Serpent Mage

by Margaret Weis

  We should do to him what we did to the others.

  What others?

  Those who had discovered that they were not gods, that they were (or should be) worshipers? Those who had found out that the Sartan were not the sun, but just another planet? What had happened to them? Where were they?

  He glanced around, almost as if he expected to find them sitting in Orla's garden. The heretics weren't in Chelestra. They weren't on the Council. Despite the fact that there was some division, the Council members, with the exception of Orla, appeared to be solidly behind Samah.

  Perhaps all Ramu meant was that the heretics had been counseled, finally converted back to proper Sartan ways of thinking. This was a comforting thought, and Alfred wanted very much to believe it. He spent almost an entire hour convincing himself it must be true. That nagging unfortunate part of him that seemed to be always going off on its own (and taking his feet with it) argued that he was, as usual, refusing to face reality.

  The internal argument was wearing, left him worn out and unhappy. He was tired of it, tired of being by himself, forced to argue with himself. He was immeasurably cheered at the sight of Orla entering the garden in search of him.

  It had seemed to Alfred as if she had been avoiding him.

  “Ah, here you are.' Orla spoke briskly, impersonally. She might have been talking to the dog, snoozing at Alfred's feet. The animal opened an eye to see who was here, yawned, rolled over, and went back to sleep.

  Startled by Orla's detached tone, Alfred sighed. She obviously loathed him now. He supposed he couldn't really blame her.

  “Yes, I'm here,” he replied. “Where did you think I would be—the library?”

  Orla flushed in anger, then paled. She bit her lip. i'm sorry,” she said, after a moment. “I suppose I deserved that.”

  “No, I'm the one who is sorry,” Alfred said, appalled at himself. “I don't know what's come over me. Won't you please sit down?”

  “No, thank you,” Orla said, her flush deepening. “I can't stay. I came to tell you that we've received a message from the mensch. They have arrived on Draknor.” Her voice hardened. “They want to arrange a meeting.”

  “What is Draknor? One of the durnai?”

  “Yes, poor creature. The durnai were meant to hibernate until the seasun drifted away, then we would wake them and they would follow it. Most durnai, after we left, never woke up. I doubt if even the mensch, who have lived on the durnai all this time, are aware that they have been living on a living being.

  “Unfortunately, the dragon-snakes realized at once that the durnai were alive. They attacked one, woke it, and have tormented the durnai ever since. According to the dolphins, the dragon-snakes have devoured it slowly, gnawed at it bit by bit. It lives in perpetual agony and fear.

  “Yes,” Orla added, seeing Alfred grow pale with horror. “It is these creatures who have allied themselves with your Patryn friend. And with the mensch.”

  Alfred was sickened. He glanced down at the dog, slumbering peacefully. “I can't believe it. Not even of Haplo. He is a Patryn—ambitious, hard, cold. But he's not a coward. He's not cruel. He takes no delight in tormenting the helpless, he does not enjoy inflicting pain.”

  “Yet he is there, in Draknor, and the mensch are with him. But they won't be content to stay there. They want to move here, to this realm.” Orla looked around her garden, lush and beautiful in night's soft darkness. “That is what this meeting is about.”

  “Well, of course, they can't stay on Draknor. It must be dreadful. There is plenty of room for them here,” said Alfred, feeling more cheerful than he had in days.

  He was actually looking forward to being in company with the mensch again. They might be quarrelsome, disruptive, but they were interesting.

  Then he saw the expression on Orla's face.

  “You do plan to let them move onto Surunan, don't you?” he asked.

  He saw the answer in her eyes, and stared at her, appalled. “I can't believe it! You'd turn them away?”

  “It isn't the mensch, Alfred,” Orla said. “It's those who are with them. The Patryn. He's asked to come to the meeting.”

  “Haplo?” Alfred repeated in astonishment.

  At the sound of the name, the dog sprang to its feet, ears pricked, eyes searching.

  “There, there,” said Alfred, petting the animal, calming its excitement. “There, there. He's not here now. Not yet.”

