Serpent Mage

by Margaret Weis

  Alake summoned the dolphin before her with her best imperious air, bracelets clashing, arm stabbing downward. Her eyes flashed, her voice was stern. Even I was impressed. The dolphin swam to her meekly.

  “Listen to me,” Alake said, “you will answer the questions this man puts to you to the best of your ability or from this moment on, you dolphins will be shunned by every human, elf, and dwarf.”

  “Exceeding our authority a bit, aren't we?” I poked her in the ribs.

  “Shut up.” Alake pinched me. “And agree to go along.”

  We did. Both Devon and I stoutly insisted that no elf or dwarf would ever talk to a dolphin again. At this dire threat, the dolphins gasped and floundered and flopped around in the water, sounding agonized and swearing that they were only interested in our welfare. (Overdoing it, if you ask me.) Finally—after pathetic bleatings, which we ignored—one of the fish agreed to talk to Haplo.

  And then, after all this, what do you suppose was Haplo's question? Did he ask about Sartan defenses? About how many men manned the battlements? About how good they were at ax-heaving? No.

  Alake, having cowed the dolphins, looked at him expectantly. Haplo spoke the fish's language fluently.

  “What's he saying?” I asked Devon.

  Devon looked dazed. “He's asking them how the Sartan are dressed!”

  Well, of course, Haplo could have asked nothing that would have caught the dolphins' fancy more (which, it occurs to me, may have been the reason he asked it). Dolphins have never understood our strange propensity for draping the body in cloth, just as they've never understood our other odd habits, such as living on dry land and expending all that energy walking when we might be swimming.

  But, for some reason, they find the wearing of clothing particularly hilarious and, as such, are continually fascinated by it. Let an elf matron attend a ball in a puffed-sleeve gown when long tight sleeves are in fashion and every dolphin in the Goodsea will have heard about it by morning.

  As it was, we were treated to a graphic account (Alake translating, for my benefit) of what the Sartan were wearing, which—all in all—I thought sounded pretty boring.

  “The dolphins say that the Sartan all dress alike. The males wear robes that fall in long, loose folds from the shoulders and the females wear a similar design, except that theirs are cinched around the waist. The robes are plain-colored, either white or gray. Most have simple designs along the bottom, and some are trimmed in gold. The dolphins suspect that the gold denotes some type of official ranking. They don't know what.”

  Devon and I sat down in the sand, both of us glum and uncommunicative. I wondered if he was thinking about what I was thinking about. I had my answer when I saw him frown and heard him repeat, “He saved my life.”

  “The dolphins don't think much of the Sartan,” Alake was saying to me, in low tones. “Apparently, the Sartan ask the dolphins continually for information, but when the dolphins ask the Sartan questions, the Sartan refuse to answer.”

  Haplo nodded; this information obviously didn't surprise him much. In fact, I could see he wasn't surprised by anything he heard, as if he knew it all beforehand. I wondered why he asked, why he bothered. He had joined us, sitting in the sand, his arms propped up on his bent knees, hands clasped. He looked relaxed, prepared to sit here for several signe.

  “Is there … anything else you want to know?” Alake glanced at him then over at us to see if we knew what was going on.

  We weren't any help. Devon was busy digging holes in the sand, watching them fill with water and tiny sea creatures. I felt angry and unhappy and began tossing rocks at the dolphin, just to see how close I could come to hitting it.

  The stupid fish, tickled by the dress question, I suppose, swam out of my range, started to giggle and cavort.

  “What's so funny?” Haplo asked. He seemed relaxed, but from where I was seated, I could see a glint in his eye, a bright flash like sun off hard, cold steel.

  Of course, the dolphin was eager to tell.

  “What?” I asked.

  Alake shrugged. “Only that there is one Sartan who dresses much differently from the others. He looks different from the others.”

  “Different? How?”

  Casual conversation, except I saw that Haplo's hands had tightened.

  The dolphins were eager to describe it. Several more swam up at this point, all talking at once. Haplo listened intently. It took Alake some moments to sort out who was squeaking what.

