Serpent Mage

26

Alfred spent most of his day and a greater portion of his night listening to the echo of the conversation he’d overheard between Samah and his son. He heard it all, over and over again in his mind, but one portion kept returning to him, louder and more persistent than the rest.

We should do to him what we did to the others.

What others?

Those who had discovered that they were not gods, that they were (or should be) worshipers? Those who had found out that the Sartan were not the sun, but just another planet? What had happened to them? Where were they?

He glanced around, almost as if he expected to find them sitting in Orla’s garden. The heretics weren’t in Chelestra. They weren’t on the Council. Despite the fact that there was some division, the Council members, with the exception of Orla, appeared to be solidly behind Samah.

Perhaps all Ramu meant was that the heretics had been counseled, finally converted back to proper Sartan ways of thinking. This was a comforting thought, and Alfred wanted very much to believe it. He spent almost an entire hour convincing himself it must be true. That nagging unfortunate part of him that seemed to be always going off on its own (and taking his feet with it) argued that he was, as usual, refusing to face reality.

The internal argument was wearing, left him worn out and unhappy. He was tired of it, tired of being by himself, forced to argue with himself. He was immeasurably cheered at the sight of Orla entering the garden in search of him.

It had seemed to Alfred as if she had been avoiding him.

“Ah, here you are.” Orla spoke briskly, impersonally. She might have been talking to the dog, snoozing at Alfred’s feet. The animal opened an eye to see who was here, yawned, rolled over, and went back to sleep.

Startled by Orla’s detached tone, Alfred sighed. She obviously loathed him now. He supposed he couldn’t really blame her.

“Yes, I’m here,” he replied. “Where did you think I would be—the library?” Orla flushed in anger, then paled. She bit her lip. “I’m sorry,” she said, after a moment. “I suppose I deserved that.”

“No, I’m the one who is sorry,” Alfred said, appalled at himself. “I don’t know what’s come over me. Won’t you please sit down?”

“No, thank you,” Orla said, her flush deepening. “I can’t stay. I came to tell you that we’ve received a message from the mensch. They have arrived on Draknor.” Her voice hardened. “They want to arrange a meeting.”

“What is Draknor? One of the durnai?”

“Yes, poor creature. The durnai were meant to hibernate until the seasun drifted away, then we would wake them and they would follow it. Most durnai, after we left, never woke up. I doubt if even the mensch, who have lived on the durnai all this time, are aware that they have been living on a living being.

“Unfortunately, the dragon-snakes realized at once that the durnai were alive. They attacked one, woke it, and have tormented the durnai ever since. According to the dolphins, the dragon-snakes have devoured it slowly, gnawed at it bit by bit. It lives in perpetual agony and fear.

“Yes,” Orla added, seeing Alfred grow pale with horror. “It is these creatures who have allied themselves with your Patryn friend. And with the mensch.” Alfred was sickened. He glanced down at the dog, slumbering peacefully. “I can’t believe it. Not even of Haplo. He is a Patryn—ambitious, hard, cold. But he’s not a coward. He’s not cruel. He takes no delight in tormenting the helpless, he does not enjoy inflicting pain.”

“Yet he is there, in Draknor, and the mensch are with him. But they won’t be content to stay there. They want to move here, to this realm.” Orla looked around her garden, lush and beautiful in night’s soft darkness. “That is what this meeting is about.”

“Well, of course, they can’t stay on Draknor. It must be dreadful. There is plenty of room for them here,” said Alfred, feeling more cheerful than he had in days.

He was actually looking forward to being in company with the mensch again. They might be quarrelsome, disruptive, but they were interesting. Then he saw the expression on Orla’s face.

“You do plan to let them move onto Surunan, don’t you?” he asked. He saw the answer in her eyes, and stared at her, appalled. “I can’t believe it! You’d turn them away?”

“It isn’t the mensch, Alfred,” Orla said. “It’s those who are with them. The Patryn. He’s asked to come to the meeting.”

“Haplo?” Alfred repeated in astonishment.

At the sound of the name, the dog sprang to its feet, ears pricked, eyes searching.

“There, there,” said Alfred, petting the animal, calming its excitement.

“There, there. He’s not here now. Not yet.”

The dog gave a little whimper, and settled back down, nose on paws.

