Servant of the Serpent (Serpent's War Book 1) (13 page)

“I’m sorry,” the elf said as he climbed into the light and looked around. “Blessings of the saints, what have they done!”

Dakota frowned and looked at the elf and Gildor. “Gildor, I need to get back to the wagon. You should come too. Keep you busy and give you something to do.”

“I’ve got something to do,” Gildor mumbled.

“What?”

He turned and looked at the barn. Bucknar’s tools were out there. A shovel and a pick, at least. “I said I’ve got something to do.”

“Gil—”

Gildor shook his head and walked away, stepping through the ashes and walking around the mound of slain snake men. Bucknar’s corpse was covered in flies again. He pushed his rage down and grabbed up the tools he needed. When he emerged from the barn, he saw Dakota was back on his horse and riding away.

The elf stood and stared down at the corpses. Gildor ignored them both and walked around the barn. He attacked the ground with the pick, taking his rage and frustration out on the unsuspecting dirt. The sun had set and the moon and stars shone down by the time Gildor had cleared enough dirt for a grave for his father.

He ignored the flies and the gore as he dragged his father into the grave. He stared down at him and then went and retrieved his missing hand. The elf was sitting on a rock, a sword resting across his thighs. Gildor frowned. The only sword the man would have was Bucknar’s. Bucknar didn’t need it anymore but that didn’t give anyone else a right to have it.

“Hey,” Gildor grunted. “Where’d you get that?”

Corian stood up and held out the sword. Gildor could tell it wasn’t Bucknar’s from a distance. The blade wasn’t thick enough and it looked new and still polished. “This was hers.”

Gildor jerked his head back. “Hers?”

“Your daughter, Allie,” Corian said. “I remember seeing it on her hip once.”

“She didn’t—” Gildor paused. Bucknar had talked about having one made for her when she was ready. He thought it was idle talk; he wasn’t ready for her to have a sword of her own. “Let me see it.”

Corian walked over and held it out to him. Gildor took it and looked it over. It was lighter than a normal sword but the balance felt fine. He frowned and then turned his attention to the hilt. He saw the desert star engraved on it and closed his eyes. “Damn you, Bucknar.”

Corian gasped. “What’s that? Did you say Bucknar?”

Gildor looked at him and nodded. He pointed at the bodies and said, “The man who saved your life and killed all these bastards. He was my father.”

Corian stared at him, squinting his eyes and nodding. “I remember you. You were no higher than my knee when I saw you last.”

Gildor tilted his head and then shrugged. “Sorry.”

Corian shook his head. “It was a long time ago. Four decades?”

Gildor shrugged and started to turn away. He turned back. “You know me and my father, and you show up at the same time this village is overrun by splisskin. I’ve only seen them do something like this once before in my life, and that was sixteen years past. What more do I need to know?”

Corian opened and shut his mouth. He glanced at the pile of splisskin and then back to Gildor. “I came looking for help. I ran into some splisskin across the mountains and fought them. I killed several, but there were too many. I escaped, but only by falling in the river. I don’t know how I survived the rapids and waterfalls but your daughter found me. Between her and your father, they brought me back and saved me. He made me drink something and it took the fever and chills away. Some sort of magic, I expect. I’ve seen it before.”

Gildor saw the way the elf shivered and noted it. “The splisskin followed you?”

“Impossible,” he said. “There were less than a dozen left when I escaped. It would take three times that many to do this.”

Gildor nodded. That much was true. It looked like Bucknar had accounted for more than half a dozen of the splisskin and the other men of Almont wouldn’t die without a fight. He looked at the sword in his hand again. His daughter’s sword. Bucknar’s message had said down river. “You know something about the splisskin? Do they take prisoners?”

Corian’s breath hissed through his mouth. He nodded and said, “They took my sister. I came to find Bucknar because he served as a guide for her once before. I hoped he might help me find her.”

“Good. You’re coming with me.”

“What?” Corian blurted. “I—”

“My daughter saved your life. That means you owe her. My father saved your life, but he can’t be owed, only avenged.”

Corian clamped his lips shut and swallowed.

“They went south,” Gildor continued. “My guess is they went to Snake Castle.”

“Snake Castle?”

“They call it Shathas. It’s in the middle of Lake Silvermist, on that island.”

“You want to invade a castle full of them? By yourself? Humans really are crazy!”

“Not alone,” Gildor said. “You’re coming with me.”

“What? I—I don’t even have my bow.”

“We’ll get you one on the way,” Gildor said. “Maybe find your sister, too. Won’t that be nice? Something about this all falling in place don’t seem natural.”

“Thork!” Corian hissed.

“What’s that?”

“Th—nothing. A traveler I ran into. He recommended coming to your father for help.”

