Serpent Mage

by Margaret Weis

  Sabia rose from her bed and started to pack her lute in its case. Obviously, our conversation was at an end.

  “We'll meet back here,” I said.

  Sabia nodded cool agreement. I managed to get Alake, who still seemed inclined to want to stay and argue, out of the bedroom and into the hall. Through the closed door, I could hear Sabia begin to sing an elven song called “Lady Dark,” a song sad enough to break the heart.

  “Devon will never let her go! He'll tell our parents!” Alake hissed at me.

  “We'll come back early,” I whispered, “and keep an eye on them. If he starts to leave, we'll stop him. You can do it with your magic, can't you?”

  “Yes, of course.” Alake's dark eyes flashed. “Excellent idea, Grundle. I should have thought of it myself. What time should we return?”

  “Dinner's in a signe.1 He's staying here in the palace.

  He'll be worried when she doesn't appear, and he'll come to see what's wrong. That gives us time.”

  “But what if she sends him a message to come earlier?”

  “He can't risk insulting her father by missing a meal.”

  I knew quite a bit about elven etiquette, having been forced to endure it during my stay here. Alake had lived here, too, but—typical of humans—she'd always done exactly as she pleased. To give Alake her due, she probably would have starved to death before getting through one of the elven dinners, which could sometimes stretch into cycles, with several hours between courses. I figured that Eliason would have small appetite for his meal this day, however.

  Alake and I separated, each returning to our own quarters. I bustled about, making up a small bundle of clothing, whisker brush, and other necessities, just as if I were packing to go visit Phondra on a holiday. The excitement and daring of our scheme kept me from thinking through to what must be its dreadful conclusion. It was only when it came time to write a farewell letter to my parents that my heart began to fail me.

  Of course, my parents wouldn't be able to read what I had written, but I planned to enclose a note to the elven king, asking him to read it to them. I tore up many sheets before I was able to say what I wanted, and then left it so covered with tears I'm not sure anyone could decipher it. I hope and pray it brought some comfoit to my parents.

  When I was finished, I stuffed the letter in my father's beard-trimming kit, where he would find it in the morning and not before. I lingered, then, in my parent's guest quarters, looking lovingly at each little thing belonging to them and wishing with all my heart that I could see them one last time. But I knew quite well that I could never deceive my mother and so I left hastily, while they were still at dinner, and returned to the part of the palace where Sabia lived.

  Finding a quiet niche, needing to be alone, I settled myself in it and asked the One for strength and guidance and help. I was greatly comforted and a peaceful feeling came over me, giving me to know that I was doing the right thing.

  The One meant us to overhear that conversation. The One will not forsake us. These dragon-snakes may be evil, but the One is good. The One will guard us and keep us. No matter how powerful these creatures are, they are not more powerful than the One who, so we believe, made this world and all in it.

  I was feeling much better, and was just beginning to wonder what had happened to Alake when I saw Devon dash past me, heading for Sabia's rooms. I crept out of my niche, hoping to see which antechamber he entered (for, of course, he wouldn't be allowed into Sabia's bedroom), and I bumped into Alake.

  “What took you so long?” I asked irritably in a low tone. “Devon's already here!”

  “Magic rites,” she told me loftily. “I cannot explain.”

  I might have known. I heard Devon's worried voice and the voice of Sabia's duenna2 answering him, telling him that Sabia was unwell, but would see him in the sitting room, if he wanted to wait.

  He headed in that direction. Doors shut.

  Alake darted into the hall, I trotted after her and we scuttled into the music room that adjoined the sitting room only a split instant ahead of Sabia and her duenna.

  “Are you quite up to this, my dear?” The duenna was hovering over Sabia like a hen with one chick. “You don't look at all well.”

  “I do have a frightful headache,” we heard Sabia say in a weak voice. “Could you fetch me some lavender water to bathe my temples?”

