Serpent's Silver (20 page)

Herzig walked to the big bed where the old magician lay sleeping. Gently, very gently, he awakened the man.

Zotanas’ eyes opened. He saw Herzig bending over him, or at least his form. Not floundering in his thoughts as a normal aged person would be expected to do, he simply said: “Flopear?”

“Correct, Zotanas.”

“Why?” Reedy voice, questioning everything with a single word.

“Because you may be able to help. You want to free your daughter of her marriage and your land of its tyrant. I know, I have looked into your daughter’s mind, though she and the king must never know of this. There are mortals in the kingdom of Hud who would battle the soldiery and free the land, but they will need help. We serpent people, wily as serpents all, would break our alliance with your king.”

“Why?” Zotanas repeated.

“I am the ruler of our people. I know that following your king would mean disaster for us. In other worlds nearly identical with ours, our people did not long coexist with mortals. Only separately can our people survive and prosper.”

“What would you have me do?” Zotanas asked. Evidently this news came as no special surprise to him.

“Be ready to help the strangers to this world who will try to help other mortals overthrow your king. We serpent people are bound by an unwise covenant to aid your king, but it is a covenant I wish to have broken.”

“But if you give aid, the king wins. Mortals can’t fight your kind.”

“No, they cannot. But neither must serpent people fight mortals.”

“I’m not certain I understand.”

“Nor is that necessary. You have been dreaming, but you will think on what you dreamed. When the time comes, you will use your strength and your magic. For now, sleep.”

Obediently Zotanas closed his eyes. His shallow chest heaved and he began snoring.

Silently Herzig and Gerta stole down the stairs and tiptoed softly to their own rooms and beds.

*

For three days Herzig and Gerta remained at the palace, nominally enjoying the hospitality of the king, but actually studying every aspect of his government. They were aware when the king and his trusted brutish guard went to the dungeon to threaten the prisoners John Knight and Kian Knight by torturing their wounded companion, but did not interfere, because that would have revealed both their knowledge and their sentiments. But Gerta was shocked and furious.

“They have a baby ancestor!” she exclaimed. “How did that happen?”

Herzig was similarly angry. “One of the king’s men must have found it strayed from its nest, and trapped it in the bottle. To force it to feed on mortal brains—this is shameful abuse of an ancestor! But we must not interfere. The serpent will have to fend for itself. Perhaps when it escapes, we can intercept it and try to ameliorate the bad food before it becomes too negative.”

“We must keep alert,” she agreed. “What an outrage!”

But the little serpent was slow to emerge, and two days later it was time for them to depart, without having had the chance to help it. Depressed, they departed the grim palace.

On the walk back they were to pass a big oaple with three chimes. But as they approached it Herzig saw that there were but two.
Brung, Brung, Brung!
they sounded angrily, out of tune.

“A mortal has been here and taken a sacred skin,” Herzig said to Gerta. “It is another outrage! Whoever that mortal is, he will surely die.”

“Yes, Cousin. But if that mortal is one who should live? Perhaps a stranger from another world who would not know of the curse?” For her experiences with the two prior strangers remained fresh in her mind. She knew she was too much influenced by the mortal part of her heritage, but she could not help it. This missing chime—she knew it was no routine matter.

He saw that she had a premonition, so he followed it up. Each member of their species had slightly different abilities, and she was excellent at perceiving and controlling astral spirits, whether within their hosts or separated from them. The magic of the chimes related to this, for it was to the astral portion of a mortal that they fastened, when disturbed. “Uncaution brings death. It has always been so. It would be an insane universe were it otherwise. But perhaps it needn’t be.”

“How?” By which she meant that this particular case was different, and deserved his attention.

“I will think, project my thought as well as I can. The talisman must be returned by the thief before night.”

“But if the thief is already too weak, too far away?” She definitely knew something.

“I will project as well as I can. With the ancestors’ help it may be possible. We must conceal ourselves and wait.”

“That is good.”

He began thinking, projecting outward the tale that no mortal had heard from another mortal for longer than any had lived, with the single exception of Zotanas. The way to avoid dying at sundown was to replace the talisman. He sent the thought out, following the faint astral spoor left by the thief. Out across the rough country and into the Barrens, where only the bandits and the true patriots went. Out too far for a dying man to return to. But a thought could be directed at more than one fading life; it could be directed to anyone near. Herzig projected at the main silver thief who had come time after time to their valley, the leader of the mortals who had attacked Rowforth’s men. For a long, long time he projected, but though he knew the thought was received, the bandit leader did not come. The minds of mortals were so frustratingly limited! Still he waited, knowing that leaders sometimes sent others to do their bidding.

As the sun was creeping down below the ridge and out of sight below the far horizon of the Barrens, a rider appeared on horseback. It was the small mortal who in stature resembled the serpent people.

They waited until the talisman had been returned and the small mortal was rubbing down the sweaty horse. Then, and only then, did Herzig stretch out his hand. From his fingers an energy bolt of astral matter traveled as swiftly as only such energy could.

