Serpent Mage (28 page)

“After the Sundering, Samah and his Council of Seven looked over the four new worlds they had created and chose the most beautiful among them on which to make their home. They brought with them their favorites among the mensch, to serve as their slaves, and founded their city of Surunan on a magically created landmass which they call the Chalice.

“Imagine their surprise when they discovered that their beautiful world was already inhabited.”

“Your people, Royal One?”

The dragon-snake modestly lowered its head in acquiescence.

“But where did you come from? Who created you?”

“You did, Patryn,” said the dragon-snake softly.

Haplo frowned, puzzled. But before he could question further, the dragon-snake had continued on.

“At first, we welcomed these newcomers to our world. We hoped for prosperous, peaceful interaction with them. But Samah hated us, because he could not enslave us, as he enslaved the wretched mensch. He and the other Council members attacked us, completely without provocation. Naturally, we defended ourselves. We did not kill them, however, but sent them running back to their city in disgrace.”

“You defeated Samah?” Haplo asked, dubious. “The most powerful of all the Sartan who ever lived?”

“You may have noticed a certain odd property of this seawater…” said the dragon snake suggestively.

“I didn't drown in it, if that's what you mean, Royal One. I can breathe it the same as air.”

“I wasn't referring to that.”

Haplo shook his head. “I can't think of anything else.”

“Indeed?” The snake shifted its bulk slightly, almost as if it were laughing. “I would have guessed the seawater to have the same effect on the magic of both races—Sartan and Patryns. Most peculiar.”

Haplo could scarcely breathe. The terrible joy that filled his being produced an actual, physical pain in his chest. He
needed an outlet for his emotion, reached for some food, though he wasn't hungry.

The seawater in this world destroyed Sartan magic! And on this world, surrounded by seawater, was the Patryn's most hated enemy. Haplo lifted a wineskin, nearly dropped it. His hands shook with elation. Carefully, he laid the wineskin back down. Be calm. Be wary. Don't trust these creatures.

He tried to appear casual. He took a bite of something, not knowing or caring what. “But all this you describe must have happened many generations ago. How is it possible that Samah is alive, Royal One? Perhaps you've made a mistake.”

“No mistake,” said the dragon-snake. “But… the food. Is it to your liking? Will you have more of anything?”

Haplo hadn't tasted what he put in his mouth. “No, thank you. Please go on.”

The snake obliged. “We hoped that, after we had chastised them, the Sartan would leave us alone, allow us to pursue our lives in peace. But Samah was furious at us. We had made him look the fool in the eyes of the mensch, who, seeing these godlike creatures brought so low, began to talk openly of revolt. He vowed revenge on us, no matter what the cost to his people or to the innocent mensch.

“Using their magical powers—you may guess, by the way, that the Sartan had now an extreme aversion to seawater— Samah and the Council wrenched loose the seastar from its stationary position in the center of this world. The seasun began drifting away. The water grew colder, the temperature in both their Chalice and in our seamoon began to drop. Thus, though it meant that they themselves would be forced to abandon the world, fleeing through Death's Gate, the Sartan hoped to freeze us to death.

“Of course they would have, in the process, frozen the mensch, as well. But what were a few thousand humans, dwarves, and elves, compared to the vast numbers already sacrificed to Sartan ambition during the Sundering? The mensch discovered this evil plot, however, and rebelled against their masters. They built ships and fled into the Goodsea, chasing after the seasun.

“The mensch exodus appalled and alarmed the Sartan.

They didn't want this world for themselves any longer, but neither did they intend to leave it to the mensch. They swore that not one mensch should survive. At this point, we had a choice to make.'

The dragon-snake sighed, raised its head, looked at its fellows with pride. “We could have gone with the mensch. They begged us to go, to protect them from whales and other fearsome creatures of the deep brought here by the Sartan to keep the mensch in line. But we knew that we were the only ones who could stand between the mensch and the fury of the Sartan. We chose to stay behind, though it meant that we must suffer.

“We saved the mensch and prevented the Sartan from fleeing through Death's Gate. The ice closed in on them and on us. They had no choice but to seek refuge in the Sleep. We hibernated, knowing that someday the seastar would drift this direction again. Our enemies would awake, and so would we.”

“But why, then, Royal One, did you attack the mensch? You were once their saviors.”

“Yes, but that was long, long ago. They have forgotten all about us and the sacrifice we made.” The dragon-snake sighed heavily, sank back down on its coils. “I suppose that we should have taken the passage of time into account and made allowances, but we were thrilled over returning to this beautiful world and eager to make the acquaintance of the descendants of those for whom we had risked all to save.

“We came upon the mensch too suddenly, without warning. Admittedly, we are not lovely to look upon. Our smell, I am told, offends the nostrils. Our size intimidates. The mensch were horribly frightened and attacked us. Hurt by such ingratitude, we, I regret to say, fought back. Sometimes we do not know our own strength.”

The dragon-snake sighed again. Its fellows, deeply affected, whispered in grief, lowered their heads into the sand.

“When we were able to view the matter in a calmer light, we at once acknowledged that much of the blame lay with us. But how could we rectify it? If we came upon the
mensch again, they would only redouble their efforts to kill us. And so we decided to bring the mensch to us. One of each race, a daughter of each of the royal households. If we could convince these gentle damsels that we meant no harm, then they would return to their people, offer our apologies, and all would be well. We would all live in peace and harmony”

Gentle damsel.
Grundle? Haplo chuckled to himself at the thought. But he said nothing, brushed it aside, brushed aside any doubts he might have had over the dragon-snake's veracity.