  “The man wears a coat and knee breeches, like a dwarf, only he's not a dwarf. He's much taller. He has no hair on the top of his head. His clothes are shabby and worn out, and the dolphins say he seems as worn out as his clothes.”

  I watched Haplo out of the corner of my eye; a shiver crept over me. His expression had changed. He was smiling, but his smile was unpleasant, made me want to look away. The fingers of his hands were clasped so tightly together that the knuckles, beneath their blue marks, had all turned white. This was what he'd wanted to hear. But, why? Who was this man?

  “The dolphins don't think that this man is a Sartan.”

  Alake continued talking in some perplexity, expecting every moment for Haplo to end what seemed a boring conversation. He listened with quiet interest, however, saying nothing, encouraging the dolphins silently to continue.

  “He doesn't go around with the Sartan. The dolphins see him walking on the pier alone a lot. They say he looks much nicer than the Sartan, whose faces seem to have stayed frozen when the rest of them thawed out. The dolphins would like to talk to him, but he has a dog with him that barks at them when they come too close—”

  “Dog!”

  Haplo's whole body flinched, as if someone'd hit him. And I'll never forget, if I live to be four hundred, the tone of his voice. It made my hair stand on end. Alake was staring at him in astonishment. The dolphins, sensing a choice morsel of gossip, swam as close as they possibly could without actually beaching themselves.

  “Dog …” Devon's head jerked up. I don't think he'd been paying much attention, up to this point. “What about a dog?” he whispered to me.

  I shook my side whiskers at him, to keep him quiet. I didn't want to miss whatever Haplo was going to do or say next. He didn't say or do anything, however. Just sat there.

  For some reason, I recalled a recent evening spent at our local tavern, enjoying the usual brawl. One of my uncles was hit over the head with a chair. He sat on the floor for quite a while, and the expression on his face was identical to the expression on Haplo's.

  First my uncle looked dazed, stunned. Pain brought him to his senses; his face kind of twisted, and he moaned a little. But by then, too, he realized what had happened to him, and he was so angry he forgot that he hurt. Haplo didn't moan. He didn't make any sound that I heard. But I saw his face twist, then darken in anger. He jumped to his feet and, without a word, stalked off back toward camp.

  Alake cried out, and would have run after him, if I hadn't been holding onto the hem of her dress. As I told you, the Phondrans don't believe in buttons or anything of that type. They wrap the cloth around themselves. While ordinarily the folds are quite secure, one good tug in a strategic location can pretty well undo the whole business.

  Alake gasped, grappled with folds of falling fabric, and by the time she was properly redraped, Haplo was out of sight.

  “Grundle!” She pounced on me. “What did you do that for?”

  “I saw his face,” I answered. “Obviously, you didn't. Believe me, he wanted to be alone.”

  I thought she was going to fly off after him and I was on my feet, prepared to stop her, when she sighed, suddenly, and shook her head.

  “I saw his face, too,” was all she said.

  The dolphins were squeaking in excitement, begging to know the gory details.

  “Go on! Get out of here!” I said, and began chucking rocks in earnest.

  They swam off, with hurt and offended squeaks. But I noticed that they only swam out of range of my
throwing arm and that they kept their heads out of the water, mouths open, beady little eyes watching eagerly.

  “Stupid fish!” snapped Alake, tossing her head, making her ear-jangles clash like bells. “Vicious gossips. I don't believe anything they say.”

  She kept glancing at us uneasily, wondering if we'd overheard what the dolphins said about Haplo and the dragon-snakes. I tried to look innocent, but I must not have succeeded.

  “Oh, Grundle! Surely you don't think for a moment what they said was true! That Haplo's using us! Devon”—Alake turned to the elf for support—“tell Grundle that she's wrong. Haplo wouldn't do … what they said. He just wouldn't! He saved your life, Devon.”

