Serpent Mage

28

“Our parents are back.” Grundle[45] crept as silently as a dwarf possibly could into the small cabin Alake shared with her parents. “And they don’t look happy.”

Alake sighed.

“We have to find out how the meeting went,” said Devon. “Will they come here, do you think?”

“No, they’re in Eliason’s cabin, right next door. Listen.” Grundle cocked her head. “You can hear them.”

The three leaned near the wall. Muffled voices could be heard, but they were low and their words indistinguishable.

Grundle pointed to a small knothole.

Alake understood her meaning, placed her hand on the knothole, and began to run her fingers round and round the edge, whispering. The hole gradually, imperceptibly, grew larger. Alake peered through it, turned to her companions, motioned them near.

“We’re in luck. One of Mother’s feathered staves is standing right in front of it.”

The three gathered close, ears to the wall.

“I have never seen magic like that.” Delu’s voice was heavy with defeat. “How can we fight against such awesome power?”

“We won’t know until we try,” stated her husband. “And I am for trying. I would not speak to a dog the way they spoke to us.”

“Ours is a terrible choice,” said Eliason. “The land is theirs, by right. It is the right of these Sartan to refuse us permission to move into their realm. But, by so doing, they doom our people to death! And it does not seem to me that they should have the right to do that. I do not want to fight them, neither can I watch my people die.”

“You, Yngvar,” Haplo said. “What do you think?” The dwarf was silent a long time. Grundle, standing on tiptoe, put her eye to the knothole. Her father’s craggy face was stern. He shook his head.

“My people are brave. We would fight any human or elf or whatever these call themselves”—he waved a disparaging hand in the general direction of the Sartan—“if they fought fairly, using ax and sword and bow. My people are not cowards.”

Yngvar glowered around, daring someone to accuse him of such a thing. Then he sighed. “But against magic such as we saw today? ... I don’t know. I don’t know.”

“You don’t have to fight their magic,” said Haplo. They stared at him.

“I have a plan. There’s a way. I wouldn’t have brought you here otherwise.”

“You . . . knew about this?” Dumaka asked, frowning with suspicion. “How?”

“I told you. My people and theirs are . . . similar.” He pointed to the sigla, tattooed on his skin. “This is my magic. If it gets wet with seawater, my magic fails. I’m helpless. More helpless than any of you. Ask your daughter, Yngvar. She saw me. She knows. And the same thing happens to the Sartan.”

“What are we supposed to do?” Grundle whispered gruffly. “Invade the city with a bucket brigade?”

Devon pinched her. “Shush!”

But their elders looked almost as perplexed.

“It’s simple. We flood the city with seawater,” Haplo explained. All stared at him, silently digesting this strange notion. It sounded far too easy. There must be something wrong. Each mulled it over in his or her mind. Then, slowly, hope began to kindle fire in eyes that had been dark with gloom.

“The water doesn’t hurt them?” Eliason asked anxiously.

“No more than it hurts me,” said Haplo. “The water makes us all equal. And no blood is shed.”

“It does seem that this is the answer,” said Delu hesitantly.

“But all the Sartan have to do is keep from getting wet,” Hilda inserted.

“Beings as powerful as these can surely manage that.”

“The Sartan may avoid the rising water for a time. They could all fly to the rooftops, roost like chickens. But they can’t stay up there forever. The water will rise higher and higher. Sooner or later, it must engulf them. And when it does, they will be helpless. You can sail your submersibles into Surunan, take over, never swing an ax, never shoot an arrow.”

“But we can’t live in a world full of water,” Yngvar protested. “When it drains off, the Sartan’s magic will come back, won’t it?”

“Yes, but by that time, there will be a change of leadership among the Sartan. He doesn’t know it yet, but the Councillor you met today is going to be taking a trip.” Haplo smiled quietly. “I think you’ll find it far easier to negotiate when he’s gone. Especially if all you have to do is remind the Sartan that you have the power to bring the seawater back anytime you choose.”

“And will we?” Delu was dazed. “Will we have the power?”

“Of course. You simply ask the dragon-snakes. No, no, wait! Hear me out. The dragon-snakes bore holes into the rock foundation. Water flows in, rises, ‘dampens’ the spirits of the Sartan, and, when they surrender, the dragon-snakes cause the water to recede. The dragon-snakes can use their magic to erect gates at the bore holes, to keep the water out. Any time you ask them, the dragon-snakes can reopen the gates, do it all over again, if necessary. As I said, I don’t think it will be.”

