Serpent Mage

21

The elves were two cycles late—to the surprise of no one, except possibly Haplo.

Dumaka hadn’t expected Eliason that soon, was astonished beyond measure when the dolphins brought word that the elves were sailing into Phondran waters. He sent everyone in the village into a mad scramble to open, clean out, and prepare the elven guesthouses.

These houses were special, having been built exclusively to house the elves, who—like the dwarves—demanded special arrangements. For example, no elf would consider sleeping on the ground. This was not a matter of comfort. Long ago, elven alchemists, perhaps in a vain attempt to try to harness the drifting seasun, had discovered the nature of the chemical reaction between seasun and seamoon that produced the breathable air surrounding the moons. The chemical reaction, so the alchemists deduced, took place between the surface of the seamoon and the seasun. The next logical step was that a similar reaction would naturally take place between anything that rested on the surface for any length of time—this included elves or any other living creature.

Only inanimate objects were ever permitted to rest on the ground in the elven kingdom, and then the most valuable of these was moved periodically to prevent any unfortunate alteration.[35] Animals that slept on the ground were not encouraged in Elmas and had been gradually phased out, in favor of birds, monkeys, cats, all those who live in trees.

Elves will eat no food that has been grown on the ground or in it. They will not stand long in one place, nor stand long at all, if they can help it, but will sit down and pull their feet up into the chair.

One of the earliest and most devastating wars between the Phondrans and the Elmas was the War of the Bed. An elven prince had traveled to human lands to open negotiations to avert a war. All went well until the human chieftain led the elf to his quarters for the night. The elf took one look at the pallet spread on the bare ground, assumed the human was out to murder him,[36] and declared war on the spot.

Since then, humans and elves have come to respect, if not agree with, each other’s beliefs. Elven guesthouses in Phondra are furnished with crude beds made of tree limbs lashed together with rope. And, in their own homelands, the elves have learned to avert their eyes when their human guests take the blankets from the bed and spread them out on the floor. (Eliason had even ceased the practice of attempting to shift his sleeping human guests into beds without their knowledge, ever since one fell out during the night and broke his arm.)

The guest quarters in the village were barely finished by the time the elven ship docked. Dumaka and Delu were on hand to greet their guests. Yngvar was there, as well, though the dwarven contingent and the humans kept well apart. Grundle and Alake were present, but separated, each standing with her own family.

The rift between the two races had deepened. Both sets of parents forbade their daughters to talk to one another. Haplo, seeing the two girls exchange secretive, flashing-eyed glances, guessed just how long that rule would be obeyed. He hoped grimly that they wouldn’t get caught, precipitate another crisis. At least, the enforced separation had given Alake something else to think about besides the Patryn. He supposed he should be grateful. The royal families greeted each other with every show of friendship—for the sake of their followers. Dumaka included Haplo as a highly honored guest and the Patryn was at least relieved to note that even the dwarf thawed out somewhat in Haplo’s presence. But none of them could hide the fact that they were not meeting in peace as they would have normally. Handshakes were formal and stiff, voices were cold and carefully modulated. No one called anyone by his or her given name.

Haplo could have cheerfully drowned every one of them.

The dolphins had been the cause of this latest trouble. They had gleefully carried the news about the dwarves refusing to travel in the sun-chaser to the elves. Eliason was disposed to side with Dumaka, although, elflike, he had sent word that he would not be rushed into making a decision. This pleased neither. Consequently, Eliason had managed to anger both dwarves and humans before he even arrived.

All of which caused Haplo to literally gnash his teeth in frustration. He had one bit of consolation and it was negative—the dragon-snakes were nowhere to be seen. He was afraid the sight of the formidable creatures might harden the dwarves’ determination against them.

A time for a meeting was set, later that evening, and then Yngvar and his contingent stomped off.

Eliason looked after the angry dwarf sadly, shook his head. “What is to be done?” he asked Dumaka.

“I have no idea,” the human chieftain growled. “If you ask me, his beard’s grown into his brain. He claims he and his people would rather freeze to death than set foot on the sun-chasers. They probably would, too. They’re just stubborn enough.”

Haplo, unobtrusive and silent, kept his distance, but lingered near, hoping to hear something that would help him figure out what to do.

Dumaka put a hand on Eliason’s shoulder. “I am sorry, my friend, to add this trouble to the heavy burden of your sorrow. Although,” he added, studying the elf intently, “you carry it better than I would have thought possible.”

