Serpent Mage

by Margaret Weis

  “This man, at the risk of his own life, saved the lives of our children. He negotiated a peaceful settlement between our people and the dragon-snakes. He was in large part responsible for bringing us here safely to a realm where we hope we can establish our homes. Are these the acts of an enemy?”

  “These are the tricks of an enemy,” Samah replied coldly. “However, I will not argue with you. I see he has completely deluded you.”

  It seemed the mensch would have spoken. The Councillor raised his hand imperiously for silence, continued on.

  “You have come requesting that we share our realm with you. We grant your request. Your people will be allowed to move onto those portions of Surunan designated for your habitation. We will establish a government for you, provide laws for you to follow. We will work with you to help improve your economic situation. We will educate you and your children. All this and more we will do for you, provided that you do something for us in return.”

  Samah glanced pointedly at Haplo. “You will rid yourselves of this man. Order him to leave. If he is your ‘friend,’ as you claim, he will understand that we have only your best interests at heart and he will be happy to comply.”

  The mensch stared at the Councillor, so shocked that for long moments they could not speak.

  “Best interests!” Dumaka managed at last to find words for his astonishment. “What do you mean—best interests?”

  “Government over us? Laws for us?” Yngvar thumped himself on the chest. “Dwarves govern dwarves, no one else makes decisions for us—-not humans, not elves, not you!”

  “No matter how many golden chairs you can pull out of the air!” Hilda sniffed.

  “We humans choose our own friends. And we choose our enemies!” Delu cried passionately.

  “Peace, friends,” said Eliason mildly. “Peace. We agreed I was to speak?”

  “Go ahead, then,” Dumaka growled, resuming his seat.

  The elven king rose to his feet, took a step forward, made a graceful bow.

  “We seem to be laboring under a misunderstanding. We came to ask you and your people if you would be kind enough to share your realm with our peoples. Surunan is certainly large enough for all. Looking around, as we sailed in, we could see that much of this precious land is now going to waste.

  “We will develop the land, make Surunan prosperous. We will provide you with many goods and services you undoubtedly now lack. We will, of course, be more than pleased to include your people in our alliance. You will have an equal vote—”

  “Equal!” Samah's astonishment was boundless. “We are not your equals! In intelligence, magical power, wisdom, we are far superior. I make allowances,” he said, pausing to regain his composure, “because you do not know us as yet—”

  “We know enough.” Dumaka was again on his feet, Delu standing at his side. “We came in peace, offering to share this realm with you in peace, in equal partnership. Do you accept our offer or not?”

  “Partnership! With mensch!” Samah's hand struck the marble table. “There will be no equal partnership. Take yourselves back to your boats and find another realm where you can all be ‘equal.’”

  “You know very well that there is no other realm,” said Eiiason gravely. “Our request is reasonable. There is no reason why you should not grant it. We do not seek to take over your land, only use that portion of it that you are not using.”

  “We consider such demands unreasonable. We are not just ‘using’ this world. We created it! Your ancestors worshiped us as gods!”

  The mensch stared at Samah, incredulous.

  “If you will excuse us, we will take our leave,” said Delu, with dignity.

  “We worship one god,” Yngvar stated. “The One who created this world. The One who guides the waves.”

  The One who guides the waves. Alfred, who had been hunched miserably in his chair, angry, frustrated, longing to intervene but fearing only to make matters worse, sat suddenly bolt upright. A jolt surged through his body. The One who guides the waves. Where had he heard that before? What other voice had spoken it?

  Or something like it. For that wasn't quite right.

  The One who guides the waves.

  I am in a room, seated at a table, surrounded by my brothers and sisters. White light shines down upon us, peace and serenity envelop me. I have the answer! I have found it, after all these years of fruitless searching. I know it now, and so do all the others. Haplo and I…

  Alfred's gaze went irresistibly to Haplo. Had he heard? Did he remember?