  The dog gave a little whimper, and settled back down, nose on paws.

  “Haplo, coming to a meeting of the Sartan,” Alfred mused, disquieted by the news. “He must be very confident, to reveal himself to you. Of course, you already know he's on Chelestra, and he's probably aware that you know. Still, this isn't like him.”

  “Confident!” Orla snapped. “Of course he's confident! He's got the dragon-snakes, not to mention several thousand mensch warriors—”

  “But perhaps the mensch only want to live in peace,” Alfred suggested.

  “Do you honestly believe that?” Orla looked at him in wonder. “Can you be that naive?”

  “I admit I'm not as wise or as intelligent as the rest of you,” Alfred stated humbly. “But shouldn't you at least listen to what they have to say?”

  “Of course the Council will listen to them. That's why Samah has agreed to the meeting. And he wants you to be present. He sent me to tell you.”

  “Then you didn't come to me on your own,” Alfred said softly, staring down at his shoes. “I was right. You have been avoiding me. No, don't worry about it. I understand. I've made things difficult enough for you. It's just that I missed talking to you, I missed hearing your voice. I missed”—he lifted his eyes—“looking at you.”

  “Alfred, please, don't. I've said this to you before—”

  “I know. I'm sorry. I think it would be a good idea if I left this house, perhaps even left Chelestra.”

  “Oh, Alfred, no! Don't be ridiculous. You belong here, with us, with your people—”

  “Do I?” Alfred asked her seriously, so seriously he stopped the words on her lips. “Orla, what happened to the others?”

  “Others? What others?” she asked, perplexed.

  “The others, the heretics. Before the Sundering. What happened to them?”

  “I… I don't know what you mean,” she said.

  But Alfred saw that she did. She had gone extremely pale; her eyes were wide and frightened. Her lips parted, as if she would say something more, but no sound came from them. Turning hurriedly, she almost ran from the garden.

  Alfred sat down unhappily on the bench.

  He was beginning to be extremely frightened… of his own people.

  The meeting between the Sartan and the mensch was arranged by the dolphins, who, as Alake had said, loved to feel important. What with swimming back and forth from one group to another, suggesting times, changing times, confirming times, discussing where and how and with whom, the dolphins were quite busy and did not think to mention their suspicions concerning Haplo and the dragon-snakes.

  Or perhaps, in the excitement of the occasion, the dolphins simply forgot all about the Patryn. As Grundle said, what do you expect from the mind of a fish?

  Haplo was on guard, always present when the dolphins were around, careful to request that the dolphins speak one of the mensch languages so that he knew what was being said.

  It was a needless precaution.

  The royal heads of household had far more urgent worries, didn't have time to listen to idle gossip. The mensch were currently arguing over where to hold the meeting with the Sartan: on Sartan ground, as the Sartan wanted, or to insist that the Sartan sail out and meet the representatives of the three races midway.

  Dumaka, who had already decided he didn't like these Sartan, was in favor of forcing them to come to him.

  Eliason said it would be more polite for them to go to the Sartan. “We're the ones coming as beggars.”

  Yngvar grumbled that he didn't care where the meeting was held as l
ong as it was on dry land. He was sick and tired of living in a damn boat.

  Haplo sat quietly nearby, watching, listening, saying nothing. He would let them argue, get it out of their systems, and then he would step in and tell them what to do.

  As it turned out, the Sartan insisted that the meeting be held on Surunan or there would be no meeting.

  Haplo smiled quietly. Out in a ship, in the magic-nullifying waters of the Goodsea, the Sartan would be completely at the mercy of the mensch … or anyone the mensch happened to have with them.

  But it was early days for thinking of that. The mensch were in no mood to fight. Not yet.

  “Meet the Sartan on Surunan,” Haplo advised. “They want to try to impress you with their strength. It won't hurt if you allow them to think they've succeeded.”

  “Impress us” Delu repeated in disdain.

  The dolphins sped back with the mensch agreement, returned to say that the Sartan had invited the royal representatives to come early the next morning. They were to appear before the Sartan Council, present their requests in person to that august body.

