Serpent Mage by Margaret Weis

existed between them immediately eased and slackened.
    The Sartan language, comprising, as it does, Sartan magic, has the ability to summon up images and visions that enhance the speaker's words in the minds of his hearers. A powerful Sartan, such as Samah, would have the ability to control these images, making certain that his listeners saw, as well as heard, exactly what he wanted.
    Alfred, unfortunately, could no more control his mental processes than he could his physical. Orla and Samah and every other Sartan in the mausoleum had just witnessed astounding, frightening, and confusing sights. Sights that emanated directly from Alfred.
    “The Council will convene immediately,” Samah said. “The rest of you …” He paused, looked with troubled eyes on the other Sartan standing in the mausoleum, patiently waiting his command. “I think perhaps you should remain here until we know for certain how matters stand on the surface. I note that some of our brethren have not awakened. Find out if anything is amiss with them.”
    The Sartan bowed in silent, unquestioning acquiescence, and left to go about their duties.
    Samah turned on his heel and headed out of the mausoleum, heading for a door separated from the chamber by a dark and narrow hallway. The five other Sartan Council members came after him. Orla walked near Alfred. She said nothing to him, courteously refrained from looking at him, giving him time to calm himself.
    Alfred was grateful to her, but he didn't think it would help.
    Samah strode the hall with swift, confident steps, as if he had walked these floors only yesterday. Preoccupied as he was, he apparently didn't notice that his long, sweeping robes were leaving small trails in a thick layer of dust.
    Runes over the door lit with a blue radiance as Samah approached and began to chant. The door swung open, wafting a cloud of dust up from the floor.
    Alfred sneezed. Orla was looking about her in perplexed astonishment.
    They entered the Council room, which Alfred recognized by the round table adorned with sigla, standing in the center. Samah frowned at the sight of fine, soft dust that completely covered the table, obliterating the runes carved upon its surface. Coming to stand beside the table, he ran his finger through the dust, stared at it in pondering silence.
    None of the other Council members approached the table, but remained near the door, whose runelight, once the door had opened, was beginning to fade. Samah, with a brief word, caused a white globe that hung suspended above the table to shine with a radiant white light. He gazed ruefully at the dust.
    “If we attempt to clean this off, we'll none of us be able to breathe the air.” He was silent a moment, then shifted hisgaze to Alfred. “I foresee the path your words will likely travel, Brother, and I must admit that it fills me with a fear I had not thought myself capable of feeling. I think we should all sit down, but—this one time—there will be no need to take our accustomed places around the table.”
    Pulling out a chair, he brushed it off and held it for Orla, who walked to it with steady, measured tread. The other Council members moved chairs for themselves, stirring up such a quantity of dust in the process that for a moment it seemed a fog had rolled in on them. Everyone coughed and uttered swift chants to help clear the air. Yet the entire time they talked, the dust drifted down and around them, covered their skin and clothing.
    Alfred remained standing, as was proper when appearing before the Council.
    “Please, begin, Brother,” Samah said.
    “First, I must ask that you grant me leave to ask you questions,” Alfred said, clasping his hands nervously before him. “I must have answers myself before I can proceed with any assurance that what I am about to tell you is right.”
    “Your request is granted, Brother,” said Samah graveiy.
    “Thank you.” Alfred gave an awkward bob, intended for a bow. “My first question is: Are