  Yes! Alfred saw it in Haplo's face—in the eyes, dark and suspicious, returning Alfred's stare, in the grimly tightened lips. He saw it in the tattooed arms folded across the chest, barring entry. But Alfred knew the truth. He remembered the Chamber of the Blessed on Abarrach, he remembered the shining light, the table. He remembered the voice, the One …

  The One who guides the Wave!

  “That's it!” Alfred cried, leaping out of his chair. “The One who guides the Wave! Haplo, don't you remember? On Abarrach? In the chamber? The light! The voice that spoke. It was in my heart, but I heard it clearly and so did you. You must remember! You were sitting beside …”

  Alfred's voice faded. Haplo was gazing at him with bitter hatred and enmity. Yes, I remember, he said silently. I can't forget, no matter how much I want to. I had everything figured out. I knew what I wanted, how to get it. You destroyed all that. You made me doubt my lord. You made me doubt myself. I'll never forgive you.

  At the sound of the beloved name, the dog had wakened. Its tail wagged violently, it stood up on trembling legs, stared at its master.

  Haplo whistled, slapped his thigh. “Here, boy,” he called.

  The dog began to whine. It crept out from beneath the table, started forward, then looked back at Alfred. The dog stopped. Whimpering, it looked back at Haplo. Then it made a complete circle, returned to where it had started, at the feet of the Sartan.

  Alfred reached down his hand. “Go on,” he urged. “Go to him.”

  The dog whined again, started for Haplo again, made another circle, came back.

  “Dog!” Haplo commanded sharply, angrily.

  Alfred was concentrating his attention on the Patryn and the dog, but he was also uncomfortably aware of Samah, who was watching the entire incident. Alfred recalled the words he'd just said to Haplo, realized how they must sound to the Councillor, foresaw more questions, more interrogation, and he sighed heavily.

  For the moment, however, none of that was important. What was important was the dog … and Haplo.

  “Go with him,” Alfred pleaded, gave the dog a gentle push on its hind end.

  The animal refused to budge.

  Haplo cast Alfred a look that would have been a blow, had he been close enough. Turning on his heel, the Patryn stalked out the door.

  “Wait, Haplo!” Alfred cried. “You can't leave him! And you. You can't let him go,” he said to the dog.

  But the animal wouldn't move and Haplo didn't stop walking.

  “They must be brought back together!” Alfred said to himself, fondling the grieving animal. “And it must be soon. He remembers the dog now and he wants it back—a good sign. If Haplo should ever completely forget…”

  Alfred sighed, shook his head gloomily.

  The humans started to walk out after Haplo.

  Samah glared at the mensch. “If you leave now, if you follow after your ‘friend,’ you will never be allowed back.”

  Eliason said something to the others, speaking in low tones. Dumaka shouted “No!” angrily, but his wife rested a restraining hand on his arm. “I don't like it,” Yngvar was heard to mutter. “We have no choice,” his wife replied. Eliason cast them all one last, questioning glance. Dumaka turned away. Delu nodded mutely.

  Eliason turned back to the Sartan. “We accept your offer. We accept all your terms, with one exception. We will not ask this man, our friend, to leave us.”

  Samah raised an eyebrow. “Then in that
case, we are at an impasse. For we will not allow you to set foot upon this land so long as you harbor a Patryn among you.”

  “You can't mean that!” cried Alfred, shocked into speaking. “They've agreed to the rest of your demands—”

  Samah glanced at him coldly. “You are not part of the Council, Brother. I thank you not to interfere with Council Business.

  Alfred went pale, gnawed his lower lip, but kept silent.

  “And where would you have our people go?” Dumaka demanded.

  “Ask your friends,” Samah answered. “The Patryn and the dragon-snakes.”

  “You sentence us to death,” Eliason said quietly. “And perhaps you sentence yourselves. We came to you in peaceand in friendship. We made what we considered a reasonable request. In turn, we have been humiliated, patronized, treatedlike children. Our people are peaceful. I did not believe, before this, that I would ever advocate the use of force. But now—”

  “Ah, at last the truth is told.” Samah was cool, haughty. “Come, come. This is what you intended all along, wasn't it? You and the Patryn have this all planned—war. You want to destroy us. Very well. Go to war against us. If you are fortunate, you might live to regret it.”