BRING! BRING! BRING!
sang the talismans. They were back in tune. The small mortal turned to look, his face surprised by the sound coming without being evoked by a breeze. His broad features broke into a smile, for this was a song sweeter than any heard before.

“Thank you,” the mortal mouthed, his eyes on the talismans. “Thank you for helping us. For helping all of us.”

Concealed by the shadow on the mountain, Herzig had to wonder what if anything the small mortal had sensed. But more important, why had Gerta attuned to this particular mortal, the absent one who had thieved the chime? She might not be sure herself, but surely it was important.

Chapter 21

Coming

HELN RODE CORRY’S HORSE out of the brush and waved at the Crumbs and Jon on the opposite side of the river. They were probably thinking of going for help, she thought, as her hands inside the magic gauntlets urged the horse down the bank and into the stream. But this was the fording place where Corry and Bemode had crossed the stream with her. They had trailed her this far, and her father must have gone on alone. Even Kelvin’s sister wasn’t in Aratex, a fact that rather surprised her.

Jon was, as Heln had known she would be, the first to greet her on the proper side of the border. “You all right, Heln?”

“Couldn’t be better!” That was a considerable overstatement, but it would do in this circumstance. Certainly she could have been worse. Had Jon really thought to use that sling against soldiers? Would Lester and Mor have let her?

“I didn’t know you could ride like that!” Jon exclaimed. “And those gauntlets, and that dress!”

“I’ll tell you about it on the way to the capital.”

“The capital? Why? What for? And where’s your old man? Where’s St. Helens?”

“That’s why we’re going to the capital. I’ll tell you while we ride.” And she did, as they rode back the way they had all come and then on the main road for the capital and Rud’s new palace.

“You’re certain he’s a prisoner?” Lester asked when she had finished her narrative.

“He has to be. I’m worried about him. He was still unconscious. And that Melbah is such a terrible person!”

“Terrible, all right,” Mor agreed. “Best thing to do with a witch is to burn her. Once they’re burned up they don’t come back.”

“Yet these gauntlets made me leave him there—and his sword,” Heln said, bemused. “They almost seemed to put words in my mouth, making me sound like a warrior-woman!”

Everyone laughed, thinking she was joking. Who could imagine her as a warrior! She had to admit it was ludicrous, especially garbed as she was. She had not told them about the way the men had watched her climb down the tree, but probably they had guessed. Yet as it had turned out, that ugly business had helped her gain the upper hand. The gauntlets really did seem to know what they were doing, and could be quite devious on occasion.

“Why didn’t we just ride on in and get him?” Jon demanded. “We’re Rud citizens! We might even have gotten there before they got him down from the tree.”

“No,” Heln said. “Not a chance. We weren’t that far from the Aratex palace. I don’t think our being Rud citizens would bother Melbah, though Phillip might be a different matter.” And there was another detail she had avoided mentioning: exactly how the boy king had considered using her, aside from as a hostage.

“King Rufurt may not want to send soldiers!” Mor protested. “He’s cautious about starting a war, and not just because of Melbah.”

“Have we any choice?” Heln asked heatedly. “They kidnapped me and now they hold my father! Rud can’t allow its citizens to be kidnapped and taken to Aratex and imprisoned! They made the mistake, not we!”

“But could we win against them?” Lester asked. “From what you said about Melbah—”

“Yes, Melbah is powerful!” Heln agreed. “But we’ve got something Aratex doesn’t have: we’ve got Kelvin!” As soon as she said it, Heln had to wonder. “Where is he, anyway?”

“He’s not back.”

“But Father’s back! And he had that flying belt and the gauntlets and Kelvin’s laser!”

“WHOA!” Mor cried, pulling his horse to a halt and signaling the others to do the same. Rud’s shining new palace was in sight, complete with observation tower and newly planted orchards, but this was not why he stopped. “Excuse me, lasses and son, but old Mor smells a rodent on the dinner table and he thinks it’s St. Helens!”

“What? What do you mean?” Heln demanded. She was really angry with herself, because as soon as Mor spoke she had thought the same thing.

“He came back, your husband didn’t. He had the weapons Kelvin was going to use to rescue his father and his brother and possibly another person I’m not about to mention. That sound right to you?”

“No,” Heln admitted. “But—but he must have had a reason.” She hoped! What could it be?

“Who had a reason—St. Helens or your husband?”

Immediately Heln was reminded of how badly her father had wanted a war between Rud and Aratex. Could he—would he have harmed Kelvin? Just how much did she know about him, anyway? He was brave and he could be charming and fascinating in a way that only a talkative adventurer could be, but he had been such a pain when visiting them. It was as though St. Helens had been struggling to make up for a first unfavorable impression.
Should they have trusted him?

“Heln, you’re losing your color!” Jon cried.

She did feel weak and dizzy.
I am not going to faint! I am not going to faint!
she thought.

“Grab her quick! She’s going to fall!” That was Mor’s voice.

Things were going gray. She felt herself sliding, and then, with no transition at all that she could detect, she was lying down and looking up into the face of a man she hadn’t seen before. He was bearded, and it seemed to her that he was something in a thinking profession. Over his slight shoulder she saw Jon gazing anxiously at her, holding her gauntlets.

