Serpent Mage (59 page)

¹
A dwarven phrase meaning to be truthful rather than self-deluding.

²
In point of fact, dwarves depend totally on elven technomagics to make their submersibles function.

³
The mensch of Chelestra are unaware that they are living inside larger living organisms (called durnai by the Sartan) and thus refer to their habitats as “worlds.” Gravity, to the mensch in Chelestra, is a force that pushes away from the center of their worlds—opposite of the attractive force known in all other worlds.

⁴
The reliability of the elven “technomagical devices” is statistically extremely high by all accounts I have studied. The dwarven author of this description is showing the cultural dwarf bias against all technology.

⁵
An important factor of dwarven design—dwarves generally get violently motion sick in conveyances.

⁶
Such “repairs” mostly constitute wholesale replacement of large magical components on dwarf ships. Dwarves do not perform the magic of the elves.

⁷
An old wives' tale or seafaring legend of the dwarves. It has no basis in fact.

⁸
Dwarves prefer to be direct over condescending.

MARGARET WEIS AND TRACY HICKMAN
are the
New York Times
bestselling authors of the
Dragonlance®
series,
The Darksword Trilogy,
and the
Rose of the Prophet
trilogy. With over ten million copies of their novels in print around the world, they are among the bestselling fantasy writers of all time.

THE DEATH GATE CYCLE

Known for their innovation, Margaret Weis and Tracy Hickman reach an entirely new level with
The Death Gate Cycle.
For this seven-book extravaganza they have developed four completely realized worlds. In the first four novels, a new adventure with both continuing and new characters will be set on each of the four worlds. In later volumes, the realms begin to interact, with the supreme battle for control of all the worlds in the final novel.

Generations ago, magicians sundered the world into four distinct realms. Now, few even know of the other worlds. Haplo has been sent through the treacherous Death Gate to explore the realms and stir up dissension. The first visit is to Aria-nus, a world where islands float in the sky and men travel by enchanted dragonships.

Haplo's second journey takes him to the jungle world of Pry an. Here the three races of men, elves, and dwarves seem to have already completed Haplos task of causing unrest
—
not even the threat of annihilation can bring these peoples together.

The story takes a truly dark turn, as the enemies Haplo and Alfred are forced to travel together for their first visit to the world of Abarrach. Here, these powerful magicians discover that the barren Realm of Stone is also the land of the dead.

In the world of Chelestra, realm of water, Haplo the Patryn, discovers the seas counteract all magic
—
and leave him nearly powerless against a new threat.

The Lord of the Nexus has ordered Haplo and the human child known as Bane to the world of

Arianus, realm of air. Now Haplo must decide whether to obey his master or betray the powerful Pat ryn.

Xar, Lord of the Nexus, has learned of the existence of a Seventh Gate, which grants the power to create worlds
—
or destroy them. Only Haplo knows its location, and so he must seek sanctuary in the Labyrinth, a prison maze whose inhabitants are condemned to death.

The titanic Death Gate saga concludes as Haplo must enter the deadly Seventh Gate, with the fate of the sundered realms in the balance. This scene sets the situation.

Vasu stood on the wall above the gates of the city of Abri, stood silent and thoughtful as the gates boomed shut beneath his feet. It was dawn, which meant, in the Labyrinth, nothing more than a graying of night's black. But this dawn was different than most. It was more glorious than most … and more terrifying. It was brightened by hope, darkened by fear.

It was a dawn which saw the city of Abri, in the very center of the Labyrinth, still standing, victorious, after a terrible battle with its most implacable enemies.

It was a dawn smudged with the smoke of funeral pyres; a dawn in which the living could draw a tremulous breath and dare to hope life might be better.

It was a dawn lit by a lurid red glow on the far distant horizon, a red glow that was brightening, strengthening. Those Patryns who guarded the city walls turned their eyes to that strange and unnatural glow, shook their heads, spoke of it in low and ominous tones.

“It bodes nothing good,” they said grimly.

Who could blame them for their dark outlook? Not Vasu. Certainly not Vasu, who knew what was transpiring. He would have to tell them soon, destroy the joy of this dawning.

“That glow is the fire of battle,” he would have to say to his people. “A battle raging for control of the Final Gate. The dragon-snakes who attacked us were not defeated, as you thought. Yes, we killed four of them. But for every four that die, eight are born. Now they are attacking the Final Gate, seeking to shut
it,
seeking to trap us all in this dread prison.

“Our brothers, those who live in the Nexus and those near the Final Gate, are fighting this evil—so we have reason to believe. But they are few in number and the evil is vast and powerful.

“We are too far away to come to their aid. Too far. By the time we reached them—if we ever did reach them, alive—it would be too late. It may already be too late.

“And when the Final Gate is shut, the evil in the Labyrinth will grow strong. Our fear and our hatred will grow stronger to match and the evil will feed off that fear and that hatred and grow stronger still.”

It is hopeless, Vasu told himself, and so he must tell the people. Logic, reason said to him it was hopeless. Yet why, standing on the wall, staring at that red glow in the sky, did he feel hopeful?

It made no sense. He sighed and shook his head.

A hand touched his arm.

“Look, Headman. They have made it safely to the river.”

One of the Patryns, standing beside Vasu, had obviously mistaken his sigh, thought it indicated fear for the two who had left the city in the dark hour before the dawn. They were embarking on a dangerous and probably futile search for the green and golden dragon who had fought for them in the skies above Abri. The green and golden dragon was the Serpent Mage, who was also the bumbling Sartan with the mensch name, Alfred.

Certainly Vasu was afraid for them, but he was also hopeful for them. That same illogical, irrational hope.

Vasu was not a man of action. He was a man of thought, of imagination. He had only to look at his soft and pudgy Sartan body, tattooed with Patryn runes, to know that. He must give thought to what his people should do next. He should make plans, he should decide how they must prepare for the inevitable. He should tell them the truth, give his speech of despair.

But he didn't do any of that. He stood on the walls, watching the mensch known as Hugh the Hand and the Patryn woman Mark.

He told himself he would never see them again. They were venturing out into the Labyrinth, dangerous at any time but doubly dangerous now that their defeated enemies skulked about in anger and waited for revenge. The two were going on a foolhardy and hopeless mission. He would never see them again, nor Alfred, the Serpent Mage, the green and golden dragon, for whom they searched.

Vasu stood on the wall and waited— hopefully—for their return.