“I had to let the dead go,” replied Eliason softly, “in order to look after the living.”

The young elf, Devon, stood on the pier, staring out over the water. Alake was beside him, talking to him earnestly. Grundle, with a wistful glance at both of them, had been dragged off by her parents.

But it was obvious that Alake’s words were falling on deaf ears. Devon paid no attention to her, didn’t respond in any way.

Dumaka’s grim expression softened. “So young, to be dealt such a heavy blow.”

“Three nights running,” said Eliason, in low tones, “we discovered him in that room where my daughter . . . where she . . .” He swallowed, turned exceedingly pale.

Dumaka squeezed his arm in silent sympathy, to indicate he understood. Eliason drew a deep breath. “Thank you, my friend. We found him . . . there, staring out the window at the stones below. You can imagine what terrible deed we feared he contemplated. I brought him with me, hoping that the company of his friends would draw him out of the shadows that surround him. And it was for his sake I left earlier than I had intended.”

“Thank you, Devon,” Haplo muttered.

Alake, after a helpless glance at her father, finally suggested that Devon might want to see his quarters, and offered to show him the way. He responded like one of the automatons the Gegs used on Arianus, trailing after Alake with listless step and bowed head. He didn’t know where he was, obviously cared less.

Haplo remained hanging about Eliason and Dumaka, but it was soon apparent that the two rulers were going to talk of Devon and his sorrows and nothing of major importance.

Just as well, Haplo decided, leaving them. They’re not likely to get into a fight over that subject. And I have at least two out of five mensch speaking to each other.

He couldn’t help but think back to his time spent on Arianus, time spent trying to spread discord between elves and humans and dwarves. Now he was working twice as hard to bring the three mensch races together.

“I might almost believe in this One,” he said to himself. “Somebody must be getting a big laugh out of all this.”

The ceremonial drum was beating, calling the royal families to conference. Everyone in the village turned out to watch the various parties wend their way to the longhouse. At any other time, such a meeting would have been cause for jubilation; the Phondrans would have been chattering among themselves, pointing out to their children such curiosities as the remarkable length of dwarven beards, the sunlight blondness of elven hair.

But this day, the Phondrans stood in silence, quieting irritably the children’s high-pitched questions. Rumor had blown through Phondra like the embers of a campfire, stirred by a high wind. Wherever it fell, small blazes started up, spread rapidly through the tribes of the realm. Other humans from other tribes had traveled here in their long narrow boats, to witness the meeting.

Many of these were witches and warlocks, belonging to the Coven, and were welcomed by Delu, made guests of her own lodgehouse. Others were chieftains, owing their loyalty to Dumaka, and were welcomed by him. Still others were nobody in particular, just curious. These invariably had some guestfriend or relative among the tribe. Nearly every lodge had at least one extra blanket spread on its floor.

All gathered to watch the procession, consisting of the three royal families, representatives of other Phondran tribes, the Phondran Coven, the Elmas Guildsmen, the Gargan Elders—all of the latter acting as witnesses for their people. The humans were silent, faces strained and tense, worried and anxious. Everyone knew that no matter what was decided in the meeting, their fate—for good or ill—depended on the outcome.

Haplo had started for the lodge early, intending to slip inside before any of the dignitaries arrived. But, glancing out to sea, he was disconcerted and none too pleased to see the long sinuous necks and green-red slit eyes of the dragon-snakes.

He couldn’t help feeling a qualm, an uncomfortable tightening of stomach muscles, a chill in his bowels. The sigla on his skin began to glow a faint blue.

Haplo wished irritably the snakes hadn’t come, hoped none of the others saw them. He’d have to remember to try to keep everyone from the water’s edge. The drum beat loudly, then stopped. The members of the three families met outside the lodgehouse, were making a show of friendship—grudging on the part of the dwarves, stiff and constrained on the part of everyone else. Haplo was wondering how he could manage to evade getting caught up in the formalities, when two figures, one tall and one short, loomed in his path. Hands grabbed his arms. Alake and Grundle dragged him into the jungle shadows.

“I don’t have time for games—” he began impatiently, then took a good look at their faces. “What’s happened?”

“You’ve got to help us!” Alake gasped. “We don’t know what to do! I think we should tell my father—”

“That’s the last thing we want to do!” Grundle snapped. “The meeting’s just getting started. If we break it up now, who knows when they’ll ever get back together?”

“But—”

“What’s happened?” Haplo demanded.

