Serpent Mage (40 page)

“There is no need to lock me inside my room,” Alfred told Ramu, who served as his guard. “I give you my word as a Sartan that I will not attempt to escape. I ask only one favor of you. Could you see to it that the dog is allowed fresh air and exercise?”

“I suppose we must comply,” Samah said ungraciously to his son, when Alfred's request was reported.

“Why not dispose of the animal?” Ramu asked indifferently.

“Because I have plans for it,” Samah replied. “I believe
I will ask your mother to perform the task of walking the creature.” He and his son exchanged significant glances.

Orla refused her husband's request. “Ramu can walk the animal. I want nothing to do with it.”

“Ramu has his own life now,” her husband reminded her sternly. “He has his family, his own responsibilities. This Alfred and his dog are our responsibility. One for which you have only yourself to thank.”

Orla heard the rebuke in his voice, was conscious of her guilt for having failed in that responsibility once already. And she had failed her husband again, tying up the Council with strings of arguments.

“Very well, Samah,” she agreed coldly.

She went early to Alfred's room the next morning, prepared to undertake the onerous task. She was cool, aloof, reminded herself that no matter what she had said in his defense to the Council, she was angry with this man, disappointed in him. Orla rapped sharply on his door.

“Come in,” was the meek reply.

Alfred didn't ask who it was, didn't suppose, perhaps, he had the right to know.

Orla entered the room.

Alfred, standing by the window, flushed crimson when he saw her. He took a tentative step toward her. Orla raised a warding hand.

“I've come for the dog. I suppose the animal will accompany me?” she said, regarding it dubiously.

“I … I think so,” said Alfred. “G-good dog. Go with Orla.” He waved his hand and, much to his astonishment, the animal went. “I want to thank—”

Orla turned and walked out of the room, careful to shut the door behind her.

She led the dog to the garden. Sitting down on a bench, she looked expectantly at the animal. “Well, play,” she said irritably, “or whatever it is you do.”

The dog made a desultory turn or two about the garden, then returned and, laying its head on Orla's knee, gave a sigh and fixed its liquid eyes on her face.

Orla was rather nonplussed at this liberty, and was
uncomfortabie with the dog so near. She wanted very much to be rid of it and barely resisted an impulse to leap to her feet and run off. But she wasn't certain how the dog might react, seemed to vaguely recall, from what little she knew about the animals, that sudden movement might startle them into vicious behavior.

Gingerly, reaching down her hand, she patted its nose.

“There …” she said, as she might have spoken to an annoying child, “go away. There's a good dog.”

Orla had intended to ease the dog's head off her lap, but the sensation of running her hand over the fur was pleasant. She felt the animal's life-force warm beneath her fingers, a sharp contrast to the cold marble bench on which she rested. And when she stroked its head, the dog wagged its tail, the soft brown eyes seemed to brighten.

Orla felt sorry for it, suddenly.

“You're lonely,” she said, bringing both hands to smooth the silky ears. “You miss your Patryn master, I suppose. Even though you have Alfred, he's not really yours, is he? No,” Orla added with a sigh, “he's not really yours.

“He's not mine, either. So why am I worried about him? He's nothing to me,
can
be nothing to me.” Orla sat quietly, stroking the dog—a patient, silent, and attentive listener, one who drew from her more than she'd intended to reveal.

“I'm afraid for him.' she whispered, and her hand on the dog's head trembled. “Why, why did he have to be so foolish? Why couldn't he have left well enough alone? Why did he have to be like the others? No,” she pleaded softly,
“not
like the others, Let him not be like the others!”

Taking the dog's head in her hand, cupping it beneath the chin, she looked into the intelligent eyes that seemed to understand. “You must warn him. Tell him to forget what he read, tell him it wasn't worth it—”

“I believe you are actually growing to like that animal,” Samah said accusingly, Orla jumped, hurriedly withdrew her hand. The dog growled. Rising with dignity, she shoved the animal aside, tried to wipe its drool from her dress.

“I feel sorry for it,” she said.

“You feel sorry for its master,” said Samah.

“Yes, I do,” Oria replied, resenting his tone. “Is that wrong, Samah?”

