Serpent Mage

30

The submersible looked strangely pathetic and helpless, beached on the shoreline, like a dying whale. Haplo dumped the unconscious Alfred none too gently on the ground. The Sartan flopped and groaned. Haplo stood over him grimly. The dog kept some distance from both, watched each anxiously, uncertainly.

Alfred’s eyes flickered open. For a dazed moment, he obviously had no idea where he was or what had happened. Then memory returned, and so did his fear.

“Are . . . are they gone?” he asked in a quavering voice, propping himself up on bony elbows and staring around in a panic.

“What the hell were you trying to do?” Haplo demanded. Seeing no dragon-snakes, Alfred relaxed, looked rather shamefaced. “Return your dog,” he said meekly.

Haplo shook his head. “You honestly expect me to believe that. Who sent you? Samah?”

“No one sent me.” Alfred gathered the various parts of his gangling body together and, putting them into some semblance of order, managed to stand up.

“I left of my own accord, to return the dog. And to ... to talk with the mensch.” He faltered some, on this last statement.

“The mensch?”

“Yes, well, that was my intent.” Alfred flushed in embarrassment. “I commanded the magic to take me to you, assuming that you would be on board the sun-chasers with the mensch.”

“I’m not,” said Haplo.

Alfred ducked his head, glanced around nervously. “No, I can see that. Shouldn’t . . . shouldn’t we be leaving?”

“I’ll be leaving soon enough. First you’re going to tell me why you followed me. When I leave, I don’t want to walk into some Sartan trap.”

“I told you,” Alfred protested. “I wanted to return your dog. It’s been very unhappy. I thought you would be with the mensch. It never occurred to me that you might be somewhere else. I was in a hurry. I didn’t think—”

“I can believe that!” Haplo said impatiently, cutting off the excuses. He eyed Alfred intently. “But that’s about all I believe. Oh, you’re not lying, Sartan, but, as usual, you’re not telling the truth, either. You came to return my dog. Fine. And what else?”

Alfred’s flush deepened, flooding his neck and the top of his balding head.

“I thought I would find you with the mensch. And I would be able to talk to them, urge them to be patient. This war will be a terrible thing, Haplo. A terrible thing! I must stop it! I need time, that’s all. The involvement of those . . . those hideous creatures ...”

Alfred looked again toward the cave, shuddered, glanced back at Haplo, at the sigla on his skin that glowed a vibrant blue. “You don’t trust them, either, do you?”

Once again, the Sartan was in Haplo’s mind, sharing his thoughts. The Patryn was damn sick and tired of it. He’d said the wrong thing in that cavern. These mensch can’t fight. . . . The Sartan could . . . inflict serious casualties. And he heard again the hissing response. Since when does a Patryn care how mensch live ... or how they die?

Since when?

I can’t even blame that on Alfred. It all happened before he bumbled in. It was my doing. My undoing, Haplo thought bitterly. The danger was present from the beginning. But I wouldn’t admit it. My own hatred blinded me. Just as the serpents knew it would.

He eyed Alfred, who, sensing some sort of inner battle within Haplo, kept quiet, waited anxiously for the outcome.

Haplo felt the dog’s cold nose press against his hand. He glanced down. The animal looked up, wagged its tail gently. Haplo stroked its head, the dog crowded near him.

“The war with the mensch is the least of your problems, Sartan,” Haplo said finally.

He gazed back at the cave, which could be clearly seen, despite the darkness, a hole of black torn out of the side of the mountain. “I’ve been near evil before. In the Labyrinth. . . . But never anything like that.” He shook his head, turned back to Alfred. “Warn your people. As I’m going to warn mine. These dragons don’t want to conquer the four worlds. They want to destroy them.”

Alfred blanched. “Yes . . . Yes. I sensed that. I’ll talk to Samah, to the Council. I’ll try to make them understand—”

“As if we would talk with a traitor!”

Runes flared, sparkling in the night like a cascade of stars. Samah stepped from the midst of the magic.

“Why am I not surprised.” Haplo smiled grimly, glanced at Alfred. “I almost trusted you, Sartan.”

“I swear, Haplo!” Alfred cried. “I didn’t know—I didn’t mean—”

“There is no need to continue to try to deceive us, Patryn,” said Samah.