“Devon!” Alake’s eyes were wide and frightened. “He’s . . . disappeared.”

“Damn!” Haplo swore beneath his breath.

“He’s gone for a walk. That’s all,” Grundle said, but the dwarf’s nut-brown complexion was pale, her side whiskers trembled.

“I’m going to tell my father, he’ll call out the trackers.” Alake started to run away.

Haplo caught hold of her, hauled her back.

“We can’t afford to interrupt the meeting. I’m a fair tracker myself. We’ll find him, bring him back quietly, without fuss. Grundle’s right. He’s probably just gone off for a walk, to be by himself. Now, where and when did you last see him?”

Alake had been the last to see him.

“I took him to the elven guesthouse. I stayed with him, tried to talk to him. Then Eliason and the other elves returned to prepare for the meeting and I had to leave. But I waited around, hoping to get a chance to talk to him when Eliason and the rest left. I went back to the guesthouse. He was there, alone.”

“I told him that Grundle and I had found a place in back of the longhouse where we could . . . well, that is ...”

“Listen in?” Haplo suggested.

“We have a right,” Grundle stated. “This all happened because of us. We should be there.”

“I agree,” said Haplo quietly, to calm the irate dwarf. “I’ll see what I can do. Now, finish telling me about Devon.”

“At first, he seemed almost angry to see me. He said he didn’t want to listen to anything our parents said. He didn’t care. Then, suddenly, he cheered up. He was almost too cheerful, somehow. It was . . . kind of awful.” She shuddered.

“He told me he was hungry. He knew dinner would be a long time coming, what with the meeting and all, and he asked me if I could find him something to eat. I told him I could and tried to persuade him to come with me. He didn’t want to leave the guesthouse, he said. The people staring at him made him nervous.

“I thought it would be good if he ate something; I don’t think he’s eaten in days. And so I left to fetch food. There were other elves with him. On the way, I ran into Grundle, looking for me. I brought her along, thinking she might be able to cheer up Devon. When we got back to the lodge”—Alake spread her hands—“he was gone.”

Haplo didn’t like the sounds of any of this. He’d known people in the Labyrinth who suddenly couldn’t take it anymore, couldn’t stand the pain, the horror, the loss of a friend, a mate. He’d seen the ghastly cheerfulness that often came after a severe despondency.

Alake saw the grim expression on his face. She moaned, covered her mouth with her hand. Grundle tugged at her side whiskers in black gloom.

“He’s probably just taking a walk,” Haplo repeated. “Did you look for him in the village? Maybe he went after Eliason?”

“He didn’t,” said Alake softly. “When we got back to the guesthouse, I searched around back. I found . . . tracks. His tracks, I’m certain. They lead right into the jungle.”

That clinches it, thought Haplo. Aloud, he added, “Keep quiet. Try to act as if nothing’s the matter, and take me there, quickly.”

The three hurried back to the elven guesthouse. They took a circuitous route, kept to the fringes of the crowds, avoided the assembly gathered around the longhouse.

Haplo could see Dumaka, greeting the dwarven dignitaries. He was glancing about, perhaps in search of the Patryn. At that moment, Eliason stepped forward, prepared to present his party. Haplo was thankful to note that there were numerous elves present; he hoped they all had long names. Alake led him to the back of the guesthouse, pointed to the moist ground. The tracks were footprints—too long and narrow for dwarves—and undoubtedly made by booted feet. Phondrans, without exception, all went barefoot. Haplo swore silently beneath his breath.

“Have the other elves in the guesthouse missed him yet?”

“I don’t think so,” Alake replied. “They’re all outside, watching the ceremony.”

“I’ll go look for him. You two stay here, in case he comes back.”

“We’re going with you,” said Grundle.

“Yes. He’s our friend.” Alake joined her.

Haplo glared at them, but the dwarf’s jaw was set firm, her small arms crossed defiantly over her chest. Alake regarded him calmly, steadfastly. There would be an argument, and he didn’t have time.

“Come on, then.”

The two girls started down the path, stopped when they realized Haplo wasn’t following.

“What is it? What are you doing?” Alake asked. “Shouldn’t we hurry?” Haplo had squatted down, was quickly tracing sigla in the mud over the elf’s footprints. He breathed soft words; the sigla flashed green, and suddenly began to grow and sprout. Plants and weeds sprang up, covering the path, obliterating any sign of the elf’s footprints.

“This is no time,” snapped Grundle, “to start a garden.”

