Serpent Mage (8 page)

“What's the matter with your father, Alake?” whispered Sabia. “Is he ill?”

“Wait and listen,” said Alake softly. Her face was sad. “Grundle's parents aren't the only ones who have a fearful tale to tell.”

Eliason must have found this change in his friend as disturbing as I did. He rose to his feet, moving with the slow, fluid grace of the elves, and laid a comforting hand on Dumaka's shoulder.

“Bad news, like fish, doesn't smell sweeter for being kept longer,” Eliason said gently.

“Yes, you are right.” Dumaka kept his gaze out to sea. “I had intended to say nothing of this to either of you, because I wasn't certain of the facts. The magi are investigating.” He cast a glance at his wife, a powerful wizardess. She inclined her head in response. “I wanted to wait for their report.

But…“He drew a deep breath”, it seems all too clear to me now what happened.

“Two days ago, a small Phondran fishing village, located on the coast directly opposite Gargan, was attacked and completely destroyed. Boats were smashed, houses leveled. One hundred and twenty men, women, and children lived in the village.” Dumaka shook his head, his shoulders bowed. “All are now dead.

“Ach,” said my father, tugging at his forelock in respectful sympathy.

“The One have mercy,” murmured Eliason. “Was it tribal war?”

Dumaka looked around at those gathered on the terrace. The humans of Phondra are a dark-skinned race. Unlike the El-mas, whose emotions run skin-deep, so the saying goes, the Phondrans do not blush in shame or pale in fear or anger. The ebony of their skin often masks their inner feelings. It is their eyes that are most expressive, and the chief's eyes smoldered in anger and bitter, helpless frustration.

“Not war. Murder.”

“Murder?” It took Eliason a moment to comprehend the word that had been spoken in human. The elves have no term for such a heinous crime in their vocabulary. “One hundred and twenty people! But… who? What?”

“We weren't certain at first. We found tracks that we could not explain. Could not, until now.” Dumaka's hand moved in a quick S-shape. “Sinuous waves across the sand. And trails of slime.”

“The serpents?” said Eliason in disbelief. “But why? What did they want?”

“To murder! To kill!” The chieftain's hand clenched. “It was butchery. Plain out-and-out butchery! The wolf carries off the lamb and we are not angry because we know that this is the nature of the wolf and that the lamb will fill the empty bellies of the wolf's young. But these serpents or whatever they are did not kill for food. They killed for the pleasure of killing!

“Their victims, every one, even the children, had obviously died slowly, in hideous torment, their bodies left for us
to find. I am told that the first few of our people who came upon the village nearly lost their reason at the terrible sights they witnessed.”

“I traveled there myself,” said Delu, her rich voice so low that we girls were forced to creep nearer the window to hear her. “I have suffered since from terrible dreams that haunt me in the night. We could not even give the bodies seemly burial in the Goodsea, for none of us could bear to look upon their tortured faces and see evidence of the agony they had suffered. We magi determined that the entire village, or what was left of it, be burned.”

“It was,” added Dumaka heavily, “as if the killers had left us a message: ‘See in this your own doom!’”

I thought back to the serpent's words:
This is a sample of our power.
…
Heed our warning!

We girls stared at each other in a horrified silence that was echoed on the terrace below. Dumaka turned once again and was staring out to sea. Eliason sank down in his chair.

My father struck in with his usual dwarven bluntness. Pushing himself with difficulty out of the small chair, he stamped his feet on the ground, probably in an attempt to restore their circulation. “I mean no disrespect to the dead, but these were fisher folk, unskilled in warfare, lacking weapons …”

“It would have made no difference if they had been an army,” stated Dumaka grimly. “These people were armed; they have fought other tribes, as well as the jungle beasts. We found scores of arrows that had been fired, but they obviously did no harm. Spears had been cracked in two, as if they'd been chewed up and spit out by giant mouths.”

“And our people were skilled in magic, most of them,” Delu added quietly, “if only on the lowest levels. We found evidence that they had attempted to use their magic in their defense. Magic, too, failed them.”