“Bucknar met and helped a lot of people in his time.”

Corian nodded. He turned and walked over to the open grave and stared into it. He shook his head and reached for a shovel.

“What are you doing?”

“Helping you bury him. What I know of humans doesn’t hold up against what this man has done. I will help you because of him and because of your daughter. Let’s start by giving him a proper burial.”

Gildor stared at the elf and nodded. He walked over and dropped Bucknar’s severed hand in the grave. He tucked Allie’s sword in his belt and took the shovel. “Good. I was hoping I’d bury him before I started killing whoever’s responsible for this.”

Chapter 13

“We’re leaving tonight?” Corian asked as Gildor began to replenish the grain in the sack hanging from his horse’s saddle.

“They’re a full day ahead of us,” the guide said. “The river is fast, but a man on a horse can beat a raft. Especially if they have trouble at…”

Corian’s brow wrinkled as Gildor trailed off. “What is it?”

“The wagon I brought north—we rode past Assurion’s Crossing. There was nothing amiss.”

“When?”

“Last night,” Gildor said and then cursed. “Damn, of course. Last night they were here. They’d go slow to pass through tonight. Or attack it as they did here. But if they came from the south, why not attack it on their way here?”

Corian shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“Surprise?” Gildor wondered.

The elf nodded. “Perhaps, that makes sense.”

Gildor turned to the two horses still in the pen. “Can you ride in the dark?”

“It’s been many years since I’ve ridden a horse,” Corian admitted. “But if you’re worried about the dark, I can see better than you.”

Gildor grunted and went to saddle Brownie and Stinkeye. “You’ll ride my daughter’s horse. Stinkeye can be difficult. That and with Bucknar gone, he might be more trouble than usual.”

Corian frowned. “His name is Stinkeye?”

“He had a way of looking at my dad when he didn’t like something,” Gildor said and smiled at the still-painful memory. “They were together a long time.”

“And you’re bringing him with us?”

“Nobody left to take care of him,” Gildor said. “Besides, if we can catch them and get Allie back, she’ll need a horse to ride.”

“Then we should go,” Corian said. “I couldn’t catch my sister in time; they escaped on a river too.”

Gildor finished cinching the saddles and loaded bags and gear onto the horses before leading them out and handing Brownie’s reins to the elf. “This the same sister who was dressed head to toe so nobody could see her?”

Corian gasped. “You remember!”

Gildor nodded. “She was pregnant, right?”

Corian’s face darkened. He nodded, briefly, and hopped up on Brownie’s back. The horse snorted and stepped to the side, uncertain about the new rider.

Gildor rubbed the horse’s cheek and tried to soothe him. “It’s all right. We’ll get your girl back soon enough.”

“You talk to the horses?” Corian asked.

“Thought you elves was into talking to animals and trees?”

Corian frowned. “Perhaps some do. I’ve never seen a point to it. We live among the trees and the mountains because it is what we do. We are not animals, like they are.”

Gildor nodded and climbed onto Patches. “That mean you eat meat too?”

Corian snorted. “Of course we do!”

Gildor nodded and pulled his short bow out from where it was tucked under a saddlebag. “You wanted a bow?”

Corian looked at the offered weapon for several seconds and then shook his head. “That’s not a bow.”

“It’s better than you might think.”

“At what, shooting fish in a barrel? Or targets at twenty paces?”

Gildor shrugged and tucked it away. “Suit yourself. I’m a lousy shot so I figured a smaller bow makes more sense. Good up close, which is the only chance I’ve got of hitting something. My dad could hit a mark at a hundred yards four out of five times.”

“With my bow, I can do that at three hundred yards,” Corian boasted.

“Great,” Gildor said. He snapped the reins and started Patches south. “Where’s your bow again?”

Corian clenched his teeth and guided Brownie after Gildor. The horse moved under him, unsettling him until he got the feel for it. When he became comfortable, he glanced behind and saw Stinkeye following, his reins tied to the back of Brownie’s saddle. Corian scowled. What if he needed to move at a gallop? The old man’s horse would slow him down at best. At worst it might cause a fall.

He swallowed his complaint down. Whining would be the thing a petulant child would do. Gildor seemed rough and rude, but he was a human. Corian could only expect so much from him. Besides, the man was helping him find the place his sister might be. That and Corian did owe Gildor’s family a debt of gratitude for saving him.

They rode on as the night deepened, conversation failing as Corian learned anew how to ride a horse. Gildor was busy studying the ground and staring into the distance, trying to pierce the darkness.

