“Ours is a terrible choice,” said Eliason. “The land is theirs, by right. It is the right of these Sartan to refuse us permission to move into their realm. But, by so doing, they doom our people to death! And it does not seem to me that they should have the right to do that. I do not want to fight them, neither can I watch my people die.”
“You, Yngvar,” Haplo said. “What do you think?” The dwarf was silent a long time. Grundle, standing on tiptoe, put her eye to the knothole. Her father’s craggy face was stern. He shook his head.
“My people are brave. We would fight any human or elf or whatever these call themselves”—he waved a disparaging hand in the general direction of the Sartan—“if they fought fairly, using ax and sword and bow. My people are not cowards.”
Yngvar glowered around, daring someone to accuse him of such a thing. Then he sighed. “But against magic such as we saw today? ... I don’t know. I don’t know.”
“You don’t have to fight their magic,” said Haplo. They stared at him.
“I have a plan. There’s a way. I wouldn’t have brought you here otherwise.”
“You . . . knew about this?” Dumaka asked, frowning with suspicion. “How?”
“I told you. My people and theirs are . . . similar.” He pointed to the sigla, tattooed on his skin. “This is my magic. If it gets wet with seawater, my magic fails. I’m helpless. More helpless than any of you. Ask your daughter, Yngvar. She saw me. She knows. And the same thing happens to the Sartan.”
“What are we supposed to do?” Grundle whispered gruffly. “Invade the city with a bucket brigade?”
Devon pinched her. “Shush!”
But their elders looked almost as perplexed.
“It’s simple. We flood the city with seawater,” Haplo explained. All stared at him, silently digesting this strange notion. It sounded far too easy. There must be something wrong. Each mulled it over in his or her mind. Then, slowly, hope began to kindle fire in eyes that had been dark with gloom.
“The water doesn’t hurt them?” Eliason asked anxiously.
“No more than it hurts me,” said Haplo. “The water makes us all equal. And no blood is shed.”
“It does seem that this is the answer,” said Delu hesitantly.
“But all the Sartan have to do is keep from getting wet,” Hilda inserted.
“Beings as powerful as these can surely manage that.”
“The Sartan may avoid the rising water for a time. They could all fly to the rooftops, roost like chickens. But they can’t stay up there forever. The water will rise higher and higher. Sooner or later, it must engulf them. And when it does, they will be helpless. You can sail your submersibles into Surunan, take over, never swing an ax, never shoot an arrow.”
“But we can’t live in a world full of water,” Yngvar protested. “When it drains off, the Sartan’s magic will come back, won’t it?”
“Yes, but by that time, there will be a change of leadership among the Sartan. He doesn’t know it yet, but the Councillor you met today is going to be taking a trip.” Haplo smiled quietly. “I think you’ll find it far easier to negotiate when he’s gone. Especially if all you have to do is remind the Sartan that you have the power to bring the seawater back anytime you choose.”
“And will we?” Delu was dazed. “Will we have the power?”
“Of course. You simply ask the dragon-snakes. No, no, wait! Hear me out. The dragon-snakes bore holes into the rock foundation. Water flows in, rises, ‘dampens’ the spirits of the Sartan, and, when they surrender, the dragon-snakes cause the water to recede. The dragon-snakes can use their magic to erect gates at the bore holes, to keep the water out. Any time you ask them, the dragon-snakes can reopen the gates, do it all over again, if necessary. As I said, I don’t think it will be.”
Grundle pondered, examined the idea from all angles, as she knew her father and mother were doing, searching for a flaw. She could find none and, apparently, neither could those listening to Haplo in more conventional fashion.
“I’ll talk to the dragon-snakes, explain the plan to them,” Haplo was offering. “I’ll go to Draknor, if I can use one of your boats. I won’t bring the serpents on board your ship again,” he added hastily, seeing faces pale at the thought.
Alake was radiant.
“It’s a splendid plan! No one will get hurt. And you thought he was in league with the dragon-snakes.” She glared at Grundle.
“Shhh,” said the dwarf maid irritably, and pinched Alake. Humans, elves, dwarves, looked relieved, spoke hopefully.
“We will make it up to the Sartan,” Eliason said. “They don’t know us yet, that’s the problem. When they see that all we want is to live peaceful, productive lives and not bother them in the least, they will be happy to let us stay.”
“Without their laws and without their godhood,” Dumaka stated grimly. The others agreed. The talk reverted to plans of moving onto Surunan, of who would live where and how. Grundle had heard all this before; the rulers had discussed little else during the entire voyage.
“Shut that thing,” she said. “I’ve got a plan of my own.” Alake shut the knothole. She and Devon looked at the dwarf expectantly.
“This is our chance,” said Grundle.
“Chance for what?” Devon asked.
“Chance to find out what’s really going on,” the dwarf said in a low voice, with a meaningful glance at her companions.
“You mean . . .” Alake couldn’t finish.
“We follow Haplo,” said Grundle. “We’ll find out the truth about him. He might be in danger,” she added hastily, seeing Alake’s dark eyes glitter in anger.
“Remember?”
“That’s the only reason I’ll condone this,” Alake said in lofty tones. “The only reason I’ll go.”
“Speaking of danger,” Devon said somberly. “What about the dragon-snakes? We couldn’t even get close to the bridge the time the dragon-snake came on board. When Haplo first confronted them. Remember?”
“You’re right,” Grundle admitted, subdued. “We were all of us scared silly. I couldn’t move. I thought you were going to faint.”
“And that dragon-snake wasn’t even real,” Alake pointed out. “Just a ... a reflection or some such thing.”
“If we do get close, our teeth will be chattering so loudly we won’t be able to hear what they’re saying.”
“At least we’ll be able to defend ourselves,” Devon said. “I’m a fair shot with my bow—”
Grundle snorted. “Arrows, even magic ones, won’t have any effect on those monsters. Right, Alake?”
“What? I’m sorry, I was thinking. You mentioned magic. I’ve been working on my spells. I’ve learned three new defensive ones. I can’t tell you about them, because they’re secret, but they worked beautifully against my teacher.”
“Yeah, I saw him. Has his hair grown back yet?”
“How dare you spy on me, you little beast!”
“I wasn’t. As if I cared! I happened to be passing by, when I heard a sound and smelled smoke. I thought the ship was on fire and so I looked through a keyhole—”
“There! You’ve admitted it—”
“The dragon-snakes,” inserted Devon with elven diplomacy. “And Haplo. They’re what’s important. Remember?”
“I remember! And a fat lot of good magic arrows or magic fire or magic anything’s going to do us if we can’t get close to the blasted creatures anyway.”
“She’s got a point, I’m afraid.” Devon sighed.
“And Alake’s got an idea,” said Grundle, eyeing her friend closely. “Haven’t you?”
“Maybe. It’s something we shouldn’t do. We could get into real trouble.”
“Yes, so?” Grundle and Devon brushed aside such mundane considerations. Alake glanced around, although there was no one in the small cabin except themselves. Motioning her friends near, she leaned in toward them.
“I’ve heard my father tell that in the old days, when one tribe fought another, some of the warriors chewed an herb that took away fear. My father never used it. He said that fear was a warrior’s best weapon in a fight, it sharpens his instincts—”