Serpent Mage

31

The dragon-snakes had allowed the mensch to leave the cave safely, kept them in sight the entire time. The three reached the shoreline. They could see Haplo and his ship. Fear was dispelled. Hope returned. The three began to run toward him.

The dragon-snakes poured out of the cave, a hundred sinuous bodies surged over the ground in a writhing, slime-covered mass.

The three mensch heard their hissing, turned around in terror. The serpents’ red-green gaze caught the three, held them, fascinated. Tongues flicked out, tasting the air, smelling, savoring fear. The dragon-snakes closed in on their prey. But it was not their intent to kill swiftly. Fear made them strong, terror gave them power. They were always disappointed to see a victim die.

The snakes lowered their flame-eyed gazes, slowed their advance to a lazy crawl.

The mensch, freed of the paralyzing fascination, screamed and began running across the beach.

The dragon-snakes hissed in pleasure and slid rapidly behind. They kept close to the young people, close enough to let them smell the dank, putrid odor of the death they brought, close enough to let them hear the sounds that would be the last sounds they heard—except their own, dying screams. The giant bodies, sliding over the sand, ground it beneath them. Flat heads, looming over the mensch, cast horrid, swaying shadows before them. And the dragon-snakes watched, in glee, the battle between Patryn and Sartan, thrived on the hatred, and grew stronger still.

The mensch were weakening and, as their bodies weakened, so did their sheer terror. The dragon-snakes needed to prod their prey a bit, stir them back to action.

“Take one,” commanded the king dragon-snake, from his place at the head of the advance. “The human. Kill her.”

Day was dawning. Night was fading, the darkness lifting, as much as it could lift from this place of darkness. The sun’s light glimmered over the murky water. Haplo cast a shadow as he ran.

“We must help him!” Alfred urged Samah. “You can help him, Councillor. Use your magic. Between us, maybe we can defeat the dragons ...”

“And while I fight dragons, your Patryn friend escapes. Is that your plan?”

“Escape?” Alfred blinked watery blue eyes. “How can you say that? Look! Look at him! He’s risking his life—”

“Bah! He’s in no danger! The foul creatures are his to command! His people created them.”

“That’s not what Orla told me,” Alfred retorted angrily. “That’s not what the dragon-snakes said to you on the beach, is it, Councillor? ‘Who created you?’ you asked them. ‘You did, Sartan.’ That was their answer, wasn’t it?” Samah’s face was livid. He raised his right hand, started to trace a sigil in the air.

Alfred raised his left, traced the same sigil, only in reverse, nullified the magic.

Samah moved sideways in a sliding dance step, murmuring words beneath his breath.

Alfred slid gracefully the opposite direction, repeated the same words, backward.

Again, Samah’s magic was nullified.

But, behind him, Alfred could hear a furious hissing, the thrashing of reptile bodies, Haplo’s hoarse voice shouting instructions to the dog. Alfred longed to look to see what was happening, but he did not dare move his complete attention from Samah.

The Councillor, drawing upon all his power, began to weave another spell. The magic rumbled in the distance, runes crackled. The tremendous, confusing storm of possibilities was coming down, full force, upon Alfred.

He began to feel faint.

Haplo’s only goal was to rescue the mensch. Once he had them, however, he had no idea what to do, no plan of attack. Why bother? he demanded of himself bitterly. The battle was hopeless from the start. It was taking all his concentration to rid himself of the fear that threatened to lay hold of him, wring him inside out, drop him, retching up his guts, in the sand. The dog had outdistanced him, reached the mensch already. The three were nearly finished, exhaustion and terror had drained them of their strength. Ignoring the serpents, the dog dashed around the mensch, herded them together, urged them on when it seemed they might lag.

One of the snakes came too close. The dog dashed toward it, growling a warning.

The dragon-snake slid back.

Devon collapsed onto the ground. Grundle grasped him by the shoulder, shook him.

“Get up, Devon!” she pleaded. “Get up!” Alake, with a courage born of despair, stood over her fallen friend and turned to face the dragon-snakes. She raised a hand that trembled, but did not loose its firm grip on the object it held—a wooden stick. She presented it boldly, and began to cast her spell, taking time to speak the words clearly and distinctly, as her mother had taught her.

