Serpent Mage

by Margaret Weis

  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… Haplos 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 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 u
pright, 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. “All 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.

  1For further information on these magical battles, see Appendix I.

  2Extremely unlikely, considering the wide degree of difference in the magical constructs of each race. Most battles were won through sheer luck, though you would never find the victor who would admit it.

  THE DRAGON-SNAKES HAD ALLOWED THE MENSCH TO LEAVE the cave safely, kept them in sight the entire time. The three reached the shoreline. They could see Haplo and his ship. Fear was dispelled. Hope returned. The three began to run toward him.

  The dragon-snakes poured out of the cave, a hundred sinuous bodies surged over the ground in a writhing, slime-covered mass.

  The three mensch heard their hissing, turned around in terror.

  The serpents1 red-green gaze caught the three, held them, fascinated. Tongues flicked out, tasting the air, smelling, savoring fear. The dragon-snakes closed in on their prey. But it was not their intent to kill swiftly.

  Fear made them strong, terror gave them power. They were always disappointed to see a victim die.

  The snakes lowered their flame-eyed gazes, slowed their advance to a lazy crawl.

  The mensch, freed of the paralyzing fascination, screamed and began running across the beach.

  The dragon-snakes hissed in pleasure and slid rapidly behind.

  They kept close to the young people, close enough to let them smell the dank, putrid odor of the death they brought, close enough to let them hear the sounds that would be the last sounds they heard—except their own, dying screams. The giant bodies, sliding over the sand, ground it beneath them. Flat heads, looming over the mensch, cast horrid, swaying shadows before them.

  And the dragon-snakes watched, in glee, the battle between Patryn and Sartan, thrived on the hatred, and grew stronger still.

  The mensch were weakening and, as their bodies weakened, so did their sheer terror. The dragon-snakes needed to prod their prey a bit, stir them back to action.

  “Take one” commanded the king dragon-snake, from his place at the head of the advance. “The human. Kill her.”

  Day was dawning. Night was fading, the darkness lifting, as much as it could lift from this place of darkness. The sun's light glimmered over the murky water. Haplo cast a shadow as he ran.

  “We must help him!” Alfred urged Samah. “You can help him, Councillor. Use your magic. Between us, maybe we can defeat the dragons …”

  “And while I fight dragons, your Patryn friend escapes. Is that your plan?”

  “Escape?” Alfred blinked watery blue eyes. “How can you say that? Look! Look at him! He's risking his life—”

  “Bah! He's in no danger! The foul creatures are his to command! His people created them.”

  “That's not what Orla told me,” Alfred retorted angrily. “That's not what the dragon-snakes said to you on the beach, is it, Councillor? ‘Who created you?’ you asked them. ‘You did, Sartan.’ That was their answer, wasn't it?”

  Samah's face was livid. He raised his right hand, started to trace a sigil in the air.

  Alfred raised his left, traced the same sigil, only in reverse, nullified the magic.

  Samah moved sideways in a sliding dance step, murmuring words beneath his breath.

  Alfred slid gracefully the opposite direction, repeated the same words, backward.

  Again, Samah's magic was nullified.

  But, behind him, Alfred could hear a furious hissing, the thrashing of reptile bodies, Haplo's hoarse voice shouting instructions to the dog. Alfred longed to look to see what was happening, but he did not dare move his complete attention from Samah.

  The Councillor, drawing upon all his power, began to weave another spell. The magic rumbled in the distance, runes crackled. The tremendous, confusing storm of possibilities was coming down, full force, upon Alfred.

  He began to feel faint.

  Haplo's only goal was to rescue the mensch. Once he had them, however, he had no idea what to do, no plan of attack. Why bother? he demanded of himself bitterly. The battle was hopeless from the start. It was taking all his concentration to rid himself of the fear that threatened to lay hold of him, wring him inside out, drop him, retching up his guts, in the sand.

  The dog had outdistanced him, reached the mensch already. The three were nearly finished, exhaustion and terror had drained them of their strength. Ignoring the serpents, the dog dashed around the mensch, herded them together, urged them on when it seemed they might lag.

  One of the snakes came too close. The dog dashed toward it, growling a warning.

  The dragon-snake slid back.

  Devon collapsed onto the ground. Grundle grasped him by the shoulder, shook him.

  “Get up, Devon!” she pleaded. “Get up!”

