Alfred had intended to leave right after Haplo. He knew how to contact Orla without getting arrested or getting her in trouble. It would take a bit of preparation, but he was a good tailor and he'd thought about the other spell several times on Arianus. He'd never actually performed it, of course- that would have given him away- but he knew it was possible for any Sartan wizard. It wouldn't require any of the terrifying power at all.

But his plans were derailed by Yngvar walking up to him just before Haplo's new ship (it didn't even have runes on it. The Patryn would carve in the runes en route, though only on the inside) slipped out of sight. "They're going to collect Alake's body now," he announced quietly.

The Sartan dropped down to his knees, a sign of respect for dwarves. He was still almost a head higher than the king, but the height difference wasn't quite so pronounced anymore.

"Delu thinks that you should come with," the dwarf continued. "According to Devon and my daughter, the dragon-snakes are terrified of you. Delu thinks that if you come along, they'll be less likely to attack."

Alfred's face went gray. The last thing he wanted was to return to Draknor. By this point, the dragon-snakes were probably very… annoyed… with him. They may have recovered from their fear, remembering instead that he had (by some odd miracle) killed their king. And there were very many of them, and only one of him.

He opened his mouth to explain that to Yngvar, but he'd hesitated a second too long. "Excellent!" the king exclaimed, thumping him on the back. Alfred nearly fell on his face- he hadn't been prepared for the friendly blow at all. "Come on, then. Let's go meet them."

"Actually, Majesty-"

"It's Yngvar," the king corrected him. "We dwarves don't waste time on fancy titles. Now come on, Alfred. Don't want to be late, do you?"

In all honesty, he did want to be late- or better yet, not to go at all! But Yngvar was too clever to let Alfred voice his excuses. "Where's Haplo going?" he demanded.

"He has to warn his own lord about the dragon-snakes. He said that he'll try to be back for the funeral, though. But about Draknor-"

"He'll be back within three days?" Yngvar frowned. "Just how far away does he live, anyways?"

"Very far, but I suspect that he'll use his magic to speed up the ship. As long as he keeps the rune-structures dry, then he can move very quickly indeed. But-"

"How useful," Yngvar noted. "I know some shipwrights who'd sell their souls for that kind of ability. Can you Sartan do the same?"

"Yes, but-"

"That'd be a good point to remember in a trade agreement one day, but I shouldn't count my chickens before they hatch. Could you do that for the ships that are headed to Draknor, or are you still too tired from yesterday?"

Alfred gave up. "It wouldn't be permanent- I don't have time to carve the runes into the structure- but yes, I could."

Yngvar noticed that the Sartan was no longer protesting his involvement in the retrieval mission. He hid a grin. Who said that diplomacy was all fancy words and vague promises? Sometimes, simple pigheadedness was the best route.

"Found him," the dwarf called.

Delu, Dumaka, and a contingent of human soldiers glanced up. Alfred, uncomfortable with all the stares, tripped. He went sprawling onto his belly, narrowly avoiding Yngvar. "Sorry."

The royals mumbled something about him being forgiven. Their eyes were distant, lost, gazing ahead.

Alfred hid himself in a corner and began to sing the runes. He wanted to get out of this uncomfortable, miserable situation as quickly as possible.

Their journey was short, silent, and sorrowful. Delu and Dumaka spent it holding hands. Occasionally they would look at one another. Their gazes would meet. Then they would sigh heavily and lower their teary eyes. The crew and escort of soldiers were equally silent, respecting their monarchs' grief. And perhaps they too were mourning for the dead princess- Alake had been well-liked among her people. She would have been a wonderful queen. Or so they imagined.

Then the captain reported that they were approaching Draknor. Minutes later, the corpse-seekers disembarked.

Delu spoke for the first time. "According to Devon, Alake…" she swallowed heavily "…died at the mouth of the dragon-snakes' cave. H-hopefully she is st-still there." She turned away, hid her face in Dumaka's chest. The king lowered his head, hiding his own grief in his wife's hair.

Alfred's heart broke for them. If only I had been faster….

"Come on." One of the guards gestured to the Sartan. "We'd all like to find her as quickly as we can."

Delu and Dumaka broke apart. Mourning or not, they were still the king and queen. They had come here to find their daughter, their princess. It would be wrong of them to stand around weeping while their people (and Alfred) searched for her body.

Unfortunately, the body wasn't too hard to find.

The dragon-snakes had left Alake's corpse where it had fallen. They wanted it to be found- and no wonder. It had been mutilated so badly that several soldiers, hardened by battle, found themselves retching.

Alfred was tempted to follow suit. Save for the face, which had been left untouched, the- the- the thing before him bore no resemblance to a human being. It reminded him of Haplo's parents when the snogs were through with them, but it was ten times worse. A hundred times worse.

Understandably, neither of Alake's poor parents could bear seeing their beautiful daughter reduced to this. They broke down, fell to their knees. Tears streamed down their faces, falling into the sand.

The soldiers who hadn't gone away to vomit exchanged nervous glances. None of them wanted to touch the horrible corpse, not when its skin had been flayed away and- they didn't want to look at it, didn't want to see what had been done to it.

Alfred hesitated, then shook himself. He had the power to… not make things right… but to make things better, less horrible for the poor parents and soldiers and for everyone who would attend Alake's funeral. Softly, gently, he began to sing and dance the runes.

The human soldiers watched him suspiciously. A couple touched their weapons, but Dumaka shook his head at them and they lowered their hands. The king had seen what Sartan magic could do.

