Serpent Mage (6 page)

My mother caught hold of my sleeve, gave it a sharp tug.

“Stop staring at that young man!” she whispered. “What will he think of you?”

I obediently shifted my gaze to my father's broad back, but I was very much aware of passing close to Hartmut, who stood at the wharf's edge. And I heard him thump the head of the ax on the ground again, just for me.

A small ceremonial platform had been erected for us at the bow of the flagship, lifting us above the crowd. We climbed up onto the platform. My father stepped forward. The audience, though it had never been making much noise, quieted immediately.

“My family,”
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began my father, clasping his hands over his broad stomach, “many and many Times have passed since our people have been forced to make the Sun Chase. Not even the eldest among us”—a respectful nod to an elderly dwarf, whose beard was yellow with age and who stood in the place of honor at the very forefront of the crowd—“can remember back to the time our people chased the seasun and landed on Gargan.”

“My father could remember it,” piped up the old dwarf. “He made the journey when he was a little boy.”

My father paused a moment, his thoughts scattered by the unexpected interruption. I looked over the heads of the crowd, back to the warren and its neat rows of bright-colored doors, and it occurred to me for the first time that I must
actually leave this land of my birth and travel to another land, a strange land, a land that would have no doors leading into the safe, dark sanctuary of the mountain.

My eyes filled with tears. I lowered my head, ashamed to have anyone (particularly Hartmut) see me cry.

“A new realm awaits us, a seamoon large enough for all three races—humans, elves, dwarves—to live on, each in our own separate realm, but each trading, working together, sharing to build a prosperous world.

“The trip will be long,” my father continued, “and tiring. And when we arrive, we face backbreaking labor and toil to rebuild our homes and businesses. It will be difficult to leave Gargan. Much that we love and value must, of necessity, be left behind us. But that which we prize and cherish above all else, we take with us. And that is each other. We could leave behind everything, every coin, every stitch of clothing, every cooking pot and cradle and bed, and, because we have each other, the dwarven nation would arrive at its destination strong and prepared to go forth and establish our greatness on this new world!”

My father, during his speech, had put his arm around my mother. My mother clasped hold of my hand. Our people cheered loudly. My tears dried.

“As long as we have each other,” I said to myself. “As long as we are together, this new land will be our home.”

I peeped shyly at Hartmut. His eyes were shining. He smiled at me, only for me. Everything was said between us in that look, that smile. The marriage contests can't be rigged, but most dwarves know the outcome in advance.

My father spoke on, discussing how, for the first time in Chelestran history, humans and elves and dwarves would be making the Sun Chase together.

In times past, we'd done the Sun Chase, of course, hastening after the seasun that drifts endlessly through the water that is our world. But then it had been the dwarves alone, fleeing the approaching longnight of ice that would slowly encase our seamoon.

I shoved the unhappy thought of leaving my homeland from my mind, began to think about the fun times aboard ship
with Alake and Sabia. I'd tell them about Hartmut, point him out. Not that any human female or elven maid could properly appreciate how handsome he is.

My father coughed. I saw him staring at me. My mother nudged me in the ribs. I came back to the proceedings instantly, feeling my face burning. I held in my hand the lock of my hair, already cut and tied with a bright blue ribbon. My father handed me the hammer, my mother the nail. I took them both, turned to the broad wooden beam of the sun-chaser that towered high above me. The crowd was quiet, waiting for the chance to cheer wildly when the ceremony was completed.

Feeling all eyes (two eyes in particular) on me, I twined the ribboned lock of hair firmly around the nail, put the nail to the wooden hull, and was just about to rap the nail smartly with the hammer, when I heard a low murmur sweep through the crowd. It reminded me of the rising of the sea during one of the rare Chelestran storms.

My first thought, I remember, was one of extreme irritation that something or someone was ruining my big moment. Aware that the crowd's attention had been drawn from me, I lowered the hammer and glanced around indignantly to see what all the fuss was about.