  Alake placed her hand upon the coral wall, muttered several words, and it dissolved beneath her fingers, creating an opening big enough for her to peek through. She created another hole at my level. Fortunately, elves fill their rooms with furniture and vases and flowers and birdcages, so we were well-concealed, although I had to peer through the leaves of a palm and Alake was eye-to-eye with a singing phurah bird.

  Sabia was standing near Devon, as close as was considered proper between betrothed couples. The duenna returned with woeful news.

  “Poor Sabia. We are out of lavender water. I can't imagine how. I know the bottle was filled only yesterday.”

  “Could you please be a dear, Marabella, and fill it again? My head does throb most awfully.” Sabia put her hand to her forehead. “There is some in my mother's old room, I believe.”

  “I'm afraid she is very ill,” said Devon anxiously.

  “But your mother's room is on the other side of the Grotto,” said the duenna. “I shouldn't leave you two alone …”

  “I only intend to stay a moment,” said Devon.

  “Please, Marabella?” pleaded Sabia.

  The elven princess had never been refused anything in her life. The duenna fluttered her hands in indecision. Sabia gave a faint moan. The duenna left. Knowing that many new rooms had been opened and severaPold hallways overgrown between here and Sabia's mother's room, I didn't expect the duenna to find her way back much before morning.

  Sabia, in her gentle voice, began to explain everything to Devon.

  I can't describe the painful scene that followed between the two of them. They had grown up together and loved each other dearly since childhood. Devon listened in horrified shock that gave way to outrage, and he argued and protested vehemently. I was proud of Sabia, who remained calm and composed, though what I knew she was suffering over his agony brought tears to my eyes.

  “Honor-bound, I have told you our secret, Beloved,” she said, clasping her hands over his, looking straight into his eyes. “You have the power to stop us, to betray us. But you will not, I know, because you are a prince and you understand I make this sacrifice for the good of our people. And I know, my dearest, that your sacrifice will be far harder than mine, but I know you will be strong for my sake, as I am strong for yours.”

  Devon sank to his knees, overcome by grief. Sabia knelt beside him, put her arms around him. I drew away from my spyhole, bitterly ashamed of myself. Alake moved away from hers, covered both over with her hand and a word of magic. She generally scoffed at love. I noticed now that she had nothing to say on the subject and that she was blinking her eyes quite rapidly.

  We sat in the music room in the dark, not daring to light a lamp. I whispered to her my plan to steal the boat, which she approved. When I mentioned, however, that I had very little idea how to operate it, her face grew grave.

  “I don't believe that will be a problem,” she said, and I guessed what she meant.

  The dragon-snakes would be watching for us.

  She spoke to me something of the magic spells she was studying at her level (she had recently moved up to Third House, whatever that means). I knew she wasn't really supposed to be talking much about her magic, and I must admit I wasn't all that interested and I understood nothing of what she was saying. But she was trying to distract us, keep us from thinking about our fear, and so I listened with pretended interest.

  Then we heard a door shut. Devon must have left. Poor fellow, I thought, and wondered very much what he would do. Elves had been known to sicken and die of grief, and I had little doubt that Devon would not long outlive Sabia.

  “We
'll give her a few moments to compose herself,” said Alake, with unusual consideration.

  “Not too long,” I cautioned. “The household must have been in bed this past signe. We have to get out of this maze and through the streets and down to the wharf yet.”

  Alake agreed and, after a few tense moments, we both decided that we could take no more waiting and headed for the door.

  The hallway was dark and deserted. We had thought up a plausible story, in case we ran into Marabella, but there was no sign of her or her lavender water. Creeping over to Sabia's bedchamber, we tapped lightly on the door and softly pushed it open.

  Sabia was moving around her bedroom in the darkness, gathering up her things. Hearing the door open, she jumped and swiftly flung a filmy scarf around her head, then turned to face us.

  “Who is it?” she whispered in fear. “Marabella?”

  “It's only us,” I said. “Are you ready?”

  “Yes, yes. Just a moment.”

