Serpent Mage

by Margaret Weis

  Rare praise, from a human. Devon was pleased and touched. His cheeks flushed, he shook his head. “It was my own selfishness,” he said softly. “How could I go on living, knowing she had died and … how she had died. My death will be so much easier, thinking of her safe and well.”

  I wondered grumpily how he thought she'd feel any better, knowing he was dead in her place. But then, that's a man: elf, human, dwarf—all the same.

  “So how did you convince her to let you go?” I persisted. Knowing Sabia as I did, having seen her strong in her determination, I found it difficult to believe she had given in easily.

  “I didn't,” Devon said, the color in his cheeks deepening. “If you must know, this convinced her.” He raised a clenched fist, showed bruised knuckles.

  “You socked her!” I gasped.

  “You hit her!” Alake echoed.

  “I begged her to let me go in her place. She refused. There was no talking her around and I did the only thing I could do to prevent her from going. I knocked her out. What else could I do? I was desperate. Believe me, both of you, hurting Sabia was the hardest thing I ever had to do in my life!”

  I could believe that. An Elmas will suffer pangs of guilt for days over accidentally stepping on a spider.

  “As for my jewelry,” Alake said, turning the silver bracelet on her arm with her hand, “these are mine, Grundle, given to me by my mother when I was born. I couldn't leave them any other message about where I was going or what I was doing. I tried, but it was too hard to put my feelings into words. When my mother finds that these are gone, she will know. She will understand.”

  Alake went back to her altar. Devon tugged at the tight sleeve of his gown, which must have been cutting off his circulation. I could have sat down and cried. The words had come out, but they were hard to hear and I didn't see how I had helped matters.

  “So much for dwarven proverbs,” I muttered into my side whiskers.

  “I am ready to begin now,” said Alake, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

  Alake forbade me to write down the details of the ceremony, but I couldn't have done so, in any case, since I hadn't a clue as to what was going on. All I know is that it involved salted cod (a dolphin's favorite treat, if they can get it) and flute music and Alake chanting a lot of strange words and making fishlike noises. (Humans can speak the dolphin language. Dwarves could, I suppose, but why would we want to? Dolphins speak dwarven quite well.)

  I dozed off, at one point, during the flute music, and was startled out of my nap when Alake spoke in normal words and voice.

  “It is done. The dolphins should come to us now.”

  They might, I thought, if we threw the salt cod into the seawater. I couldn't see that it was doing much good where it was, lying in a silver dish on the altar. Perhaps she figured the stench would draw them.

  As you may have guessed, I don't set much store by human or elf magic, and you can imagine my surprise when we all heard and felt a bump on the hull of the ship.

  “They've come.' said Alake complacently, and hastened off to the waterlock to greet them, her beads clashing, her bare feet (humans rarely wear shoes) padding swiftly over the deck.

  I glanced at Devon, who shrugged and raised his eyebrows. He'd been planning to call them with a magical dolphin whistle, which made no noise at all that I could hear. Devon assured me, however, that dolphins could hear it quite clearly and considered the sound very pleasant.

  We both hurried after Alake.

  Our ship consists of four decks, numbered from the bottom to the top. Not a large craft, compared to the sun-chasers, but it was only used by the royal family on their occasional sinkings into the other realms.

  Deck four is the topmost deck (if you don't count the outside). Here is the observation room and, beyond that, the pilot's house, which none of us had the courage to go near. A ladder extends down from the observation room, through a shaft that opens onto each other deck. At the aft end of the observation room, a huge set of windows provides a view of land or water, depending on where you are at the time. The seasun, shining through the water, fills this room with cheerful, blue-green light. Outside, you can see the open deck, surrounded by a railing. Only a human would be crazy enough to go out there when the ship is moving.

  The cargo hold is located on deck three. Behind that is the common room, for eating, drinking, ax-throwing practice, or just visiting. This room has numerous small windows set in the sides. Behind the common room are the cabins for the royal family and the ship's crew, a tool room, then the impeller room, with its magical elven crystals that propel the ship.

