Serpent Mage

14

Haplo lay flat on his bed, staring at the backs of his hands.

The sigla tattooed on the skin were a deeper, darker blue; his magic was growing stronger every moment. And the runes were beginning to glow faintly, the prickling sensation tingled over his body—the warning signal of danger, far away still, yet rapidly approaching.

The dragon-snakes. Without a doubt.

It seemed to Haplo that the ship had picked up speed. The vessel’s motion was less smooth, more erratic, and he sensed an increased vibration in the deck beneath his feet.

“I could always ask the dwarf. She would know,” Haplo muttered. And, of course, he should tell the mensch that they were nearing the lair of the dragon-snakes. Warn them to make themselves ready . . . To do what? Die?

Devon, the slender, delicate elf, had nearly decapitated himself with the battle-ax.

Alake had her magic spells, but hers were cantrips that any child in the Labyrinth could perform by the time it was past its second Gate. Against the awesome power of the dragon-snakes, it would be like pitting that child against an army of snogs.

Grundle. Haplo smiled, shook his head. If any one of those mensch could deal with the dragon-snakes, it would be the dwarf maid. If nothing else, she’d be too stubborn to die.

He ought to go tell them, do what he could to prepare them. He sat up.

“No,” he said suddenly, and flung himself back on the bed. “I’ve had enough dealings with the mensch for one day.”

What in the name of the Labyrinth had possessed him to make that promise to them? Not letting them come to harm! He’d be damn lucky if he could keep himself alive.

He clenched his hands to fists, studied the sigla drawn taut over bones and tendons. Raising his arms, he looked at the sharp, clean outline of the muscles beneath the tattooed skin.

“Instinct. The same instinct that led my parents to hide me in the bushes and lead the snogs away from me. The instinct to protect those weaker than ourselves, the instinct that allowed our people to survive the Labyrinth!” He sprang to his feet, began pacing his small cabin. “My lord would understand,” he reassured himself. “My lord feels the same. Every day of his life, he returns to the Labyrinth, returns to fight and defend and protect his children, his people. It’s a natural emotion . . .” Haplo sighed, swore softly. “But it’s damn inconvenient!”

He had other, more urgent matters to think about than keeping three mensch kids alive. The foul seawater that washed away his rune magic faster than ordinary water washed away dirt. And the dragon-snakes’ promise. At least, he assumed it was a promise.

Samah. The great Samah. Head of the Council of Seven. The Councillor who had engineered the Sundering, the Councillor who had brought about the Patryn’s downfall, imprisonment, and eons of suffering.

Councillor Samah. Many things had died in the Labyrinth, but not that name. It had been handed down from generation to generation, breathed with the last dying breath of father to son, spoken with a curse from mother to daughter. Samah had never been forgotten by his enemies, and the thought that Samah might be discovered alive filled Haplo with unspeakable joy. He didn’t even think to ask how it was possible.

“I’ll capture Samah and take him to my lord—a gift to make up for my past failures. My lord will see to it that Samah pays and pays dearly for every tear shed by my people, for every drop of blood. Samah will spend his lifetime paying. His days will be filled with pain, torment, fear. His nights with horror, agony, terror. No rest. No sleep. No peace, except in death. And soon, very soon, Samah will be begging to die.”

But the Lord of the Nexus would see to it that Samah lived. Lived a very long life . . .

A violent pounding on the door brought Haplo out of a blood-gilded reverie. The pounding had been going on for some time, but he’d been hearing thunder in his waking dreams of vengeance and hadn’t noticed.

“Perhaps we shouldn’t bother him, Grundle,” came Devon’s soft voice through the door, “He might be asleep ...”

“Then he jolly well better wake up!” answered the dwarf. Haplo rebuked himself for his lapse; such a slip would have cost him his life in the Labyrinth. Stalking over to the door, he yanked it open so suddenly that the dwarf, who had been beating on it with the handle of the battle-ax, tumbled inside.

“Well? What do you want?” Haplo snapped.

“We . . . we’ve wakened you,” said Alake, her gaze shifting nervously from him to the rumpled bed.