“They’ll be looking for him soon.” Rising to his feet, Haplo watched the plants completely overrun the path. “I’m making certain no one comes after us. We’ll do what needs to be done, tell whatever story we need to tell. Agreed?”

“Oh!” murmured Alake, biting her lip.

“Agreed?” Haplo stared at the two grimly.

“Agreed,” Grundle said, subdued.

“Agreed,” Alake repeated unhappily.

They left the campsite behind, followed the elf’s footprints into the jungle. At first, Haplo thought that perhaps Grundle might have inadvertently guessed the truth. It appeared that the despondent young elf was simply intent on trying to walk off his misery. The tracks kept to the open path. Devon hadn’t bothered to conceal his whereabouts, he wasn’t attempting to hide from anyone, and he must have known that Alake, at least, would come after him. And then, abruptly, the tracks ended.

The path continued on, smooth, unmarked. The plant life on each side was dense, too dense to penetrate without leaving some sort of trace, and not a leaf was disturbed, not a flower crushed, a stalk bent.

“What’d he do? Grow wings?” the dwarf grumbled, peering into the shadows.

“So to speak,” said Haplo, looking up into the trailing vines. The elf must have taken to the trees. A swift glance farther into the jungle’s dark shadows showed him something else.

His first thought was, Damn! Another elven mourning period!

“You girls go back now,” he said firmly, but suddenly Alake gave a shriek, and before he could stop her, she had plunged into the undergrowth. Haplo jumped after her, dragged her back, shoved her hard into Grundle. The two fell over each other. Haplo ran on, glancing back over his shoulder to make certain he’d delayed the two from following.

The dwarf, in her thick boots, had become entangled in the vines. Alake seemed prepared to leave her friend to fend for herself, started after Haplo. Grundle set up a howl of rage that could be heard for miles.

“Shut her up!” Haplo ordered, crashing through the thick jungle foliage. Alake, anguish twisting her face, turned back to help Grundle. Haplo reached Devon.

The elf had formed a noose out of vines, wrapped it around his neck, and jumped from a tree limb to what he had hoped would be his death. Looking at the limp body, swinging grotesquely in a spiral on its vine, Haplo thought at first the young man had succeeded. Then he saw two of the elf’s fingers twitch. It might be a death spasm, it might not.

Haplo shouted the runes. Blue and red sigla flashed through the air, burst on the vine, severed it. The body plunged down into the undergrowth. Reaching the young man, Haplo grabbed hold of the vine around the neck, wrenched it loose. Devon wasn’t breathing. He was unconscious, his face discolored, lips blue. The vine had cut into the flesh of his slender neck, left it bruised and bleeding. But, Haplo saw after a swift, cursory examination, the elf’s neck wasn’t broken, the windpipe wasn’t crushed. The vine had slipped, apparently, sliding up the neck instead of snapping it, as Devon had undoubtedly intended. He was still alive.

But he wouldn’t be alive long. Haplo felt for a pulse, life fluttered faintly beneath his fingers. The Patryn sat back on his heels, considering. He had no idea if what he intended would work or not. As far as he knew, it had never been tried on a mensch. But he seemed to remember Alfred saying something about using his magic to heal the child, Bane.

If Sartan magic worked on a mensch, Patryn magic should work as well ... or better.

Haplo took hold of the elf’s flaccid hands, Devon’s left hand in Haplo’s right, the Patryn’s left hand holding the elf’s right hand fast. The circle was joined.

Haplo shut his eyes, concentrated. He was dimly aware, behind him, of Alake and Grundle. He heard them come to a halt, heard Alake whimper, Grundle’s breath whistle through her teeth. Haplo paid no attention to them. He was giving his own life strength to Devon. Runes on his arms glowed blue. The magic flowed from him to the elf, carried Haplo’s life with it, carried Devon’s pain and suffering back to Haplo.

The Patryn experienced, vicariously, the terrible grief, the burning guilt, the bitter, gnawing regret that had tormented Devon, sleeping and waking, and had finally driven him to seek solace in oblivion. Haplo felt the shriveling fear right before the jump—the brain’s instinct for self-preservation making a last desperate attempt to fight back.

Then the decision. Pain, the horrible feeling of suffocation, the knowledge, peaceful and serene, that death was near and the torment would soon all be over . . .

Haplo heard a groan, heard the rustle of the plants. He gasped for breath, opened his eyes.

