Serpent Mage (34 page)

Alfred grasped her hand. “This was what you fought over. You and the other Council members! You and …
and”—it was difficult for him to say the word—“your husband.”

“Samah didn't believe in any of it. He said it was a trick, a trick of our enemy's.”

Alfred heard Haplo speaking, the Patryn's words were almost an echo.
A trick, Sartan! You tricked me
…

“… opposed the Sundering,” Orla was continuing. “We wanted to wait before taking such drastic action. But Samah and the others were afraid—”

“And with good cause, so it appears,” came a grim voice. “When I returned home and discovered you both gone, I had an idea where you might be found.”

Alfred quailed at the sound, shivered. Orla, very pale, rose slowly to her feet. She remained standing near him, however, her hand resting on his shoulder in protective support. The dog, having been negligent in its duties, was apparently attempting to make up for it by barking at Samah with all its energy.

“Shut the beast up,” said Samah, “or I will kill it.”

“You can't kill it,” Alfred replied, shaking his head. “No matter how hard you try, you can't kill this animal or what it represents.”

But he rested his hand on the animal's head. The dog suffered itself to be gentled into silence.

“At least now we know who and what you are,” stated the Councillor, eyeing Alfred grimly. “A Patryn spy, sent to learn our secrets.” His gaze shifted to his wife. “And corrupt the trusting.”

Resolutely, with dignity, Alfred rose to his feet. “You are wrong. I am a Sartan, to my sorrow. And as for learning secrets”—he gestured to the scroll—“it seems the secrets I have discovered were meant to be kept from our own people, not from the so-called enemy.”

Samah was livid with rage, unable to speak.

“No,” Orla whispered, looking earnestly at Alfred, her hand biting into his arm. “No, you're wrong. The time wasn't right—”

“Our reasons for doing what we did are not his concern, Wife!” Samah interrupted. He paused, waiting to speak
until he had mastered his anger. “Alfred Montbank, you will remain a prisoner here until the Council meets and we decide what measures to take.”

“A prisoner? Is that necessary?” Orla protested.

“I deem it so. I was coming to tell you the news we have just received from the dolphins. This man's Patryn ally has been discovered. He is here in Chelestra and, as we feared, he is in league with the dragon-snakes. He has met with them, he and representatives from the mensch royal families.”

“Alfred,” said Orla, “can this be true?”

“I don't know,” Alfred replied wretchedly. “Haplo might do something like this, I'm afraid, but you must understand that he—”

“Listen to him, Wife. Even now, he seeks to defend this Patryn.”

“How can you?” Orla demanded, drawing away from Alfred, regarding him with mingled sorrow, pain. “You would see your own people destroyed!”

“No, he would see his own people victorious,” said Samah coldly. “You forget, my dear, he is more Patryn than Sartan.”

Alfred made no reply, but stood clasping and unclasping his hands over the back of the chair.

“Why do you stand there and say nothing?” Orla cried. “Tell my husband he's wrong! Tell me
I'm
wrong!”

Alfred lifted mild blue eyes. “What can I say that you would believe?”

Orla stared at him, started to reply, then shook her head in frustration. Turning her back on him, she walked out of the room.

Samah regarded Alfred grimly.

“This time, I will post a guard. You will be called.”

He stalked off, accompanied by the dog's defiant growl.

Ramu appeared in his father's place. Coming to the table, the son cast Alfred a baleful glance and laid firm hands upon the scroll. Deliberately and with great care, he rolled it up tightly, slid it into the scrollcase, and returned it to its proper place. He then took up a position at the back of the room, as far from Alfred as a Sartan could get and still keep an eye on him.

There was no need to guard him, however. Alfred would not have attempted to escape had the door been left standing wide open. He sat despondent, hunched in misery—a prisoner of his own people, the people he had hoped so long to find. He was in the wrong. He'd done a terrible thing and he couldn't, for the life of him, imagine what had prompted him to do it.

