Serpent Mage

27

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 his 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.

“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 Eliason 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 peace and in friendship. We made what we considered a reasonable request. In turn, we have been humiliated, patronized, treated like 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.