The stick burst into magical flame. Alake waved the firebrand in the eyes of the dragon-snakes, as she would have waved it in the eyes of some predator cat, stalking her chickens.

The dragon-snakes hesitated, drew back. Haplo saw their game, forgot his fear in his rage. Devon, with Grundle’s assistance, was regaining his feet. The dog barked and jumped, trying to draw the serpent’s attention to itself, away from the mensch.

Alake, proud, beautiful, exultant, thrust the firebrand at the snakes. “Leave this place! Leave us!” she cried.

“Alake, get down!” Haplo shouted.

The snake struck with incredible swiftness, head darting forward faster than the eye could follow, the brain could comprehend. It was a blur, nothing more. A blur that darted out and darted back.

Alake screamed, fell, writhing in pain, to the ground.

Grundle and Devon knelt down beside her. Haplo almost stumbled over them. He grasped the dwarf by the shoulder, jerked her to her feet.

“Run ahead!” he shouted. “Get help!”

Help. What help? Alfred? What am I thinking? Haplo asked himself angrily. It had been a reflexive response. But, at least, it would get the dwarf out of the way.

Grundle blinked, understood, and, after a wild, despairing look at Alake, the dwarf turned and took off for the water’s edge.

The dragon-snake’s head hovered in the air, loomed over its victim, over Haplo. Its eyes were on the Patryn, on the blue-flaring, rune-lit daggers in his hands. The snake was confident, but wary. It had little respect for the Patryn, but was smart enough not to underestimate its enemy.

“Devon,” said Haplo, keeping his voice deliberately calm, “how’s Alake?” The elf’s choked sob answered him. He could hear the girl’s screams. She wasn’t dead, more was the pity. Poisoned, he guessed, her flesh torn by the dragon’s bone-hard mouth.

He risked a quick glance back. Devon gathered Alake in his arms, and held her close, soothing her. The dog was by his side, growling menacingly at any snakes that looked their direction.

Haplo placed his body between the serpent and the mensch. “Dog, stay with them.”

He faced the dragon-snake, daggers raised.

“Take him,” ordered the king.

The dragon-snake’s head dove down. Jaws gaped wide, venom dripped. Haplo dodged it, as best he could, but several drops fell on him, burned through the wet shirt and into the skin.

He was aware of searing pain, but it wasn’t important now. He kept his gaze and his attention fixed on his target.

The serpent lunged for him.

Haplo leapt backward, brought both hands together, drove both daggers into the dragon’s skull, between the slit red eyes.

The rune-enhanced blades bit deep. Blood spurted. The dragon-snake roared in pain, reared its head up and back, carrying Haplo, trying to hang onto the daggers, with it.

His arms were nearly ripped from their sockets. He was forced to let go and dropped to the ground. Crouching low, he waited.

The wounded dragon-snake flailed and thrashed about blindly in its death throes. At last, with a shudder, it lay still. The slit-eyes were open, but the fire was gone. The tongue lolled from the toothless mouth. The daggers remained firmly entrenched in the bloody head.

“Go for your weapons, Patryn,” said the king dragon-snake, red-green eyes gleaming with pleasure. “Seize them! Fight on! You’ve killed one of us. Don’t give up now!”

It was his only chance. Haplo lunged, hand outstretched, made a desperate grab.

A snake’s head swooped down. Pain exploded in his arm. Bone shattered, blood burned with the poison. His right hand fell useless. Haplo kept going, made another try with his left.

The serpent started for him again. A hissed command from its king halted it.

“No, no! Don’t end it yet! The Patryn is strong. Who knows? He might be able to reach his ship.”

If I could make it to my ship . . .

Haplo laughed at the thought. “That’s what you want, isn’t it? You want to see me turn and run. And you’ll let me get—how far? Within arm’s reach? Maybe even set my foot on it. And then what? Snatch me away. Take me into that cave?”

“Your terror will feed us a long, long time, Patryn,” whispered the dragon-snake.