The song ended, the spell complete. Alake's body, though still dead, was whole, untouched by mutilation. Alfred had even provided her with new clothing, a cream-colored linen wrap that served to protect her modesty.

Delu's sobs redoubled. She grabbed her daughter's corpse, hugged it tight.

The captain of the guard hated to interrupt his grieving queen, but his job was to keep the remaining royals alive. He couldn't do that if an army of dragon-snakes took advantage of their distraction and attacked. "Majesty," he said quietly, "I believe that we should leave." He glanced significantly towards the bowels of the cave.

"You're right, of course," Delu rasped. She stood. Her husband knelt down, gently picked up Alake's body.

The ride back was equally silent, though a bit less awkward. Alake's body was placed in the center of the ship. Delu knelt next to it. Her eyes were closed, her hands clasped in prayer. Her lips worked silently, as did the lips of her husband. Alfred had little knowledge of Chelestran mortuary customs, but he imagined that they were beseeching the One for their daughter's well-being in the afterlife.

Finally they arrived back at the colony. A huge crowd of people was standing by the shore or even in the shallower part of the ocean, awaiting their princess's return. Not to mention they were concerned for their monarchs, afraid that the dragon-snakes had killed them. A cheer, subdued but heartfelt, arose from their throats, when they saw Delu and Dumaka climb out of the ship. Then the cheer died, for the royals were bearing their daughter's cold corpse.

Not a word more was spoken.

By this point, Alfred was rather desperate to leave. He was an outsider, a stranger, and the reason that Alake was lifeless and still in her parents' arms. If he had gotten there sooner, worked a little harder….

He sighed.

And even if it hadn't been at least partially his fault, he had other obligations to attend to. He had to find Orla, beg her not to go to war. For his people's sake, for the Patryns' sake, for the sake of the mensch- it would be an abomination for Sartan to fight against them, even without the dragon-snakes. Samah should focus on the Sartan's problems before making more, he reflected bitterly. Hopefully Orla could make him see sense.

He mumbled his excuses to the curious human courtiers crowding around him, asking what had happened on the journey. Some of them were jealous that he, an unknown Sartan, had gone with the king and queen when they, children of noblemen, had not. Their jealousy was foolish, petty, but Alfred managed not to say that to their faces. Instead, he beat a hasty retreat to Haplo's quarters and went to work on a pair of spells.

During the stasis sleep, Alfred had aged, but the possibility existed that he had not grown any older. He simply invoked that possibility, and suddenly he had to be a good ten or fifteen years younger. His features were less worn and lined, his hands more graceful, his head more covered. The bemused Sartan ran a hand through his new hair- he'd forgotten just how much his younger self had possessed. It felt downright bizarre to have something on his scalp, much less so great a quantity. His new form, combined with the white robe he'd tailored for himself, would guarantee that no one in the Chalice could recognize him.

It was, quite frankly, a fairly brilliant disguise. All the other Sartan thought of Alfred as 'that old bald man who insists on wearing mensch clothes.' Take away the old, the bald, and the mensch clothes, and they'd have no idea who he was. Probably. He might be in trouble if they came close enough to really see his face, but if he walked fast enough that probably wouldn't happen.

There was just one problem, as Alfred discovered when he took a step forward and tripped over the hem of his robe.

For a moment he lay there, sprawled out on the floor, unable to believe that he'd overlooked something so stupidly obvious. How could he have forgotten his clumsiness?

And more importantly, how could he defeat it?

Alfred lifted himself into a sitting position. He was graceful enough when he used magic- more than graceful- but he obviously couldn't sing and dance his way through the citadel. He needed to blend in, not draw attention to himself. So that was out of the question.

Or was it? Frowning, Alfred hummed to himself. He focused on the music, a simple spell that all Sartan children learned. Then he rose to his feet and walked around the room.

He didn't stumble once.

A grin nearly split the Sartan's face. He had his disguise.

"Xar will not be pleased," Haplo muttered, staring into Death's Gate. At his side, the dog whined his agreement.

"But what else can I do?" he continued. "Come on, boy. Let's go."

Their ship drifted towards the hole in reality. As always, the sensation of approaching the gate was dizzying, disorienting. Haplo didn't know if he and the dog and their vessel were shrinking to accommodate the hole or if Death's Gate was growing larger, like a mouth opening wider and wider until it swallowed them whole. Nor did he much care- all he knew was that he could enter it.

The Patryn lay down, waiting to fall unconscious. Any second now the chaos would come, crushing his mind until it sought refuge in sleep.

But the blackness never came. Haplo passed through Death's Gate perfectly conscious, completely awake.

As he guided the ship down to the Nexus, he wondered what had happened. His conclusion was as horrible as it was inevitable: Samah had opened Death's Gate.

He saw, once again, the lazar tearing through the Nexus. He saw his people fighting Samah's forces, a war that grew to consume all the worlds. He saw the dragon-snakes slithering through Pryan, Abarrach, Arianus. He saw tytans smashing the Kiksey-winsey to bits.

Haplo swore.

The dog whined.

This changed everything- and nothing. His task was the same: to warn Lord Xar about the dragon-snakes before they reached him, seduced him like they had seduced Haplo.

"That, or die trying," the Patryn muttered, and flew down to the Nexus.

This chapter proves two things about Alfred: first, he should never be underestimated. Second, he makes excellent dragon-snake repellant.

Next up: Alfred visits the Chalice, and/or Haplo talks with Xar.

-Antares