Devon stammered. “W—we’re sorry. We didn’t mean—”

“The ship’s picking up speed,” stated Grundle. Her own gaze rested suspiciously on Haplo’s skin. “And you’re glowing again.” Haplo said nothing, glared at her, trusting she’d take the hint and go away. Alake and Devon were already sidling backward.

But Grundle was not to be intimidated. She rested the battle-ax on her shoulder, planted her feet firmly on the swaying deck, and looked Haplo in the face. “We’re getting close to the dragon-snakes, aren’t we?”

“Probably,” he said, and started to close the door. Grundle’s stocky body blocked it.

“We want you to tell us what to do.”

How the hell should I know? Haplo felt like shouting back at her in exasperation. I’ve come near a magical power like this in the Labyrinth, but nothing this strong. And all these dragon-snakes have to do is toss a bucket of seawater on me and I’m finished!

The mensch stood quietly, looking at him, trusting him (well, two of them trusted him), all of them silently pleading, hoping.

Who had given them that hope? And did he have the right to destroy it?

Besides, he told himself coldly, they might be useful. In the back of his mind was a plan . . .

“Come in,” he said grudgingly, holding the door open wide. The mensch trooped inside.

“Sit down,” Haplo told them.

There was only the bed. Alake looked at it—rumpled, still warm from Haplo’s body. Her lashes fluttered, brushed against her cheeks. She shook her head.

“No, thank you. I will stand. I do not mind. . . .”

“Sit!” Haplo ordered grimly.

She sat, perched on the very edge of the bed. Devon took his place beside her, long legs spraddled uncomfortably. (Dwarven beds are built low to the floor.) Grundle plopped herself down near the head of the bed, her short legs swinging back and forth, heels scuffing against the deck. All three looked up at him, faces serious, solemn.

“Let’s get one thing straight. I don’t know any more about these dragon-snakes than you do. Less, maybe.”

“They spoke to you,” Grundle informed him.

Haplo ignored her.

“Shush, Grundle,” whispered Alake.

“What we do to protect ourselves is mostly common sense. You”—Haplo shifted his gaze to the elf—“better keep pretending to be a girl. Cover your face and head and don’t take the scarf off, no matter what. And keep your mouth shut. Keep quiet and let me do the talking. That goes for all of you,” Haplo added with a meaningful glare at the dwarf.

Grundle snorted and tossed her head. She had placed the battle-ax between her legs and was nervously rapping the haft on the deck. The ax reminded Haplo of something.

“Are there any more weapons aboard? Small ones. Like knives?” Grundle sniffed in scorn. “Knives are for elves. Dwarves don’t use such puny weapons.”

“But there are knives on board,” offered Alake. “In the galley.”

“Cooking knives,” muttered Haplo. “Are they sharp, small? Could Devon hide one in his belt? Could you hide one . . . somewhere.” He gestured at Alake’s tight, form-fitting clothes.

“Of course they’re sharp!” stated Grundle indignantly. “I’d like to see the day a dwarf would craft a dull knife! But they could be sharp as this ax and still not penetrate the hide of those foul beasts.”

Haplo was silent, trying to think of the easiest, gentlest way to say what he had in mind. There was, he decided at last, no easy, gentle way. “I wasn’t thinking about using them on the dragon-snakes.” He said nothing more, hoping they’d get the idea.

They did . . . after a moment.

“You mean,” said Alake, her black eyes large and wide, “that we’re to use them ... on ... on ...” She swallowed.

“Yourselves,” said Haplo, deciding to be brisk, matter-of-fact. “Death can sometimes come as a friend.”

“I know,” said Alake, shivering. “I saw how my people died.”

“And I saw the elf the dragon-snakes tortured,” Devon added. Grundle said nothing, for a change. Even the feisty dwarf looked subdued. Devon drew a deep breath. “We understand what you are saying and we’re grateful, but I’m not sure we could . . .”

You could, Haplo told him silently. When the horror and the agony and the torment become more than you can bear, you’ll be desperate to end it. But how can I say that to them? Haplo wondered bitterly. They’re children. Beyond a splinter in the foot or a fall and a bump on the head, what do they know of pain and suffering?