  The Councillor spoke the runes. Sigla, blazing red and yellow, sizzled in the air, burst above the startled mensch with the ferocity of a thunderclap. Heat burned their skin, dazzling light blinded them, shock waves knocked them to the floor.

  The magical spell ended abruptly. Silence fell over the Council Chamber. Dazed and shaken by this exhibition of magical power—a power beyond their comprehension—the mensch looked around for the Councillor.

  Samah had disappeared.

  Frightened and angry, the mensch picked themselves up and stalked out.

  “He doesn't mean it, does he?” Alfred turned to Orla. “He can't possibly be serious—going to war against those weaker than ourselves, those we were meant to protect? Never has such a vile thing happened. Never in our history. He can't mean it!”

  Orla refused to meet his eyes, acted as if she hadn't heard him. She gave the departing mensch a fleeting glance, then left the Council Chamber without answering Alfred.

  He didn't need an answer. He knew it already. He'd seen the expression on Samah's face, when the Councillor worked his terrifying magic.

  Alfred recognized that expression. He'd felt it on his own face countless times, had seen it reflected in the mirror of his own soul.

  Fear.

  “OUR PARENTS ARE BACK.” GRUNDLE1 crept as silently as a dwarf possibly could into the small cabin Alake shared with her parents. “And they don't look happy.”

  Alake sighed.

  “We have to find out how the meeting went,” said Devon. “Will they come here, do you think?”

  “No, they're in Eliason's cabin, right next door. Listen.” Grundle cocked her head. “You can hear them.”

  The three leaned near the wall. Muffled voices could be heard, but they were low and their words indistinguishable.

  Grundle pointed to a small knothole.

  Alake understood her meaning, placed her hand on the knothole, and began to run her fingers round and round the edge, whispering. The hole gradually, imperceptibly, grew larger. Alake peered through it, turned to her companions, motioned them near.

  “We're in luck. One of Mother's feathered staves is standing right in front of it.”

  The three gathered close, ears to the wall.

  “I have never seen magic like that.” Delu's voice was heavy with defeat. “How can we fight against such awesome power?”

  “We won't know until we try,” stated her husband. “And I am for trying. I would not speak to a dog the way they spoke to us.”

  “Ours is a terrible choice,” said Eliason. “The land is theirs, by right. It is the right of these Sartan to refuse us permission to move into their realm. But, by so doing, they doom our people to death! And it does not seem to me that they should have the right to do that. I do not want to fight them, neither can I watch my people die.”

  “You, Yngvar,” Haplo said. “What do you think?”

  The dwarf was silent a long time. Grundle, standing on tiptoe, put her eye to the knothole. Her father's craggy face was stern. He shook his head.

  “My people are brave. We would fight any human or elf or whatever these call themselves”—he waved a disparaging hand in the general direction of the Sartan—“if they fought fairly, using ax and sword and bow. My people are not cowards.”

  Yngvar glowered around, daring someone to accuse him of such a thing. Then he sighed. “But against magic such as we saw today? … I don't know. I don't know.”

  “You don't have to fight their magic,” said Haplo.

  They stared at him.

  “I have a plan. There's a way. I wouldn't have brought you here otherwise.”

  “You … knew about this?” Dumaka asked, frowning with suspicion. “How?”

  “I told you. My people and theirs are … similar.” He pointed to the sigla, tattooed on his skin. “This is my magic. If it gets wet with seawater, my magic fails. I'm helpless. More helpless than any of you. Ask your daughter, Yngvar. She saw me. She knows. And the same thing happens to the Sartan.”

  “What are we supposed to do?” Grundle whispered gruffly. “Invade the city with a bucket brigade?”

  Devon pinched her. “Shush!”

  But their elders looked almost as perplexed.

  “It's simple. We flood the city with seawater,” Haplo explained.

  All stared at him, silently digesting this strange notion. It sounded far too easy. There must be something wrong. Each mulled it over in his or her mind. Then, slowly, hope began to kindle fire in eyes that had been dark with gloom.

