The Tritonian Ring and Other Pasudian Tales by L. Sprague de Camp

Aremorian."
     
                  "I am not likely to follow Garal in this matter. But we are not even sure' the serpent came to life by human agency, instead of in the course of the natural termination of the enchantment that bound it ... Fetch your sword and cloak while I likewise dress for the street."
     
                  "Where are we going?"
     
                  "In such perplexities I consult a wise-woman nearby. Hasten, and meet me here."
     
                  Vakar went. When he returned with the hood of his cloak pulled up over his helmet he found a very different Porfia with peasant's cowhide boots showing under her short street-dress, a hood pulled over her head likewise, and a scarf masking her face below the eyes.
     
                  Porfia led Vakar out the front entrance, where he took a torch from a bracket. She guided him into the stinking tangle of alleys west of the plaza in front of the palace, where not even the starlight penetrated.
     
                  Porfia made a sharp turn and stopped to rap with a peculiar knock on a door. They waited, and the door opened with a creak of the door-post in its well-worn sockets.
     
                  They were ushered in by a small bent black figure whose only visible feature was a great beak of a nose sticking Out from under her cowl. Inside, a single rush-candle lent its wan il lumination to a small cluttered room with a musty smell. A piece of papyrus on which were drawn figures and glyphs lay on a three-legged table with one leg crudely mended.
     
                  The witch mumbled something and rolled up the papyrus. Porfia said:
     
                  "Master Vakar, this is my old friend Charsela. I need not tell her who you are, for she will have already discovered that by her occult arts."
     
                  The witch raised her head so that Vakar could see the gleam of great dark eyes on either side of the beak.
     
                  "Now do you know," quavered the crone, "I cannot tell you one thing about this young man? It is as if a wall against all occult influence had been built around him at birth. I can see that he is a Pusadian, probably of high rank, and that he is by nature a quiet scholarly fellow forced by his surroundings to assume the airs of a rough predacious adventurer. That much, however, any wise person could have inferred by looking at him with the eye of understanding. But come, child, tell me what troubles you this time. Another philtre to keep that sneering scapegrace true?"
     
                  "No, no," said Porfia hastily, and went on to recount the strange tale of the serpent throne.
     
                  "Ha," said Charsela and got out a small copper bowl which she filled with water and placed on the table.
     
                  She lit a second rushlight, placed it in a small metal holder, and stood the holder on the table. She rummaged in the Utter until she found a small phial from which she dropped one drop of liquid into the water. Vakar, looking at the bowl, had an impression of swirling iridescence as the drop spread over the surface. Charsela put away the phial and sat down on the side of the table opposite the flame, so that she could see the reflection of the flame on the water.
     
                  Charsela sat so long that Vakar, standing with his back to the door, shifted his position slightly, causing his sword to clink. Porfia frowned at him. Somewhere under the junk a mouse rustled; at least Vakar hoped that it was a mouse. He shifted his gaze from the motionless wise-woman to a large spider spinning a web on the ceiling. At last the witch's thin voice came:
     
                  "It is strange—I can see figures, but all is dim and confused. There is some mighty magic involved in this, mark my word. I will try some more ...