
    “Bring a lamp,” Ciang ordered.
    Hugh did so, catching up a glow lamp that stood on a table