  The royal representatives agreed.

  Haplo returned to his berth. He had never, in his life, experienced such excitement. He needed quiet, solitude, to calm his racing heart, burning blood.

  If all his plans worked out, and he could see—at this point—no reason why they shouldn't, he would return to the Nexus in triumph, with the great Samah as prisoner. This victory would vindicate him, pay for his mistakes. Once again, he would be held in high esteem by his lord, the man he loved and revered above all others.

  And, while he was at it, Haplo intended to get his dog back, too.

  ALFRED KNEW QUITE WELL WHY HE'D BEEN INVITED TO attend the meeting between the mensch and the Sartan Council members, a meeting to which, under normal circumstances, he would have never been asked. Samah knew that Haplo would be accompanying the mensch. The Councillor would be watching Alfred carefully, closely, in an attempt to catch some sort of communication between them.

  Had Alfred and Haplo met under normal circumstances, Alfred would have had no cause to worry. Haplo would have disdained to acknowledge Alfred's presence at all, much less speak to him. But now Alfred had the dog. How he had managed to end up with the dog, how Haplo had managed to lose the dog, were questions beyond the Sartan's ability to answer.

  Alfred had the feeling that once Haplo saw the dog, he would demand the dog back. Samah would most likely get what he wanted tonight—evidence that Alfred was in collusion with a Patryn. And there wasn't anything Alfred could do to stop it.

  He considered not attending the meeting, considered hiding himself somewhere in the city. He considered, wildly, fleeing back through Death's Gate. He was forced to reject all these ideas for a variety of reasons—the main one being that Ramu attached himself to Alfred, stayed with him everywhere he went.

  Ramu marched Alfred and the dog to the Council hall, led them both into the Council chambers. The other Council members were present, already seated. They glanced at Alfred, looked severe, and averted their gazes. Ramu indicated a chair, requested that Alfred be seated, then stood directly behind him. The dog curled up at the Sartan's feet.

  Alfred attempted to catch Orla's eye, but failed. She was quiet, composed, as cold as the marble table on which she rested her hands. She, like the others, refused to look at him directly. Samah, however, more than made up for his colleagues.

  Alfred glanced in the Councillor's direction and was disconcerted to find Samah's stern eyes glaring straight at him. Alfred tried not looking at the Councillor, but that was worse, for he could feel the eyes, if he could not see them, and their hard, suspicious glare made him shrivel up inside.

  Absorbed in his own vague terrors, yet having no idea what he feared, Alfred wasn't aware of the mensch's arrival until he heard those Council members around him start to mutter and whisper.

  The mensch walked into the Council Chamber. Heads held high, they walked proudly, tried not to look awed and daunted at the marvelous sights they'd seen on their way.

  The Council members weren't paying all that muttering attention to the mensch, however. Their eyes were fixed on one figure, on the blue-tattooed skin of the Patryn, who entered last and who kept back behind the mensch, retreating to a shadowy corner of the large room.

  Haplo knew they were watching him. He smiled quietly, folded his arms across his chest, leaned back comfortably against the wall. His eyes flicked over the Council members, rested briefly on Samah, then their gaze came to rest on one person.

  Blood rushed to Alfred's face. He could feel the heat, hear it beating in his ears, wondered miserably that it wasn't gushing out his nose.

  Haplo's smile tightened. He glanced from Alfred to the dog slumbering quietly beneath the table, unaware that it's master had entered. The Patryn's eyes came back to Alfred.

  Not yet, Haplo said to him silently. I won't do anything yet. But just wait.

  Alfred groaned inwardly, his arms and legs curled up like those of a dead spider. Now everyone in the room was staring at him: Samah. Orla. Ramu. All the other Council members. He saw scorn, contempt, in every gaze except Orla's. But in hers, he saw pity. If Death's Gate had been anywhere nearby, he would have hurled himself into it without a second thought.

  He paid no attention to the proceedings. He had the vague impression that the mensch said some polite words, introduced themselves. Samah rose to his feet, was responding, introduced the Council members (not using their true Sartan names, but giving the mensch equivalent).