“Haplo, coming to a meeting of the Sartan,” Alfred mused, disquieted by the news. “He must be very confident, to reveal himself to you. Of course, you already know he’s on Chelestra, and he’s probably aware that you know. Still, this isn’t like him.”

“Confident!” Orla snapped. “Of course he’s confident! He’s got the dragon-snakes, not to mention several thousand mensch warriors—”

“But perhaps the mensch only want to live in peace,” Alfred suggested.

“Do you honestly believe that?” Orla looked at him in wonder. “Can you be that naive?”

“I admit I’m not as wise or as intelligent as the rest of you,” Alfred stated humbly. “But shouldn’t you at least listen to what they have to say?”

“Of course the Council will listen to them. That’s why Samah has agreed to the meeting. And he wants you to be present. He sent me to tell you.”

“Then you didn’t come to me on your own,” Alfred said softly, staring down at his shoes. “I was right. You have been avoiding me. No, don’t worry about it. I understand. I’ve made things difficult enough for you. It’s just that I missed talking to you, I missed hearing your voice. I missed”—he lifted his eyes—“looking at you.”

“Alfred, please, don’t. I’ve said this to you before—”

“I know. I’m sorry. I think it would be a good idea if I left this house, perhaps even left Chelestra.”

“Oh, Alfred, no! Don’t be ridiculous. You belong here, with us, with your people—”

“Do I?” Alfred asked her seriously, so seriously he stopped the words on her lips. “Orla, what happened to the others?”

“Others? What others?” she asked, perplexed.

“The others, the heretics. Before the Sundering. What happened to them?”

“I ... I don’t know what you mean,” she said.

But Alfred saw that she did. She had gone extremely pale; her eyes were wide and frightened. Her lips parted, as if she would say something more, but no sound came from them. Turning hurriedly, she almost ran from the garden. Alfred sat down unhappily on the bench.

He was beginning to be extremely frightened ... of his own people. The meeting between the Sartan and the mensch was arranged by the dolphins, who, as Alake had said, loved to feel important. What with swimming back and forth from one group to another, suggesting times, changing times, confirming times, discussing where and how and with whom, the dolphins were quite busy and did not think to mention their suspicions concerning Haplo and the dragon-snakes.

Or perhaps, in the excitement of the occasion, the dolphins simply forgot all about the Patryn. As Grundle said, what do you expect from the mind of a fish?

Haplo was on guard, always present when the dolphins were around, careful to request that the dolphins speak one of the mensch languages so that he knew what was being said.

It was a needless precaution.

The royal heads of household had far more urgent worries, didn’t have time to listen to idle gossip. The mensch were currently arguing over where to hold the meeting with the Sartan: on Sartan ground, as the Sartan wanted, or to insist that the Sartan sail out and meet the representatives of the three races midway.

Dumaka, who had already decided he didn’t like these Sartan, was in favor of forcing them to come to him.

Eliason said it would be more polite for them to go to the Sartan. “We’re the ones coming as beggars.”

Yngvar grumbled that he didn’t care where the meeting was held as long as it was on dry land. He was sick and tired of living in a damn boat. Haplo sat quietly nearby, watching, listening, saying nothing. He would let them argue, get it out of their systems, and then he would step in and tell them what to do.

As it turned out, the Sartan insisted that the meeting be held on Surunan or there would be no meeting.

Haplo smiled quietly. Out in a ship, in the magic-nullifying waters of the Goodsea, the Sartan would be completely at the mercy of the mensch ... or anyone the mensch happened to have with them.

But it was early days for thinking of that. The mensch were in no mood to fight. Not yet.

“Meet the Sartan on Surunan,” Haplo advised. “They want to try to impress you with their strength. It won’t hurt if you allow them to think they’ve succeeded.”

“Impress ME!” Delu repeated in disdain.

The dolphins sped back with the mensch agreement, returned to say that the Sartan had invited the royal representatives to come early the next morning. They were to appear before the Sartan Council, present their requests in person to that august body.

The royal representatives agreed.

Haplo returned to his berth. He had never, in his life, experienced such excitement. He needed quiet, solitude, to calm his racing heart, burning blood.

If all his plans worked out, and he could see—at this point—no reason why they shouldn’t, he would return to the Nexus in triumph, with the great Samah as prisoner. This victory would vindicate him, pay for his mistakes. Once again, he would be held in high esteem by his lord, the man he loved and revered above all others.

And, while he was at it, Haplo intended to get his dog back, too.