The sight was fearful. It made even the weather-beaten men and women who had stormed the fence and begun running to the rock stop short, sickened and terrified. Perhaps Hass had bullied them into agreeing with his plan, but none of them now regretted it. No one, at that moment, seeing Olt’s burning eyes, his outstretched, clutching hands, could have had a doubt of what was driving him to the rock.
It had nothing to do with Dorne’s safety. It had everything to do with his insatiable greed for life at any cost.
“Take them!” Olt screamed at the serpents, stabbing his finger at Sonia, Rye, and Dirk. “Take them now! I order you!”
The silver serpent shifted its chill gaze to the walkway. Olt reached the body of the stunned, curly-haired boy lying half on and half off the rock and kicked it savagely.
“Take them, you doltish beasts!” he raged. “I must live! Take the ones who are left! What are you waiting for? Do you, too, dare to defy —?”
And in one fluid movement, the silver serpent arched its body over the rock and snatched him up.
A single, chilling shriek rent the air. Blood spattered down on the rock. Then the great serpent’s body flowed back over Rye’s head and into the sea like a stream of silver water. And where the tyrant had stood, there was nothing but a small scattering of silver scales.
“Now!” Hass’s deep voice roared from the shore. And suddenly dozens of foul-smelling barrels were being rolled into the sea beside the rock. Buckets of grease were being flung. Bulging hide bags were flying overhead to land, splashing, in the crashing waves.
And, panicked by the sudden, overwhelming stench of what must surely be not just one attacking kobb, but many, the serpents turned tail and streaked toward the slowly dimming horizon.
The fisher folk roared in triumph. Cheering people, laughing and crying with joy, began to pour through the ruined section of fence.
“Hold!”
The order rang out over the shore, harsh and dominating. The people stopped in their tracks.
Bern stepped from behind the rapidly decaying serpent throne. “Gifters, draw your weapons!” he commanded.
The Gifters higher on the walkway grinned and trained their scorches on the crowd.
The picture of arrogance, Bern seated himself on the throne and leaned forward, the better to survey the sea of shocked faces below him.
“Olt is dead!” he shouted, his narrow eyes raking the crowd. “I am your Chieftain now!”
No one spoke. Everyone except the grinning Gifters was looking up, at Bern.
Everyone could see the snarling head of the serpent throne slowly, silently, tilting downward. Everyone understood that the head was now too heavy to be supported by the rotting, snakelike body that Olt’s sorcery had preserved for so long. No one made the slightest sign or said a word.
“That is better!” jeered Bern. “And now —”
What he had been about to say, no one was ever to learn. For at that moment, the arching upper body of the preserved serpent gave way, the great silver head plunged down, and Bern fell beneath it, stone dead, two fangs buried deep in the back of his neck.
Rye, Sonia, Dirk, and Faene found refuge in Hass and Nell’s home that night. Outside, the streets seethed with celebrating people, and the sky glared scarlet as the tyrant’s fortress burned. Inside, all was peace.
“So we are rid not only of Olt but of his cursed Gifters as well,” Hass said with satisfaction, turning from the window and pulling the curtain back in place. “There are soldiers in plenty out there, rejoicing with all the rest. But I cannot see a single Gifter uniform anywhere.”
“Gifters with sense would have taken off their uniforms,” Nell said shrewdly. “But I doubt there are many left in the city now, in any case. Most ran when they saw what happened to Bern.”
She winced at the memory.
“It was no more than he deserved,” said Hass as he followed her upstairs to help bring down bedding for the visitors.
“It could not have happened to a nicer fellow,” Sonia agreed with a fierce little grin.
Dirk glanced at her uneasily. He was not sure that he cared for Sonia very much. He preferred sweet, gentle girls, like Faene, his own dear Faene, who even now was by his side, her hand in his, her head resting on his shoulder.
Fleet had been abandoned, it seemed. Faene had told him the secret of the planned escape at last. By now, her people would be at sea, on their way to the Land of Dragons, and far beyond reach of the news that Olt was no more. It was a pity. If they had waited one more day …
Yet, Midsummer Eve had been their only chance to go in safety. They had taken that chance. And Faene had never intended to go with them. Faene wanted only to be with him.
Well, Dirk would take her home, to Weld, and see her settled there before going on with his search for the source of the skimmers. Faene would grieve when he left her again, but it was something he had to do, for the sake of their future. And she would be safe in the Keep with his mother and Sonia, who for some reason she seemed to like, and Rye.
Looking over at his brother, he caught Sonia’s mocking eye. It gave him a little shock, as if she had read his mind.
An odd, uncomfortable girl. Yet by all accounts she had saved Rye’s life — and stayed with him on the rock, when she could have escaped. From what Dirk had seen, she and Rye seemed to trust each other completely. It was strange. And that was not all that was strange….
Dirk remembered little of what had happened on the rock. He had come to himself only after Olt’s death had released him from the enchantment that had bound him.
But he had seen Rye standing alone, hands upraised, holding back a sea of serpents. He knew that Rye — his little brother Rye — had saved Faene, saved him, saved them all.
The young people Dirk and his doomed band of rebels had tried to rescue from the pit were safe. Even the scorched curly-haired boy had recovered enough to smile as he was scooped up from the walkway and carried home by his rejoicing family. It was a miracle!
Hass, Faene, and Sonia had all supplied parts of the story. Rye himself, dazed with weariness, shaking with shock, weak with relief, had said very little. He had spoken to Dirk only of what had happened at home since Dirk left. The hero of the hour, he sat now wrapped in a blanket and quietly sipping soup as he stared into the glowing coals of the fire.
Now and again, he looked at the palm of his hand and rubbed it thoughtfully, as if perhaps it was itchy or sore, though it looked perfectly normal and unmarked. Then he would touch the little brown bag that hung around his neck, as if to reassure himself that it was still where it ought to be.
Dirk wondered what his young brother was thinking about. At home, in the old days, he would certainly have asked. Here and now, it was different. A strange shyness gripped him at the thought of intruding on Rye’s silence.
At that moment, Rye looked up at him and smiled. And the smile was so familiar, so dearly familiar, that a lump rose in Dirk’s throat, and the feeling of awkwardness vanished.
“Does your hand pain you, Rye?” he asked quietly.
Rye shook his head. “Not now,” he said. “When first I was dry and the scale fell out, it did. But no longer.”
“Scale?” Dirk asked blankly.
“It had done its work,” said Rye, exchanging glances with Sonia. “It helped me get to you. Then it helped me hold the serpents back. I did not realize it at the time, but I have realized it since. They saw it, you see, when I held up my hand. It spoke to them, I think, like to like.”
Dirk stared at him, not knowing what to say to a brother who had saved his life but was now clearly wandering in his mind.
Rye smiled and yawned. “I am not making sense to you, I know,” he said. “I have so much to explain. I will tell you everything, Dirk — well, as much as I am able — on our way home tomorrow.”