Serpent's Silver

by Piers Anthony

  "You've received my letter?" Jac asked the captain.

  McFay nodded. "If you've got the skins, we'll do business."

  "Outside on the pack animals, and there's more that may be possible. Revolutions come high, I understand."

  "They do," Captain McFay said. He was eyeing Kelvin with a puzzled expression, as though searching to recall.

  "Oh, this is Kelvin Knight Hackleberry. He's the hero from the other world. The one they called the Roundear."

  "His ears don't appear overly round."

  "Here they aren't," Kelvin said. "In my own frame they were freakish."

  "Hmm, really unusual, huh? But they're just like mine, only mine are bigger and redder." And his eyes were hazel, not gray, as were the home captain's eyes.

  "That's because in my home frame most people have pointed ears."

  "Pointed? I've never heard of that! I'd like to hear a little about your world, Kelvin." He motioned for them to sit down at a table, and then motioned for two grizzled officers to come join them.

  And so, as at another time in another place, Kelvin was launched on his long, familiar story.

  "Sorcerer's Spell!" cried a clean-shaven man with both ears intact and no scar on his cheek. "That was some story!"

  Kelvin sighed. If only he could be certain that this one would come out as well. Different frame, different experiences, with possibly entirely different outcomes.

  "Well, we've got to negotiate," Jac said. "We'll need an army of probably five thousand, and I'm afraid there won't be much help from the populace of Hud."

  "There may be help," Kelvin corrected. "We may be able to get people to join us, if we ask them." He explained about the posters he had put up in the other kingdom before its revolution. "Some did join, but they were largely untrained farmers and villagers."

  "We'll train them!" McFay promised. "If they respond to your posters."

  "People did at home. Some."

  "And you'll send a message to the king of Hud, Rowforth, giving him a chance to surrender?"

  "Of course, once we're prepared to fight."

  The talk went on and on, and for Kelvin, it really did seem to be a replay. Would the fighting also seem to be just a redone past experience? Possibly, he thought, but he couldn't escape the thought that at home there had not been flopears who had allied themselves to the enemy. Nor had the slovenly troops of the queen's been comparable to the well-disciplined, fully trained troops of Rowforth's. Would five thousand men be enough? How many would be killed or mangled under his leadership? How many would he personally kill before he was done?

  "You look as though the heat's affecting you," McFay observed. "How about a mug of bleer?"

  Kelvin nodded. Wine at home, bleer here. Whatever bleer was.

  One of the company brought him a mug topped by foam. He took it, sipped bitterness, and wanted to spit it out.

  "Your first bleer, Kelvin?"

  Kelvin nodded again, miserable. Manly drinking seemed to him to be such a foolish means of escape. He downed more of the liquid and got an idea. "The Flaw—is it far?"

  "No. It's very near, in fact. One of my men can show you. Why don't you go gaze at it while Jac and I conclude our business?"

  Kelvin nodded and stood up. "I think I can find the way."

  And thus it was that Kelvin again found himself gazing through a wooden barrier into the star-filled depths of the anomaly. Was it, as he had heard said, a crack through space-time that ran through countless worlds and countless nearly identical and some highly strange existences? His recent experience certainly seemed to confirm that!

  On his first trip to The Flaw his sister, Jon, had tried to hit a star with a stone from her sling; it had been one of the few times he had seen her fail to hit anything. He smiled, thinking how annoyed and determined she had been. He wished that somehow then was now and that Jon and good friend Lester were there at his side looking into what felt like eternity.

  Deep, deep in the blackest black something flashed brightly, streaked across an area where there were no stars, and vanished. Would they themselves vanish? Everyone at once in this foreign and yet so familiar world?

  Kelvin decided he didn't need to drink bleer or wine in order to make his head swim. All he needed to do was gaze into this depth and let his thoughts dwell on its nature and the nature of all things.

  Ahead, in only a few days' time, there would be a message sent to King Rowforth. After that, should history repeat itself, the killing and dying were as certain as prophecy to begin.