His actions had angered Samah. Worse, Alfred had hurt Orla. And all for what? To meddle in affairs that were not any of his business, affairs that were beyond his understanding.

“Samah is far wiser than I am,” he said to himself. “He knows what is best. He is right. I am not Sartan. I am part Patryn, part mensch. Even”—he added, with a sad smile for the faithful animal, lying at his feet—“a little bit of dog. Most of all, though, I'm a fool. Samah wouldn't attempt to suppress such knowledge. As Orla said, he was waiting for a more appropriate time. That's all.

“I will apologize to the Council,” he continued, sighing, “and I will gladly do whatever they ask of me. And then I will leave. I can't stay here any longer. Why is it?” He looked at his own hands, shook them in frustration. “Why do I break everything I touch? Why do I bring ruin on those I care about? I'll leave this world and never return. I'll go back to my crypt in Arianus and I'll sleep. Sleep a long, long time. Perhaps, if I'm lucky, I'll never wake up.

“And you,” said Alfred, glaring bitterly at the dog. “You're on your own. Haplo didn't lose you, did he? He sent you away deliberately. He doesn't want you back! Well, good riddance, I say. I'll leave you here, too. Both of you!”

The animal cringed at his angry tone and baleful stare. Ears and tail drooping, the dog sank down at Alfred's feet and lay there, watching him with sad, sorrowful eyes.

MUCH TO HAPLO'S AMAZEMENT, THE ROYAL FAMILIES
, reunited with their children, decided to depart. Each family, it seemed, intended to return home, to rest and relax and, when they felt strong enough, discuss the idea of making the Sun Chase.

“What is this? Where are you going?” Haplo demanded of the dwarves, about to board their submersible. The humans were heading for theirs.

“We are going back to Phondra,” said Dumaka.

“Phondra!” Haplo stared at him, openmouthed. Mensch! he thought in disgust. “Listen, I know you've had a shock and I'm sorry for your loss. I truly am.” His glance went to Alake, sobbing in her mother's arms. “But you don't seem to understand that important things are happening, things that involve you and your people. You've got to take action now!

“For instance,” he said, hoping to catch their attention, “did you know that the seamoon you're planning to inhabit is already inhabited?”

Dumaka and Delu frowned, grew attentive. The dwarves halted, turned around. Even Eliason lifted his head, a vague flicker of disquiet in the elf's sunken eyes.

“The dolphins said nothing of this,” returned Dumaka sternly. “How do you know? Who told you?”

“The dragon-snakes. Look, I know you don't trust them.

I don't blame you. But I have reason to believe that this time they're telling the truth.”

“Who is living there? Those horrible creatures?” Yngvar guessed, scowling.

“No, not the dragon-snakes, if that's who you mean. They have their own seamoon. They don't need or want another. The people living on the moon in which you're interested are not dwarven, elven, or human. I don't think you've ever heard of them. They call themselves Sartan.”

Haplo glanced around quickly, saw no signs of recognition, and breathed an inward sigh of relief. That made things easier. It might have been difficult, had these people any distant memories of the Sartan, to get them to move against those they must consider gods. He hurried on, while he had their attention.

“The dragon-snakes have promised to rebuild your ships, using their own magic. They're sorry for what they did. It was all a misunderstanding. I'll explain it to you when there's more time.

“For now, I'll tell you this much, so you can start making plans. The seamoon is everything the dolphins told you. Actually, it isn't really a seamoon. It's a permanent structure. And it's huge, big enough for all your people to live on together. And you'll be able to live in this realm for generations, without having to worry about building more sun-chasers.”

Dumaka looked dubious. “You are certain you are discussing … what was the name?”

“Surunan,” supplied his wife.

“Yes, Surunan.”

“Yeah, that's the place,” said Haplo, not wanting to have to speak the Sartan name. “It's the only place anywhere near the seasun. It's there … or nowhere for your people, I'm afraid.”