  She was in a flutter, obviously, for she stumbled about the room in the darkness as if she'd never been inside it before. Her voice, too, had changed, I noticed, but concluded that she must be hoarse from sobbing. At length, falling over a chair, she made her way to us, clutching a silken bag out of which spilled lace and ribbons.

  “I'm ready,” she said in a muffled voice, keeping the scarf over her face, probably to hide her tear-swollen eyes and nose. Elves are so vain.

  “What about the lute?” I asked.

  “The what?”

  “The lute. You were going to take your lute.”

  “Oh, uh. I… I decided … not to,” she said lamely, coughed, and cleared her throat.

  Alake had been keeping watch in the hall. She beckoned to us impatiently. “Come on before Marabella catches us!”

  Sabia hastened after her. I was about to follow, when I heard what I thought was a sigh coming from the darkness, and a rustle in Sabia's bed. I looked back, saw an odd shadow, and was about to say something when Alake pounced on me.

  “Come on, Grundle!” she insisted, digging her nails into my arm and dragging me out.

  I thought no more of it.

  We three made our way out of the Grotto safely. Sabia led us, and we only got lost once. Thank the One elves never feel the need, as do humans, to post guards over everything. The streets of the elven city were deserted, as would be any dwarven road at this time. It is only in human villages that you find people wandering about at all hours of the night.

  We reached the boat. Alake cast her magical sleep over the dwarves on watch and they toppled to the decks snoring blissfully. Then we faced what would be our most difficult challenge during that entire night—hauling the slumbering dwarves out of the boat and back to shore, where we planned to hide them among some barrels.

  The sleeping dwarves were so much deadweight, and I was certain I'd torn my arms out of their sockets after wrestling with the first. I asked Alake if she didn't know a flying spell we could cast on them, but she said she hadn't gone that far in her studies yet. Oddly, weak, fragile Sabia proved unusually strong and adept at dwarf-hauling. Again, I thought this strange. Was I truly blind? Or had the One commanded me to shut my eyes?

  We manhandled the last dwarf off and slipped onto the boat, which was really just a much smaller version of the submersible I've already described. Our first task was to search the berths and the hold, gathering the various axes and pole arms the crew had left about. We carried these up to the open deck, located behind the observation room.

  Alake and Sabia began to throw them overboard. I cringed at the splashing sounds the arms made, certain that it must be heard by everyone in the city.

  “Wait!” I grabbed hold of Alake. “We don't have to get rid of all of them, do we? Couldn't we keep one or two?”

  “No, we must convince the creatures that we are defenseless,” said Alake firmly, and tossed the last few over the rail.

  “There are eyes watching us, Grundle,” Sabia whispered in awe. “Can't you feel them?”

  I could, and that didn't make me any happier about handing over our weapons to the dolphins. I was glad that I'd had the foresight to slip an ax beneath my bed. What Alake doesn't know won't hurt her.

  We trailed back to the observation room, none of us saying anything, each wondering what would happen next. Once there, we stood staring at each other.

  “I suppose I could try to run this thing,” I offered.

  But that wasn't necessary.

  As Alake had foretold, the boat's hatches suddenly slammed shut, sealing us inside. The vessel, steered by no one that we could see, glided away from the pier and headed out into open sea.

  The fevered excitement and thrill of our stealthy escape began to seep out of us, leaving us chilled; the full realization of what was likely to be our terrible fate was stark before us. Water swept over the deck and engulfed the windows. Our ship sank into the Goodsea.

  Frightened and alone, we each reached out our hands to the others. And then, of course, we knew that Sabia wasn't Sabia.

  It was Devon.

  1Time on the seamoons is regulated by the passage of the seasun from under one shore to its rising on the opposite side. Human wizards determined this to be a 150-degree are and split the day into two sextans of 75 degrees. Each sextan is divided into 5 signe; a signe is made up of 60 minutes.

  2A duenna is a member of the royal court who acts as chaperon to unmarried women.

  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 m
an, 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.