  CHAPTER 27

  Earth

  ST. HELENS STEPPED our from behind some bushes and hailed the Rud army. General Broughtner and both Crumbs, Mor and Lester, were in the lead, as they had been before. St. Helens vented a sigh. He had assumed they would have survived, but as he had seen, many a brave man hadn't.

  "Whoa! Halt!" the general addressed the troops.

  The column obediently came to a stop. St. Helens spoke directly to the general: "They didn't release me, I escaped. There's bad business over there. You going to cross?"

  "My orders—" Broughtner began.

  "Hang your orders, man!" His leg gave a twinge of pain, but it was worth it. "Is Rud going to let Aratex get away with yesterday? How many men drowned? How many war-horses? How much good equipment washed away?"

  Broughtner glared. "St. Helens, my orders are to cross the river, march on the capital, and demand an apology and reparations."

  "Well, why didn't you say so!" St. Helens nodded at the Crumbs, glad they were alive. A thought hit him. "My girl, did she—"

  "Why'd you think we came yesterday?"

  "She wasn't hurt? She seemed to be getting weak—"

  "Not hurt. Pregnant," Lester said.

  "Pregnant? You mean—?" He started to smile then, in spite of himself. "You mean the Roundear—"

  "Who else?" Mor thundered. "What'd you think, witchcraft? Don't you know your own daughter? She is with child."

  Lord, and all that activity! The incredible flight he had taken her on! No wonder she had had trouble hanging on! It hadn't been weakness of spirit, but of body—because of her condition.

  "That's, eh, good news." He got hold of himself, swiftly putting back the thoughts of being a grandfather and focused on the present.

  "You look pretty beat," Broughtner remarked, eyeing him.

  "My leg can use some attention. Maybe Heln told you; it got in the way of a crossbow bolt. A flesh wound, and she bound it up pretty well, but I am a bit worse for wear."

  The general nodded and gave appropriate orders. A wagon pulled up; a young medic got out, took St. Helens aside, and worked on him. St. Helens gritted his teeth and went along with the disinfecting and bandaging without comment. When the medic was done, he had to admit to himself that the job was perfect.

  "You had better rest now," the medic said. "You've lost blood."

  "No time for that! There's a war to be fought!"

  "But any other man with a wound like that—"

  "I'm too old and tough to let a pinprick like that stop me," St. Helens said, proud of the effect he was making. The wound did hurt, and he did feel weak from loss of blood, and he'd like nothing better than to flop down on a soft bunk and sleep for a day or two, but he wouldn't let any of that show. He thanked the man and went back to the general, who was staring at the stream.

  "General, how do you expect to get across? You don't want a repeat of yesterday."

  "There won't be," General Broughtner said. "We'll make rafts and build a bridge. It's high time there was a bridge across this river."

  "That's a good idea, General. But bridges wash out and rafts can be washed away. I say let me fly a couple of ropes across and then you make a suspension bridge: well above the water, see?"

  The general scowled. "Strong enough to take the war-horses and the armor?"

  "It can be."

  Broughtner shook his head. "And if Melbah decides to blow up a wind?"

  "She will. You can be cer
tain of that. But with extra guy ropes holding the sides, the chances are better than in the water."

  "I don't like it."

  "The alternative, General?"

  The former heavy drinker's frown intensified. "I didn't say you weren't right, St. Helens, just that I don't like it. If we construct the bridge so that it hangs just above where the highest waves might reach, then take a few men and a single war-horse across at a time, it'll work."

  St. Helens found himself staring. He hadn't really expected Broughtner not to argue. But it seemed the man was competent after all. If they did things right, old Melbah might delay them but she wasn't going to stop them—he hoped.

  "Right, General Broughtner, sir." He touched the control on his levitation belt and rose until he was a couple of feet off the ground. "Now if you'll just get me some rope, we'll get started."

  The general turned and issued orders. An equipment wagon pulled forward and rolled almost to where uprooted trees and flood debris marked the limits of yesterday's water rise. Looking inside the wagon, St. Helens was surprised to see cut lumber and piles of heavy netting. General Broughtner had let him talk, but he had planned this all the time! Well, at least he could suggest a spot on a bend between two facing hills where the wind couldn't strike suddenly.

