Margaret Weis - The Hand of Chaos

The serpents [7] “Dragon-snake” is a mensch term, coined by Grundle. The Sartan word for the creature is “serpent.” Haplo adopts the Sartan word used in this volume, a change from his previous work. Why he made the change is unclear. One reason suggests itself—he did not want to confuse these false “dragons” with the true dragons who inhabit the worlds. Haplo used a Sartan word because the Patryns, having never encountered this evil, have no word for it. of Chelestra...

I knew evil before them—I was born in, survived, and escaped the Labyrinth. But I have never known evil like them. It is these creatures who have taught me to believe in a higher power—a power over which we have little control, a power that is inherently evil.

Alfred, my old nemesis, you would be horrified, reading that statement. I can almost hear you stuttering and stammering in protest.

“No, no! There is a corresponding power for good. We’ve seen it, you and I.” That is what you would tell me.

Did you see it, Alfred? And if so, where? Your own people denounced you as a heretic, sent you to the Labyrinth, or so they threatened. And Samah doesn’t seem to me to be the type who makes threats lightly. What do you think of your power for good now, Alfred? ... as you fight for your life in the Labyrinth. I’ll tell you what I think of it. I think it’s a lot like you—weak and bumbling. Although I must admit that you came through for us in our fight against the serpents—if that was you who turned into the serpent mage, as Grundle claimed.

But when it came to standing up for yourself against Samah (and I’ll lay odds that you could have taken the bastard), you “couldn’t remember the spell.” You let yourself and the woman you love be led meekly away, sent to a place where, if you are still alive, you probably wish you weren’t.

The seawater is starting to seep under the door now. Dog doesn’t know what to make of it. He’s barking at it, trying to convince it to turn around and leave. I know how he feels. It is all I can do to sit here calmly and wait, wait for the tepid liquid to creep over the toe of my boot, wait for the terrible feeling of panic that comes when I feel my magic start to dissolve at the water’s touch.

The seawater is my salvation. I have to remind myself of that. Already, the Sartan runes that keep me prisoner in this room are beginning to lose their power. Their red glow fades. Eventually it will wink out altogether and then I will be free.

Free to go where? Do what?

I must return to the Nexus, warn my lord of the danger of the serpents. Xar will not believe it; he will not want to believe. He has always held himself to be the most powerful force in the universe. And, certainly, he had every reason to think that was true. The dark and dreadful might of the Labyrinth could not crush him. Even now, he defies it daily to bring more of our people out of that terrible prison.

But against the magical power of the evil serpents—and I begin to think they are only evil’s minions—Xar must fall. This dread, chaotic force is not only strong, it is cunning and devious. It works its will by telling us what we want to hear, by pandering to us and fawning on us and serving us. It does not mind demeaning itself, it has no dignity, no honor. It uses lies made powerful because they are lies we tell ourselves.

If this evil force enters Death’s Gate, and nothing is done , to stop tt, I foresee a time when this universe will become a prison house of suffering and despair. The four worlds—Arianus, Pryan, Abarrach, and Chelestra—will be consumed. The Labyrinth will not be destroyed as we had hoped. My people will emerge from one prison only to find themselves in another.

I must make my lord believe! But how, when at times I am not certain that I truly believe myself,...

The water is up to my ankle. Dog has given up barking. He is eyeing me with reproach, demanding to know why we don’t leave this uncomfortable place. He tried lapping the water and got it up his nose.

No Sartan are visible on the street beneath my window, where the water now flows in a wide and steady river. I can bear, in the distance, horn calls—the mensch, probably, moving onto the Chalice, as the Sartan call this haven of theirs. Good, that means there will be ships nearby—mensch submersibles. My ship, the dwarven submersible I magically altered to take me through Death’s Gate, is moored back on Draknor, the ?Hide? of the serpents. I don’t look forward to going back there, but I have no choice. Rune-enhanced, that ship is the only vessel on this world that can carry me safely through Death’s Gate. I have only to glance down at my legs, now wet with seawater, to see blue runes tattooed on my skin fading. It will be a long tone before I will be able to use my magic to alter another ship. And I am running out of time. My people are running out of time. With luck, I can slip into Draknor unnoticed, steal back my ship, and leave. The serpents must all be intent on assisting the attack on the Chalice, although I think it is odd, and perhaps a bad sign, that I’ve seen nothing of them. But, as I said, they are devious and cunning and who knows what they are plotting?

Yes, dog, we’re going. I trust dogs can swim. It seems to me I remember hearing somewhere that all the lower forms of animals can swim enough to keep themselves afloat.

It is man who thinks and panics and drowns.

The seawater ran sluggishly through the streets of Surunan, the city built by the Sartan. The water rose slowly, flowed through doors and windows, eased over low rooftops. Fragments of Sartan life floated on the water’s surface—an unbroken pottery bowl, a man’s sandal, a woman’s comb, a wooden chair. The water seeped into the room of Samah’s house used by the Sartan as a prison cell. The prison room was located on an upper floor and was, for a time, above the rising tide. But, eventually, the seawater slid under the door, flowed across the floor, crept up the room’s walls. Its touch banished magic, canceled it, nullified it. The dazzling runes, whose flesh-searing heat kept Haplo from even approaching the door, sizzled... and went out. The runes that guarded the window were the only ones yet left unaffected. Their bright glow was reflected in the water below.

Prisoner of the magic, Haplo sat in enforced idleness watching the runes’ reflections in the rising seawater, watched them move and shift and dance with the water’s currents and eddies. The moment the water touched the base of the runes on|the window, the moment their glow began to glimmer and fade, Haplo stood up. The water came to his knees.

The dog whined. Head and shoulders above the water, the animal was unhappy.

“This is it, boy. Time to leave.” Haplo thrust the book in which he’d been writing inside his shirt, secured it at his waist, tucked it between pants and skin.

He noticed, as he did so, that the runes tattooed on his body had almost completely faded. The seawater that was his blessing, that was allowing him to escape, was also his curse. His magical power gone, he was helpless as a newborn child, and had no mother’s comforting, protecting arms to cradle him. Weak and powerless, unsettled in mind and in soul, he must leave this room and plunge into the vast sea whose water gave him life as it washed away his life, and it would carry him on a perilous journey.

Haplo thrust open the window, paused. The dog looked questioningly at its master. It was tempting to stay here, to stay safe in his prison. Outside, somewhere beyond these sheltering walls, the serpents waited. They would destroy him, they must destroy him; he knew the truth. Knew them for what they were—the embodiment of chaos.