Serpent Mage

by Margaret Weis

  Ramu hastened off. Alfred kept his head lowered, his eyes looking anywhere, at anything, to avoid meeting Samah's. He glanced at the dog, still growling. He glanced at Ramu, noted absently that he went straight for one certain compartment under History of the Sartan and examined it carefully, even going to the trouble of magically checking to find out if any of Alfred's presence lingered in the vicinity.

  Acutely wretched and unhappy, Alfred thought nothing of this at the time, though he did note that Ramu spent far less time checking the other compartments, barely giving most of them a glance, until he came to the ones marked Patryns. These, too, he inspected thoroughly.

  He hasn't been near them,” he reported to Samah. He probably didn't have time to do much.”

  “I wasn't going to do anything!” Alfred protested. He was beginning to lose his fear. The more he thought about it, he decided he had a right to be angry at this treatment. He drew himself up, faced Samah with dignity. “What do you think I was going to do? I entered a library! And since when is the collected knowledge and wisdom of my people forbidden to me? And why is it forbidden to others?”

  A thought occurred to him. “And what are you doing here? Why did you come, unless you knew I was here … You did know I was here! You have some sort of alarm—”

  “Please, calm yourself, Brother,” Samah said soothingly, his anger seeming to suddenly evaporate, like rain when the sun comes out. He went so far as to start to lay a conciliatory hand on Alfred's arm—a move the dog didn't like, apparently, for it thrust its body protectively between Alfred and the head of the Council.

  Samah cast the dog a cold glance, withdrew his hand. “You have a bodyguard, it seems.”

  Alfred, flushing, attempted to shove the animal to one side. “I'm sorry. He—”

  “No, no, Brother. It is I who should be making the apology.” Samah shook his head, sighed ruefully. “Orla tells me I am working too hard. My nerves are frayed. I overreacted. I forgot that, being a stranger, you had no way of knowing our rules concerning the library. It is, of course, open to all Sartan.

  “But, as you can judge”—he waved his hand toward the ancient-history section—“some of these scrolls are old and very fragile. It would never do, for example, to permit small children to get hold of them. Or those who might be browsing through out of idle curiosity. Such people, inadvertently, of course, and meaning no harm, might yet do irreparable damage. I don't think you can blame us, if we like to know who enters our library?”

  No, Alfred had to admit, that sounded reasonable enough. But Samah wasn't the type of man to rush here because he feared children were smearing grape jelly on his precious manuscripts. And he had been afraid. Angry and afraid, his anger covering his fear. Alfred's eyes, of their own accord, strayed to that compartment, the first compartment Ramu had checked.

  “Serious scholars are welcome, certainly,” Samah was continuing. “They have only to come before the Council and request the key”

  Samah was watching him closely. Alfred tried to stop his eyes from looking at the compartment, tried to keep them focused on Samah, but it was a struggle. They kept wanting to dart in that direction. Alfred wrenched them back. The strain was too much. His eyelids began to twitch, he started to blink uncontrollably.

  Samah stopped talking, stared at him. “Are you well?”

  “Forgive me,” Alfred murmured, shading his eyes with his hand. “A nervous disorder.”

  The Councillor frowned. Sartan did not suffer from nervous disorders. “Do you understand, Brother, why we like to monitor the comings and goings of all who enter?” he asked somewhat tightly. It was obvious his patience was wearing thin.

  Do I understand why a library turns into a trap, sounds an alarm, and holds those who enter hostage until the head of the Council comes to interrogate them? No, thought Alfred, I really don't understand that at all.

  But he only nodded and mumbled something that might have been certainly he understood.

  “Come, come!” Samah said, with a forced smile. “An accident, as you say. No harm done. I am certain you are sorry for what you did. And Ramu and I are sorry for nearly scaring you to death. And now, it is dinnertime. We will tell our tale to Orla. I'm afraid, Ramu, your mother will have a laugh over this mistake at our expense.”

  Ramu gave a sickly chuckle, looked anything but jocular.