“Could you . . .” Devon licked his lips. He was trying very hard to be brave.

“Could you . . . show us how?” He flicked a glance to the girls on either side of him. “I don’t know about Alake and Grundle, but I never had to ... do anything like this.” He smiled ruefully. “I’m pretty certain I’d botch it up.”

“We don’t need knives,” said Alake. “I wasn’t going to say anything, but I have certain herbs with me. A small amount is used to ease pain, but if you chew a whole leaf—”

“—it eases you right into the next life,” Grundle concluded. She regarded the human with grudging admiration. “I didn’t know you had it in you, Alake.” A thought seemed to occur to her, however. “But what do you mean, you weren’t going to tell us?”

“I would have,” Alake replied. “I would have given you the choice. As I said,” she added softly, lifting her black eyes to Haplo, “I saw how my people died.” He realized, then, that she was in love with him.

The knowledge did nothing to make him feel any better. In fact, it made him feel worse. It was just one more damn thing he had to worry about. But why should he? What difference did it make to him whether he broke the heart of this wretched human or not? She was, after all, only a mensch. But he could tell by the way she looked at him that he’d have to revise his notion of her being a child.

“Good. Good for you, Alake,” he said, sounding as cold and dispassionate as possible. “You’ve got these herbs hidden where the dragon-snakes won’t find them.”

“Yes, they’re in my—”

“Don’t!” He raised his hand. “Don’t say. What none of the rest of us know, the creatures can’t wring out of us. Keep the poison safe and keep it secret.” Alake nodded solemnly. She continued to gaze at him, her eyes warm and liquid. Don’t do this to yourself. It’s impossible, Haplo wanted to tell her. Perhaps I should tell her. Perhaps that would be best. But how can I explain?

How can I explain that to fall in love in the Labyrinth is to inflict a deliberate wound on yourself? Nothing good can come of love. Nothing but death and bitter sorrow and empty loneliness.

And how can I explain that a Patryn could never seriously love a mensch? There were instances, according to what Haplo knew about the pre-Sundering days, when Patryns, men and women both, had found pleasure among the mensch. Such liaisons were safe[24] and amusing. But that had been long ago. His people took life more seriously now.

Alake lowered her eyes, her lips were parted in a shy smile. Haplo realized that he had been staring at her and, undoubtedly, she was getting the wrong impression.

“Go on, now. Clear out,” he said gruffly. “Go back to your cabins and make yourself ready. I don’t think we have long to wait. Devon, you might take one of those knives, just to be on the safe side. You, too, Grundle.”

“I’ll show you where to find them,” Alake offered. She smiled at Haplo as she left, cast him a sidelong glance from beneath her long eyelashes, then led the way out the door.

Devon followed after her. The elf studied Haplo on the way out, and the elf’s eyes were suddenly cool and shadowed. He said nothing, however. It was Grundle who stopped on the threshold, jaw outthrust, side whiskers bristling.

“You hurt her”—the dwarf raised a small, threatening fist—“and, snakes or no snakes, I’ll kill you.”

“I think you have other matters to concern you,” said Haplo quietly.

“Humpf!” Grundle snorted, and shook her whiskers at him. Turning her small back, she stumped off, battle-ax bouncing on her shoulder.

“Damn!” Haplo slammed shut the door.

The Patryn paced his small cabin, making plans, discarding them, making others. He had just come to the point of admitting to himself that this was all nonsense, that he was trying futilely to control what he had no control over, when his room was suddenly plunged into darkness.

Haplo stopped in his tracks, blind, disoriented. The submersible hit something, the jolt sent him flying. He crashed up against one of the walls. A grinding sound coming from below led him to guess the ship had run aground. The vessel rocked, shifted, listed to one side, then seemed to settle itself. All movement, all sound, ceased.

Haplo stood absolutely still, holding his breath, listening. His cabin was no longer dark. The sigla on his skin glowed a bright blue, bathing himself and every object in the small cabin with an eerie, shimmering light. Haplo had only once before seen the runes react this strongly to danger and that had been in the Labyrinth, when he’d accidentally stumbled upon the cave of a blood dragon, the most feared of all the fearsome creatures in that hellish place.