“I’m not going to play. You’ll have to find your fun somewhere else.” Deliberately, Haplo turned his back on the snakes, crouched down beside the two young people. The dog posted guard behind its master, growling at any serpent that came too close.

Alake was quiet now, she no longer moaned. Her eyes were closed, her breathing ragged and shallow.

“I ... I think she’s better,” said Devon, swallowing hard.

“Yes,” Haplo said quietly. “She’s going to be well soon.” He heard, behind him, the huge bodies slide close. The dog’s growl intensified. Alake opened her eyes, smiled up at him.

“I am better,” she breathed. “It . . . doesn’t hurt anymore.”

“Haplo!” Devon said warningly.

Haplo glanced behind him. The snakes had begun to circle around, some moving to the left, others moving to the right. Their bodies slid over the ground, curving, coiling, flat heads always facing his direction. Slowly, inexorably, they were surrounding him. The dragon-snakes began to hiss—soft, sibilant whispers of death. The dog ceased to growl, crept back to be near its master.

“What’s the matter?” Alake whispered. “You killed the dragon-snake. I saw you. They’re gone now, aren’t they?”

“Yes,” said Haplo, taking her hands in his. “They’re gone. The danger’s over. Rest easy, now.”

“I will rest easy. You will watch over me? . . .”

“I will watch over you.”

She smiled, closed her eyes. Her body shuddered, then lay still. Samah spoke the first rune, started to speak the second. The magic was gathering around him in a light-spangled cloud.

A small person, howling at the top of her lungs, sprang on him, clutched at him, her momentum nearly carrying them both over.

His spell disrupted, Samah stared down at a young female dwarf. Her grimy hands tugged at his robes, practically dragged them off him.

“Rescue . . . Alake fell . . . Haplo alone . . . dragons ... he needs . . . help!” The dwarf panted, pulled on Samah’s robes. “You . . . come!” Saman thrust the mensch aside. “Another trick.”

“Come! Please!” the dwarf begged, and burst into tears.

“I will help,” said Alfred.

The dwarf gulped, looked at him dubiously. Alfred turned to face Samah. The Councillor was speaking the runes again, but this time Alfred did not stop him. Samah’s body shimmered, started to fade.

“Go to the aid of your Patryn friend!” he called. “See what thanks you get!” The Councillor disappeared.

The dwarf maid was too upset and frightened to be startled. She clasped Alfred’s wrinkled hand. She had, more or less, regained her breath.

“You must help! The dragon-snakes are killing him!” Alfred started forward, intent on doing what he could, although what that would be, he wasn’t certain. But he had forgotten, in his preoccupation with Samah, the horror of the creatures. Now, he stared at them, aghast: long reptile bodies whipping and lashing in the sand, eyes red as flame, green as the ugly sea, toothless jaws slavering, tongues dripping venom. The weakness swept again over Alfred. He recognized it, fought against it, but not very hard. Swaying, he let go, let it take him away from the fear . . . Small fists pummeled him.

Alfred, dazed, opened his eyes. He was lying in the sand.

A dwarf stood over him, beating him on the breast with her fists, shouting at him. “You can do magic! I saw you! You brought him his dog! Help him, damn you! Help Alake and Devon! Damn you! Damn you!”

The dwarf collapsed, buried her face in her hands.

“There . . . don’t cry,” said Alfred, reaching out timidly, awkwardly to pat the small, heaving shoulder. He looked back at the dragon-snakes and his heart nearly failed him. “I want to help,” he said pathetically, “but I don’t know how.”

“Pray to the One,” the dwarf said fiercely, raising her head. “The One will give you strength.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” said Alfred.

“Alake!” Devon cried, shaking the lifeless body. “Alake!”

“Don’t wish her back,” Haplo said. “Her pain is over.” Devon raised a stricken face. “Do you mean she’s . . . But you can save her! Bring her to life! Do it, Haplo! Like you did for me!”

“I don’t have my magic!” Haplo shouted harshly. “I can’t save her. I can’t save you. I can’t even save myself!”