“Every move this ‘Alfred’—your compatriot—makes has been watched. It must have been quite easy for you to seduce him, to draw him into your evil designs. But surely, considering his ineptness, by now you must be regretting your decision to make use of such a clumsy, bumbling oaf.”

“As if I’d sink so low as to make use of any of your weak and sniveling race,” Haplo scoffed. Silently, he was saying, If I could capture Samah, I could leave this place now! Leave the dragon-snakes and the mensch, leave Alfred and the damn dog. The submersible’s ready, the runes will take us safely back through Death’s Gate. . . .

Haplo cast a sidelong glance at the cavern. The dragon-snakes were nowhere to be seen, although they must have known of the presence of the Sartan Councillor on their isle. But Haplo knew they were watching, knew it as surely as if he could see the green-red eyes glowing in the darkness. And he felt them urging him on, felt them eager for the battle.

Eager for fear, chaos. Eager for death.

“Our common enemy’s in there. Go back to your people, Councillor,” Haplo said.

“Go back and warn them. As I intend to go back and warn mine.” He turned, started walking toward his ship.

“Halt, Patryn!”

Glowing red sigla exploded, a wall of flame blocked Haplo’s escape. The heat was intense, scorched his flesh, seared his lungs.

“I’m going back and you’re coming back with me, as my prisoner,” Samah informed him.

Haplo turned to face him, smiled. “You know I won’t. Not without a fight. And that’s just what they want.” He pointed toward the cave. Alfred extended trembling, pleading hands. “Councillor, listen to him! Haplo’s right—”

“Silence, traitor! Don’t you think I understand why you side with this Patryn? His confessions will seal your guilt. I am taking you with me to Surunan, Patryn. I prefer that we go peacefully, but, if you choose to fight . . .” Samah shrugged. “So be it.”

“I’m warning you, Councillor,” Haplo said quietly. “If you don’t let me go, the three of us will be lucky to escape with our lives.” But as he talked, he was already beginning to construct his magic.

Anciently, open warfare between Patryn and Sartan had been rare. The Sartan—maintaining as they did to the mensch that warfare was wrong—had their image to consider and would generally refuse to be drawn into a fight. They found subtler means to defeat their enemy. But occasionally battle could not be avoided and a contest would be waged. Such battles were always spectacular, generally deadly. They were held secretly, in private. It would never do for the mensch to see one of their demigods die.

Battle between two such opponents is long and tiring, both mentally and physically.[49] Some warriors were known to collapse from sheer exhaustion alone. Each opponent must not only prepare his own offense, drawing his magic from the countless possibilities that are present at that particular moment, but he must also prepare a defense against whatever magical attack his opponent might be launching.

Defense is mainly guesswork, although each side claimed to have developed ways to fathom the mental state of an opponent and therefore be able to anticipate his next move.[50]

Such was the battle both were proposing to wage. Haplo had been dreaming of it, yearning for it, all his life. It was every Patryn’s dearest wish, for though much had been lost to them through the eons, they had held fast to one thing: hatred. But now that the moment he’d lived for was finally here, Haplo could not savor it. He tasted nothing but ashes in his mouth. He was conscious of the audience, of the slit red eyes, watching every move. Haplo forced the thought of the dragon from his mind, forced himself to concentrate. Haplo called upon the magic, felt it answer. Elation surged through him, submerged all fear, all thoughts of the dragons. He was young and strong, at the height of his power. He was confident of victory. The Sartan had one advantage that the Patryn didn’t anticipate. Samah must have fought in such magical battles before. Haplo had not.

The two faced each other.

“Go on, boy,” Haplo said quietly, giving the dog a shove. “Go back to Alfred.” The animal whimpered, didn’t want to leave.

“Go!” Haplo glared at it.

The dog, ears drooping, obeyed.

“Stop it! Stop this madness!” Alfred cried.

He dashed forward with some wild intent of hurling himself bodily between the combatants. Unfortunately, Alfred wasn’t watching where he was going and fell, headlong, over the dog. The two went down in a confused and yelping tangle in the sand.

Haplo cast his spell.

The sigla on the Patryn’s skin flared blue and red, twisted suddenly into the air, wound together to form a chain of steel that glimmered red in the firelight. The chain streaked out with the speed of lightning to bind Samah in its strong coils, Patryn rune-magic would render him helpless. Or that was how it was supposed to work.