  But Devon wasn't listening. “Dog,” he repeated thoughtfully. “He said something to me about a dog. I wish I… I just can't remember …”

  “You have to admit, Alake,” I said reluctantly, “that we don't know anything about him. Where he comes from, even what he is. Now this man with no hair on his head and the shabby clothes. Haplo obviously knew the man was with the Sartan; he wasn't the least surprised to hear about him. He

  was surprised about the dog, though, and from the look of him, the surprise wasn't pleasant. Who is this strange man? What does he have to do with Haplo? And what's the big deal about a dog?”

  I looked hard at Devon as I spoke.

  The elf was no help. He only shrugged. “I'm sorry, Grundle. I wasn't feeling very good at the time …”

  “I know all about Haplo I need to know,” said Alake angrily, twitching the folds of her dress back into place. “He saved our lives, saved you twice, Devon!”

  “Yes,” said Devon, not looking at Alake, “and how nicely it all worked out for him.”

  “It did, didn't it?” I said, thinking back. “He was the hero, the savior. No one's ever questioned a thing he says. I think we should tell our parents—”

  Alake stomped her foot. Bracelets and ear-jangles rang wildly. I'd never seen her so angry. “You do, Grundle Heavy-beard, and I'll never speak to you again! I swear it by the One!”

  “There's a way we can find out for certain,” Devon said soothingly, to calm her down. He stood up, brushed the sand off his hands.

  “What's that?” Alake demanded, sullen, suspicious.

  “Spy—”

  “No! I forbid it! I won't have you spying on him—”

  “Not on him,” said Devon. “On the dragon-snakes.”

  Now I felt as if I'd been hit over the head with a chair. The very idea took my breath away.

  “I agree with you, Alake,” Devon argued persuasively, “I want to believe in Haplo. But we can't get around the fact that dolphins generally know what's going on—”

  “Generally'!” Alake repeated bitterly.

  “Yes, that's what I mean. What if they've got part of it wrong and part of it right? What if, for example, the dragon-snakes are using Haplo? What if he's in just as much danger as we are? I think, before we tell our parents or anybody, we should find out the truth.”

  “The elf's got a point,” I admitted. “At least for now, the dragon-snakes seem to be on our side. And snakes or no snakes, we can't stay on the seamoons. We've got to reach Surunan. And if we bring this up …”

  I didn't need to finish my sentence. We could picture, all too well, how this information would start the squabbling and the distrust and the suspicion all over again.

  “Very well,” said Alake.

  The thought of Haplo being in danger had won her over, of course. I regarded Devon with newfound admiration. Eliason had been right. Elves did make good diplomats.

  “We'll do it,” Alake said. “But when? And how?”

  Trust a human. Always had to have a plan.

  “We'll have to wait and watch for a time,” Devon said. “There's bound to be opportunity on the trip.”

  A sudden, horrible thought struck me. “What if the dolphins tell our parents what they told us?”

  “We'll have to watch them, see that they don't talk to our parents or anyone else for that matter,” said Alake, after a moment's pondering, during which none of us came up with anything more helpful. “With any luck, our people will be too busy to take time out to gossip.”

  A forlorn hope. I didn't mention that it was not only probable but logical that our parents would ask the dolphins for information before we's t out on the journey. I was surprised they hadn't thought to do it yet, but I guess they had more important things on their minds—like fish oil.

  We all agreed to keep close watch, be ready with arguments in case we failed. Alake was to warn Haplo, discreetly, without giving anything away, that it might be best if no one spoke to dolphins for a while.

  After that, we parted, to make preparations for the great journey and to begin keeping an eye on our parents.

  It's a good thing they have us around. I've got to go. More later.2

  1The next several pages of Grundle's journal chronicle events previously related. Since—with one exception—they correspond with Haplo's account, these passages will be deleted. The exception is Devon's attempted suicide, which Grundle describes as an “accident while picking sugarfruit.” it is interesting to note that even in her own private writings, she loyally perpetuates the deception.

  2This is, however, the last entry in Grundle's journal.

  HIS DOG WAS WITH ALFRED.

