Serpent Mage

22

The meeting of the royal families opened with stiff formalities, cold glances, unspoken resentment. From there, it moved to open hostility, hot words, and bitter recriminations.

Eliason’s position against war had not altered with the passage of time.

“I am quite willing to set sail in the sun-chasers and find this new realm,” he stated. “And I will undertake to negotiate with these ... er ... Sartan, since all know that elves are skilled in such diplomatic endeavors. I cannot see how these Sartan could refuse such a reasonable request, particularly when we explain how we will bring them much-needed goods and services. My advisers, having given the matter considerable study, have determined that this Sartan race must be relatively new to this realm themselves. We think it likely they’ll actually be quite glad to see us.”

Eliason’s face darkened. “But if not, if the Sartan refuse, well, after all, it is their realm. We will simply look elsewhere.”

“Fine,” said Dumaka sourly. “And while you are looking, what will you eat? Where will you find the food to-feed your people? Will you grow corn in the cracks in the deck? Or has elven magic come up with a way to pull bread out of air? We have calculated that we can carry barely enough supplies for the journey as it is, considering all the mouths we’ll have to feed. There will be room for no more.”

“The supply of fish is plentiful,” said Eliason mildly.

“Of course,” Dumaka retorted, “but not even an elf could live exclusively on a diet of fish! Without fruits and vegetables, the mouth-sickness[37] will come upon our people.”

Yngvar looked horrified at the mere thought of being forced to live on fish.[38] The dwarf planted his feet firmly on the ground, glared round at the assembly.

“You argue over who stole the pie when the pie hasn’t even been cooked yet! The sun-chasers are cursed; the dwarves will have nothing to do with them. And, after consultation with the Elders, we have determined that we will allow no one to have anything to do with them, lest the curse will come back on us. It is our intention to scuttle the things, send them to the bottom of the Goodsea. We will build more ourselves, without the help of snakes.”

“Yes, that’s a good idea,” said Eliason. “There will be time—”

“There will not be time!” Dumaka fumed. “You elves were the ones who figured up how many cycles we had—”

“You dwarves are worse than superstitious children!” Delu was arguing loudly.

“The ships are no more cursed than I am!”

“And who’s certain about you, Witch?” Hilda flashed back, side whiskers bristling.

At that moment, one of the doorkeepers, attempting to give the impression he was deaf and blind to the turmoil around him, crept into the longhouse and whispered something to Dumaka. The chieftain nodded, gave an order. Everyone else had ceased talking, wondering what this interruption portended. No one ever disturbed a royal meeting unless it was a matter of life and death. The doorkeeper departed swiftly on his errand. Dumaka turned to Eliason.

“Your guards have discovered the young man, Devon, to be missing. They’ve searched the camp, but no trace of him can be found. I’ve called out the trackers. Don’t worry, my friend,” the chief said, his anger forgotten at the sight of the elf’s anxiety. “We’ll find him.”

“A young fool’s gone for a walk!” Yngvar snapped irritably. “Why all the fuss?”

“Devon has been very unhappy of late,” said Eliason in a low voice. “Very unhappy. We fear . . .” His voice failed. He shook his head.

“Ach!” said Yngvar gravely, in sudden understanding. “That’s the way of it, is it?”

“Grundle!” Hilda called out sharply, loudly. “Grundle! Come in here, this instant!”

“What are you doing, Wife? Our daughter’s in the cave—”

“Take the sack off your head,”[39] Hilda retorted. “Our daughter’s no more in that cave than I am.” She stood up, raised her voice threateningly. “Grundle, I know you’re out there, spying! Alake, this is serious. I won’t tolerate any more nonsense from you girls!”

But there was no answer. Yngvar looked solemn, tugged at his beard. Stepping outside, he motioned to one of his attendants, a young dwarf named Hartmut, and sent him off toward the cave.

Yngvar returned to the longhouse, where Eliason was also on his feet. “I should go help search—”

“And do what? End up losing yourself in the jungle? Our people will find him. All will be well, my friend—we pray to the One.”