  “The water doesn't hurt them?” Eliason asked anxiousiy

  “No more than it hurts me,” said Haplo. “The water makes us all equal. And no blood is shed.”

  “It does seem that this is the answer,” said Delu hesitantly.

  “But all the Sartan have to do is keep from getting wet,” Hilda inserted. “Beings as powerful as these can surely manage that.”

  “The Sartan may avoid the rising water for a time. They could all fly to the rooftops, roost like chickens. But they can't stay up there forever. The water will rise higher and higher. Sooner or later, it must engulf them. And when it does, they will be helpless. You can sail your submersibles into Surunan, take over, never swing an ax, never shoot an arrow.”

  “But we can't live in a world full of water,” Yngvar protested. “When it drains off, the Sartan's magic will come back, won't it?”

  “Yes, but by that time, there will be a change of leadership among the Sartan. He doesn't know it yet, but the Councillor you met today is going to be taking a trip.” Haplo smiled quietly. “I think you'll find it far easier to negotiate when he's gone. Especially if all you have to do is remind the Sartan that you have the power to bring the seawater back anytime you choose.”

  “And will we?” Delu was dazed. “Will we have the power?”

  “Of course. You simply ask the dragon-snakes. No, no, wait! Hear me out. The dragon-snakes bore holes into the rock foundation. Water flows in, rises, 'dampens' the spirits of the Sartan, and, when they surrender, the dragon snakes cause the water to recede. The dragon-snakes can use their magic to erect gates at the bore holes, to keep the water out. Any time you ask them, the dragon-snakes can reopen the gates, do it all over again, if necessary. As I said, I don't think it will be.”

  Grundle pondered, examined the idea from all angles, as she knew her father and mother were doing, searching for a flaw. She could find none and, apparently, neither could those listening to Haplo in more conventional fashion.

  “I'll talk to the dragon-snakes, explain the plan to them,” Haplo was offering. “I'll go to Draknor, if I can use one of your boats. I won't bring the serpents on board your ship again,” he added hastily, seeing faces pale at the thought.

  Alake was radiant.

/>   “It's a splendid plan! No one will get hurt. And you thought he was in league with the dragon-snakes.” She glared at Grundle.

  “Shhh,” said the dwarf maid irritably, and pinched Alake.

  Humans, elves, dwarves, looked relieved, spoke hopefuliy.

  “We will make it up to the Sartan,” Eliason said. “They don't know us yet, that's the problem. When they see that all we want is to live peaceful, productive lives and not bother them in the least, they will be happy to let us stay.”

  “Without their laws and without their godhood,” Dumaka stated grimly.

  The others agreed. The talk reverted to plans of moving onto Surunan, of who would live where and how. Grundle had heard all this before; the rulers had discussed little else during the entire voyage.

  “Shut that thing,” she said. “I've got a plan of my own.”

  Alake shut the knothole. She and Devon looked at the dwarf expectantly.

  “This is our chance,” said Grundle.

  “Chance for what?” Devon asked.

  “Chance to find out what's really going on,” the dwarf said in a low voice, with a meaningful glance at her companions.

  “You mean …” Alake couldn't finish.

  “We follow Haplo,” said Grundle. “We'll find out the truth about him. He might be in danger,” she added hastily, seeing Alake's dark eyes glitter in anger. “Remember?”

  “That's the only reason I'll condone this,” Alake said in lofty tones. “The only reason I'll go.”

  “Speaking of danger,” Devon said somberly. “What about the dragon-snakes? We couldn't even get close to the bridge the time the dragon-snake came on board. When Haplo first confronted them. Remember?”

  “You're right,” Grundle admitted, subdued. “We were all of us scared silly. I couldn't move. I thought you were going to faint.”

  “And that dragon-snake wasn't even real,” Alake pointed out. “Just a … a reflection or some such thing.”

  “If we do get close, our teeth will be chattering so loudly we won't be able to hear what they're saying.”

  “At least we'll be able to defend ourselves,” Devon said. “I'm a fair shot with my bow—”