Serpent Mage (54 page)

The weakness swept again over Alfred. He recognized it, fought against it, but not very hard. Swaying, he let go, let it take him away from the fear …

Small fists pummeled him.

Alfred, dazed, opened his eyes. He was lying in the sand.

A dwarf stood over him, beating him on the breast with her fists, shouting at him. “You can do magic! I saw you! You brought him his dog! Help him, damn you! Help Alake and Devon! Damn you! Damn you!”

The dwarf collapsed, buried her face in her hands.

“There … don't cry,” said Alfred, reaching out timidly, awkwardly to pat the small, heaving shoulder. He looked back at the dragon-snakes and his heart nearly failed him. “I want to help,” he said pathetically, “but I don't know how.”

“Pray to the One,” the dwarf said fiercely, raising her head. “The One will give you strength.”

“Perhaps you're right,” said Alfred.

“Alake!” Devon cried, shaking the lifeless body. “Alake!”

“Don't wish her back,” Haplo said. “Her pain is over.”

Devon raised a stricken face. “Do you mean she's …But you can save her! Bring her to life! Do it, Haplo! Like you did for me!”

“I don't have my magic!” Haplo shouted harshly. “I can't save her. I can't save you. I can't even save myself!”

Devon laid Alake's body gently on the ground. “I was afraid to live. Now I'm afraid to die. No, I don't mean that. It's not the dying. That's easy.” He reached out, took hold of Alake's chill hand. “It's the pain, the fear …”

Haplo said nothing. There was nothing to say, no comforting words to offer. Their end was going to be a horrible one. He knew it, so did Devon, so did Grundle.

Grundle? Where was she?

Haplo remembered. He'd sent her back for help. For Alfred. The Sartan was hopelessly inept, but Haplo had to admit he'd seen Alfred do some fairly remarkable things … if he hadn't passed out first.

Haplo jumped to his feet. His sudden movement startled the dog, startled the dragon-snakes. One of them lashed out from behind him, its forked tongue flicked across his back like a whip of flame, seared the flesh from his bones. The pain was intense, paralyzing; every nerve in his body sizzled with the agony. He slumped to his knees, defeated.

Grundle stood on the shoreline, alone—a small, pathetic figure. No sign of Alfred.

Haplo pitched down flat on the sand. He was vaguely aware of Devon crouching over him, of the dog making a
heroic, if futile, dash at the snake who had attacked him. Nothing was real now except the pain. It burned in his vision, filled his mind with fire.

The serpent must have struck him again, because sud- den-ly the pain intensified. And then the dog was licking his face, nuzzling his neck, yelping and whining eagerly. It no longer sounded frightened.

“Haplo!” Devon shouted. “Haplo, don't go! Come back! Look and see!”

Haplo opened his eyes. The black mists that had been closing over him receded. He looked around, saw the pallid face of the elf, turned skyward.

A shadow passed across Haplo, a shadow that cooled the flames of the snake's venom. Blinking, trying to clear his vision, Haplo gazed upward.

A dragon flew above them, a dragon such as Haplo had never seen in all his life. Its beauty made the soul shrink in awe. Green polished scales flashed like emeralds. Its wings were golden leather, its mane of gold shone and glistened brighter than Chelestra's water-bound sun. The body was enormous, its wingspan seemed, to Haplo's dazed mind, to extend from horizon to horizon.

The dragon flew low, screamed in warning, dove down on the snakes. Devon ducked, involuntarily raised an arm over his head. Haplo didn't move. He lay still, watching. The dog barked and yelped like a thing possessed. Leaping in the air, it snapped playfully at the beast as it thundered overhead.

The rushing beat of dragon's wings stirred up clouds of sand. Haplo coughed, sat up to try to see.

The dragon-snakes fell back. Bodies flattening, they slid away, reluctantly, from their victims. Slit-eyes aimed malevolently at this new threat.

The dragon soared far above the serpents, wheeled, and dove again, taloned claws extended.

The king snake reared its head to meet the challenge. It spewed venom, attempted to hit the dragon's eyes.

