Serpent Mage by Weis, Margaret

We had reached the waterlock by this time anyway. I opened the panel just long enough to let water inside—about ankle deep—before shutting it again. I lifted the access hatch, grabbed my bucket, tied it to a rope, dropped it down into the water, filled it, and hauled it back up.

I held out the full bucket to Haplo. To my astonishment, he drew back, refused to touch it.

“Take it in there,” he said, pointing to the hold.

I did as he said, growing more and more curious. The bucket was heavy and awkward to carry, water sloshed out, spilled on my shoes and the deck. Haplo was extremely careful to avoid stepping in even the smallest puddle.

“Set it down,” he ordered, indicating a far corner.

I put the bucket down, rubbed my palms where the handle had bit into them.

“Thank you,” he said, standing, waiting.

“You’re welcome.” Pulling up a stool, I seated myself comfortably.

“You can leave anytime now.”

“I’ve got nothing better to do,” I said.

He was angry, and I thought for a moment he was going to pick me up and throw me out. (Or try to, at any rate. Dwarves aren’t easy to budge, once they’ve decided to stay put.) He glared at me. I glared right back, crossed my arms over my chest, and settled myself more firmly on the stool.

Then, a thought seemed to occur to him. “You might be useful, after all,” he muttered, and let me be.

As for what happened next, I’m not certain I believe it myself, though I saw it with my own eyes.

Haplo knelt down on the deck and began to write on one of the wooden planks, using nothing but his fingertip!

I started to laugh, ended up almost choking to death.

When his finger touched the wood, a thin wisp of smoke curled up into the air. He drew a straight line, left a trail of flame behind. The fire died in an instant, leaving a brown, scorched mark, as if he’d been writing on the planks with a red-hot poker. But he wasn’t. He was only using his own flesh, and it was setting the wood ablaze.

He worked rapidly, making strange marks on the deck, marks that looked similar — I thought — to those blue lines and swirls on his arms and the backs of his hands. He drew maybe ten of these in a circle, taking care to make certain that they were all connected. The smell of burning wood was strong. I sneezed.

Finally, he was finished. The circle was complete. He sat back, studied it a moment, and then nodded to himself in satisfaction. I stared hard at his fingers, could see no sign of any scorch marks.

Haplo rose to his feet and stepped onto the circle he’d drawn.

Blue light began to radiate up from the markings he’d burned on the deck and suddenly Haplo wasn’t standing on the deck. He floated up in the air, seemingly supported by nothing except the blue light.

I gasped and jumped up so fast I upset my stool.

“Grundle! Don’t leave,” he said hastily. He moved, and the next thing I knew he was standing on the deck again. The blue light, however, continued to glow. “I want you to do something for me.”

“What?” I asked, keeping as far from the weird light as I could.

“Bring the bucket over and pour water on the circle.”

I stared at him suspiciously. “That’s all?”

“That’s all.”

“What will happen?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe nothing.”

“Why don’t you do it, then?”

He smiled, trying to be pleasant. But his eyes were cold and hard. “I don’t think the water agrees with me.”

I thought it over. Dumping a pailful of water on some scorched planks wasn’t liable to hurt me. And, I have to admit, I was extremely curious to see what would happen next.

He wasn’t kidding about being worried about the water. The minute I picked up the bucket, Haplo backed into a corner, crouched behind a barrel, to keep from getting splashed.

I tossed the water onto the circle of strange marks that glowed with a blue light.

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