Serpent Mage

8

In the Council Chamber, in the city of the Sartan on Chelestra, Samah’s pronouncement that the Patryns must be going to war brought expressions of grim consternation to the faces of the Council members.

“Isn’t this what they intend?” Samah demanded, rounding on Alfred.

“I ... I suppose it might be,” Alfred faltered, taken aback. “We never really discussed . . .” His voice peetered out.

Samah regarded him thoughtfully, intently. “A most fortunate circumstance, Brother, that you have arrived here accidentally, wakened us at this precise moment.”

“I—I’m not certain what you mean, Councillor,” answered Alfred hesitantly, not liking Samah’s tone.

“Perhaps your arrival wasn’t quite by accident?”

Alfred wondered suddenly if the Councillor could be referring to some higher power, if there could be One who would dare rely on such an unworthy, inept messenger as the bumbling Sartan.

“I—I suppose it might have been . . .”

“You suppose!” Samah leapt on the word. “You suppose this and you suppose that! What do you mean ‘suppose’?”

Alfred didn’t know what he meant. He hadn’t known what he was saying, because he’d been trying to figure out what Samah was saying. Alfred could only stutter and stare and look as guilty as if he’d come with the intent of murdering them all.

“I think you are being too hard on our poor brother, Samah,” Orla intervened.

“We should be offering him our grateful thanks, instead of doubting him, accusing him of being in league with the enemy.”

Alfred stared, aghast. So that’s what the Councillor had meant! He thinks the Patryns sent me! . . . But why? Why me?

A shadow passed over Samah’s handsome face, a cloud of anger covering the sun’s politic light. It was gone almost immediately, except for a lingering darkness in the smooth voice.

“I accuse you of nothing, Brother. I merely asked a question. Yet, if my wife believes I have wronged you, I ask you to forgive me. I am weary, undoubtedly a reaction from the stress of awakening and the shock of the news you have brought us.”

Alfred felt called upon to say something in response. “I do assure you, Councillor, members of the Council”—he glanced at them pathetically—“that if you knew me, you would have no difficulty in believing my story. I came here accidentally. My entire life, you see, has been a sort of accident.” The other Council members appeared faintly embarrassed; this was no way for a Sartan, for a demigod, to talk or act.

Samah watched Alfred from beneath narrowed eyelids, not seeing the man, but seeing the images formed by his words.

“If there are no objections,” the Councillor said abruptly, “I propose that we adjourn the Council until tomorrow, by which time, hopefully, we will have ascertained the true state of affairs. I suggest that teams be sent to the surface to reconnoiter. Are there any objections?”

There were none.

“Choose among the young men and women. Tell them to be wary and search for any traces of the enemy. Remind them to be particularly careful to avoid the seawater.”

Alfred could see images, too, and he saw, as the Council members rose to their feet in apparent outward harmony and agreement, walls of bricks and thorns separating some from another. And no wall was higher or thicker than that dividing husband from wife.

There had been cracks in that wall, when they’d first heard the startling news of their long slumbering, and came to understand that the world had fallen apart around them. But the cracks were rapidly being filled in, Alfred saw, the walls fortified. He felt vastly unhappy and uncomfortable.

“Orla,” Samah added, half-turning on his way out the door. The head of the Council always walked in the lead. “Perhaps you will be good enough to see to the needs and wants of our brother . . . Alfred.” The mensch name came with difficulty to Sartan lips.

“I would be honored,” said Orla, bowing in polite response. Brick by brick, the wall was growing, expanding.

Alfred heard the woman sigh softly. Her gaze, which followed after her husband, was wistful and sad. She, too, saw the wall, knew it was there. Perhaps she wanted to tear it down, but had no idea how to begin. As for Samah, he seemed content to let it be.

The Councillor walked out of the room, the others followed, three walking with him, two—after a glance at Orla, who only shook her head—removing themselves shortly afterward. Alfred remained where he was, ill at ease, not knowing what to do.