  But Broughtner and the men in charge of the detail seemed to have planned well ahead of him. Quicker than he had thought possible, he was flying the end of a rope across and securing it to a tree. Then another rope for the other side of the bridge, then the netting sides, the guy ropes, and the plank floor. By noon they were finished and a secure bridge swayed in place.

  Lester Crumb was the first across, and then his father, and then the general. The war-horses and pack horses were led across a few at a time, and then the wagons, and finally the men who had remained on Rud's side crossed by threes and fours. When the last man reached their side, the general looked across the bridge and beamed with obvious pride. "Good job, St. Helens."

  "Very." What foolishness: the general was complimenting him for suggesting what the general had planned on all along. St. Helens knew this was merely an attempt to gain his favor and keep him in line—but it was working. He wasn't going to give Broughtner any trouble. A leader was a leader, and this was turning out to be a good one.

  A black bird flew overhead. St. Helens half expected the bridge to burst into flames, or the river to rise. He had the unhappy feeling that they were doing just what Melbah intended.

  "General, if we follow the road through Deadman's Pass, there may be an ambush."

  "What's the alternative?"

  St. Helens pondered. He didn't like having them pass under the eyes of Conjurer's Rock, but to try slipping through the forest might be even worse. Possibly if he were to scout on ahead, he could find any traps and save the day. But then he didn't like the thought of either flying low and getting hit with another crossbow bolt or flying high and encountering another whirlwind. At least he could check the cliffs of Deadman's Pass for archers and then come in behind Conjurer's Rock and check for old Melbah. He twisted his mouth at the thought of flying in behind her, unseen. Of Melbah watching the troops in the pass, preparing some magical attack, and his dropping on her suddenly like a hawk. With luck, it just might work.

  "I, eh, believe the road in is the only way, General. But I'd like your permission to scout ahead. If you can agree to delay your departure from here and reach the pass at about sunset… ?"

  "I can agree to that, St. Helens. But why?"

  "The light will be less then." And old eyes may have to strain.

  "You have something in mind?"

  "I have a witch in mind."

  "You will need help. Some of the men to accompany you?"

  "Better alone, General. Better just me and my levitation belt and my sword, the personal gift of Aratex's King Phillip."

  "You have something definitely in mind. Some strategy I should know about?"

  "Only that it involves Conjurer's Rock. Buzvuls roost there by the thousands. I just want to make certain there's not a particular buzvul there. If she is there…" St. Helens touched his sword hilt.

  "I understand, St. Helens. But a party of archers, perhaps?"

  "Alone," St. Helens said firmly. "It's the only chance I have of reaching her undetected. If I pluck her magic, your archers will no doubt have adequate targets between the pass and the capital." Was that true? Would the Aratex army even be out? It was she, not King Phillip, who ruled. "If she's first with her magic, it's going to be at least a hard fight."

  General Broughtner nodded. "Good luck, St. Helens. We'll time our march to be in the pass at twilight."

  But as usual, his simple plan was complicated by random events. Thus it was that St. Helens, forced to walk partway because of flying buzvuls that could have been scouts, reached the edge of the forest under the surly lip of Conjurer's Rock later than he liked. He swore under his breath, but plowed on as his leg jabbed him with new pain. He paused in despair, because the shadow now lay like a great black blanket across the pass, and there, just within range of his sight, were the men and horses and wagons that he had hoped would be far back.

  Then, even as he despaired, something happened that astounded him. The ground just beyond the rock's shadow shook as if from the tread of a giant. Ground that was occupied by horses and men and wagons cracked, gaped open, and swallowed troops and horses and wagons in huge, ugly closings. Rock from above cascaded downward, loosened by the trembling of the cliffs themselves. The rumbling sounds of an earthquake and of falling rock went on and on. With it were mingled the frightened screams of horses and the cries of dying men.