“Who—who are you?” Heln asked the beard.

“I’m Dr. Lunox Sterk, personal physician to His Royal Majesty King Rufurt of Rud. You shouldn’t have ridden so far so hard, young lady. Not in your condition.”

“What do you mean in my condition?” The way he spoke made her feel more than a little trace of alarm. She had not been wounded!

“You are with child.”

She absorbed that, stifling a mixed cry of delight and protest. She had thought there might be a child, had hoped there would be, but now—now was hardly the time.

“I’ll—I’ll be all right. The baby, it wasn’t hurt?”

“No, your baby should be fine. But that foolish dress and that collection of bruises on you indicate that you haven’t been careful. You’ll have to start eating right, and resting.”

Resting? At this time? Incredible! “What I need,” she said evenly, “is to swallow a couple of dragonberries.”

The doctor looked horrified. Hastily she explained about the dragonberries’ effect on her. “So you see,” she concluded breathlessly, “I have to check on Kelvin! I have to know that he’s all right!”

Dr. Sterk pulled at a pointed ear and cocked his head sideways; that made him look almost like a bearded bird. “I’m afraid, young lady, I can’t allow that.”

“You can’t, but I can!”
Thank the Gods and my father I’ve learned of Female Liberation in time!

“Heln,” Jon said unexpectedly, “you’d better think about this. You know what a hero Kelvin is. Only roundears can follow him to where he is now, and that means either you or your father.”

“Yes! Yes!” Heln agreed, suddenly reassured. “You’re right, Jon,
I can
go
as I am,
without going astral. That’s what I need to do! Oh, Jon, thank you! Thank you for telling me the way!”

“That’s not what I mean at all!” Jon said. “Tell her, Doctor. Tell her she can’t go into another world frame in either form!”

“Well said,” the doctor agreed. “Young lady, if you’d keep your baby and want it born strong, you’ll do what I say.”

“But—but Kelvin—”

“Will have to take care of himself,” Jon said. “He has before.”

“But Father
left
him! He came back with the gauntlets only roundears can use, and the laser Kelvin had from his father and the war, and—and that belt!”

“We’ll have to ask your father,” Jon said, looking uncomfortable.

“Father! But he’s in Aratex! Maybe in a dungeon!”

“Yes. Lester and Mor are taking steps. They’re in audience with King Rufurt.”

Heln sat up. On the instant she discovered she was lying in a big four-poster bed in a large bedroom with ornate statuary all around. They had brought her inside the palace!

“Jon, how long was I unconscious?”

“Hardly any time,” Jon assured her. “Lester carried you right in the main entrance. I think the gauntlets kept up your strength until you got here, and then they did something to your nerves that made you faint. Heln, you
need
rest!”

“Piffle,” Heln said.

“For the baby’s sake.” Jon looked over at the doctor, who nodded as though it was certainly true and obvious. Pregnant women should not gallop horses and run around interfering with affairs of state.

“Damn!” Heln said. It was an unladylike expression she felt justified in using as she had never felt justified before. Female Liberation at least permitted her that.

Someone knocked on the bedroom door. “Jon,” Lester called.

“It’s all right. Come in,” Jon said.

Lester entered, looked at Heln in the bed, looked at the doctor, and looked at his wife. Evidently he had not received the news.

“With child,” the doctor said, taking pity on him.

Lester’s face cleared of momentary doubt and he clapped his hands and said, “Congratulations! Kelvin is going to be so happy!”

Heln permitted herself a frown. “Well, I’m not happy about it. Not now. I want to know about Kelvin and Kian and his father and my father in Aratex.”

“Well, you certainly can’t take any dragonberries now,” Lester said. “They bring you too close to death—and what would they do to your child? Especially if your child happens to be a pointear, as it could be.”

Heln hadn’t thought of that. One of her parents and one of Kelvin’s were pointears; it was certainly possible.

“So you can’t go near those berries,” he repeated. “Can she, Doctor?”

“No.” Stern and positive.

“I’d take them for you if I could,” Jon said. “But you roundears are the only ones who can take them. If I tried I’d get sick.”

“You’d die,” Dr. Sterk said. “Any normal point-eared person would. Apologies, Mrs. Hackleberry; it may be otherwise in other universes. All it means in ours is that here you roundears are in this way blessed.”

“Blessed by Mouvar, I suspect,” Lester said. “But even Heln gets weak after astro-trips. It takes a lot of energy from her.”

“Then you won’t do it, will you, Heln?”

Heln found herself glaring. But these were her friends, and they wanted to help her, not keep her from Kelvin. She knew that they were right.

“What was King Rufurt’s answer?” Jon asked, turning to Les.

“He’s sending a delegation to Aratex. My father and I are going along.”

“I suppose that means I have to stay?”

“Right. You and Heln. You two hold the palace until we return with St. Helens.”

“
If,
you mean,” Jon said, and Heln saw her bite her tongue.

“Right again, Wifey Dear,” Lester replied with gentle irony. “There may not be a fight, you know. We just may get to King Phillip without difficulty.”