“Yes,” said Eliason softly, “we had ourselves come to that determination.”

“Which brings us to our problem. What the dolphins didn't tell you was that… this place … is now the home
of these Sartan. To give the dolphins credit, I don't think they knew. The Sartan haven't lived there very long.”

Well, they had, hut now wasn't the time to go into all that.

The mensch exchanged glances. They seemed dazed, unable to cope with this new situation.

“But who are these Sartan? You speak of them as if they were horrible creatures, who will turn us away,” said Delu. “How do you know they won't be glad to have us live on their realm?”

“And how many of these Sartan are there?” asked her husband.

“There aren't many, a thousand or so. They inhabit one city in the realm. The rest of the land is going to waste.”

Yngvar brightened. “Then what do we have to worry about? There's room for all.”

“I agree with the dwarf. We will make Surunan productive and prosperous.”

Haplo shook his head. “Logically, what you say makes sense. And the Sartan should be agreeable to you moving in, but I'm afraid they may not. I know something of these Sartan. According to the dragon-snakes, a long, long time ago, when the seasun was new, your ancestors used to live in this same realm with the Sartan. And then, one day, the Sartan told your ancestors to leave. They put your people in ships and sent them out into the Goodsea, not knowing, not caring, whether your people lived or died. It's not likely the Sartan will be happy to see you come back again.”

“But, if that's the only place for us to go, how could they turn us away?” Eliason looked amazed.

“I'm not saying they will,” Haplo said, shrugging. “I'm just saying they might. And you need to think about what you'll do if they refuse to let you. That's why you need to meet together, make plans, decisions.”

He looked at the mensch expectantly.

They looked at each other.

“I will not go to war,” said the elven king.

“Come now, man!” Yngvar snorted. “No one wants to right, but if these Sartan prove unreasonable—”

“I will not go to war,” Eliason repeated with maddening calm.

Yngvar began to argue. Dumaka attempted to reason.

“The sun will not leave us for many cycles,” said Eliason brokenly. He waved his hand. “I cannot think of such things now—”

“Can't think about the welfare of your own people!”

Grundle, tearstreaks drying on her face, stalked across the pier and came to stand before the elven king, her head about level with his waist.

“Grundle, you should not speak so to your elders,” reprimanded her mother, but she didn't say it very loudly and her daughter didn't hear her.

“Sabia was my friend. Every cycle that passes from now to the end of my life, I'll think of her and miss her. But she was willing to give her life to save her people. It would be a disgrace to her memory if you, her father, couldn't do as much!”

Eliason stood staring at the dwarf as if he were in a dream and she some strange apparition sprung out of nowhere.

Yngvar, the dwarf king, sighed and tugged at his beard. “My daughter speaks true words, Eliason, even if she does hurl them with all the grace and charm of an ax-thrower. We share your grief, but we also share your responsibility. The lives of our people come first. This man, who has saved our children, is right. We must meet and plan what is to be done, and soon!”

“I agree with Yngvar,” Dumaka spoke up. “Let us hold the meeting on Phondra, fourteen cycles hence. Will that give you time enough to conclude the mourning period?”

“Fourteen cycles!”

Haplo was about to protest. He caught the dwarf's keen-eyed glance warning him to keep silent, and shut his mouth. Later, he would discover that the elven mourning period— during which no elf related to the deceased by either blood or marriage may conduct any type of business—generally lasted for months, sometimes longer.

“Very well,” said Eliason with a deep sigh. “Fourteen cycles. I will meet you on Phondra.”

The Elmas departed. The Phondrans and Gargans returned to their submersibles, prepared to go back to their respective
sea spheres. Dumaka, prodded by Alake, came up to Haplo.

“You must forgive him, sir, forgive us all if we seem ungrateful to you for what you've done. The tears of great joy and terrible grief have drowned all gratitude. You would do honor to my lodge, if you would agree to be our guest.”