He’d turned tail and run then, run until his leg muscles burned and cramped and his lungs ached, run until he’d been literally sobbing with pain and exhaustion, and then he’d run some more. His body was telling him to run for it now. . . .

He stared at the glowing sigla, felt the almost-maddening tingling sensation pricking him to action. But the dragon-snakes had not threatened him. They had done just the reverse, promising him—or seeming to promise him—revenge on an ancient enemy.

“It could be a trick,” he reasoned. “A trick to lure me here. A trap? But why?”

He looked again at the runes on his skin, was reassured. He was strong, his magic was strong, back to normal. If it was a trap, these dragon-snakes were going to discover they’d caught more than they’d bargained for—

Cries, shouts, footsteps, jarred Haplo from his thoughts.

“Haplo!” It was Grundle, howling.

He flung open his door. The mensch came running toward him, racing down the corridor. Alake lit their way, holding in her hand a lantern containing some sort of spongelike creature that gave off a bright, white light.[25] The mensch appeared considerably startled to see Haplo, whose skin was glowing as brightly as their lantern. They stumbled to a halt, huddled together, stared at him in awe.

In the darkness, the sigla shining brilliantly, he must be a marvelous spectacle.

“I ... I guess we don’t need this,” said Alake faintly, and dropped the lantern.

It fell to the deck with a clatter that went through Haplo like sharp knives.

“Shut up!” he hissed.

The three gulped, nodded, exchanged frightened glances. They must think the dragon-snakes are spying on us. Well, perhaps they are, Haplo thought grimly. Every trained and inbred instinct warned him to tread softly, walk warily. He motioned, with his hand, for them to come closer. They moved down the passageway, trying their best to be quiet. Alake’s beads jangled, Grundle’s heavy boots thumped on the deck with a hollow sound, Devon got tangled up in his skirts, tripped, stumbled into a wall.

“Hush!” Haplo commanded softly, furiously. “Don’t move!” The mensch froze. Making less noise than the darkness, Haplo crept over to Grundle, knelt beside her. “What’s happened? Do you know?” The dwarf nodded, opened her mouth. Haplo drew her near him, pointed to his ear. Her whiskers tickled his cheek.

“I think we’ve sailed into a cave.”

Haplo considered. Yes, that made sense. It would explain the sudden darkness.

“Is this place where the dragon-snakes live, do you think?” asked Alake. She had moved over to stand beside Haplo. He could feel her slender body trembling, but her voice was firm.

“Yes, the dragon-snakes are here,” Haplo said, looking at the glowing sigla on his hands.

Alake edged closer. Devon drew a deep, shivering breath, pressed his lips tightly together. Grundle humpfed and frowned.

No screams, no tears, no panic. Haplo was forced to give the mensch grudging credit for that much courage.

“What do we do?” asked Devon, trying very hard to keep his voice from cracking.

“We stay here,” said Haplo. “We don’t go anywhere or do anything. We wait.”

“We’re not going to be waiting very long,” Grundle observed.

“What? Why not?” Haplo demanded.

In answer, she pointed above his head. Haplo looked up. The light shining from his skin illuminated the wooden planks above them. They were wet, shining. A drop of water fell to the floor at Haplo’s feet. Another followed, and another.

Haplo sprang back, flattened himself against the wall. He stared at the water on the deck, looked up at the drops that were falling from the overhead. The drops had merged into a trickle, the trickle was rapidly becoming a stream.

“The ship’s breaking apart,” stated Grundle, then frowned. “Dwarven submersibles don’t break apart, though. It must be the snakes.”

“They’re driving us out. We’ll have to swim,” said Alake. “Don’t worry, Grundle. Devon and I will help you.”

“I’m not worried,” said the dwarf. Her gaze slid to Haplo. For the first time in his life, he knew stark terror—weakening, debilitating. His fear robbed him of his ability to think, to reason. He could do nothing except stare with a terrible fascination at the water that was creeping nearer and nearer his feet.