Every Gargan—man, woman, and child—was staring out to sea. Some were pointing. Those shorter than the rest were standing on tiptoe, craning their necks to get a look.

“It figures,” I grumbled, endeavoring to peer around the submersible and not having much luck. “Alake and Sabia have come after all, right in the middle of everything. Well, their timing was bad, out at least they'll be here to watch. I can always start over.”

But I could tell by the expressions on the faces of the dwarves standing below me, who had clear view out to sea, that whatever was coming wasn't one of the gaily decorated swan ships we build for the elves, or one of the sturdy fishing ships we build for the humans. These would have been welcomed with much beard-wagging and the occasional hand-wave, about as demonstrative as dwarves ever get. Now beards were being stroked—a sign of dwarven unease
and mothers were quickly rounding up children who had strayed.

The marshall of the dwarven army ran to the platform.

“Vater, you must see this!” he shouted.

“Stay here,” my father ordered us, and descending the platform, he hurried after the marshall.

The ceremony was obviously ruined. I was angry about that, angry about the fact that I couldn't see a thing, angry at Father for dashing off. I stood clutching the hammer and the lock of hair and cursed the fate that made me a princess, left me standing on this stupid platform when every other person in Gargan had a clear view of what was going on.

I didn't dare disobey my father—a dwarf maid who did that would have her side whiskers clipped in punishment, a humiliating experience—but surely it wouldn't hurt if I moved to the end of the platform. Perhaps I could see from there. I had taken a step and could hear my mother draw in her breath to order me back when Hartmut jumped up onto the platform and ran to us.

“The Vater has commanded me to keep you and your daughter safe in his absence, Muter,” he said, with a respectful bow to my mother.

His eyes were on me, however.

Perhaps fate knew what it was about, after all. I decided to stay where I was.

“What's happening?” my mother was asking anxiously.

“A disturbance in the sea, nothing more,” said Hartmut casually. “An oil slick of some sort is spreading and a few people thought they saw heads sticking up out of it, but I think they're looking through the bottom of an ale mug. Most likely it's a school of fish. The boats are setting out to investigate.”

My mother seemed reassured. I wasn't. I saw Hartmut's eyes stray to his marshall, watching for orders. And though he was making a gallant attempt to smile, his face was grim.

“I think, Muter,” he continued, “that until we establish just what's causing this oil slick, it might be wise if you were to step down from this platform.”

“You're right, young man. Grundle, give me that hammer. You look silly standing there, hanging onto it. I'm going to go join your father. No, Grundle, you stay with the young guard.”

My mother bustled off the platform and sallied out into the crowd after my father. I sent my thanks and my blessing after her.

“I don't think you look silly,” Hartmut said to me. “I think you look splendid.”

I edged closer to the young dwarf, and now that my hand was free of the hammer, it could accidentally find its way into his hand. The boats were putting off from the beach, their rowers pulling on the oars, shooting out to sea. We left the platform and, along with the rest of the population of Gargan, hurried down to the water's edge.

“What do you think it is?” I asked in a low voice.

“I don't know,” said Hartmut, allowing his trouble to show now that we were alone. “We've heard odd tales all week. The dolphins report strange creatures swimming the Goodsea. Serpents whose skin is covered with oil that fouls the water and poisons any fish unlucky enough to wander into it.”

“Where did they come from?” I drew nearer.

“No one knows. According to the dolphins, when the seasun began altering its course, it thawed out several seamoons that have been frozen for the One knows how long. Perhaps these creatures came from one of those moons.”

“Look!” I gasped. “Something's happening.”

Most of the dwarves in their small boats had ceased to row. Some had shipped their oars and sat motionless in the water, staring out to sea. Others had nervously begun to pull back for shore. I could see nothing except the oil on the water—a greenish, brownish slime that smoothed out the waves and left a film on the sides of the boats it touched. I could smell it, too; a noxious odor that made me sick to my stomach.

Hartmut gripped my hand hard. The water was starting to recede! I'd never seen anything like it—as if some gigantic mouth were sucking the water out from under us!