  Decks two and one were mostly more cargo space, plus the waterlock—an important feature. If you're not a dwarf, you're probably wondering what a waterlock is. As I've mentioned, no dwarf can (or wants to learn) to swim. A dwarf who falls into the sea would likely sink to the bottom of Chelestra unless he's caught and brought back to solid ground. Thus, all ships are built with a waterlock, which can be used to rescue any dwarf who happens to tumble into the sea.

  We found Alake standing near the bottom of the waterlock, her face pressed against one of the portholes, staring out into the water. Hearing us approach, she turned. Her eyes were wide.

  “It's not the dolphins. It's a human. At least, I think it's a human,” she added dubiously.

  “It is or it isn't,” I said. “Can't you tell?”

  “Look for yourself.” Alake sounded shaken.

  Devon and I crowded to the porthole, the elf being forced to nearly bend double to get down to my level.

  Sure enough, the thing looked to be a human male. Or perhaps it would be better to say, he didn't look elven or dwarven. He was taller than a dwarf, his ears weren't pointed, and his eyes were round, not almond-shaped. But he was the wrong color for a human, his skin being a kind of bread-dough white. His lips were blue, his eyes circled with purple splotches, sunken in his head. He was half-naked, clad only in a pair of brown tight-fitting pants and the remnants of a white tattered shirt. He clung to a fragment of board and was, it seemed to me, about done for.

  The bump we had heard was, presumably, this man running into the hull of the ship. He could see us through the porthole and made, as we watched, a feeble attempt to beat against the ships's side. He was weak, apparently, for his arm sank down as if he lacked energy to lift it. He slumped over the board, legs dangling limply beneath him in the water.

  “Whatever he is, he's not going to be one for long,” I said.

  “Poor man,” murmured Alake, her dark eyes soft with pity. “We must help him,” she said briskly, and headed for the ladder that led to deck two. “We'll bring him on board. Warm him, give him food.” She glanced back, saw neither of us moving. “Come on! He'll be heavy. I can't manage by myself.”

  Humans. Always racing to act, to do something. Never stopping to think. Fortunately, she had a dwarf along.

  “Wait, Alake. Stop a moment. Consider where we're bound. Think what's going to happen to us.”

  Alake frowned at me, angered at having her way thwarted. “Well, what of it? The man is dying! We can't leave him.”

  “It might be the kindest thing we could do for him,” Devon told her gently.

  “If we rescue him now, we could be saving him only to doom him to a horrible fate later.”

  I was sorry to have to be so blunt, but sometimes it's the only way to get through to humans. Alake, realizing finally what we were saying, seemed to shrivel up. I'll swear she grew smaller as we watched. Her body sagged against the ladder. Lowering her eyes, she ran her hand aimlessly up and down the smooth wooden rungs.

  The ship was speeding on. Soon we'd leave the man far behind. He'd seen this, apparently, and was making a feeble attempt with the remainder of his flagging strength to paddle after us. The sight was heartrending. I turned away. But I might have known Alake couldn't stand it.

  “The One sent him,” she said, starting to climb the ladder. “The One sent him to us, in answer to my prayer. We h
ave to save him!”

  “You prayed for a dolphin,” I pointed out irritably.

  Alake said nothing, but gave me a reprimanding glance. “Don't be blasphemous, Grundle. Can you work this thing?”

  “Yes, but I'll need Devon's help,” I grumbled, following.

  Actually, I could have done it by myself, being stronger than the elf prince, but I wanted to talk to Devon. I told Alake to keep an eye on the floating human, took Devon to deck two, the topmost part of the waterlock. I peered through a window into its sunlit interior, turned the crank on the hatch to make certain it was tightly closed and sealed. Devon started to assist me.

  “What if the One didn't send this man?” I whispered urgently in the elf's ear. “What if he was sent by the dragon-snakes to spy on us?”

  Devon looked considerably shocked. “Do you suppose that's a possibility?” he asked, doing his best to help and only getting in my way.

  I shoved him to one side. “Don't you?”