The Councillor regarded his wife grimly, then suddenly relaxed. Wearily, he shook his head. “No, Wife. It is commendable. I am the one who is the wrong. I've … overreacted”

Orla was still inclined to be offended, held herself aloof. Her husband bowed coldly to her, turned to leave. Orla saw the lines of tiredness on his face, saw his shoulders slump with fatigue. Guilt assailed her. Alfred had been in the wrong, there was no excusing him. Samah had countless problems on his mind, burdens to bear. Their people were in danger, very real danger, from the dragon-snakes, and now this …

“Husband,” she said remorsefully, “I am sorry. Forgive me for adding to your burdens, instead of helping to lift and carry them.”

She glided forward, reached out, laid her hands on his shoulders, caressing, feeling his life-force warm beneath her fingers, as she'd felt the dog's. And she yearned for him to turn to her, to take her in his arms, to hold her fast. She wanted him to grant her some of his strength, draw some of his strength from her.

“Husband!” she whispered, and her grasp tightened.

Samah stepped away from her. He took hold of her hands in his, folded them one on top of the other, and lightly, dryly, kissed the tips of her fingers.

“There is nothing to forgive, Wife. You were right to speak in this man's defense. The strain is telling on both of us.”

He released her hands.

Orla held them out to him a moment longer, but Samah pretended not to see.

Slowly, she lowered her hands to her sides. Finding the dog there, pressing against her knee, she absently scratched it behind its ear.

“The strain. Yes, I suppose it is.” She drew a deep breath, to hide a sigh. “You left home early this morning. Has there been more news of the mensch?”

“Yes.” Samah glanced about the garden, not looking at his wife. “The dolphins report that the dragon-snakes have repaired the mensch ships. The mensch themselves held a joint meeting and have decided to set sail for this realm. They are obviously planning on war.”

“Oh, surely not,” Orla began.

“Of course they mean to attack us,” Samah interrupted impatiently. “They are mensch, aren't they? When, in their entire bloody history, did they ever solve a problem except by the sword?”

“Perhaps they've changed …”

“The Patryn leads them. The dragon-snakes are with them. Tell me, Wife, what do
you
think they intend?”

She chose to ignore his sarcasm. “You have a plan, Husband?”

“Yes, I have a plan. One I will discuss with the Council,” he added, with an emphasis that was perhaps unconscious, perhaps deliberate.

Orla flushed, faintly, and did not reply. There had been a time when he would have discussed this plan with her first. But not now, not since before the Sundering.

What happened between us? She tried to remember. What did I say? What did I do? And how, she wondered bleakly, am I managing to do it all over again?

“At this Council meeting, I will call for a vote to make our final decision concerning the fate of your ‘friend,’” Samah added.

Again the sarcasm. Orla felt chilled, kept her hand on the dog to urge it to stay near her.

“What will happen to him, do you think?” she asked, affecting nonchalance.

“That is up to the Council. I will make my recommendation.” He started to turn away.

Orla stepped forward, touched him on the arm. She felt him flinch, draw back from her. But, when he faced her, his expression was pleasant, patient. Perhaps she had just imagined the flinch.

“Yes, Wife?”

“He won't be … like the others?” she faltered.

Samah's eyes narrowed. “That is for the Council to decide.”

“It wasn't right, Husband, what we did long ago,” Orla said determinedly. “It wasn't right.”

“Are you suggesting that you would defy me? Defy the decision of the Council? Or, perhaps, you already have?”

“What do you mean?” Orla asked, staring at him blank-

“Not all who were sent arrived at their destination. The only way they could have escaped their fate was to have foreknowledge of it. And the only people who had that knowledge were the members of the Council…”

Orla stiffened. “How dare you suggest—”

Samah cut her short. “I have no time for this now. The Council will convene in one hour. I suggest you return that beast to its keeper and tell Alfred to prepare his defense. He will, of course, be given a chance to speak.”

The Councillor walked out of the garden, heading for the Council building. Orla, perplexed, troubled, watched him, saw Ramu join him, saw them put their heads together in serious and earnest conversation.

“Come,” she said, sighing, and led the dog back to Alfred.