The dragon struck, pinioned the snake's body. Claws sank deep into the scaled flesh.

The serpent writhed and twisted in fury. Its head coiled
around, it snapped at the dragon, but the dragon was careful to keep just out of reach of the venomous jaws. Other snakes were rushing to their leader's aid. The dragon, great wings straining, lifted the king snake from the ground, soared into the air. The serpent dangled from its claws.

The king snake fought, lashing with its tail, striking out again and again with its head.

The dragon flew higher, until it was almost lost to Haplo's sight. Far up over the craggy mountains of Draknor, the dragon loosed its hold on the snake, let it fall.

The dragon-snake plummeted, twisting and shrieking, down onto the mountain, onto the sharp bones of the tormented creature it had used for its lair. The seamoon shook with the force of the snake's fall. Rocks cracked and splintered, the mountain caved in on top of the snake's carcass.

The dragon came back, circled overhead, glittering eyes seeking another kill.

The serpents coiled in defensive posture, the red-green eyes darted uneasy glances at each other.

“If we can catch the dragon on the ground, attack it in a body, we can defeat it!” hissed one.

“Yes,” said another. “A good idea. You challenge it, lure it down from the sky! Then I'll attack it.”

“Why me? You challenge it!”

They argued among themselves, none of them daring to commence the fight that would lure the dragon down from its safe haven in the air. None was willing to risk its own slimy skin to save its fellows, and they had no king, now, to command them. Leaderless, faced with a powerful enemy, the like of which they had never encountered, they deemed it best to make a strategic retreat. The dragon-snakes slid rapidly across the sand, heading for the dark safety of what was left of their shattered mountain.

The dragon pursued them, harassing them, harrying them, until it had driven every one of them into the cave. Then it wheeled, flew back, hovered over Haplo. He tried to look directly at it, but the shining light of its being made his eyes water.

You are wounded. Yet you must find the strength to return

to your ship. The dragon-snakes are disorganized for the moment, but they will soon regroup and I do not have the power to fight them all

The dragon didn't speak aloud. Haplo heard the voice in his mind. It sounded familiar, but he couldn't place it.

He forced his pain-racked body to stand. Yellow flares burst in his eyes; he staggered, would have lost his balance.

Devon was there beside him, the elf holding him, propping him up. The dog pattered around him, anxious and wanting to help. Haplo remained standing quietly, until the weakness passed, then he nodded, unable to speak, and took a feeble step. Suddenly, he stopped.

“Alake,” he said, and looked down at the body. His gaze shifted grimly to the cave where he could see the slits of red eyes, watching.

The dragon understood him.
will care for her. Have no fear. They will not disturb her rest.

Haplo nodded again, wearily, and shifted his gaze to his goal, his submersible. And there was Grundle, standing in the sand, apparently rooted to the spot.

They lurched across the beach. The slender elf, finding reserves of strength he never knew he had, guided the injured Patryn's faltering steps, held him up when he would have fallen. Haplo lost sight of the dragon, forgot about it, forgot the snakes, concentrated on fighting the pain, fighting to remain conscious.

They came level with Grundle, who still had not moved. She was staring at them with wide eyes. She made no sound, only a garbled rattle.

“I can walk … from here!” Haplo gasped.

He staggered forward, caught himself on the submersible's wood prow. Propping himself up, he pointed back at the stammering dwarf. “Go … get her.”

“What's the matter with her, do you think?” Devon asked, worried. “I've never seen her like that.”

“Scared silly, maybe.” Haplo groaned. He had to climb on board, quick. “Just grab her … bring her along.”

Hand over hand, he pulled himself along the rail of the ship's upper deck, heading for the hatch.

“What about
him?”
He heard Grundle cry shrilly.

Haplo glanced back, saw a huddled figure lying in the sand.

Alfred.

“It figures,” Haplo muttered bitterly.

He was about to say, “Leave him,” but, of course, the dog had raced over to sniff at, paw over, and lick the unconscious Sartan. Well, after all, Haplo remembered grudgingly, I do owe him.