Swim! He almost laughed. So it is a trap! They lure me here, then see to it that I’m helpless.

Water splashed on his arm. Haplo flinched, wiped it off hastily. Too late. Where the seawater touched the skin, the sigla’s glow darkened. The water was rising, it sloshed over the toes of his boots. He could feel the circle of his magic slowly begin to crack and crumble.

“Haplo! What’s wrong!” Alake cried.

A section of the hull gave way. Wood snapped and splintered. Water cascaded in through the gaping hole. The elf lost his footing, slid beneath the torrent. Alake, clinging to an upright beam, caught hold of Devon’s wrist, saved him from being washed down the corridor. He staggered to his feet.

“We can’t stay here!” he shouted.

The water was level with Grundle’s waist and the dwarf maid was starting to panic. Her nut-brown complexion had gone sallow. Her eyes were round, her chin beginning to quiver. Dwarves can breathe the seawater, in the same manner as elves and humans, but—probably because their solid bodies are so ungainly in the water—they don’t like the sea, don’t trust it.

Grundle had never been in water up over her ankles. Now it was rising to her chest.

“Help! Alake, Devon! help m-me!” she shrieked, flailing about with her arms, splashing wildly. “Alakeeeee!”

“Grundle! It’s all right!”

“Here, catch hold of my hand. Ouch! Don’t pinch. I’ve got you. Let loose a bit. There, take Alake’s hand, too.”

“I have you, Grundle. You’re going to be fine. Relax. No, don’t swallow the water. Duck your head down and take a breath just as you would the air. No! Don’t! You’ll choke! She’s choking. Grundle . . .”

The dwarf sank beneath the water, came up coughing and sputtering, increasing her panic.

“We better get her to the surface!” cried Devon.

Alake cast a worried look in Haplo’s direction.

He had neither moved nor spoken. The water was up to his thighs. The light from his skin had all but died out.

Haplo saw her look, saw that she was concerned about him. He almost laughed out loud.

“Go on!” he snarled.

More planks were giving way, the water was almost to Grundle’s nose. The dwarf maid fought to keep her head above it, panted and gurgled. Devon winced in pain. “She’s tearing my hand off, Alake! Come on!”

“Go!” Haplo commanded angrily.

The hull gave way with a shattering crash. Water surged inside the ship, closed over Haplo’s head. He lost sight of the mensch, lost sight of everything. It was as if night had taken on liquid shape and form. He knew a moment’s panic equal to the dwarf’s. He held his breath until it hurt, not wanting to breathe the darkness. A part of his despairing mind told him it would be far easier to drown. His body refused to let him, however. He gasped, began to breathe water. After a few moments, his head cleared. He couldn’t see, and groped his way among the wreckage. Shoving broken timbers to one side, he managed to free himself.

He swam aimlessly, wondering if he was going to be doomed to flounder about in this watery night until he collapsed from exhaustion. But even as the thought took shape in his mind, his head popped up out of the water. Gratefully, he sucked in air.

Floating on the surface, he trod water quietly, and looked around him. A large campfire had been built on the shore. Wood crackled and burned, offering comforting warmth and light. Its ruddy glow was reflected off the cavern’s rock ceiling and walls.

Haplo sensed fear, coming from outside him. Overwhelming terror surrounded him. The walls were covered with some sort of sticky green-brown substance that seemed to ooze from the rock like blood. He had the strange impression that the cave itself was wounded, that it lived in fear. Fear and horrible pain.

Ridiculous.

Haplo glanced swiftly behind him, to either side, but could see little. Here and there, a gleam of firelight played on wet rock.

The sound of splashing drew his attention. Three figures—black shadows against the orange firelight—emerged from the water. Two of the figures were helping the third, who could not walk. By this, the musical sound of clashing beads, and a muffled groan from the third figure, Haplo judged them to be his mensch.

He saw no sign of the dragon-snakes.

Alake and Devon managed to drag Grundle partway up the shore. Once there, obviously exhausted, they let loose of her hands. All sank down to rest. But Alake had only taken a few deep breaths before she was back on her feet, heading again for the water.