Orla entered the Council chamber strong with resolve, her attitude defiant. She was prepared to fight now as she should have fought once before. She had nothing to lose. Samah had practically accused her of complicity.

What stopped me then? she asked herself. But she knew the answer, though it was one she was ashamed to admit.

Samah's love. A last, desperate attempt to hold onto something I never truly had. I betrayed my trust, betrayed my people, to try to cling with both hands to a love I only truly held with the tips of my fingers.

Now I will fight. Now I will defy him.

She was fairly certain she could persuade the others to defy Samah, as well. She had the impression several of them were feeling not quite right about what they'd done in the past. If only she could overcome their fear of the future …

The Council members took their places at the long marble table. When all were present, Samah entered, sat in his chair at the center.

Prepared for a stern and judgmental Councillor, Orla was astonished and surprised to see Samah relaxed, cheerful, pleasant. He gave her what might be taken for an apologetic smile, shrugged his shoulders.

Leaning over to her, he whispered, “I'm sorry for what I said, Wife. I'm not myself. I spoke hastily. Bear with me.”

He seemed to wait with some anxiety for her reply.

She smiled at him tentatively. “I accept your apology, Husband.”

His smile broadened. He patted her hand, as if to say,
Don't worry, my dear. Your little friend will be all right.

Astonished, puzzled, Orla could only sit back in her chair and wonder.

Alfred entered, the dog trotting along faithfully at his heels. The Sartan took his place—again—before the Council. Orla could not help thinking how shabby Alfred looked— gaunt, stooped-shouldered, poorly made. She regretted she hadn't spent more time with him before the meeting, hadn't urged him to change out of the mensch clothes that were obviously having an irritating effect on the other Council members.

She'd left him hurriedly after returning the dog, though he'd tried to detain her. Being with him made her uncomfortable. His eyes, clear and penetrating, had a way of breaking down her guard and sneaking inside her in search of the truth, much as he'd sneaked inside the library. And she wasn't ready for him to see the truth inside her. She wasn't prepared to see it herself.

“Alfred Montbank”—Samah grimaced over the mensch name, but he had apparently given up his attempts to urge Alfred to reveal his Sartan name—“you are brought before this Council to answer two serious charges.

“The first: You willfully and knowingly entered the library, despite the fact that runes of prohibition had been placed on the door. This offense you committed two
times. On the first occasion,” Samah continued, though it seemed Alfred wanted to speak, “you claimed you entered by accident. You stated that you were curious about the building and, on approaching the door, you … um … slipped and fell through it. Once inside, the door shut and you couldn't get out, and you entered the library proper searching for the exit. Is this testimony that I've repeated subtantially true?”

“Substantially,” Alfred answered.

His hands were clasped before him. He did not look directly at the Council, but darted swift glances at them from beneath lowered eyes. He was, Orla thought unhappily, the very picture of guilt.

“And on this occasion, we accepted this explanation. We explained to you why it was that the library was prohibited to our people, and then we left, trusting that we would have no need to say anything further on the subject.

“Yet, in less than a week, you were again discovered in the library. Which brings us to the second, and more serious, charge facing you: This time, you are accused of entering the library deliberately and in a manner which indicates you feared apprehension. Is this true?”

“Yes,” said Alfred sadly, “I'm afraid it is. And I'm sorry. Truly very sorry to have caused all this trouble, when you have other, greater worries.”

Samah leaned back in his chair, sighed, and then rubbed his eyes with his hand. Orla sat regarding him in silent astonishment. He was not the stern, awful judge. He was the weary father, forced to administer punishment to a well-loved, albeit irresponsible, child.

“Will you tell the Council, Brother, why you defied our prohibition?”

“Would you mind if I told you something about myself?” Alfred asked. “It would help you understand …”

“No, please, Brother, go ahead. It is your right to say whatever you like before the Council.”

“Thank you.” Alfred smiled, faintly. “I was born on Arianus, one of the last Sartan children born on Arianus.

That was many hundred years after the Sundering, after you went to your Sleep. Things weren't going well for us on Arianus. Our population was decreasing. Children weren't being born, adults were dying untimely, for no apparent reason. We didn't know why then, though, perhaps,” he said softly, almost to himself, “I do now.
¹
That, however, is not why we're here.