Grundle pondered, examined the idea from all angles, as she knew her father and mother were doing, searching for a flaw. She could find none and, apparently, neither could those listening to Haplo in more conventional fashion.

“I’ll talk to the dragon-snakes, explain the plan to them,” Haplo was offering. “I’ll go to Draknor, if I can use one of your boats. I won’t bring the serpents on board your ship again,” he added hastily, seeing faces pale at the thought.

Alake was radiant.

“It’s a splendid plan! No one will get hurt. And you thought he was in league with the dragon-snakes.” She glared at Grundle.

“Shhh,” said the dwarf maid irritably, and pinched Alake. Humans, elves, dwarves, looked relieved, spoke hopefully.

“We will make it up to the Sartan,” Eliason said. “They don’t know us yet, that’s the problem. When they see that all we want is to live peaceful, productive lives and not bother them in the least, they will be happy to let us stay.”

“Without their laws and without their godhood,” Dumaka stated grimly. The others agreed. The talk reverted to plans of moving onto Surunan, of who would live where and how. Grundle had heard all this before; the rulers had discussed little else during the entire voyage.

“Shut that thing,” she said. “I’ve got a plan of my own.” Alake shut the knothole. She and Devon looked at the dwarf expectantly.

“This is our chance,” said Grundle.

“Chance for what?” Devon asked.

“Chance to find out what’s really going on,” the dwarf said in a low voice, with a meaningful glance at her companions.

“You mean . . .” Alake couldn’t finish.

“We follow Haplo,” said Grundle. “We’ll find out the truth about him. He might be in danger,” she added hastily, seeing Alake’s dark eyes glitter in anger.

“Remember?”

“That’s the only reason I’ll condone this,” Alake said in lofty tones. “The only reason I’ll go.”

“Speaking of danger,” Devon said somberly. “What about the dragon-snakes? We couldn’t even get close to the bridge the time the dragon-snake came on board. When Haplo first confronted them. Remember?”

“You’re right,” Grundle admitted, subdued. “We were all of us scared silly. I couldn’t move. I thought you were going to faint.”

“And that dragon-snake wasn’t even real,” Alake pointed out. “Just a ... a reflection or some such thing.”

“If we do get close, our teeth will be chattering so loudly we won’t be able to hear what they’re saying.”

“At least we’ll be able to defend ourselves,” Devon said. “I’m a fair shot with my bow—”

Grundle snorted. “Arrows, even magic ones, won’t have any effect on those monsters. Right, Alake?”

“What? I’m sorry, I was thinking. You mentioned magic. I’ve been working on my spells. I’ve learned three new defensive ones. I can’t tell you about them, because they’re secret, but they worked beautifully against my teacher.”

“Yeah, I saw him. Has his hair grown back yet?”

“How dare you spy on me, you little beast!”

“I wasn’t. As if I cared! I happened to be passing by, when I heard a sound and smelled smoke. I thought the ship was on fire and so I looked through a keyhole—”

“There! You’ve admitted it—”

“The dragon-snakes,” inserted Devon with elven diplomacy. “And Haplo. They’re what’s important. Remember?”

“I remember! And a fat lot of good magic arrows or magic fire or magic anything’s going to do us if we can’t get close to the blasted creatures anyway.”

“She’s got a point, I’m afraid.” Devon sighed.

“And Alake’s got an idea,” said Grundle, eyeing her friend closely. “Haven’t you?”

“Maybe. It’s something we shouldn’t do. We could get into real trouble.”

“Yes, so?” Grundle and Devon brushed aside such mundane considerations. Alake glanced around, although there was no one in the small cabin except themselves. Motioning her friends near, she leaned in toward them.

“I’ve heard my father tell that in the old days, when one tribe fought another, some of the warriors chewed an herb that took away fear. My father never used it. He said that fear was a warrior’s best weapon in a fight, it sharpens his instincts—”

“Pah! If your insides feel like they’re going to be your out-sides any minute, it doesn’t matter how sharp your instincts are—”

“Hush, Grundle!” Devon squeezed the dwarf’s hand. “Let Alake finish.”