Parts of the snake's story didn't exactly fit the facts as he'd heard them from the mensch, but that didn't matter now. What mattered was a chance to strike a blow, a telling blow, at the Sartan.

“Peace and harmony are all very well, Royal One,” Haplo said, watching the snake closely, feeling his way, “but the Sartan will never allow it. Once they know you have returned, they'll do their best to destroy you.”

“Too true,” agreed the dragon-snake. “Destroy us and enslave the mensch. But what can be done? Our numbers are few; many of us did not survive the hibernation. And the Sartan, or so we hear from our spies, the gushni,
²
are stronger than ever. They've received reinforcements through Death's Gate.”

“Reinforcements.” Haplo shook his head. “That's not possible …”

“One has come, at least.” The dragon-snake spoke with conviction. “A Sartan who travels freely through Death's Gate, visiting other worlds. He disguises himself as a mensch, calls himself by a mensch name. He pretends to be bumbling and clumsy, but we know him for what he is. He is the one we
call Serpent Mage. And he
k
far more powerful than Samah himself.”

The dragon-snake's eyes narrowed. “Why do you laugh, Patryn?”

“I'm sorry, Royal One,” said Haplo, grinning, “but I know this Sartan. And you don't need to worry about him. He doesn't pretend to be bumbling and clumsy. He
is
bumbling and clumsy. And he doesn't travel through Death's Gate. More likely he fell through it, by accident.”

“He's not powerful?”

Haplo jerked a thumb toward the cave. “Those mensch in there are more powerful.”

“You astonish me,” stated the dragon-snake, and it did truly seem surprised. It cast a slit-eyed, red-green glance at its fellows. “All our information led us to believe quite the opposite. He is the Serpent Mage.”

“Your information's wrong,” said Haplo, shaking his head, unable to keep from laughing again at the thought. Alfred, a Serpent Mage! Whatever that was, he wasn't.

“Well, well, well. My, my, my,” mused the dragon-snake. “This does require some rethinking. But, we seem to have strayed from your original point. I asked what could be done about the Sartan. You, I think, have the answer.”

Haplo took several steps nearer the dragon-snake, ignoring the faint warning glow of the sigla on his skin.

“These three races of mensch get along well together. They were, in fact, preparing to unite to go to war against you. What if we convinced them that they had a more dangerous foe?”

The dragon-snake's eyes opened wide, the red-green glow turned completely red, was blinding in its intensity. Haplo squinted against it, was forced to shield his eyes from the glare with an upraised hand.

“But these mensch are peace-loving. They won't fight.”

“I have a plan, Royal One. Believe me, if it comes to their survival, they'll fight.”

“I see the shape of your plan in your mind and you are right, it will work.” The dragon-snake closed its eyes,
lowered its head. “Truly, Haplo, you Patryns deserve to be the masters of this world. We bow before you.”

The dragon-snakes all prostrated their heads in the dust, gigantic bodies writhed in homage. Haplo felt suddenly exhausted, so weary that he staggered where he stood, almost fell.

“Go, now, to your well-deserved rest,” whispered the dragon-snake.

Haplo stumbled off across the sand, heading for the cave where the mensch sheltered. He could not remember ever feeling this tired before, assumed it must be a reaction to the loss of his magic. He entered the cave, cast one glance around at the mensch, assured them they were safe, then slumped to the ground, sank into a deep and dreamless sleep.

The king dragon-snake rested its head comfortably once again on its coils, red-green eyes gleamed.

ALFRED, ACCOMPANIED BY THE DOG, LEFT THE COUNCIL
meeting as soon as he possibly could and began to roam about Surunan. His joy in his newfound realm had been destroyed. He looked at beauty that could no longer touch him; listened to a language that was his own, yet sounded foreign to him; felt himself a stranger in what should have been his home.

“Find Haplo,” he muttered to the dog, who, hearing the beloved name, began to whine eagerly. “How do they expect me to find Haplo? And what am I to do with him if I find him?”

Distraught and confused, he wandered the streets aimlessly.

“How can I find Haplo when even you can't find your master?” he demanded of the dog, who gazed up sympathetically but was unable to supply an answer.

Alfred groaned. “Why don't they understand? Why can't they just let me alone?”

He stopped, suddenly, looked around. He had traveled farther than he had intended, farther than he'd ever been before. He wondered bleakly if his body—as usual—had decided to run away and had not bothered to inform his brain of the decision.

“We only want to ask the Patryn questions.” Samah's
words, and the Councillor wouldn't lie to me. He
couldn't
lie. One Sartan can never lie to another.

“Why, then,” Alfred asked the dog unhappily, “don't I trust Samah? Why do I trust him less than I trust Haplo?”

The dog was unable to say.

“Perhaps Samah's right.” Alfred continued, a prey to misery. “Perhaps the Patryn
has
corrupted me. I wonder if they have the power to do that? I never heard of a Sartan falling under a Patryn's enchantment, but I suppose it's possible.” He sighed, passed his hand over his bald head. “Especially with me.”

The dog saw that Alfred was not, after all, going to produce Haplo on the spot. Panting in the heat, it flopped down at the Sartan's feet.

Alfred was tired and hot himself. He looked about wearily for a place to rest. Not too distant stood a smallish square building made of the eternal white marble that the Sartan loved and which Alfred was beginning to find a trifle boring. A covered porch, supported by innumerable white marble columns, surrounded it, gave it the stolid, formal look of a public building, not the more relaxed air of a private residence.

Strange that it should stand so far from the other public buildings, located in the heart of the city, Alfred thought as he approached it. The cool shadowy portico offered a welcome respite from the bright sunlight that shone interminably on the Sartan city. The dog trotted along after him.