Cold fingers closed over his wrist. The woman’s touch startled him. He nearly leapt out of his shoes, his feet slid in opposite directions, stirred up a cloud of choking dust. Alfred tottered and blinked, sneezed, and wished himself anywhere else, including the Labyrinth. Did she think he was in league with the enemy? He cringed and waited fearfully for her to speak.

“How nervous you are! Please, calm yourself.” Orla regarded him thoughtfully.

“I suppose, though, that this must have been as great a shock to you as to us. You must be hungry and thirsty. I know I am. Will you walk with me?” There was nothing terrifying—even for Alfred—in being invited to dine. He was hungry. He’d had little time and less inclination for food on Abarrach. The thought of dining once more in peace and quiet, with his brothers and sisters, was blessed. For these were truly his people, truly like those he knew before he had himself taken his long sleep. Perhaps that’s why Samah’s doubts disturbed him so. Perhaps that’s why his own doubts disturbed him.

“Yes, I’d like that. Thank you,” Alfred said, glancing at Orla almost shyly. She smiled at him. Her smile was tremulous, hesitant, as if not often used. But it was a beautiful smile, and brought light to her eyes. Alfred stared at her in dumb admiration.

His spirits rose, flying so high that the walls and all thought of walls fell far down below him, out of sight, out of mind. He walked beside her, leaving the dusty chamber. Neither spoke, but moved together companionably, emerging onto a scene of quiet, efficient bustle. Alfred was thinking, and not being very careful with his thoughts, apparently.

“I am flattered at your regard for me, Brother,” Orla said to him softly, a faint blush on her cheek. “But it would be more proper for you to keep such thoughts private.”

“I ... beg your pardon!” Alfred gasped, his face burning. “It’s just . . . I’m not used to being around . . .”

He made a fluttering gesture with his hand, encompassing the Sartan, who were busily employed in restoring life to what had been dead for centuries. Alfred darted a swift and guilty glance around, fearing to see Samah glowering at him. But the Councillor was deeply engrossed in discussion with a younger man in perhaps his midtwenties, who, by his resemblance, must be the son Samah had mentioned.

“You fear he’s jealous.” Orla tried to laugh lightly, but her attempt failed, ended in a sigh. “Truly, Brother, you haven’t been around many Sartan, if you are mindful of such a mensch weakness.”

“I’m doing everything wrong.” Alfred shook his head. “I’m a clumsy fool. And I can’t blame it on living among mensch. It’s just me.”

“But matters would have been different had our people survived. You would not have been alone. And you have been very much alone, haven’t you, Alfred?” Her voice was tender, pitying, compassionate.

Alfred was very near to tears. He tried to respond cheerfully. “It hasn’t been as bad as you suppose. I’ve had the mensch . . .”

Orla’s look of pity increased.

Alfred, seeing it, protested. “No, it isn’t the way you imagine. You underestimate the mensch. We all did, I believe.

“I remember what it was like before I slept. We hardly ever walked among the mensch, and when we did, it was only to come to them as parents, visiting the nursery. But I have lived long among them. I’ve shared their joys and sorrows, I’ve known their fears and ambitions. I’ve come to understand how helpless and powerless they feel. And, though they’ve done much that was wrong, I can’t help but admire them for what they have accomplished.”

“And yet,” said Orla, frowning, “the mensch have, as I see in your mind, fallen to warring among themselves, slaughtering each other, elf battling human, human fighting dwarf.”

“And who was it,” asked Alfred, “who inflicted the most terrifying catastrophe ever known upon them? Who was it who killed millions in the name of good, who sundered a universe, who brought the living to strange worlds, then left them to fend for themselves?”

Two bright red spots blazed in Orla’s cheeks. The dark line deepened in her forehead.

“I’m sorry,” Alfred hastened to apologize. “I have no right ... I wasn’t there . . .”