“I was about to say, before I was interrupted”—Alake glanced sternly at Grundle—“that in this case we really don’t need to have particularly sharp instincts because we don’t intend to fight anything. We just want to sneak up on the dragon-snakes, listen to what they talk about, and then sneak away. This herb would help take away our fear of them.”

“Is it magic?” Grundle asked suspiciously.

“No. Just a plant. Like lettuce. Its properties are inherent. All you have to do is chew it.”

The three looked at each other.

“What do you think?”

“Sounds good to me.”

“Alake, can you get hold of it?”

“Yes, the herbalist brought some along with her. She thought some of the warriors might want it if we went to war.”

“All right, then. Alake gets the herb for us. What’s it called?”

“No-fear weed.”

“Weed?” Grundle frowned. “I don’t think—” Voices out in the passageway interrupted them. The meeting was breaking up.

“When will you leave, Haplo?” Dumaka’s deep tones carried clearly through the closed door.

“Tonight.”

The three companions exchanged glances.

“Can you get the weed by then?” Devon whispered.

Alake nodded.

“Good, then. It’s all settled. We go.” Grundle held out her hand. Devon placed his hand over the dwarf’s. Alake grasped both.

“We go,” each said firmly.

Haplo spent the remainder of the day ostensibly learning how to operate one of the small, two-person submersibles, used by humans and elves for fishing. He studied the operation of the dwarven boat carefully, asked questions—far more than would have been needed simply to sail the vessel the short distance to Draknor. He went over every inch of the craft, rousing the suspicions of dwarves by his intense interest.

But the Patryn was profuse in his praise of dwarven carpentry and navigation skills, and, eventually, the captain and crew were looking for things, to impress him.

“This will serve my purpose well,” said Haplo, glancing around the submersible in satisfaction.

“Of course,” growled the dwarf. “Yer only taking her far as Draknor. You ain’t plannin’ to circumnavigate the bleedin’ world.”

Haplo smiled quietly. “You’re right, friend. I’m not planning to circumnavigate the world.”

He was planning to leave it. Just as soon as the dragon-snakes flooded Surunan, which he hoped would be tomorrow. He’d capture Samah. This ship would carry him—and his prisoner—through Death’s Gate.

“I’ll put the runes of protection on the inside of the vessel, instead of the outside,” he said to himself, once he was alone, back in his cabin. “That should solve the problem of the seawater.

“And that reminds me. I’ll need to take back a sample of the water to my lord, have it analyzed, determine if there isn’t some way to nullify its debilitating effects against us. And perhaps he can discover how this strange water came into existence. I doubt if the Sartan created it. . . .” Haplo heard a thump in the corridor outside his cabin.

“Grundle,” he guessed, shaking his head.

He’d spotted the mensch trailing behind him all day. Her heavy tread, heavier boots, and her huffing and snorting would have alerted a blind and deaf man to her presence. The Patryn wondered vaguely what mischief she was up to now, but gave the matter little thought. One nagging concern continued to prey on his mind, drove all else out.

The dog. Once his dog. Now, apparently, Alfred’s.

Haplo took from his belt two daggers, given to him by Dumaka, and laid them on the bed, examined them carefully. Good weapons, well-made. He called on his magic. The sigla on his skin glowed blue, flared red. Haplo spoke the runes, placed his finger on the flat of the knife’s blade. The steel hissed and bubbled, smoke drifted upward in a thin line. Runes of death began to form on the blade, beneath Haplo’s tracing finger.

“Let the damn dog do what it wants.” Haplo took extreme care drawing the runes on which his life might depend, yet he’d done this so many times he could allow his mind to turn to other matters. “I lived for a long time without the animal and I can do it again. The dog came in handy, admittedly, but I don’t need it. I don’t want it back. Not now. Not after it’s been living with a Sartan.”

Haplo completed his work on one side of the dagger. He sat back, studied it carefully, searching for the tiniest flaw, the smallest break in the intricate pattern. There wouldn’t be any, of course. He was good at what he did. Good at killing, cheating, lying. He was even good at lying to himself. Or at least he’d been good once. He used to actually believe his own lies. Why couldn’t he believe them anymore?