“But surely the Council of Magi could do something?” suggested Eliason. “Or perhaps magical elven weapons, such as we used to manufacture in times gone by, might work where others failed—no disparagement to your wizards,” he added, politely.

Delu looked at her husband, apparently seeking his agreement in imparting further bad news. He nodded his head.

The wizardess was a tall woman, equaling her husband in height. Her graying hair, worn in a coif at the back of the neck, provided an attractive contrast to her dark complexion. Seven bands of color in her feathered cape marked her status as a wizardess of the Seventh House, the highest rank a human can attain in the use of magic. She stared down at her clasped hands, clasped fast to keep from trembling.

“One member of the Council, the village shamus, was in the village at the time of the attack. We found her body. Her death had been most cruel.” Delu shivered, drew a deep breath, steeling herself to go on. “Around her dismembered corpse lay the tools of her magic, spread about her as if in mockery.”

“One against many …” Eliason began.

“Argana was a powerful wizardess,” Delu cried, and her shout made me jump. “Her magic could have heated the sea water to boiling! She could have raised a typhoon with a wave of her hand. The ground would have opened at a word from her and swallowed her enemies whole! All this, we had evidence that she had done! And still she died. Still they all died!”

Dumaka laid a soothing hand upon his wife's shoulder. “Be calm, my dear. Eliason meant only that the entire Council, gathered together, might be able to work such powerful magic that these serpents could not withstand it.”

“Forgive me. I'm sorry I lost my temper.” Delu gave the elf a wan smile. “But, like Yngvar, I have seen with my own eyes the terrible destruction these creatures brought upon my people.”

She sighed. “Our magic is powerless in the presence of these creatures, even when they are not in sight. Perhaps the cause is due to the foul ooze they leave on anything they touch. We don't know. All we know is that when we magi entered the village, we each of us felt our power began to drain away. We couldn't even use our magic to start the fires to burn the bodies of the dead.”

Eliason looked around the grim, unhappy group. “And so what are we to do?”

As an elf his natural inclination must have been to do nothing, wait, and see what time brought. But, according to my father, Eliason was an intelligent ruler, one of the more realistic and practical of his race. He knew, though he would have liked to ignore the fact, that his people's days on their seamoon were numbered. A decision had to be made, therefore, but he was quite content to let others make it.

“We have one hundred cycles left until the full effects of the wandering of the seasun will begin to be felt,” stated Dumaka. “Time to build more sun-chasers.”

“the serpents let us,” said my father ominously. “Which I much doubt. And what did they mean by payment? What could they possibly want?”

All were silent, thinking.

“Let us look at this logically,” Eliason said finally. “Why do people fight? Why did our races fight each other, generations ago? Through fear, misunderstanding. When we came together and discussed our differences, we found ways to deal with them and we have lived in peace ever since. Perhaps these serpents, powerful as they seem, are, in reality, afraid of us. They see us as a threat. If we tried to talk to them, reassure them that we mean them no harm, that we want only to leave and travel to this new seamoon, then perhaps”

A clamor interrupted him.

The noise had come from the part of the terrace attached to the palace—a part hidden from my view—being short, it was difficult for me to see out the window.

“What's going on?” I demanded impatiently.

“I don't know …” Sabia was trying to see without being seen.

Alake actually poked her head out the opening. Fortunately, our parents were paying no attention to us.

“A messenger of some sort,” she reported.

“Interrupting a royal conference?” Sabia was shocked.

I dragged over a footstool and climbed up on it. I could now see the white-faced footman who had, against all rules
of protocol, actually run onto the terrace. The footman, seeming nearly about to faint, leaned to whisper something in Eliason's ear. The elven king listened, frowning.

“Bring him here,” he said at last.

The footman hastened off.

Eliason looked gravely at his friends. “One of the message riders was attacked on the road and is, apparently, grievously wounded. He bears a message, he says, which is to be delivered to us, to all of us gathered here this day. I have ordered them to bring him here.”

“Who attacked him?” asked Dumaka.

Eliason was silent a moment, then said, “Serpents.”

“A message 'to all of us gathered here,' “ repeated my father dourly. “I was right. They
are
watching us.”