Samah had apparently anticipated the possibility that Haplo would try to take him prisoner. The Councillor invoked the possibility that when the Patryn’s attack was launched against him, he wouldn’t be there to receive it. And he wasn’t.

The steel chain wrapped around air. Samah stood some distance away, regarding Haplo with disdain, as he might have regarded a child throwing stones at him. The Councillor began to sing and dance.

Haplo recognized an attack. He was faced with an agonizing decision, and one that had to be made in a heartbeat. He could either defend against an attack—and to do so would require that he instantly sort through myriad possibilities open to his enemy—or he could launch another attack himself, hoping to catch Samah defenseless, in midspell. Unfortunately, such a maneuver would leave Haplo defenseless, as well.

Frustrated and angry over being thwarted by an enemy he’d considered a pushover, Haplo was anxious to end the battle swiftly. His steel chain still hung in the air. Haplo instantly rearranged the magic, altered the sigla’s form into that of a spear, and hurled it straight at Samah’s breast. A shield appeared in Samah’s left hand. The spear struck the shield; the chain of Haplo’s magic began to fall apart.

In the same instant, a gust of wind sprang up off the waters. Taking the shape and form of a huge fist, the wind smote Haplo, buffeted him, sent him reeling. The Patryn landed heavily on the sandy beach.

Groggy and dazed from the blow, Haplo swiftly regained his feet, his body reacting with the instincts learned in the Labyrinth, where to give in to even a moment’s weakness meant death.

Haplo spoke the runes. The sigla on his body flared. He opened his mouth to give the command that would end this bitter contest. His command changed to a startled curse.

Something wrapped itself tightly around his ankle. It began tugging at him, trying to yank him off his feet.

Haplo was forced to abandon his spell. He looked to see what had hold of him. A long tentacle of some magical sea creature had reached out of the water. Preoccupied with his own spell-casting, Haplo had not noticed it sliding across the beach toward him. Now it had him; its coils, shining with Sartan runes, wound around and around Haplo’s ankle, his calf, his leg. The creature’s strength was incredible. Haplo fought to free himself, but the more he struggled, the tighter the tentacle grasped. It jerked him off his feet, flung him to the sand. Haplo kicked at it, tried to wriggle free. Again, he was faced with a terrible decision. He could expend his magic to free himself, or he could use his magic to attack.

Haplo twisted to get a look at his enemy. Samah watched complacently, a smile of triumph on his lips.

How the hell can he think he’s won? Haplo wondered angrily. This stupid monster isn’t deadly. It’s not poisoning me, crushing the life out of me. It’s a trick. A trick to gain time. Samah figures I’ll expend my energy trying to free myself instead of attacking. Surprise, Samah!

Haplo’s full mental powers concentrated on re-forming the spell he had been about to cast. The sigla flared in the air, were coming together, humming with power, when the Patryn felt water wash over the toe of his boot. Water . . .

Suddenly Haplo saw Samah’s ploy. This was how the Sartan would defeat him: simple, yet effective.

Dunk him in seawater.

The Patryn cursed, but refused to give way to panic. He commanded the rune structure to shift their target, altered them to a flight of flaming arrows, sent them darting into the creature that had hold of him.

The creature’s tentacle was wet with seawater. The magical arrows struck it, sizzled, and went out.

Water lapped over Haplo’s foot, up his leg. Frantic now, he dug his hands into the sand, tried to hold on, to stop himself from being pulled into the sea. His fingers left long tracks behind them. The creature was too strong and Haplo’s magic was weakening, the complex rune-structures starting to break apart, unravel.

The daggers! Flipping over onto his back, squirming in the grasp of the ever-tightening coils, Haplo ripped open his shirt, grabbed the oilskin, and feverishly began to unwrap the weapons.

Cold logic stopped him, the logic of the Labyrinth, the logic that had led more than once to his survival. The water was up to his thighs. These daggers were his only means of defense and he had been about to get them wet. Not only that, but he would reveal their existence to his enemy . . . enemies. He couldn’t forget their audience, who must be disappointed to see the end of the show.