  “I guess. But why would they? They have us. We can't escape, even if we wanted to.”

  “Why are they doing any of this? All I know is that I wouldn't be too quick to trust this human, if that's what he is. And I think you better go back to being Sabia.”

  I turned to head down the ladder. Devon came after me, tripping over his skirts.

  “Yes, perhaps you're right. But what about Alake? She'll have to go along with us. You have to tell her.”

  “Not me. She'll think I'm just making another excuse to get rid of him. You tell her. She'll listen to you. Go on. I'll manage this by myself.”

  We were on deck one again. Devon went over to Alake and I was able, finally, to get on with the work undisturbed. I couldn't hear any of their conversation, but I could tell that at first Alake didn't agree with us, because I saw her shake her head, causing her ear-jangles to ring wildly.

  But Devon was patient with her, far more than I could have been, and gradually argued her around. I saw her glance at me, then out at the man, her face troubled and thoughtful. Finally, she nodded unhappily.

  Standing in front of the lower window that looks into the waterlock, I took hold of the levers and yanked down on them, hard. A panel located in the hull yawned open. Seawater, foaming and gurgling, poured into the waterlock, carrying with it numerous indignant fish (no dolphins) and the human.

  I waited for the water to reach the proper level and slammed the panel shut.

  “I've got him!” I cried.

  We raced back up to deck two, the top of the waterlock. I opened it, peered down. If he'd been a dwarf, he would have been lying on the bottom and we would have had to use the claws to drag him out. But, being human, he'd managed to swim to the top of the water and floated there, only about an arm's length away.

  “Alake and I can handle him, Devon,” I said to him softly. “You go and put your scarf back on.”

  Devon left us. Alake came to help me, and between us we managed to drag the human over to the side and hoist him out onto the deck. I shut and sealed the waterlock, opened the bottom panel, let the irate fish swim out, and started the pumps to work. Then I came back to look at our catch.

  I must admit that I nearly revised my opinion when we got the man on board and had a close look at him. If the dragon-snakes were going to send a spy, it seemed to me they would have chosen something better than this.

  He was truly a pitiable sight, lying on the deck, shivering from head to toe, coughing, convulsing, spitting up fluid, and gasping like a fish out of water. Alake'd obviously never seen anything like it. Fortunately, I had.

  “What's wrong with him?” she asked anxiously.

  “His body temperature's dropped too low and he's having trouble making the adjustment from breathing water back to breathing air.”

  “How can you tell? What do we do for him?” Alake asked.

  “Dwarves fall in the water sometimes, so I know what I'd do if he were a dwarf. Warm him up, inside and out. Put lots of blankets on him and give him all the brandywine he can drink.”

  “Are you certain?” Alake looked dubious. “I mean about the brandy?”

  Drunk as a dwarf, so the saying is among the Phondrans. But who do you suppose buys most of our brandywine?

  “You've got to fuddle his brain. That's what's causing him to gasp like that. His brain is telling his body it's supposed to be breathing water. Give his brain something else to think about and his body will go back to breathing air—as it was meant to,” I added sternly.

  “I see. Grundle, fetch me a bottle of the brandywine and my herb pouches. And, if you run into Dev— Sabia, tell him, I mean her, to bring me all the blankets he— she can find.”

  Well, we were certainly off to a great start. Fortunately, the human was so busy trying to stay alive that he didn't appear to have noticed Alake's confusion. I headed to the storeroom for the wine, blundered into Dev-Sabia on the way back. He was wound up in his scarf and veil, with a shawl over his shoulders to hide the ripped seams. I gave him Alake's instructions. He returned to his berth for the blankets.

  I continued on my way, thinking about what Alake had said. It was odd that this human seemed so unused to being in the water. The Phondrans spend as much time in the Goodsea as they do on land and consequently never suffer from this condition, which we dwarves know as “water-poisoning.” The man was obviously not a Phondran. Then, who was he and where had he come from?

  It was more than one dwarf could figure out.