  “Please, be seated, Brother,” Samah said, gesturing to a chair. “I will go and open the way out. The runes are complex. It takes some time to render them and you appear to be fatigued. No need to stand around waiting. Ramu will remain here to keep you company in my absence.”

  Ramu will remain to make certain I don't spy on you, discover the way out. Alfred sank down into the chair, placed his hand on the dog's head, stroked the silky ears. I might be doing more harm than good, he considered, but it seems to me that I have a right to ask.

  “Samah,” he called, halting the head of the Council on his way to the far door. “Now that I know the rules of the library, could I have your permission to enter? The mensch are somewhat a hobby of mine, you see. I once did a study on the dwarves of Arianus. I note that you have several texts …”

  He knew the answer, saw it in Samah's eyes.

  Alfred's voice dried up. His mouth opened and closed several times, but nothing more followed.

  Samah waited patiently until he was certain Alfred was finished.

  “Certainly you may study here, Brother. We would be most happy to make any and all documents relative to your work available to you. But not now.”

  “Not now,” Alfred repeated.

  “No, I'm afraid not. The Council wants to inspect the library and make certain that no damage was done during the long Sleep. Until we have time to devote to this task, I recommended to the Council that the library be closed. And we must take care that, from now on, no one enters by accident.'”

  The Councillor turned upon his heel and left, disappearing out the door on the far wall that opened to a spoken sigil, a rune uttered in a voice soft and low. The door shut behind him. Alfred heard, beyond it, the sound of chanting, but he was unable to distinguish any of the words.

  Ramu sat down across from Alfred and began to make friendly overtures to the dog; overtures that were coldly rebuffed.

  Alfred's eyes slid, once more, to the forbidden scroll compartment.

  WE ARE HOME, HOME!

  I am torn between joy and sadness, for a terrible tragedy occurred while we were gone … But I'll write down all, everything in its proper time and place.

  As I work on this, I'm sitting in my room. Around me are all my dear possessions, just the way I left them. This astonished me beyond words. Dwarves are very practical-minded about death, unlike two other races I could mention. When a dwarf dies, his family and friends hold a night of mourning for their loss and a day of celebration for the dead one's gain in now being a part of the One. Following that, all the dwarf's possessions are distributed among family and friends. His room is cleaned out and another dwarf moves in.1

  I had assumed that the custom would have been followed in my case and was prepared for the fact that Cousin Fricka would, by now, be ensconced in my room. In fact, I don't mind admitting that I was looking forward to bouncing myobnoxious relative and her curly side whiskers out the door and down the stairs.

  However, it seems that my mother could not get it into her head that I was truly dead. She steadfastly refused to believe it, although Aunt Gertrude (so my father told me) actually went so far as to hint that my mother had lost her mind. At which point, according to my father, my mother decided to demonstrate her skill in ax-throwing, offering in a rather vigorous and alarming fashion to “part Gertrude's hair” or words to that effect.

  While my mother was hauling the battle-ax down from its place on the wall, my father mentioned casually to my aunt that while my mother's throwing arm was still strong, her aim was not what it had been in their youth. Aunt Gertrude remembered suddenly that she had business elsewhere. She p
ried Fricka out of my room (probably with a winch) and they flounced off.

  But I've wandered down a side tunnel, as the saying goes. The last I wrote, we were heading in our ship toward certain death and now we're home safe and sound, and I really have no idea how or why.

  No heroic battles in the dragon-snake cave. Just a lot of talk in a language none of us understood. Our ship broke up. We had to swim to the surface. The dragon-snakes found us, and instead of murdering us, they gave us presents and sent us into a cave. Then Haplo stayed up all night talking to them. When he finally came back, he said he was tired and didn't want to talk and he'd explain everything some other time. But he assured us that we were safe and told us we could sleep securely and that in the morning we'd be going home!

  We were astounded and discussed it quietly (Alake made us whisper so as not to disturb Haplo). We couldn't unravel the tangle, however, and finally, being exhausted ourselves, we fell asleep.

  The next morning, more food appeared, along with more presents. And, peeping out of the cave, I saw to my astonishment that our submersible, good as new, was moored on the shore. There was no sign of the dragon-snakes.