Devon laid Alake’s body gently on the ground. “I was afraid to live. Now I’m afraid to die. No, I don’t mean that. It’s not the dying. That’s easy.” He reached out, took hold of Alake’s chill hand. “It’s the pain, the fear . . .” Haplo said nothing. There was nothing to say, no comforting words to offer. Their end was going to be a horrible one. He knew it, so did Devon, so did Grundle.

Grundle? Where was she?

Haplo remembered. He’d sent her back for help. For Alfred. The Sartan was hopelessly inept, but Haplo had to admit he’d seen Alfred do some fairly remarkable things ... if he hadn’t passed out first.

Haplo jumped to his feet. His sudden movement startled the dog, startled the dragon-snakes. One of them lashed out from behind him, its forked tongue flicked across his back like a whip of flame, seared the flesh from his bones. The pain was intense, paralyzing; every nerve in his body sizzled with the agony. He slumped to his knees, defeated.

Grundle stood on the shoreline, alone—a small, pathetic figure. No sign of Alfred.

Haplo pitched down flat on the sand. He was vaguely aware of Devon crouching over him, of the dog making a heroic, if futile, dash at the snake who had attacked him. Nothing was real now except the pain. It burned in his vision, filled his mind with fire.

The serpent must have struck him again, because suddenly the pain intensified. And then the dog was licking his face, nuzzling his neck, yelping and whining eagerly. It no longer sounded frightened.

“Haplo!” Devon shouted. “Haplo, don’t go! Come back! Look and see!” Haplo opened his eyes. The black mists that had been closing over him receded. He looked around, saw the pallid face of the elf, turned skyward. A shadow passed across Haplo, a shadow that cooled the flames of the snake’s venom. Blinking, trying to clear his vision, Haplo gazed upward. A dragon flew above them, a dragon such as Haplo had never seen in all his life. Its beauty made the soul shrink in awe. Green polished scales flashed like emeralds. Its wings were golden leather, its mane of gold shone and glistened brighter than Chelestra’s water-bound sun. The body was enormous, its wingspan seemed, to Haplo’s dazed mind, to extend from horizon to horizon. The dragon flew low, screamed in warning, dove down on the snakes. Devon ducked, involuntarily raised an arm over his head. Haplo didn’t move. He lay still, watching. The dog barked and yelped like a thing possessed. Leaping in the air, it snapped playfully at the beast as it thundered overhead. The rushing beat of dragon’s wings stirred up clouds of sand. Haplo coughed, sat up to try to see.

The dragon-snakes fell back. Bodies flattening, they slid away, reluctantly, from their victims. Slit-eyes aimed malevolently at this new threat. The dragon soared far above the serpents, wheeled, and dove again, taloned claws extended.

The king snake reared its head to meet the challenge. It spewed venom, attempted to hit the dragon’s eyes.

The dragon struck, pinioned the snake’s body. Claws sank deep into the scaled flesh.

The serpent writhed and twisted in fury. Its head coiled around, it snapped at the dragon, but the dragon was careful to keep just out of reach of the venomous jaws. Other snakes were rushing to their leader’s aid. The dragon, great wings straining, lifted the king snake from the ground, soared into the air. The serpent dangled from its claws.

The king snake fought, lashing with its tail, striking out again and again with its head.

The dragon flew higher, until it was almost lost to Haplo’s sight. Far up over the craggy mountains of Draknor, the dragon loosed its hold on the snake, let it fall.

The dragon-snake plummeted, twisting and shrieking, down onto the mountain, onto the sharp bones of the tormented creature it had used for its lair. The seamoon shook with the force of the snake’s fall. Rocks cracked and splintered, the mountain caved in on top of the snake’s carcass. The dragon came back, circled overhead, glittering eyes seeking another kill. The serpents coiled in defensive posture, the red-green eyes darted uneasy glances at each other.

“If we can catch the dragon on the ground, attack it in a body, we can defeat it!” hissed one.

“Yes,” said another. “A good idea. You challenge it, lure it down from the sky! Then I’ll attack it.”

“Why me? You challenge it!”