Better to accept defeat—bitter though it was—and retain the hope of fighting back, then risk all in a desperate strike that would get him nowhere. Clasping the oilskin pouch tightly to his breast, Haplo closed his eyes. The water surged up over his waist, his breast, his head, engulfed him. Samah spoke a word. The tentacle released its hold, disappeared. Haplo lay in the water. He had no need to look at his skin to know what he would see: bare flesh, a sickly white in color.

He lay so long and so still, the waves gently lapping over his body, that Alfred must have become alarmed.

“Haplo!” he called, and the Patryn heard clumsy, shuffling footsteps heading his direction, heading inanely into the seawater.

Haplo raised up. “Dog, stop him!” he shouted.

The dog dashed after Alfred, caught hold of his coattails, dragged him backward.

Alfred fell. Legs spraddled, arms akimbo, he sat down heavily in the sand. The dog stood next to him, looking pleased with itself, though it occasionally glanced Haplo’s way with an anxious air.

Samah gave Alfred a look of contempt and disgust.

“The animal has more brains than you do, seemingly.”

“But . . . Haplo’s hurt! He might be drowning!” Alfred cried.

“He’s no more hurt than I am,” Samah replied coldly. “He’s shamming, most likely plotting some evil, even now. Whatever it is, he must do it without his magic.”

The Councillor walked to the shore, maintaining a safe distance from the waterline. “Stand up, Patryn. You and your cohort will accompany me back to Surunan, where the Council will decide what to do with you.” Haplo ignored him. The water had destroyed his magic, but it had also calmed him, calmed his fever, his rage. He could think clearly, begin to try to sort out his options. One question came insistently to mind: Where were the dragon-snakes?

Listening . . . Watching . . . Savoring the fear, the hatred. Hoping for a deadly conclusion. They wouldn’t intervene, not as long as the battle raged. But the battle had ended. And Haplo had lost his magic.

“Very well,” said Samah. “I will take you with me as you are.” Haplo sat up in the water. “Try it.”

Samah began to sing the runes, but his voice cracked. He choked, coughed, tried again. Alfred stared at the Councillor in astonishment. Haplo watched, smiled grimly.

“How—” Samah rounded on the Patryn furiously. “You have no magic!”

“Not me,” said Haplo calmly. “Them.” He pointed a wet finger at the cave.

“Bah! Another trick!” Samah again attempted to cast his spell. Haplo stood up, splashed through the water, back toward the shore. He was being watched. They were all being watched.

He groaned in pain, glared at Samah. “I think you’ve broken one of my ribs.” His hand pressed against his side, pressed against the hidden daggers. His skin would have to be dry, in order to use the weapons. But that shouldn’t be too difficult to manage.

He groaned again, stumbled, and fell; dug his hands deep into the warm, dry sand. The dog watched him, whined and whimpered in sympathy. Alfred, his forehead wrinkled in concern, was heading in Haplo’s direction, his own hands outstretched.

“Don’t touch me!” Haplo snarled. “I’m wet!” he added, hoping the fool would take the hint.

Alfred, looking hurt, backed away.

“You!” Samah accused. “You are the one blocking my magic!”

“Me?” Alfred gaped, gabbled incoherently. “I ... I ... Me? No, I couldn’t possibly—”

Haplo had one thought: to return to the Nexus, to carry the warning. He lay on the warm sand, hunched over, groaned as if in acute agony. His hand, dry from the sand, slid inside his shirt, inside the oilcloth.

If Samah tries to stop me, he’ll die. Lunge, stab for the heart. The dagger’s runes will unravel any protective magic he’s cast around himself. Then the real fight begins.

The dragons. They had no intention of letting any of them escape. If I can make it to the submersible, its magic should be powerful enough to keep them at bay. Long enough for me to make it back safely to Death’s Gate. Haplo’s hand closed over the dagger’s hilt.

A terror-filled scream pierced the air. “Haplo, help us! Help!”

“That sounds like a human’s voice!” Alfred cried in astonishment, peering through the darkness. “What are mensch doing here?” Haplo paused, dagger in his hand. He had recognized the voice: Alake’s.

“Haplo!” she cried again, desperate, frantic.

“I see them!” Alfred pointed.

Three mensch, running for their lives. The dragon-snakes slithered behind, driving their victims like sheep to the slaughter, teasing them, feeding off their panic.

Alfred ran to Haplo, extended his hand to help him up. “Quickly! They don’t stand a chance!”