  “The dragons fixed your ship,” said Haplo, between mouthfuls of food. “We'll use it to sail back home.”

  He was eating something Alake had cooked and she was sitting beside him, watching him with adoring eyes.

  “They did it for you,” she said softly. “You saved us, as you promised. And now you're taking us home. You will be a hero to our people. Whatever you want will be yours. Whatever you ask for will be granted.”

  She was hoping, of course, that he'd ask to marry the chieftain's daughter—meaning her.

  Haplo shrugged and said he hadn't done all that much. But I could tell he was pleased with himself. I noted that the blue marks had started coming back on his skin. Also that he took extreme care to avoid touching or even looking at a large jug full of water I'd brought in to wash the sleep out of my eyes.

  I whispered to Devon, “I wonder where the bitter pill is in all this candy.”2

  “Only think, Grundle,” he whispered back, sighing rapturously, “in a few days all be with Sabia!”

  He hadn't heard a word I'd said! And I'll wager he hadn't heard Haplo either, for that matter. Which just goes to show you how love—at least among humans and elves—can addle the brain. Thank the One we dwarves are different! I love Hartmut down to the last strand of hair in his beard, but I'd be ashamed to let my feelings reduce my mental capacities to the consistency of gruel.

  But, there, I shouldn't talk that way. Now that—

  No, I'm getting ahead of myself.

  “All right, but remember, no one ever gets something for nothing,” I said, but I said it into my whiskers. I was afraid that if Alake heard me, she'd scratch my eyes out.

  As it was, I think Haplo did hear me. He has sharp cars, that one. I was glad. Let him know that one of us isn't planning to swallow this without chewing on it first. He glanced at me and kind of half-smiled in that dark way of his that gives me the shivers.

  When he finished eating, he said we were free to leave. We could take all the food and presents with us. At this, I saw even Alake was offended.

  “No amount of gold or precious jewels can bring back the people those monsters murdered, or make up for what we have suffered,” she said, casting a disdainful glance at the mounds of riches and wealth.

  “I would sooner toss such blood money in the Goodsea, except it might poison the fish,” Devon said angrily.

  “Suit yourselves.” Haplo shrugged again. “But you might need it, when you sail to your new homeland.”

  We looked at each other. We'd been so frightened and worried about the dragon-snakes, we'd completely forgotten about another danger that loomed over our people—the loss of the seasun.

  “Will the dragon-snakes let us build more sun-chasers?” I asked dubiously.

  “Better than that. They've offered to use their magic to fix the ones they destroyed. And they've given me information about this new homeland, important information.”

  We badgered him with questions, but Haplo refused to answer, saying that it would not be proper to tell us before discussing a matter of this importance with our parents. We were forced to admit he was right.

  Alake looked at the gold, said it was a shame it should go to waste. Devon remarked that several bolts of the silken fabric were Sabia's favorite colors. I'd already pocketed some of the jewels (as I wrote earlier, we dwarves are a practical lot), but I gladly took a few more, just so the others wouldn't think I was being snooty.

  We loaded ourselves, the presents, and the food on board the submersible. I checked the ship over thoroughly. Admittedly, the dragon-snakes were strong on magic, but I mistrusted that they knew anything about shipbuilding. However, the snakes appeared to have put it back together exactly the way it was before they broke it and I decided it was safe to sink in.

  We each took up residence in our old rooms. Everything was as it had been when we left. I even found this—my journal, exactly where I left it. No water damage. Not a drop of ink smeared. Astounding! It made me kind of queasy. I wondered, more than once on that journey, if it had all really happened or if it had only been a strange and terrible dream.

  The ship launched itself, under the same magical power as before, and we were headed back home.

  I'm certain the journey took the same amount of time going as coming, but it seemed far longer to us. We laughed and talked excitedly about the first things we'd do when we reached our homelands and how we'd probably be considered heroes and what everyone would make of Haplo.