They argued among themselves, none of them daring to commence the fight that would lure the dragon down from its safe haven in the air. None was willing to risk its own slimy skin to save its fellows, and they had no king, now, to command them. Leaderless, faced with a powerful enemy, the like of which they had never encountered, they deemed it best to make a strategic retreat. The dragon-snakes slid rapidly across the sand, heading for the dark safety of what was left of their shattered mountain.

The dragon pursued them, harassing them, harrying them, until it had driven every one of them into the cave. Then it wheeled, flew back, hovered over Haplo. He tried to look directly at it, but the shining light of its being made his eyes water.

You are wounded. Yet you must find the strength to return to your ship. The dragon-snakes are disorganized for the moment, but they will soon regroup and I do not have the power to fight them all.

The dragon didn’t speak aloud. Haplo heard the voice in his mind. It sounded familiar, but he couldn’t place it.

He forced his pain-racked body to stand. Yellow flares burst in his eyes; he staggered, would have lost his balance.

Devon was there beside him, the elf holding him, propping him up. The dog pattered around him, anxious and wanting to help. Haplo remained standing quietly, until the weakness passed, then he nodded, unable to speak, and took a feeble step. Suddenly, he stopped.

“Alake,” he said, and looked down at the body. His gaze shifted grimly to the cave where he could see the slits of red eyes, watching.

The dragon understood him. I will care for her. Have no fear. They will not disturb her rest.

Haplo nodded again, wearily, and shifted his gaze to his goal, his submersible. And there was Grundle, standing in the sand, apparently rooted to the spot.

They lurched across the beach. The slender elf, finding reserves of strength he never knew he had, guided the injured Patryn’s faltering steps, held him up when he would have fallen. Haplo lost sight of the dragon, forgot about it, forgot the snakes, concentrated on fighting the pain, fighting to remain conscious.

They came level with Grundle, who still had not moved. She was staring at them with wide eyes. She made no sound, only a garbled rattle.

“I can walk . . . from here!” Haplo gasped.

He staggered forward, caught himself on the submersible’s wood prow. Propping himself up, he pointed back at the stammering dwarf. “Go . . . get her.”

“What’s the matter with her, do you think?” Devon asked, worried. “I’ve never seen her like that.”

“Scared silly, maybe.” Haplo groaned. He had to climb on board, quick. “Just grab her . . . bring her along.”

Hand over hand, he pulled himself along the rail of the ship’s upper deck, heading for the hatch.

“What about him?” He heard Grundle cry shrilly.

Haplo glanced back, saw a huddled figure lying in the sand. Alfred.

“It figures,” Haplo muttered bitterly.

He was about to say, “Leave him,” but, of course, the dog had raced over to sniff at, paw over, and lick the unconscious Sartan. Well, after all, Haplo remembered grudgingly, I do owe him.

“Bring him along, if you must.”

“He turned into the dragon,” Grundle said, voice quivering in awe. Haplo laughed, shook his head.

“He did!” the dwarf averred solemnly. “I saw him. He . . . turned himself into a dragon!”

The Patryn looked from the dwarf to Alfred, who had regained his senses—what senses were his to regain.

He was making feeble, flapping motions with his hands, trying to temper the dog’s wet, enthusiastic welcome.

Haplo turned away, too weak to care or argue.

Finally persuading the dog to let him alone, Alfred reassembled himself and tottered to his feet. He stared blankly around at everything and everyone. His gaze wandered to the cave, and he remembered. He cringed.

“Are they gone?”

“You should know!” Grundle yelled. “You chased them away!” Alfred smiled wanly, deprecatingly. He shook his head, glanced down at the impression his body had left in the sand.

“I’m afraid you’re mistaken, child. I wasn’t much help to anyone, not even myself.”

“But I saw you!” the dwarf continued stubbornly.

“Hurry up, Sartan, if you’re coming,” Haplo called out. Only a few more steps . . .

“He’s coming, Patryn. We will see to that. You will have company in your prison.”

Haplo stopped, leaned against the rail. He had barely strength enough to lift his head.

Samah stood before him.