“Because you’re weak.” He sneered at himself. “That’s what my lord would say. And he’d be right. Caring about a dog. Caring about mensch. Caring about a woman who left me long ago. Caring about a child of mine who might be stranded back there in the Labyrinth. A child alone. And I don’t have the courage to go back and search for it ... for her!”

A mistake. A broken, incomplete sigil. None of the rest would work now. Haplo swore savagely, bitterly, swept the daggers off the bed.

The brave Patryn, risking his life to enter Death’s Gate, risking his life to explore new, uncharted worlds.

Because I’m afraid to go back to one world I do know. That’s the real reason I was ready to give up and die that long time ago in the Labyrinth.[46] I couldn’t take the loneliness. I couldn’t take the fear.

And then, he’d found the dog.

And now, the dog was gone.

Alfred. It was all Alfred’s doing. Damn him to hell and back again. A loud drumming, which sounded suspiciously like the heels of heavy boots beating against a wooden deck, came from outside Haplo’s cabin. Grundle must be getting bored.

The Patryn stared grimly at the daggers lying on the deck. Work botched; He was losing control.

Let Alfred have the damn dog. He was welcome to it.

Haplo picked up the daggers, carefully began his work over again, this time giving it his full and undivided attention. At last, he etched the final sigil onto the dagger’s blade. Sitting back, he studied the dagger. This time, all was correct. He started to work on the next.

Task complete, he wrapped the two rune-enhanced daggers safely and securely in what the dwarves called oilcloth. The cloth was completely waterproof; Haplo knew, he’d tested it. The oilcloth would protect the daggers, keep them from losing their magic, just in case something happened and he lost his. Not that he was expecting trouble, but it never hurt to be prepared. To be honest—and he supposed bitterly that this must be his day for honesty—he didn’t trust the dragon-snakes, though logic told him he had no reason not to. Perhaps his instincts knew something his brain didn’t. He’d learned, in the Labyrinth, to trust his instincts.

Haplo walked to the door, flung it open.

Grundle tumbled inside, falling flat on her face. Nonplussed, she picked herself up, dusted herself off, then glared at Haplo.

“Shouldn’t you be going?” she demanded.

“Just now,” he said, with his quiet smile.

He thrust the oilskin pouch into the belt around his waist, hiding it beneath the folds of his shirt.

“About time,” Grundle snorted, and stomped off.

That afternoon, Alake went to the herbalist, complaining of a sore throat and cough. While the herbalist was preparing an infusion of chamomile and peppermint and droning on about how terrible it was that most young people didn’t seem to have any respect these days for the old ways and how nice it was that Alake was different, Alake managed to pluck several leaves of the no-fear weed the herbalist had growing in a small tub.

Clutching the leaves in one hand, keeping that hand hidden behind her back, Alake accepted the tea, listened carefully to instructions that the brew was to be drunk without delay, the dose repeated again before bedtime. She promised she would, as well as she could speak considering her bad cough. On leaving, she added the no-fear weed leaves to the tea mixture, returned hastily to her room.

That night, Devon and Grundle met in Alake’s quarters.

“He’s gone,” Grundle reported. “I watched him board the submersible. He’s a strange one. I heard him inside his cabin, talking to himself. I couldn’t understand much, but he sounded upset. You know, I don’t think he’s coming back.”

Alake scoffed. “Don’t be silly. Of course he’s coming back. Where else would he go?”

“Maybe back to wherever he lives.”

“That’s nonsense. He promised to help our people. He wouldn’t leave us now.”

“What makes you think so, Grundle?” Devon asked.

“I don’t know,” the dwarf replied, unusually solemn and thoughtful. “Something about the way he looked . . .” She sighed gloomily.

“We’ll find out, soon enough,” Devon predicted. “Did you get the herbs?” Alake nodded, handed each a leaf of the no-fear weed. Grundle stared at the gray-green leaf in disgust,[47] sniffed at it, sneezed. Holding her nose, she popped it into her mouth, chewed it rapidly, and gulped it down. Devon licked the leaf delicately with the tip of his tongue and nibbled at it.

“You look like a rabbit!” Grundle laughed nervously. Alake, solemn and serious, placed her leaf in her mouth with a reverent air. Closing her eyes, she said a silent prayer before she chewed and swallowed it. Then all three sat and stared at each other, waiting for their fear to go away.