  There was no doubt in Haplo's mind that the dog the dolphins mentioned was his dog and it was with Alfred. The thought irritated Haplo, bothered him more than he cared to admit, rankled like a poisoned barb in his flesh. He found himself thinking about the dog when he should have been concentrating on more important matters—such as the journey ahead, the war against the Sartan.

  “It's only a damn dog,” he told himself.

  Elves and dwarves were boarding their submersibles, preparing to travel back to their homelands and ready their people for the great Sun Chase. Haplo stayed with them until the last possible moment, reassuring the dwarves, prodding the elves to action, solving problems both real and imaginary. They hadn't all agreed to go to war, not yet. But he was leading them toward it, gently, without their being aware of his intent. And Haplo had little doubt that the Sartan would finish whatever it was he started.

  The humans, with typical human impetuosity, wanted to sail the submersibles to Surunan directly, land their people on the shore, and then open up negotiations.

  “We will be arguing from a position of strength,” stated Dumaka. “The Sartan will see our numbers, see that we have already established a foothold. They will see, too, that we arrive in peace with peaceful intent. They will look out over the walls of their city and see women and children …”

  “They'll look out over their walls and see an army,” Yngvar growled. “They'll grab their axes first and think about talking later.”

  “I agree with Yngvar,” said Eliason. “We don't want to intimidate these Sartan. I suggest that we halt the fleet near Surunan, close enough for the Sartan to see our ships and be impressed by our numbers, but far enough away that they do not feel threatened….”

  “And what's wrong with a little threatening?” Dumaka argued. “I suppose you elves plan to go groveling and crawling in on your bellies, prepared to wash their feet.”

  “Certainly not. We elves know how to behave politely, present our proposals in a civilized manner without loss of dignity.”

  “Now you're saying we humans are not civilized!” Dumaka flared.

  “If the boot fits …” Yngvar began, at which point Haplo intervened.

  “I think it would be best to go with Eliason's plan. What if, as Yngvar suggests, the Sartan decided to attack? You'd have your families strung out on the beaches, defenseless. Far better to keep on board the ships. There's a place to moor the submersibles not far from Draknor, where the dragon-snakes live.

  “Don't worry,” Haplo added hastily, noting the scowls that met this proposal, “you won't be that close to the snakes. You can take advantage of their air bubbl
e to bring your ships to the surface. And by the time you reach this point, you'll be glad to breathe fresh air again. Once you're here, you ask the Sartan for a meeting, and then open negotiations.”

  His plan was accepted. Haplo smiled quietly. He could almost certainly count on the mensch to talk themselves into trouble.

  Which brought him to his next topic of conversation: weapons. In particular, magical elven weapons.

  No weapon made by menscli, magic or otherwise, could stand up against the power of the Sartan rune-magic. But Haplo had devised a plan that would make everyone equal, a plan that would, in fact, give the mensch the edge. He hadn't told anyone about his plan yet, not the mensch, not even his allies, the dragon-snakes. Too much was at stake: victory over the ancient enemy, Samah helpless and at the Patryn's mercy. Haplo would tell everyone when they needed to know and not a moment before.

  Although no elf living could remember a time of warfare, the magical weapons they'd once developed were celebrated in story and legend. Eliason knew all about them, described them all to Haplo. The two of them endeavored to determine which weapons the elves could manufacture swiftly, which weapons they could learn to use effectively—or at least learn how to inflict more damage on an enemy than on themselves.

  After some discussion, Haplo and Eliason settled on the bow and arrow. The elven king was quite enamored of archery—a sport still used by some elves as a form of entertainment at parties. The magical arrows hit whatever target they were ordered to hit after being fired and therefore aim wasn't all that critical.

  The humans were already skilled in the use of bow and arrow, plus numerous other weapons. And although their weapons weren't magically enhanced (nor would the humans use elven weapons, considering them suitable only for weaklings), the Coven had the power to summon the elements to assist in the battle.

  This point settled, the Gargans, Phondrans, and Elmas took friendly leave of each other. Dwarves and elves sailed off to their homelands, and Haplo breathed a sigh of relief.

  Walking back to his lodge, he was thinking to himself that, at last, everything seemed to be working out.