“We pray to the One,” Eliason repeated, and sat back down, his head in his hands.

Then Yngvar spoke, “Aye, but where’s that Haplo got to? Has anybody seen him? Wasn’t he supposed to be here? This meeting was his idea in the first place.”

“You dwarves are suspicious of everything!” Dumaka shouted. “First, the dragon-snakes’ magic. Now Haplo! And after he saved our children—”

“He saved our children, but what do we truly know of him, Husband?” Delu asked. “Perhaps he brought them back, only to carry them off again!”

“She’s right!” Hilda came to stand by the human woman’s side. “I say your trackers start looking for this Haplo!”

“Fine!” said Dumaka, exasperated. “I’ll send the trackers out looking for everyone—”

“Chief!” The doorkeeper shouted, “They’ve found them! All of them!” Elves, humans, and dwarves rushed out of the longhouse. By this time, everyone in camp knew either what had occurred or what was rumored to have occurred. The royal families joined a throng heading toward the elven guesthouse. Human trackers escorted Haplo, Grundle, and Alake from the jungle. Haplo carried Devon in his arms. The elf had regained consciousness, smiled weakly, shamefaced at the attention.

“Devon! Are you hurt? What happened?” Eliason shouldered his way through the crowd.

“I’m . . . fine,” Devon managed, his voice coming out a croak.

“He’ll be all right,” Haplo said. “He had a nasty fall, got hung up in a vine. Let him rest. Where shall I put him?”

“This way.” Eliason led the Patryn to the elven guesthouse.

“We can explain everything,” Grundle announced.

“I’ve no doubt of that,” her father muttered, eyeing his daughter grimly. Haplo carried Devon into the guesthouse, deposited the young man on his bed.

“Thank you,” said Devon softly.

Haplo grunted. “Get some sleep.”

Devon, taking the hint, closed his eyes.

“He needs rest,” said Haplo, coming to stand between Eliason and the young elf. “I think we should let him alone.”

“But I want my physician to see to him—” Eliason began anxiously.

“That won’t be necessary. He’s going to be all right. But now he needs rest,” Haplo repeated.

Eliason looked past Haplo at the young elf lying exhausted, disheveled, on the bed. The girls had cleaned him up, washed the blood away, but the burns and marks left by the vine were plainly visible on his neck. The elven king looked back at Haplo.

“He fell,” the Patryn repeated coolly. “Got tangled in a vine.”

“Will it happen again, do you think?” Eliason asked quietly.

“No.” Haplo shook his head. “I don’t think so. We had a talk . . . about the dangers of climbing trees in the jungle.”

“Thank the One,” Eliason murmured.

Devon had fallen asleep. Haplo led the elven king back outside the guesthouse.

“Alake and I took Devon for a walk,” Grundle was explaining to an attentive crowd. “I know I disobeyed you, Father”—the dwarf gave Yngvar a sidelong glance—“but Devon looked so unhappy and we thought this might cheer him—”

“Humpf!” Yngvar snorted. “Very well, Daughter. We will discuss your punishment later. For now, go on with your story.”

“Grundle and I wanted to speak to Devon alone,” Alake said. “There were too many people in the village, too much going on, and so we suggested a walk in the jungle. We talked and talked and it was hot and we were thirsty and then I noticed that one of the sugarjuice trees had fruit on it. I guess what happened was my fault, because I suggested that Devon climb up—”

“And he was nearly at the top,” inserted Grundle, gesturing dramatically, “when he slipped and down he went, headfirst into a tangle of chokevines.”

“They wrapped around his neck! He was caught. I ... we didn’t know what to do!” Alake’s eyes were wide. “I couldn’t get him down. He was too far off the ground. Grundle and I ran back to the village to get help. The first person we found was Haplo. He came with us and cut Devon down from the vines.” Alake looked at Haplo, standing on the edge of the crowd. Her eyes shone.