  Arriving in the storeroom, I snagged one of the brandywine bottles, uncorked it, and took a mouthful just to make certain it was good.

  It was. I blinked my eyes.

  I took another mouthful or two, then popped the cork back on, wiped off my side whiskers, and hurried back to our passenger. Alake and Devon had lifted him into the bosun's chair—a chair attached to a rope that can be lowered up and down the shaft, used to handle the injured or those whose bulk made climbing ladders difficult. We hauled the man up to the crew's quarters on deck two, and helped him to a small cabin.

  Fortunately, he was able to walk, though his legs were as wobbly as a newborn kitten's. Alake spread out a pile of blankets. He sank onto them weakly and we covered him with more. He was still gasping and looked to be in a considerable amount of pain.

  I offered the brandy bottle. He seemed to understand, for he motioned me near. I put it to his lips, he took a gulp. His gasping changed to coughing, and I was afraid for a moment our cure was going to be the end of him, but he hung on. He managed to get down several more mouthfuls before he sank back weakly on the blankets. Already, his breathing had eased. He looked from one to the other of us, his eyes taking everything in, giving nothing back.

  Suddenly, he tossed aside the blankets. Alake made a clucking sound, like a mother hen whose chick has wandered out from under her feathers.

  The human ignored her. He was staring at his arms. He stared at his arms for the longest time, rubbing the skin almost frantically. He gazed at the back of his hands. Closing his eyes in what was obviously bitter despair, he sank back down on the blankets.

  “What's the matter?” Alake asked, speaking human, coming over to kneel beside him. “Are you injured? What can we do to help?”

  She started to touch his arm, but he drew away from her and snarled, like a wounded animal.

  Alake persisted. “I'm not going to harm you. I only want to help.”

  He kept staring at her, and I saw his brow furrow in anger and frustration.

  “Alake,” I said quietly. “He can't understand you. He doesn't know what you're saying.”

  “But I'm speaking the human language …”

  “Dev-Sabia, you try,” I said, stuttering as badly as Alake. “Maybe he isn't human, after all.”

  The elf pulled the scarf down from around his mouth. “Where do you come from? What is your name?” he asked, speaking the musical Elmas language slowly and distinctly.

  The stranger, frowning, shifted his eyes to Devon. The look of frustration
changed to fury. Propping himself up on one arm, he shouted at us. We couldn't understand him, either, but we didn't need a translator.

  “Get out!” he was yelling as plain as anything. “Get out and leave me alone!”

  He collapsed back on the blankets, groaning. His eyes closed, he'd broken out in a sweat. But his lips continued to move, forming the words he no longer had the strength to utter.

  “Poor man,” said Alake softly. “He's lost and sick and afraid.”

  “That may be,” I said, having my own opinion on the subject, “but I think we better do what he wants.”

  “Will… will he be all right?” Alake couldn't take her eyes off him.

  “He'll be fine,” I assured her, trying to edge her out the door. “If we stay, we'll only upset him.”

  “Grundle's right,” Devon added. “We should leave him alone to rest.”

  “I think I should stay with him,” Alake said.

  Devon and I exchanged alarmed glances. The stranger's savage yell and his dark expression had unnerved us both. As if we didn't have trouble enough, it looked to me like we now had an insane human on our hands.

  “Shh,” I said, “you'll wake him. Let's talk out in the corridor.”

  We herded the reluctant Alake out of the room.

  “One of us should keep an eye on him,” Devon whispered in my ear.

  I nodded, taking his meaning. One of us shouldn't be Alake.

  “I'll bring my blanket out here …” She was already making plans to spend the night near him.

  “No, no, you go to bed. I'll sit up with him. I'm experienced in this sickness.” I cut off her protest. “He'll likely sleep for hours now, anyway. You should be well-rested and ready to tend him in the morning, when he wakes up.”

  She brightened at the prospect, but she still wavered, her gaze going to the door I had shut behind me. “I don't know …”

  “I'll call you if there's any change,” I promised. “You don't want him to see you in the morning all red-eyed and sleepy, do you?”