  Alake, with a courage born of despair, stood over her fallen friend and turned to face the dragon-snakes. She raised a hand that trembled, but did not loose its firm grip on the object it held—a wooden stick. She presented it boldly, and began to cast her spell, taking time to speak the words clearly and distinctly, as her mother had taught her.

  The stick burst into magical flame. Alake waved the firebrand in the eyes of the dragon-snakes, as she would have waved it in the eyes of some predator cat, stalking her chickens.

  The dragon-snakes hesitated, drew back. Haplo saw their game, forgot his fear in his rage. Devon, with Grundle's assistance, was regaining his feet. The dog barked and jumped, trying to draw the serpent's attention to itself, away from the mensch.

  Alake, proud, beautiful, exultant, thrust the firebrand at the snakes. “Leave this place! Leave us!” she cried.

  “Alake, get down!” Haplo shouted.

  The snake struck with incredible swiftness, head darting forward faster than the eye could follow, the brain could comprehend. It was a blur, nothing more. A blur that darted out and darted back.

  Alake screamed, fell, writhing in pain, to the ground.

  Grundle and Devon knelt down beside her. Haplo almost stumbled over them. He grasped the dwarf by the shoulder, jerked her to her feet.

  “Run ahead!” he shouted. “Get help!”

  Help. What help? Alfred? What am I thinking? Haplo asked himself angrily. It had been a reflexive response. But, at least, it would get the dwarf out of the way.

  Grundle blinked, understood, and, after a wild, despairing look at Alake, the dwarf turned and took off for the water's edge.

  The dragon-snake's head hovered in the air, loomed over its victim, over Haplo. Its eyes were on the Patryn, on the blue-flaring, rune-lit daggers in his hands. The snake was confident, but wary. It had little respect for the Patryn, but was smart enough not to underestimate its enemy.

  “Devon,” said Haplo, keeping his voice deliberately calm, “how's Alake?”

  The elf's choked sob answered him. He could hear the girl's screams. She wasn't dead, more was the pity. Poisoned, he guessed, her flesh torn by the dragon's bone-hard mouth.

  He risked a quick glance back. Devon gathered Alake in his arms, and held her close, soothing her. The dog was by his side, growling menacingly at any snakes that looked their direction.

  Haplo placed his b
ody between the serpent and the mensch. “Dog, stay with them.”

  He faced the dragon-snake, daggers raised.

  “Take him,” ordered the king.

  The dragon-snake's head dove down. Jaws gaped wide, venom dripped. Haplo dodged it, as best he could, but several drops fell on him, burned through the wet shirt and into the skin.

  He was aware of searing pain, but it wasn't important now. He kept his gaze and his attention fixed on his target.

  The serpent lunged for him.

  Haplo leapt backward, brought both hands together, drove both daggers into the dragon's skull, between the slit red eyes.

  The rune-enhanced blades bit deep. Blood spurted. The dragon-snake roared in pain, reared its head up and back, carrying Haplo, trying to hang onto the daggers, with it.

  His arms were nearly ripped from their sockets. He was forced to let go and dropped to the ground. Crouching low, he waited.

  The wounded dragon-snake flailed and thrashed about blindly in its death throes. At last, with a shudder, it lay still. The slit-eyes were open, but the fire was gone. The tongue lolled from the toothless mouth. The daggers remained firmly entrenched in the bloody head.

  “Go for your weapons, Patryn,” said the king dragon-snake, red-green eyes gleaming with pleasure. “Seize them! Fight on! You've killed one of us. Don't give up now!”

  It was his only chance. Haplo lunged, hand outstretched, made a desperate grab.

  A snake's head swooped down. Pain exploded in his arm. Bone shattered, blood burned with the poison. His right hand fell useless. Haplo kept going, made another try with his left.

  The serpent started for him again. A hissed command from its king halted it.

  “No, no! Don't end it yet! The Patryn is strong. Who knows? He might be able to reach his ship.”

  If I could make it to my ship …

  Haplo laughed at the thought. “That's what you want, isn't it? You want to see me turn and run. And you'll let me get— how far? Within arm's reach? Maybe even set my foot on it. And then what? Snatch me away. Take me into that cave?”

  “Your terror will feed us a long, long time, Patryn,” whispered the dragon-snake.

  “I'm not going to play. You'll have to find your fun somewhere else.”