“He saved Devon’s life,” she said softly. “He used his magic and healed him! I saw it. Devon wasn’t breathing. The vines had wrapped around his neck. Haplo put his hands on him and his skin glowed blue and suddenly Devon opened his eyes and . . . he was alive.”

“Is this true?” Dumaka asked Haplo.

“She’s exaggerating, she was upset.” The Patryn shrugged. “The boy wasn’t dead. He was out cold. He would have come around. ...”

“I was upset,” Alake said, smiling, “but I wasn’t exaggerating.” Everyone began to talk at once: Yngvar halfheartedly scolded his daughter for running away. Delu stated that it was foolish to attempt to climb a sugarjuice tree by oneself and that Alake should have known better than to allow it. Eliason said he thought the girls showed good sense in running for help and that they should thank the One Haplo had been there to avert another tragedy.

“The One!” said Grundle, pouncing on the startled elven king. “Yes, you thank the One, who sent us this man”—she pointed her short, stubby finger at Haplo—“and then you turn around and toss the rest of the gifts the One provides into the Goodsea!”

Everyone in camp fell silent, stared at the dwarf maid.

“Daughter,” Yngvar began sternly.

“Hush!” Hilda counseled, treading on his foot. “The child makes sense.”

“And why will you throw these blessings away?” Grundle glared round at all of them. “Because you don’t understand them and so you’re afraid of them.” A scathing glance at the dwarves. “Or because you might have to fight to obtain them.” The elves came in for their share of her ire.

“Well, we decided—Alake, Devon, and I. We’re taking the sun-chaser with Haplo. We’re sailing to Surunan. We’ll go alone, if we have to—”

“No, you won’t, Grundle,” Hartmut said stoutly, coming to stand beside her.

“I’ll go with you.”

“We’ll go!” cried several young humans and “We’ll come, too!” shouted numerous young elves.

The cry was taken up by almost all the young people around. Grundle exchanged glances with Alake. The dwarf-maid turned to her parents.

“Well, what have you started now, Daughter?” her father asked dourly. “Open rebellion against your own father?”

“I’m sorry, Father,” Grundle answered, flushing. “But I truly believe it’s for the best. You wouldn’t let our people freeze . . . or the humans ...”

“Of course, he wouldn’t,” said Hilda. “Admit it, Yngvar. Your feet grew too big for your head. You were looking for a way to back down. Our daughter’s given you one. Will you take it?”

Yngvar rumpled his beard. “I don’t see that I have much choice,” he said, trying hard to frown and not quite succeeding. “The lass will be leading my own army against me, if I’m not careful.”

He grunted and stomped off. Grundle looked after him anxiously.

“Relax, dear,” said Hilda, smiling. “He’s really quite proud of you.” And, indeed, Yngvar was stopping on his way to tell everyone, “That’s my daughter!”

“And my people will go.” Eliason bent down and kissed the dwarf soundly.

“Thank you, Daughter, for showing us our folly. May the One bless and guide you always.” His eyes filled with tears. “And now, I must return to Devon.” Eliason left hurriedly.

Grundle was tasting power, obviously found it sweeter than sugarjuice, more intoxicating than dwarven ale. She glanced around, elated, for Haplo, saw him standing in the shadows, watching quietly.

“I did it!” she cried, running over to him. “I did it! I said what you told me! They’re going! All of them!”

Haplo kept silent, his face was dark, expression impenetrable.

“It was what you wanted, wasn’t it?” Grundle demanded, irritated. “Wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, sure. It was what I wanted,” Haplo answered.

“It’s wonderful!” Alake came over to him, her smile dazzling. “All of us, sailing to new lives!”

Two muscular humans ran over, lifted the dwarf-maid to their shoulders, and bore her off in triumph. Alake began to dance. A procession started, the humans chanting, elves singing, dwarven deep bass rivaling the booming of the drum.

Sailing to new lives.

Sailing to death.

Haplo turned on his heel, walked into the darkness, leaving the bright firelight and revelry behind.