The King's Labyrinth
Horizon 4/?

He blinked several times in the darkness, trying to get his bearings. He 
could hear traffic out on the street. New York never slept. He sat up in 
bed and swept his hair back from his forehead. He was covered in a cold 
sweat and tried to remember just what it was that'd awakened him. 
A dream......he could remember scant details. The sound of clashing 
weapons. And blood. The sight, smell, feel, even the taste of it. He'd 
never had a dream like that. So real. 
	Xander got up from the bed, wishing Silviet were there, and not off
 visiting her sister. He would have gone, but he had work to do at the 
gallery. He'd gotten a new batch of artwork in that morning, and he needed 
to be there to take inventory and make sure things went smoothly. He paced 
around the apartment for what seemed an eternity before he gave up, got 
dressed, and drove down to the gallery. Xander unlocked the door and 
disarmed the alarm from the keypad next to the door, then headed to the 
back room, clicked on the lamp over his desk, and sat down to finish the 
inventory. 
	From somewhere out on the gallery floor came a dull thudding noise. 
He stiffened briefly, waiting for the noise to repeat. It didn't, but he 
decided to check it out anyway. He walked out of the back room, to where 
the moon was spilling wane light through the plate glass window, throwing 
the whole shop into weird shadows. At the end of one of the long display 
walls, a painting had fallen from it's hook. He hefted the large work, 
inspecting first the frame and the glass for damage, then the hook on the 
wall. The painting was unharmed and the hook was securely fastened to the 
wall. There was no reason for the painting to have fallen. He re-hung and 
aligned the painting. Stepping back to assure himself of it's levelness, 
Xander took in the strange subject of the painting. That it was of a battle
was not in itself strange -the recent shipment had been almost entirely 
comprised of painting depicting aspects of the Arthurian legend or other 
such famous works- what was strange was the setting. The battle was taking 
place on a large plain, and behind the gory scene was a castle the likes of 
which he'd never seen before, and a large serpentine maze. He stepped up 
close to the painting and found he couldn't pick out a single brushstroke, 
a single mark that betrayed the technique used to put paint on canvas. It 
was as if it had been put onto the canvas by magic. He laughed quietly. 
Magic, sounded like something Ann would say.  Outside, a cloud wandered 
over the full moon, casting the gallery in darkness.
	The sudden blinding light first prompted him to believe someone had 
turned on the overhead lights. But his mind registered this as an 
impossibility at the same instant it registered the crush of bodies all 
around him. In the back of his mind he realized that this was impossible. A 
moment ago he'd been standing in his gallery, now he was caught in the 
middle of all out war. From out of the corner of his eye he caught a gimps 
of a man hacking his way through the enemy soldiers (and his logical side 
asked how he knew they were the enemy), covered in blood, his blond hair 
plastered to his forehead. A flash of recognition told him the man was 
Jareth, though what his friend was doing in the midst of a battle he didn't 
know. All he knew was that he felt a pull towards him, a silent beckoning 
that told him he must reach Jareth. He raised his bloodied sword to hack 
through the next of the swarming hoard......and it all ended. As abruptly 
as it had began, the vision was gone. He was still standing in front of the 
painting, nothing had changed.
Xander took a ragged breath, trying to calm himself. His heart was racing 
and his mind spinning. What had just happened? Some sort of waking dream, 
but what had triggered it? The painting? On impulse, he took the painting 
off the wall and carried it into the back room, then sat down at his desk 
and went through his papers to see what he could find out about the 
painting's origins.
----
Xander sighed, tucking a strand of his white hair behind his ear for the 
umpteenth time that evening. Morning, he corrected himself as he glanced at 
his watch. It was now 5:30 in the morning. Jeff and Rosslin would be in 
soon, and he still hadn't found any mention of the painting in the itemized 
list he'd been given when the shipment came in. It was as if it'd appeared 
from thin air. "More magic." He mumbled, giving the painting a sideways 
glance. "What are you hiding?" Not surprisingly, the painting didn't 
answer. Finally, he got up out of the chair, wincing at the stiffness he'd 
acquired from sitting so long. He stretched and went out front to open up 
the shop. Rosslin came in not long after, giving him a friendly good 
morning.

"Geeze Xander, you look like hell."

"Thanks." He mumbled.

"Trouble sleeping?"

"You could say that. Put in a late night. Do me a favor Rosslin?"

"Sure."

"I put one of the paintings from yesterday's shipment in the back room. I 
couldn't find it on the list. See what you can find out about it."

"All right. You go home okay? You could use some sleep. Jeff and I can hold 
down fort."

"I think I will. Thank you Rosslin."

"Think nothing of it." She flashed him a smile. "Now get out of here." She 
made shooing motions with her hands.

When he arrived back at his apartment, Xander fell onto the bed, not 
bothering to change, and fell asleep instantly, unmolested by dreams of 
blood.