“Payment,” said my mother, the first word she'd spoken since the conference began.

“I don't understand.” Eliason sounded frustrated. “What can they possibly want?”

“I'll wager we are about to find out.”

They said nothing further, but sat waiting, unwilling to look at each other, finding no comfort in seeing the reflection of their own dazed bewilderment on the faces of their friends.

“We shouldn't be here. We shouldn't be doing this,” said Sabia suddenly. Her face was very pale; her lips trembled.

Alake and I looked at her, looked at each other, looked down at the floor in shame. Sabia was right. This spying on our parents had always been a game to us, something we could giggle over in the night after they'd sent us to our beds. Now it was a game no longer. I don't know how the other two felt, but I found it frightening to see my parents, who had always seemed so strong and wise, in such confusion, such distress.

“We should leave, now,” Sabia urged, and I knew she was right, but I could no more have climbed down off that footstool than I could have flown out the window.

“Just a moment more,” said Alake.

The sound of slippered feet, moving slowly, shuffling as if bearing a burden, came to us. Our parents drew themselves
upright, standing straight and tall, disquiet replaced by stern gravity. My father smoothed his beard. Dumaka folded his arms across his chest. Delu drew a stone from a pouch she wore at her side and rubbed it in her hand, her lips moving.

Six elven men entered, bearing a litter between them. They moved slowly, carefully, in order to prevent jostling the wounded elf. At a gesture from their king, they gently placed the litter on the ground before him.

Accompanying them was an elven physician, skilled in the healing arts of his people. On entering, I saw him glance askance at Delu; perhaps fearing interference. Elven and human healing techniques are considerably different, the former relying on extensive study of anatomy combined with alchemy, the latter treating hurts by means of sympathetic magic, chants to drive out evil humors, certain stones laid on vital body parts. We dwarves rely on the One and our own common sense.

Seeing that Delu made no move toward his patient, the elven physician relaxed. Or it may have been that he suddenly realized it would make no difference if the human wizardess attempted to work her magic. It was obvious to us and to everyone present that nothing in this world would help the dying elf.

“Don't look, Sabia,” Alake warned, drawing back and attempting to hide the gruesome sight from her friend.

But it was too late. I heard Sabia's breath catch in her throat and I knew she'd seen.

The young elf's clothes were torn and soaked in blood. Cracked and splintered ends of bones protruded through the purple flesh of his legs. His eyes were missing, they'd been gouged out. The blind head turned this way and that, the mouth opened and closed, repeating some words that I couldn't hear in a fevered sort of chant.

“He was found this morning outside the city gates, Your Majesty,” one of the elves said. “We heard his screams.”

“Who brought him?” Eliason asked, voice stern to mask his horror.

“We saw no one, Your Majesty. But a trail of foul ooze led from the body back to the sea.”

“Thank you. You may go now. Wait outside.”

The elves who had brought the litter bowed and left.

Once they were gone, our parents could give way to their feelings. Eliason cast his mantle over his head and averted his face, an elven response to grief. Dumaka turned away, strong body trembling in rage and pity. His wife rose and came to stand by his side, her hand on his arm. My father gathered his beard in great handfuls and pulled on it, bringing tears to his eyes. My mother yanked on her side whiskers.

I did the same. Alake was comforting Sabia, who had nearly passed out.

“We should take her to her room,” I said.

“No. I won't go.” Sabia lifted her chin. “Someday I will be queen, and I must know how to handle situations like this.”

I looked at her with surprise and new respect. Alake and I had always considered Sabia weak and delicate. I'd seen her turn pale at the sight of blood running from a piece of undercooked meat. But, faced with a crisis, she was coming through it like a dwarven soldier. I was proud of her. Breeding will tell, they say.

We peeped cautiously out the window.

The physician was speaking to the king.

“Your Majesty, this messenger has refused all easeful medicine in order that he may deliver his message. I beg you listen to him.”

Eliason removed his mantle at once and knelt beside the dying elf.

“You are in the presence of your king,” said Eliason, keeping his voice calm and level. He took hold of the man's hand that was clutching feebly at the air. “Deliver your message, then go with all honor to the One and find rest.”