  “If you do not mind,” Samah added, “I will speak the human language. I find it the language best suited to conduct such business as this. I will, of course, provide translations for the elves and dwarves—”

  “There is no need for that,” said the elf king, speaking flawless human. “We all understand each other's languages.”

  “Indeed?” Samah murmured, lifting an eyebrow.

  By this time, Alfred had calmed himself enough to study the mensch, listen to what they were saying. He liked what he saw and heard. The two dwarves—husband and wife— had the fierce pride and dignity of the best of their race. The humans—again husband and wife—had the quick movements and quicker tongues of their people, but these were tempered by intelligence and common sense. The elf was alone and looked pale and sorrowful—recently bereaved, Alfred guessed, noting the man's white clothing. The elven king had the wisdom of his years, and he had, in addition, the wisdom his people had accumulated over the years—a wisdom Alfred had not seen in many of the elves of other worlds.

  And the three disparate races were unified! This was not a hastily arranged alliance, made for the sake of the moment, but a unity that had obviously lasted a long, long time. One that had been carefully nurtured until it had taken root and was now strong and unbending. Alfred was very favorably impressed, and he could only suppose that Samah and the rest of the Sartan must be impressed as well.

  The Council members, who had risen to be introduced, returned to their chairs.

  “Please, be seated,” Samah said to the mensch, with a gracious wave of his hand.

  The mensch glanced around. There were no chairs.

  “Is this some type of joke?” Dumaka demanded, scowling. “Or are we to sit on the cold stone floor?”

  “What do you— Ah, an oversight. I apologize,” Samah said, apparently just now realizing his mistake.

  The Councillor sang several runes. Chairs made of solid gold sprang into existence, one directly behind each mensch. The dwarf, feeling something suddenly touching his backside, jumped in alarm. Turning, seeing the chair where no chair had been before, he sucked in a deep breath, let it out in a curse.

  The humans were momentarily stunned. The elf alone remained calm, unperturbed. Coolly, Eliason took a seat in the chair. Folding his hands in his lap, he drew his legs off the floor, as was the elven custom.

  Delu sat down with graceful dignity, yanked her glowering husband down into h
is chair. Dumaka's fist was clenched, the veins stood out sharply beneath his glistening skin.

  Yngvar gave the chair a dark glance, the Sartan an even darker one.

  “I will stand,” said the dwarf.

  “As you please.” Samah was about to continue speaking, when the elf interrupted.

  “What about a chair for Haplo? Our friend?”

  Eliason made a graceful gesture, nodded at the Patryn, who was still standing.

  “You refer to this man as ‘friend,’ do you?” Samah asked, a dangerous edge to his voice.

  The mensch heard the danger, failed to understand.

  “Yes, certainly, he is our friend,” Delu replied. “That is,” she amended, with a warm glance at Haplo, “we would be honored if he considered himself as such.”

  “Savior' is what my people call him,” said Eliason quietly.

  Samah's eyes narrowed. He leaned forward slightly, hands folded on the table before him. “What do you know about this man? Nothing, I'll wager. Do you know, for instance, that he and his people have long been our most bitter enemies?”

  “We were all once bitter enemies,” said Yngvar. “Dwarves, humans, elves. We made peace. Perhaps you should do the same.”

  “We could help negotiate, if you like,” Eliason offered, obviously in earnest.

  The unexpected response took Samah by surprise, left him momentarily at a loss for words. Alfred fought a sudden wild impulse to applaud. Haplo, standing in the corner, smiled quietly.

  Samah recovered himself. “Thank you for the offer, but the differences that divide his people and ourselves are beyond your comprehension. Heed my warning. This man is a danger to you. He and his people want only one thing and that is complete rule over you and your world. He will stop at nothing to attain his goal: tricks, deceits, treachery, lies. He will appear to be your friend but, in the end, he will prove to be your deadliest enemy.”

  Dumaka bounded to his feet in anger. Eliason forestalled him, the elf's smooth words soothing the human's anger like oil over rough seas.