Devon stared up at him, face anguished, twisted, bitter. “You had no right,” he whispered hoarsely, his throat sore and bruised from the vine’s grip. “I want to die! Let me die, damn you! Let me die!”

Alake cried out. “No, Devon! You don’t know what you’re saying!”

“He knows,” said Haplo grimly. He sat back on his heels, wiped his hand across his sweaty forehead. “You and Grundle go on back to the path. Let me talk to him.”

“But—”

“Go!” Haplo yelled angrily.

Grundle tugged on Alake’s hand. The two made their way back slowly through the trampled leaves and slashed plants to the path beyond.

“You want to die,” Haplo said to the elf, who averted his head, shut his eyes.

“Go ahead, then. Hang yourself. I can’t stop you. But I’d appreciate it if you’d wait until after we get all this business about the sun-chasers settled, because I assume there’ll be another long period of grieving over you, and the delay could endanger your people.”

The elf refused to look at him. “They’ll be all right. They have something to live for. I don’t.” His words were a hoarse croak. He grimaced at the pain.

“Yeah? Well, what do you think your parents will have to live for after they cut your body down from that tree limb? You have any idea what their last memory of you will be? Your face bloated, skin discolored, black as rotting fungus; your eyes bugged out of your head, your tongue sticking out of your mouth?”

Devon blanched, cast Haplo a hate-filled glance, and turned his head again.

“Go away,” he muttered.

“You know”—Haplo continued as if he hadn’t heard—“if your body hangs there long enough, the carrion birds’ll come. The first thing they go for is the eyes. Your parents may not even recognize their son—or what’s left of him, when the birds are finished, not to mention the ants and the flies—”

“Stop!” Devon tried to shout, but it came out a sob.

“And there’s Alake and Grundle. They lost one friend, now they’ll lose another. You didn’t give them a thought, either, I suppose? No, just yourself. The pain, I can’t bear the pain,’” Haplo mimicked the elf’s light, piping voice.

“What do you know about it?” Devon cried.

“What do I know about it ... about pain,” Haplo repeated softly. “Let me tell you a story, then I’ll leave you to kill yourself, if that’s what you want. I knew a man, once, in the Laby—a place I lived. He was in a fight, a terrible fight, for his life. In that place, you have to fight to stay alive, you don’t fight to die. Anyway, this man was hurt horribly. Wounds ... all over his body. His suffering was beyond belief, beyond endurance.

“The man defeated his enemies. The chaodyn lay dead around him. But he couldn’t go on. He hurt too much. He could have tried to heal himself with his magic, but it didn’t seem to him to be worth the effort. He lay on the ground, letting the life seep out of him. Then something happened to change his mind. There was a dog . . .

“The dog.” Haplo paused, a strange, lonely ache constricting his heart. All this time, how could he have forgotten the dog?

“What happened?” Devon whispered, blue eyes intent upon the man. “What happened . . . with the dog?”

Haplo frowned, rubbed his chin; sorry, in a way, he’d brought it up, glad, in a way, to remember.

“The dog. The animal had fought the chaodyn and it had been hurt, too. It was dying, in such pain that it couldn’t walk. Yet, when the dog saw the man’s suffering, it tried to help him. The dog didn’t give up. It started to crawl, on its belly, to get help. Its courage made the man feel ashamed.

“A dumb brute, with nothing to live for—no hopes or dreams or ambitions—and it fought to go on living. And I had everything. I was young, strong; I’d won a great victory. And I was about to throw it all away . . . because of the pain.”

“Did the dog die?” Devon asked softly. Weak as a sick child, like a child, he wanted to hear the end of the story.

The Patryn wrenched himself back from his memories. “No, the man healed the dog, healed himself.” He hadn’t noticed his lapse, hadn’t noticed that he and “the man” had gotten rather mixed. “He rose to a position of power among his people. He changed the course of people’s lives . . .”

“Saved people from dragon-snakes? Or maybe themselves?” Devon asked, with a twisted, rueful smile.

Haplo stared at him, then grunted. “Yeah, maybe. Something like that. Well, what’s it going to be? Shall I leave you here to try again?” Devon glanced up at the cut vine, dangling over his head. “No. No, I’ll come . . . with you.” He tried to sit up, and fainted.

Haplo reached out his hand, felt for the pulse. It was stronger, steadier. He brushed aside a lock of flaxen hair caught in the dried blood on the neck.

“It will get better,” he told the unconscious young man. “You won’t forget her, but the remembering won’t hurt as much.”