“Bring him along, if you must.”

“He turned into the dragon,” Grundle said, voice quivering in awe.

Haplo laughed, shook his head.

“He did!” the dwarf averred solemnly. “I saw him. He … turned himself into a dragon!”

The Patryn looked from the dwarf to Alfred, who had regained his senses—what senses were his to regain.

He was making feeble, flapping motions with his hands, trying to temper the dog's wet, enthusiastic welcome.

Haplo turned away, too weak to care or argue.

Finally persuading the dog to let him alone, Alfred reassembled himself and tottered to his feet. He stared blankly around at everything and everyone. His gaze wandered to the cave, and he remembered. He cringed.

“Are they gone?”

“You should know!” Grundle yelled. “You chased them away!”

Alfred smiled wanly, deprecatingly. He shook his head, glanced down at the impression his body had left in the sand.

“I'm afraid you're mistaken, child. I wasn't much help to anyone, not even myself.”

“But I saw you!” the dwarf continued stubbornly.

“Hurry up, Sartan, if you're coming,” Haplo called out. Only a few more steps …

“He's coming, Patryn. We will see to that. You will have company in your prison.”

Haplo stopped, leaned against the rail. He had barely strength enough to lift his head.

Samah stood before him.

HAPLO CAME BACK TO CONSCIOUSNESS SLOWLY, RELUC
-tantly, knowing he must wake to pain within and without, knowing he must wake to the knowledge that his carefully ordered life had been consumed in flames, scattered like ashes on the seawater.

He lay for long moments without opening his eyes, not from wariness or caution, as he might have done under similar circumstances, but from sheer weariness. Living, from now on, was going to be a constant struggle for him. When he'd started this journey, long ago, on Arianus, he'd had all the answers. Now, at the finish, he was left with nothing but questions. He was no longer confident, no longer sure. He doubted. And the doubt frightened him.

He heard a whine; a shaggy tail brushed against the floor. A wet tongue licked his hand. Haplo, eyes still closed, rubbed the dog's head, ruffled the ears. His lord would not be pleased to see the animal return. But then, there was a lot his lord wasn't going to be pleased to see.

Haplo sighed and, when it became apparent he couldn't go back to sleep, groaned and opened his eyes. And, of course, the first face he would see on awakening belonged to Alfred.

The Sartan hovered over him, peered down at him anxiously.

“Are you in pain? Where does it hurt?”

Haplo was strongly tempted to shut his eyes again. Instead, he sat up, looked around. He was in a room in what must be a private house, a Sartan house—he knew it by instinct. But now it was no longer a house, it was a Sartan prison. The windows sparkled with warding runes. Powerful sigla, burning with a vivid red light, enhanced the closed and barred door. Haplo glanced down ruefully at his arms and body. His clothes were wet, his skin bare.

“They've been bathing you in seawater—Samah's orders,” said Alfred. “I'm sorry.”

“What are you apologizing for?” Haplo grunted, glowering at the Sartan in irritation. “It's not your fault. Why do you insist on apologizing for things that aren't your fault?”

Alfred flushed. “I don't know. I guess I've always felt that they
were
my fault, in a way. Because of who and what I am.”

“Well, it isn't, so quit sniveling about it,” Haplo snapped. He had to lash out at something and Alfred was the closest thing available.
“You
didn't send my people to the Labyrinth.
You
didn't cause the Sundering.”

“No,” said Alfred sadly, “but I didn't do much to set right what I found wrong. I always … fainted.”

“Always?” Haplo glanced at the Sartan sharply, reminded suddenly of Grundle's wild tale. “How about back there on Draknor. Did you faint then?”

“I'm afraid so,” said Alfred, hanging his head in mortification. “I'm not sure, of course. I don't seem to be able to remember much of anything that went on. Oh, by the way.” He cast Haplo an uneasy, sidelong glance. “I'm afraid I… er… did what I could for your injuries. I hope you won't be too angry, but you were in terrible pain—”