“You weren’t there, on that world that seems so near to me in my heart, and yet which my head tells me is long lost. You don’t know our fear of the growing might of the Patryns. They meant to wipe us out completely, genocide. And then what would have been left for your mensch? A life of slavery beneath the iron-heeled boot of totalitarian rule. You don’t know the agony the Council underwent, trying to determine how best to fight this dire threat. The sleepless nights, the days of bitter arguing. You don’t know our own, our personal agony. Samah himself—” She broke off abruptly, biting her lip. She was adept at concealing her thoughts, revealing only those she wanted. Alfred wondered what she would have said had she continued. They had walked a long distance, far from the Hall of Sleep. Blue sigla ran along the bottom of the walls, guiding their way through a dusty corridor. Dark rooms branched off it, rooms that would soon become temporary Sartan living quarters. For now, however, the two stood alone in the rune-lit darkness.

“We should be turning back. I had not meant to come this far. We’ve passed the dining area.” Orla started to retrace her steps.

“No, wait.” Alfred put a hand on her arm, startled at his own temerity in detaining her. “We may never have another chance to talk alone like this. And ... I must understand! You didn’t agree, did you? You and some of the other Council members.”

“No. No, we didn’t.”

“What did you want to do?”

Orla drew a deep breath. She wasn’t looking at him; she remained turned away. For a moment, Alfred thought she wasn’t going to answer, and she apparently thought so, too, but then, with a shrug, she changed her mind.

“You will find out soon enough. The decision to make the Sundering was talked of, debated. It caused bitter disputes, split families.” She sighed, shook her head. “What action did I counsel? None. I counseled that we do nothing, except take a defensive stand against the Patryns, should we be attacked. It was never certain they would, mind you. It was only what we feared . . .”

“And fear was victorious.”

“No!” Orla snapped angrily. “Fear wasn’t the reason we made the decision, at last. It was the longing to have the chance to create a perfect world. Four perfect worlds! Where all would live in peace and harmony. No more evil, no more war . . . That was Samah’s dream. That was why I agreed to cast my vote with his over all other objections. That was why I didn’t protest when Samah made the decision to send ...”

Again, she stopped herself.

“Send?” Alfred prompted.

Orla’s expression grew chill. She changed the subject. “Samah’s plan should have worked. Why didn’t it? What caused it to fail?” She glared at him, almost accusingly.

Not me! was Alfred’s immediate protest. It wasn’t my fault. But, then again, maybe it was, he reflected uncomfortably. Certainly I’ve done nothing to make things better.

Orla walked back down the corridor, her steps brisk. “We’ve been away too long. The others will be worried about us.”

The runelight began to fade.

“He is lying.”

“But, Father, that’s not possible. He’s a Sartan—”

“A weak-minded Sartan, who has been traveling in the company of a Patryn, Ramu. J-te’s obviously been corrupted, his mind taken over. We cannot blame him. He has had no Councillor to turn to, no one to help him in his time of trial.”

“Is he lying about everything?”

“No, I don’t believe so,” Samah said, after a moment’s profound thought. “The images of our people lying dead in their sleeping chambers on Arianus, the images of the Sartan practicing the forbidden art of necromancy on Abarrach, were too real, far too real. But those images were brief, fleeting. I’m not certain I understand. We must question him further to learn exactly what has happened. Mostly, though, I must know more about this Patryn.”

“I understand. And what is it you would have me do, Father?”

“Be friendly to this Alfred, Son. Encourage him to talk, draw him out, agree with all he says, sympathize. The man is lonely, starved for those of his own kind. He hides in a shell he has built for his own defense. We will crack it with kindness and, once we have opened it, then we can set about his reclamation.

“I have, in fact, already started.” Samah glanced complacently down the darkened corridor.

“Indeed?” His son’s gaze followed.

“Yes. I’ve turned the wretched man over to your mother. He will be more likely to share his true thoughts with her than with us.”

“But will she share her knowledge?” Ramu wondered. “It seems to me she has taken a liking to the man.”

“She always did befriend every stray who came begging at our door.” Samah shrugged. “But there is nothing more to it than that. She will tell us. She is loyal to her people. Just prior to the Sundering, she sided with me, supported me, abandoned all her objections. And so the rest of the Council was forced to go along. Yes, she’ll tell me what I need to know. Especially once she understands that our goal is to help the poor man.”

Ramu bowed to his father’s wisdom, started to leave.

“All the same, Ramu.” Samah stopped his son. “Keep your eyes open. I do not trust this . . . Alfred.”