Several boats were already beached, left stranded on the wet, oil-coated sand. Those boats standing farther out were being sucked along with the water! The sailors pulled on the oars, battling frantically to halt their forward motion. The submersibles sank lower and lower, then, rocking back and forth, they struck bottom with a tearing, grinding sound.

And then, an enormous head soared upward out of the waves. Its skin was gray-green and covered with scales that glistened in the weak sunlight with an ugly iridescence. Its head was small, the same size as the neck. It seemed to be
all
neck, unless one counted the back part as tail. The serpent moved in a horrible, sinuous curve. Its eyes were green when it first looked at us, but then the eyes changed, began to glow a dreadful fiery red. The serpent drew itself up and up and, as it rose, it sucked the water up with it.

It was huge, monstrous. It seemed half the height of the mountain, at least.

I watched the seawater rush away from me and I had the sudden, frightening feeling that I was about to be carried out into it. Hartmut put his arm around me. His body, thick and stocky, was solid and reassuring.

The serpent reached what seemed an impossible height, then down it dropped, smashed headfirst into the flagship, punching a huge hole in the ship's hull. The seawater surged back to shore in a great wave.

“Run!” my father shouted, his voice booming over the shocked cries of the crowd. “Run for the mountain!”

The Gargan turned and fled. Even in our fear, there was no confusion or disorder, no panic. Elder dwarves, who couldn't move fast enough, were whisked off their feet by their sons and daughters and carried bodily. Mothers grabbed infants, fathers lifted older children to their shoulders.

“Run on ahead, Grundle!” Hartmut told me. “I must return to my command.”

He raced off, hefting his battle-ax, to rejoin the army that was grouping at the water's edge, prepared to cover the people's retreat.

I knew I should run, but my feet seemed to have gone numb; my legs were too weak to do anything more than keep
me standing upright. I stared at the serpent, who had risen, unharmed, out of the wreckage of the submersible. Toothless mouth gaping in what might have been a noiseless laugh, it hurled itself down on another ship. Wood splintered and broke apart. Other creatures that looked exactly like the first rose out of the sea and started to break apart the remainder of the submersibles and any other boat they could find. The waves created by the creatures thundered down on the shoreline, completing the destruction.

Boats capsized, hurling their crews into the water. Some were simply swallowed up, the dwarves on board disappearing in the oil-covered foam. The army stood fast against the serpents. Hartmut was bravest of all of them, advancing into the water, his ax raised in challenge. The serpents ignored them, contented themselves with smashing all the boats in the harbor—except one, the royal ship, the one we used to sail back and forth to Phondra and Elmas.

The serpent paused, looked at us and at the havoc its creatures had wrecked. Its eyes had changed from red to green, their gaze was flat and unblinking. It turned its head from side to side in a slow, sweeping gesture, and whenever its dread gaze touched any of us, we shrank beneath it. When it spoke, the other serpents behind it ceased their destruction to listen.

The serpent spoke perfect dwarven.

“This message is for you and your allies, the humans and the elves. We are the new masters of the sea. You will sail it only with our permission and our permission can be obtained only by paying a price. What that price is to be, you will be told later. What you have seen today is a sample of our power, of what will happen to you if you do not pay. Heed well our warning!”

The serpent dove back down in the water and vanished. The others followed, swimming rapidly through the bits and pieces of wood floating on the slimy surface. We stood looking at the ruins of the sun-chasers. I remember the silence that fell over the people. No one even yet wept for the dead.

When all were certain that the serpents were finally gone, we began the grim task of retrieving the bodies of those who
had died—all of them, it turned out, appeared to have been poisoned. Once pure and safe to drink, the seawater was now coated with a foul oil slick that killed anything unlucky enough to swallow it.

And that was how all this began. There is more, much more, to my story, but I hear Alake coming through the ship, looking for me, calling to me that it's time to eat. Humans! They think food is the cure-all for every problem. I like my dinner as well as the next dwarf, but, just now, I don't seem to have much appetite.

I must end for the moment.