  We spent a lot of time talking about Haplo. At least Alake and I did. She came into my cabin quite late the first night of our trip back home. It was that quiet period just before you go to bed when the aching for home comes over you so badly sometimes that it makes you think you'll die of it. I was feeling the same way myself, and I must admit that maybe a tear or two had trickled into my whiskers when I heard Alake's gentle tap on my door.

  “It's me, Grundle. Can I talk to you? Or are you sleeping?”

  “If I was, I'm not now,” I told her grumpily, to hide the fact that I'd been crying. For all I knew, she'd dose me with herbs or something.

  I opened the door. Alake came in and sat on the bed. I took one look at her—she was shy and proud and fluttery and happy—and I knew what this conversation was going to be about.

  She sat on the bed, twisting the rings on her fingers. (I saw that she'd forgotten to take off her funeral jewelry. We dwarves aren't particularly superstitious, but if there was ever a bad omen, that was it. I meant to tell her, but just as I was about to say something she started to talk, and I never had the chance.)

  “Grundle,” she said, making up her mind to astonish me. “I'm in love.”

  I decided to amuse myself a little. It's fun to tease Alake, because she takes everything so seriously.

  “I'm sure I wish you two all the best,” I said slowly, stroking my whiskers, “but how do you think Sabia will take it?”

  “Sabia?” Alake was startled. “Why, I suppose she'll be happy for me. Why shouldn't she?”

  “She's unselfish. We all know that. And she loves you dearly, Alake, but she's pretty fond of Devon, too, and I don't think—”

  “Devon!” Alake could barely speak for shock. “Do you … Did you think I meant I was in love with Devon?”

  “Who else?” I asked as innocently as possible.

  “Devon's very nice,” Alake was going on, “and he's been very kind and helpful. And I will always think of him with the highest regard, but I could never fall in love with him. After all, he's little more than a boy.”

  A boy who's about one hundred Times older than you, I could have said, but I kept my mouth shut. Humans tend to be touchy about their age.

  “No,” Alake continued softly, her eyes glowing like candlelight at dusk, “I'm in love with a man. Grundle …” She gulped, swallowed, then said, i
n a rush, “It's Haplo!”

  Of course, she expected me to fly backward around the room in shock and was considerably put out when I didn't.

  “Humpf,” was all I said.

  “You're not surprised?”

  “Surprised! Try painting I love you' in white paint across your forehead next time,” I suggested.

  “Oh, dear. Has it been that obvious? Do you … do you think he knows? It would be dreadful if he did.”

  Alake glanced at me sidelong, pretending to be afraid, but I could tell that deep down she was hoping I'd say, “Yes, of course, he knows.”

  Which I could have said truthfully, because the man would have to be blind, deaf, and dumb and a fool on top of it not to have known. I could have said this and it would have made Alake happy, but, of course, I didn't. It was all wrong and I knew it and i knew Alake would get hurt and the whole thing made me cross.

  “He's old enough to be your father,” I pointed out.

  “He is not! And what if he is?” Alake argued, with the sort of logic one comes to expect from humans. “I've never met another man as noble and brave and strong and handsome. He stood there alone, Grundle. In front of those horrible creatures, naked, no weapons, not even his magic.

  “You see, I know about the water and how it affects his magic, so don't say anything to me about that!” she added defiantly. “We humans can't do rune-magic ourselves, but our legends tell about people who could once, long ago. Haplo obviously wants to hide his power, and so I've said nothing.

  “He was prepared to die for us, Grundle.”

  (No use my saying a word. She wouldn't have heard me.)

  “How could I not love him? And then, to see those dreadful dragon-snakes bow down to him! He was magnificent! And now they're sending us home, giving us gifts, promising us a new homeland! And all because of Haplo.”

  “That may be,” I said, feeling crosser than ever because I was forced to admit that what she said was true, “but what is he getting out of this? Have you asked yourself that? What does he mean, coming around asking me how many men my father has in his army and asking Devon if he thinks the elves would fight if they had to and whether or not they still remembered how to make magical weapons and wanting to know if your Coven could persuade the dolphins and whales to be on our side if it came to war?”