“Where are you going?” The elf’s clear voice echoed in the cavern.

“I’ve got to find him, Devon! He may need help. Did you see his face—” Haplo, muttering imprecations beneath his breath, swam for the shore. Alake heard the sound of his splashing. Unable to see what or who was making the noise, she froze. Devon hurried to her side. Metal glinted in his hand.

“It’s me!” Haplo called to them. His stomach scraped against solid ground. He stood up, walked, dripping, out of the water.

“Are . . . are you all right?” Alake reached out a timid hand, withdrew it at the sight of the scowl on Haplo’s face.

No, he wasn’t all right. He was all wrong.

Ignoring both the human and the elf, he stomped past them, strode swiftly to the fire. The sooner he dried off, the sooner his magic would return. The dwarf lay in a sodden heap on the sand. He wondered if she was dead. A muffled groan reassured him.

“She hurt?” he asked, reaching the fire.

“No,” answered Devon, coming up from behind.

“She’s scared, more than anything,” Alake added. “She’ll come around. What . . . what are you doing?”

“Taking off my clothes,” Haplo grunted. He had stripped off his shirt and his boots, was now unlacing his leather trousers.

Alake gave a strangled cry. She hastily averted her face, covered her eyes with her hands. Haplo grunted again. If the girl had never seen a naked man before, she was going to see one now. He had neither the time nor the patience to indulge a human female’s sensibilities. Though his warning magic was gone, the sigla washed away, he had the distinct feeling that they weren’t alone in this cave. They were being watched.

Flinging his trousers to the sand, Haplo crouched by the blaze, held out his hands and arms to the warming fire. In satisfaction, he watched the droplets of water evaporate, begin to dry. He glanced around.

“Pull your scarf over your head,” he ordered Devon. “Sit by the fire. It’d look suspicious if you didn’t. But keep your face out of the light. And put that damn knife away!”

Devon did as he was told. He thrust the knife in his breast, dragged a strip of wet cloth up over his head and face. Shivering, he crept near the fire, started to squat down, legs crossed.

“Don’t sit like a man!” Haplo hissed. “On your knees. That’s it. Alake, bring Grundle over here. And wake her up. I want everyone conscious and alert.” Alake nodded, not taking time to reply. She hastened over to the prostrate dwarf.

“Grundle, you’ve got to get up. Haplo says so. Grundle”—Alake’s voice lowered—“I can feel the evil. The dragon-snakes are here, Grundle. They’re watching us. Please, you’ve got to be brave!”

The dwarf groaned again, but she sat up, huffing and wheezing and blinking water out of her eyes. Alake helped her to her feet. The two started walking toward the fire.

“Wait!” Haplo breathed.

Slowly, he rose.

Behind him, he heard Alake draw in her breath sharply, heard Grundle mutter something in dwarven, then fall silent. Devon melted back into the shadows. Red-green eyes appeared out of the darkness, made the light of the fire seem dim by contrast. The eyes were slanted, snake eyes and there were many of them, innumerable, far more than Haplo could count. They towered over him, their height unbelievable. A sound came of giant, heavy bodies undulating over sand and rock. A stench, foul and putrid, seemed to coat his nose and mouth with the flavor of death, decay. His stomach clenched. Behind him, he heard the mensch whimper in terror. One of them was retching.

Haplo didn’t turn around. He couldn’t turn around. The dragon-snakes slithered into the firelight. Flames shone on huge, scaled, shining bodies. He was overwhelmed by the enormity of the creatures that loomed before him. Enormous not only in size, but in power. He was awed, humbled. He no longer regretted the loss of his magic, for it would have been of no use. These beings could crush him with a breath. A whisper would hammer him into the ground. Hands clenched at his side, Haplo waited calmly for death.

The largest among the dragon-snakes suddenly reared its head. The green-red eyes burned, seemed to bathe the cavern in an unholy radiance. Then the eyes closed, the head sank to the sand before Haplo, who stood naked in the firelight.

“Patryn,” it said reverently. “Master.”