  Just like that, the tide of battle had turned—before the battle even started. His worst fear had been not only confirmed but multiplied. He had assumed that all they had to handle were wind and water. What a misjudgment!

  Melbah was up there, all right, and she was destroying them.

  Heln sat up in her bed with a shrill cry. "Kelvin! Kelvin, oh. Kelvin!"

  "Hush, it was only a dream," Jon told her. Heln's eyes were glassy; this was the worst nightmare she had had in the palace.

  "Oh, Jon!" Heln's arms tightened around her neck. Jon found this both flattering and embarrassing, though she couldn't have said why. Heln had been so magnificently brave when she was wearing those gauntlets of Kelvin's, and now the gauntlets waited here for his return. Sometimes she wondered whether making Heln wear them would stop her nightmares.

  "He was fighting again, in an army. And, and the faces—one of them looked like the guard in the Girl Mart who—who—"

  "Hush. It's only a dream. That man is dead, slain by a brother of another of the girls. Lester saw it, and I know he wouldn't lie."

  "But not in the dream, Jon. Not in the dream! He was alive. Alive and fighting."

  "It's natural that you dream of Kelvin fighting him. After all, that evil man was the one who violated you."

  "Not fighting against!" Heln's eyes were wide. "Fighting with! The two of them in identical uniforms fighting side by side. Fighting monsters, Jon, and about to die!"

  CHAPTER 28

  Battle

  ROWFORTH, KING OF HUD, stood at the edge of the training field and unhappily inspected the twelve flopears in bright red uniforms. So squat, so broad, so ugly, and yet possibly of great value to him. They did not look like soldiers, and he hadn't anticipated that they would. What they did look like were flopears in especially made Hud uniforms.

  "And now, oh, King," Herzig was saying, "you must see that they learn to ride."

  Rowforth permitted himself a sigh. Herzig had proved unexpectedly difficult in insisting that his handpicked dozen fighters wear the Hud uniform. That had entailed special orders and individual tailoring to fit the odd contours of the flopear bodies. What needless delay! Now they had to learn to ride—these squat, seemingly awkward creatures! It would mean special saddles with special stirrups and a long, painful instructing time. He hoped that his cavalry master could do th
e job before the abominable green-clad troops swept all the way to the capital. This had originally not been his plan, but there was sense in it: a uniformed flopear cavalry should prove to be even more efficient than a few stationary flopears waiting for eye contact. On horseback these unlikely troops could ride up to the rebel leaders themselves, paralyze them with a stare, and strike them dead. There would be little need for executions after the war. The flopears could execute the entire armed force right from their saddles. When they went into action, no matter what occurred before, victory was assured.

  Brownleaf, the cavalry master, stepped smartly forth from the stables, leading a mare. The mare bore a special small saddle on her broad back and towered well over the heads of her potential riders. As she was led near she began to whinny and skitter and jerk in the manner of an untrained horse.

  King Rowforth eyed the cavalry master and the horse and the untrained troops, and wondered. Beside him, Herzig spoke: "Danzar, eye!"

  One of the uniformed flopears stepped out of line, displaying all the soldierly style of his short-legged race, devoid of grace. The flopear eyed the mare, who was now trying for all she was worth to break free of her handler.

  The horse froze. Danzar waddled close, climbed the rope ladder depending from the saddle, settled into the cupped depression, and took the reins.

  "Danzar, release!" Herzig commanded.

  Instantly the mare reared, came down on her forelegs, and bucked. Danzar flew clear of the saddle, letting go of the reins on his way up. In awe Rowforth watched the tiny body sail up to a height that bordered on the magical. Then down, down, like a stone. SPLAT!

  To the king's astonishment, the dust had scarcely settled around the small body when it stood. The flopear was unhurt! It focused its large eyes on the mare—and the mare, turning her head, rolling her eyes, was caught as before.

  Danzar waddled up again, climbed the short rope ladder, and resumed the saddle. And went flying.

  "How long will this go on?" Rowforth asked Herzig rather than his cavalry master.

  "Until Danzar controls."