The guide was still staring into the distance when the road forked to the right ahead of them. He pulled up at the intersection and turned to stare to the west. The weathered wooden sign beside the road read Assurion’s Crossing with an arrow pointing down the western road. Beyond Assurion’s Crossing lay the mountains and the great forest of the elves. To the south was the road that passed the Silverfens and led to Easton.

“I don’t smell any smoke or see any fires,” Gildor said.

Corian looked to the west and sniffed the air. “Neither do I.”

“Damn.”

Corian stared at him and asked, “You want them to burn?”

“Of course not,” Gildor snapped. “I wanted a sign.”

“What you said made sense,” Corian said. “About their island castle, Shathas.”

“If that’s where they are bound,” Gildor agreed. “Seems too simple.”

“Perhaps because it is. The man who directed me to you seemed confident you would know where to go.”

“Thought he sent you to my father?”

Corian bowed his head, conceding the point. “But through your father, I met you. I share your thirst, Gildor. I want what you want. They killed my people and took my family from me, the same as you.”

“Why would they go so far?” Gildor wondered. He scowled and shook his head. “Time enough for thought on the road. Come, to Assurion’s Crossing!”

Corian hesitated. “But Shathas is south.”

“I need to be sure,” Gildor said.

He put his heels to Patches and spurred the horse to the west. In moments, Corian caught up, with Stinkeye in tow. They rode at a gallop, eating up the half-mile to the buildings on the eastern bank of the Silverflake. The horses were breathing hard but bore up well under the long ride through the night.

“Hold there!” a guard called out to them from the bridge. “Just the three of you then? Why you out so early?”

Gildor glanced behind him to the east. The horizon was just beginning to glow with the morning sun. He turned back and said, “Two of us; the third horse is a spare. We’re headed south, but I wanted to check to be sure you were safe.”

“Safe? From what?”

“You haven’t heard about Almont?” Gildor asked. The guard shook his head. “Burned to the ground—everyone killed or run off.”

The guard’s hand fell to the sword at his side. “What? All of them? What could have—”

“Splisskin,” Corian spat out. “They—”

Gildor turned and glared at him, stopping the elf in mid-sentence. He turned back. “We think it’s splisskin. We’re following signs that led me to think they came down river.”

The guard nodded in the torchlight. “There was—wait a minute. Come closer so I can see you.”

Gildor rode up and motioned for Corian to join him. He stopped less than a dozen feet from the guard and said, “I’m Gildor. I’ve seen your face many times while I guided merchants and others through here, but I don’t recall your name.”

“I remember you,” he said. “Heard your name spoken, too. Spoken highly, for what it’s worth.”

Gildor bowed his head. “Thank you.”

“What’s this, you have a son?”

Gildor’s teeth gripped each other and he found he couldn’t talk. Corian noticed his delay and spoke for him. “No, I came seeking Gildor’s help. I’m from the west.”

“Saints! You’re an elf! I’m sorry, I meant no offense.”

Corian tilted his head and smiled. He nodded to the man. “None taken. At least not with an apology such as that. My opinion of your race is growing by the minute.”

The guard chuckled. “Don’t think too highly of us; you’re bound to me some curs and cutthroats soon enough.”

Gildor worked past the lump in his throat and asked, “What was it you were saying?”

“Heard it secondhand, but the men watching the river and road told me that just after Saint Leander’s light blessed the western sky, there was four strange boats that came downriver. Deep hulls with lots of oars. Every one of the men in it was wearing robes with hoods. I heard they didn’t say a word to no one, just rowed on under the bridge past us.”

“They’ve got a full day on us still,” Corian said.

“Not quite,” Gildor said under his breath. “The sun’s not up yet.”

“You think it was splisskin?” the guard asked.

Gildor hesitated and then nodded. “There were many of them lying dead in Almont.”

“In one place, at least, where a great warrior fought.”

“Great warrior, you say? Didn’t know we had many of those around these parts,” the guard said. “Not a full-grown man around who can’t hold his own, but a sword don’t care much for who it cuts.”

“Makes no difference,” Gildor said. “They’re all dead or gone. I’m off to find them.”

“Maybe you don’t think so, but I’m curious. People are going to want to know.”

“Then let them wonder,” Gildor said and turned his horse away.

Corian watched him start to leave and shook his head. He turned back to the guard. “The warrior’s name was Bucknar.”

“Bucknar? Wasn’t he the old mayor? Didn’t think he could even lift a sword!”

“When you’re the only thing between your enemy and your family, you can lift a mountain,” Corian said.

The guard let out a grunt and nodded. “I suppose that makes sense. Good luck, to the both of you. Give ’em hell and when you’re done, be sure to let us know. Assurion’s Crossing remembers what those splisskin raiders did to us.”

Gildor glanced back and met the guard’s eyes. “I remember it, too. I was here.”