The One who guides the waves. Alfred, who had been hunched miserably in his chair, angry, frustrated, longing to intervene but fearing only to make matters worse, sat suddenly bolt upright. A jolt surged through his body. The One who guides the waves, Where had he heard that before? What other voice had spoken it?
Or something like it. For that wasn’t quite right.
The One who guides the waves.
I am in a room, seated at a table, surrounded by my brothers and sisters. White light shines down upon us, peace and serenity envelop me. I have the answer! I have found it, after all these years of fruitless searching. I know it now, and so do all the others. Haplo and I ...
Alfred’s gaze went irresistibly to Haplo. Had he heard? Did he remember?
Yes! Alfred saw it in Haplo’s face—in the eyes, dark and suspicious, returning Alfred’s stare, in the grimly tightened lips. He saw it in the tattooed arms folded across the chest, barring entry. But Alfred knew the truth. He remembered the Chamber of the Blessed on Abarrach, he remembered the shining light, the table. He remembered the voice, the One . . .
The One who guides the Wave!
“That’s it!” Alfred cried, leaping out of his chair. “The One who guides the Wave! Haplo, don’t you remember? On Abarrach? In the chamber? The light! The voice that spoke. It was in my heart, but I heard it clearly and so did you. You must remember! You were sitting beside . , .”
Alfred’s voice faded. Haplo was gazing at him with bitter hatred and enmity. Yes, I remember, he said silently. I can’t forget, no matter how much I want to. I had everything figured out. I knew what I wanted, how to get it. You destroyed all that. You made me doubt my lord. You made me doubt myself. I’ll never forgive you.
At the sound of the beloved name, the dog had wakened. Its tail wagged violently, it stood up on trembling legs, stared at its master. Haplo whistled, slapped his thigh. “Here, boy,” he called. The dog began to whine. It crept out from beneath the table, started forward, then looked back at Alfred. The dog stopped. Whimpering, it looked back at Haplo. Then it made a complete circle, returned to where it had started, at the feet of the Sartan.
Alfred reached down his hand. “Go on,” he urged. “Go to him.” The dog whined again, started for Haplo again, made another circle, came back.
“Dog!” Haplo commanded sharply, angrily.
Alfred was concentrating his attention on the Patryn and the dog, but he was also uncomfortably aware of Samah, who was watching the entire incident. Alfred recalled the words he’d just said to Haplo, realized how they must sound to the Councillor, foresaw more questions, more interrogation, and he sighed heavily.
For the moment, however, none of that was important. What was important was the dog . . . and Haplo.
“Go with him,” Alfred pleaded, gave the dog a gentle push on its hind end. The animal refused to budge.
Haplo cast Alfred a look that would have been a blow, had he been close enough. Turning on his heel, the Patryn stalked out the door.
“Wait, Haplo!” Alfred cried. “You can’t leave him! And you. You can’t let him go,” he said to the dog.
But the animal wouldn’t move and Haplo didn’t stop walking.
“They must be brought back together!” Alfred said to himself, fondling the grieving animal. “And it must be soon. He remembers the dog now and he wants it back—a good sign. If Haplo should ever completely forget ...” Alfred sighed, shook his head gloomily.
The humans started to walk out after Haplo.
Samah glared at the mensch. “If you leave now, if you follow after your ‘friend,’ you will never be allowed back.”
Eliason said something to the others, speaking in low tones. Dumaka shouted “No!” angrily, but his wife rested a restraining hand on his arm. “I don’t like it,” Yngvar was heard to mutter. “We have no choice,” his wife replied. Eliason cast them all one last, questioning glance. Dumaka turned away. Delu nodded mutely.
Eliason turned back to the Sartan. “We accept your offer. We accept all your terms, with one exception. We will not ask this man, our friend, to leave us.” Samah raised an eyebrow. “Then in that case, we are at an impasse. For we will not allow you to set foot upon this land so long as you harbor a Patryn among you.”
“You can’t mean that!” cried Alfred, shocked into speaking. “They’ve agreed to the rest of your demands—”
Samah glanced at him coldly. “You are not part of the Council, Brother. I thank you not to interfere with Council business.”
Alfred went pale, gnawed his lower lip, but kept silent.
“And where would you have our people go?” Dumaka demanded.
“Ask your friends,” Samah answered. “The Patryn and the dragon-snakes.”
“You sentence us to death,” Eliason said quietly. “And perhaps you sentence yourselves. We came to you in peace and in friendship. We made what we considered a reasonable request. In turn, we have been humiliated, patronized, treated like children. Our people are peaceful. I did not believe, before this, that I would ever advocate the use of force. But now—”
“Ah, at last the truth is told.” Samah was cool, haughty. “Come, come. This is what you intended all along, wasn’t it? You and the Patryn have this all planned—war. You want to destroy us. Very well. Go to war against us. If you are fortunate, you might live to regret it.”
The Councillor spoke the runes. Sigla, blazing red and yellow, sizzled in the air, burst above the startled mensch with the ferocity of a thunderclap. Heat burned their skin, dazzling light blinded them, shock waves knocked them to the floor.
The magical spell ended abruptly. Silence fell over the Council Chamber. Dazed and shaken by this exhibition of magical power—a power beyond their comprehension—the mensch looked around for the Councillor.
Samah had disappeared.
Frightened and angry, the mensch picked themselves up and stalked out.
“He doesn’t mean it, does he?” Alfred turned to Orla. “He can’t possibly be serious—going to war against those weaker than ourselves, those we were meant to protect? Never has such a vile thing happened. Never in our history. He can’t mean it!”
Orla refused to meet his eyes, acted as if she hadn’t heard him. She gave the departing mensch a fleeting glance, then left the Council Chamber without answering Alfred.
He didn’t need an answer. He knew it already. He’d seen the expression on Samah’s face, when the Councillor worked his terrifying magic. Alfred recognized that expression. He’d felt it on his own face countless times, had seen it reflected in the mirror of his own soul. Fear.
28
“Our parents are back.” Grundle[45] crept as silently as a dwarf possibly could into the small cabin Alake shared with her parents. “And they don’t look happy.”
Alake sighed.
“We have to find out how the meeting went,” said Devon. “Will they come here, do you think?”
“No, they’re in Eliason’s cabin, right next door. Listen.” Grundle cocked her head. “You can hear them.”
The three leaned near the wall. Muffled voices could be heard, but they were low and their words indistinguishable.
Grundle pointed to a small knothole.
Alake understood her meaning, placed her hand on the knothole, and began to run her fingers round and round the edge, whispering. The hole gradually, imperceptibly, grew larger. Alake peered through it, turned to her companions, motioned them near.
“We’re in luck. One of Mother’s feathered staves is standing right in front of it.”
The three gathered close, ears to the wall.
“I have never seen magic like that.” Delu’s voice was heavy with defeat. “How can we fight against such awesome power?”
“We won’t know until we try,” stated her husband. “And I am for trying. I would not speak to a dog the way they spoke to us.”
45
As stated previously, Grundle leaves us no record of later events. We must refer, therefore, to this account, which is taken from Haplo’s Chelestra: World of Water, volume four, Death Gate journals.