An odd sensation stole over Haplo. He’d done this, or something like this, before. . . .

. . . The woman gave Haplo her hand, helped him to stand. He didn’t thank her for saving his life. She didn’t expect it.

Today, maybe the next, he’d return the favor. It was that way in the Labyrinth.

“Two of them,” he said, looking down at the corpses. The woman yanked out her spear, inspected it to make certain it was still in good condition. The other had died from the electricity she’d had time to generate with the runes. Its body still smoldered.

“Scouts,” she said. “A hunting party.” She shook her chestnut hair out of her face. “They’ll be going for the Squatters.”

“Yeah.” Haplo glanced back the way they’d come.

Wolfen hunted in packs of thirty, forty creatures. There were fifteen Squatters, five of them children.

“They don’t stand a chance.” It was an offhand remark, accompanied by a shrug. Haplo wiped the blood and gore from his dagger.

“We could go back, help fight them,” the woman said.

“Two of us wouldn’t do that much good. We’d die with them. You know that.” In the distance, they could hear hoarse shouts—the Squatters calling each other to the defense. Above that, the higher-pitched voices of the women, singing the runes. And above that, higher still, the scream of a child. The woman’s face darkened, she glanced that direction, irresolute.

“C’mon,” urged Haplo, sheathing his dagger. “There may be more of them around here.”

“No. They’re all in on the kill.”

The child’s scream rose to a shrill shriek of terror.

“It’s the Sartan,” said Haplo, his voice harsh. “They put us in this hell. They’re the ones responsible for this evil.”

The woman looked at him, her brown eyes flecked with gold. “I wonder. Maybe it’s the evil inside us.”

A terror-filled scream, the cry of a child. A hand stretched out to him. A hand not taken. Emptiness, a sadness for something irretrievably lost. The evil inside us.

Where did you come from? . . . Who created you? Haplo recalled his words to the dragon-snakes.

You did, Patryn.

The dog barked sharp warning. It ran up to him, eager, anxious, begging to be ordered to attack.

Haplo scrambled to his feet. “Don’t touch me,” he told Alfred harshly. “Keep away from me. Don’t get any water on you! It’ll disrupt your magic,” he explained impatiently, seeing Alfred’s confusion. “For whatever that’s worth.”

“Oh, yes!” Alfred murmured, and backed up hastily. Haplo drew his dagger, drew both daggers.

Instantly, Samah spoke a word. This time, his magic worked. Glowing sigla surrounded the Patryn, closed like manacles over his hands and bound his feet. The dog jumped back with a startled yelp, fled to Alfred.

Haplo could hear almost hear the dragon’s gloating laughter. “Let me go, you fool! I might be able to save them.”

“I will not fall for your trickery, Patryn.” Samah began to sing the runes.

“You don’t expect me to believe you care about these mensch!” No, Haplo didn’t expect Samah to believe it, because Haplo didn’t believe it himself. It was instinct, the need to protect the helpless, the weak. The look on his mother’s face as she shoved her child into the bushes and turned to fight her enemy.

“Haplo, help us!”

Alake’s screams rang in his ears. Haplo fought to escape his bonds, but the magic was too strong. He was being carried off. The sand, the water, the mountains began to fade from his sight. The cries of the mensch grew faint and far away.

And then, suddenly, the spell ended. Haplo found himself back standing on the beach. He felt dazed, as though he’d been dropped from a great height.

“Go on, Haplo,” said Alfred, standing beside him, stooped body upright, thin shoulders squared. “Go to the children. Save them, if you can.” A hand closed over his. Haplo looked down at his wrists. The manacles were gone. He was free.

Samah was cold with rage, his face contorted in fury. “Never in all the history of our people has a Sartan helped a Patryn. This dooms you, Alfred Montbank! Your fate is sealed!”

“Go on, Haplo.” Alfred ignored the Councillor’s ravings. “I’ll see to it that he doesn’t interfere.”

The dog was racing in circles around Haplo, barking warnings, darting a few steps toward the dragon-snakes, dashing back to urge his master on. His master, once again.

“I owe you one, Alfred,” said Haplo. “Though I doubt if I’ll live to repay it.”

He drew the daggers, their runes flared red and blue. The dog sped off, heading straight for the dragon-snakes.

Haplo followed.