“Don’t fight it,” he advised them, though they were much too far away to hear him. “It only makes it worse, in the end.”
At least now he had some idea where he was. He propelled himself forward, heading for the tops of the city walls that he could see thrusting up out of the water. The walls divided the Sartan portion of the city from what had once been the mensch portion. And beyond that lay the shoreline of the Chalice; the shoreline and mensch landing parties and a ship to carry him to Draknor. On that tortured seamoon was moored his own dwarven submersible, altered with the magic of the runes, strengthened to carry him through Death’s Gate. His only hope of escape.
But also, on Draknor, the serpents.
“If so,” he said to the dog, who was paddling along valiantly, front paws working like a small machine, back legs not quite certain what to make of this strange swimming business but doing their best to hold up their end, “this is going to be one short trip.”
His plans were vague, couldn’t be formed until he knew where the snakes were… and how to avoid them.
He pushed forward, balanced on the wood, kicking through the water. He could have abandoned the plank and given himself to the sea, breathing it as effortlessly as air. But he detested those first few moments of terror that came with purposefully drowning oneself, the body refusing to accept the mind’s reassurance that it was only returning to the womb, to a world it had once known. He clung to the plank, kicked until his legs ached.
It occurred to him suddenly that this plank was an ominous sign. Unless he was much mistaken, it had come from one of the wooden dwarven submersibles, and it had been broken, both ends splintered.
Had the serpents become bored with this peaceful takeover of Surunan, then turned on and butchered the mensch?
“If so,” Haplo muttered, “I’ve got myself to blame for it.”
He kicked harder, faster, needing desperately to find out what was happening. But he soon tired, his muscles burned and cramped. He was swimming against the tide, against the flow of the seawater that was being channeled into the city. The loss of his magic made him feel unusually weak; he knew that from past bitter experience.
The tide carried him up against the city walls. He caught hold of a turret, climbed up the side, planning not only to rest but to reconnoiter, to try to catch a glimpse of what lay ahead on the shore. The dog attempted to stop, but the current carried it on past. Haplo leaned out at a perilous angle, caught hold of the dog by the scruff of its neck. He hauled it in—the animal’s back legs scrabbling for purchase—and heaved it up onto the balustrade with him.
From this vantage point, he had an excellent view of the harbor of Surunan, the shoreline beyond that. Haplo looked out, nodded grimly.
“We needn’t have worried, boy,” he said, smacking the dog’s wet and shaggy flank. “At least they’re safe.”
The animal grinned, shook itself.
The fleet of mensch submersibles was drawn up in a more or less orderly line in the harbor. The sun-chasers bobbed on the surface. Mensch lined the bows, pointing and shouting, leaning over the rails, jumping into the water. Numerous small boats plied back and forth between ship and shore, probably ferrying the dwarves, who could not swim. The humans and elves—far more at home in the water—were directing the work of several huge whales, pushing crudely built, heavily loaded rafts into the harbor.
Eyeing the rafts, Haplo glanced down at the wooden plank that he’d dragged up with him. That’s why they’d broken up the submersibles. The mensch were moving in.
“But… where are the serpents?” he asked the dog, who lay, panting, at his feet.
Nowhere in sight, apparently. Haplo watched as long as he could, driven by the need to escape this world and return to the Nexus and his lord, yet constrained by the equal need to reach that world alive. Patience, caution—hard lessons to learn, but the Labyrinth was an excellent teacher.