Servant of the Serpent (Serpent's War Book 1) (14 page)

Chapter 14

Allie jerked when she felt herself rocked into something hard. It woke her up and made her gasp. She felt like she was falling and tried to grab something with her hands. Her arms wouldn’t move. For that matter, she couldn’t feel her hands.

She looked around and made out the hooded shapes in the darkness. She could make out the occasional twinkle overhead of a star, but they were blocked by dark shapes. After straining in the darkness and smelling the humid and often fetid air, she realized she was in a swamp. The stars were blocked by trees. And if she was in a boat, that meant she was in the Silverfens.

Allie hissed as she tried to roll and sit up. It was no good: her arms wouldn’t move and neither would her legs. She shifted enough to look down her body and see the ropes tied tight around her arms and body and more around her wrists.

She let her head drop and winced. The side of her face felt warm and puffy already. Her neck was stiff and hurt to move what little she had. She stared across the bottom of the boat, trying to remember bits and pieces of what had happened and found herself staring at the scaly ankle and foot of a splisskin sitting on a short bench and rowing.

“Splisskin!” she hissed, her memories rushing back to her. She relived it in a heartbeat and saw her grandfather wounded but still fighting. “Grandpa!”

A splisskin behind her made a noise that sounded like a toddler spitting out a mouthful of food before it kicked her in the back.

Allie grunted and tried to roll away. She couldn’t. She was in the bottom of the boat already and there was barely room for her between the benches on either side. She curled up as best she could and bit her lip. Tears blurred her vision and dripped onto the wood. What was happening? Where were they taking her? Was her grandpa okay, or had he—she shook her head. No, he was too tough. Her grandpa was over seventy years old and he could still do anything.

She nodded as she made up her mind. That was it; they’d kept him busy so he couldn’t get to her while they dragged her away. Why her? That she didn’t know. Unless there were others they’d taken from Almont too. They’d been burning buildings and weren’t trying to be sneaky about it. At least not once the attack began. But why attack them?

Allie grunted into the deck as the boat bumped and scraped off something underwater. She heard the hissing words of the splisskin but had no idea what they meant. They might as well be snakes passing gas for all she could tell. Or care.

The boat smoothed out in the water, letting her fall back into her thoughts. Was it the elf? Had they come looking for him? Did they find him, or was that why they’d captured her? Maybe they knew she’d helped him but they couldn’t find him in the dugout beneath her grandpa’s house.

Or maybe her grandpa had beaten them back before they could find him. Was she being held as a hostage? Was he coming for her? What about her dad? He was supposed to be back soon. What would he do when he found her gone? He’d come and help; he’d have to. Her dad and grandpa knew the land better than anyone in the city, maybe even the entire region.

More hissing noises made her blink away her tears and try to look up. She couldn’t see much from between the benches but the boat was turning and moving different. The oars weren’t stroking in the water in a pattern anymore. The ones on the right splashed their paddles, slowing the boat down more. A thump of rope striking wood sounded somewhere above her head, towards the bow. She tried to look up but a large scaly foot landed in front of her face.

Allie opened her mouth and tried to bite the splisskin’s ankle. The foot picked up as the man stepped forward, robbing her of her chance. She twisted until the muscles in her neck and back trembled. Colored splotches flashed at the edges of her eyes, making it even harder to see anything. She let out a gasp and relaxed, sagging onto the floor.

A breeze swept across the boat and tickled her face. For a moment, the hot and muggy air lifted, but with a heavy thump that made the boat bob in the water, the wind ended. Allie frowned and tried to pick herself up as though she hadn’t tried several times before. This time was no different; she was forced to lie on her side.

Something was different, though. The swamp and the splisskin had gone silent. She could barely hear the water moving against the boat or the boat creaking as it rubbed against whatever dock it had been pulled to.

A susurrus of grass being rustled by wind grew and grew until she realized it was the splisskin, not swamp weeds blown by a breeze. They grew louder and louder until it reached a crescendo and then stopped. The sudden absence of sound felt louder than the humming splisskin had been.

Somewhere on the shore, one of the splisskin spoke. She couldn’t understand him, but his hissing voice rose and fell. When he ended, another one spoke, although the second voice was larger and louder. It was almost as if it came from something greater. Something taller, at least, for it seemed to have a different pitch and echo to it.

The two voices went back and forth for many minutes, leaving her with a growing feeling of dread. What could sound like that? Was it a giant splisskin, or a massive snake that could speak? Every time she heard it, fresh cold sweat broke out on her back and made her stomach twist. Whatever it was, she knew deep in her bones that it was evil.

The splisskin in the boat moved, rocking the vessel while they stomped around her. She cried out as she was grabbed and hauled up. Not to her feet, but carried face down so she was staring at the boat and then the dock when they lifted her off it. The weathered and warped wood passed beneath her and then she saw the clumps of silver-tipped swamp grass and patches of soft wet ground. Allie tried to lift her head but they dropped her without warning, forcing a grunt and fresh tears as her cheek and chin struck the ground and she bit her lip.

“You don’t understand any of this, do you?”

Allie gasped as the words brushed over and pushed her into the soft ground. The voice spoke her language now, but it had an accent she’d never heard. He sounded deep and powerful and heartless. She shivered from the tone alone.

“Lift her!”

Allie was jerked up and placed on her knees. The rope around her ankles twisted and rubbed her skin, but her pain fled from her mind, along with her ability to think. She was staring at a lizard so enormous she couldn’t take it all in a single glance. Her eyes swept up from the massive hind legs and their gleaming claws that pierced the ground. The dragon’s scales were a mix of golden brown and green, with silver highlights at the tips. They looked hard and imposing, unlike the shimmering and wet-looking scales of the splisskin. The creature’s body rose two dozen feet in the air, to where it held onto trees and pushed them aside as though they were saplings. Great green and silver wings were folded against its back.

The head of the dragon—she was sure that’s what it had to be—rested on a long serpentine neck. It stared at her, blinking multi-colored eyes that left her stunned with their brilliance. Even in the darkness of night, the eyes reflected the moon and stars, seeming to glow with an inner light. They were magnificent enough to take away from the prominent teeth in the dragon’s mouth. The mouth itself was big enough to swallow her whole.

The dragon lowered his head until he was less than six feet from her. “What do you know of half-bloods, snack?”

Allie trembled. She didn’t think she could answer even if she did know what the beast was talking about.

The dragon’s lips curled back from his teeth and he opened and then snapped shut his mouth. Allie cried out and tried to fall. The splisskin behind her held tight, forcing her to stay on her knees.

“I will have my answers,” he hissed at her. He turned and looked at a splisskin with leather sashes crisscrossing his chest. The snake man stood in front of two others. “They were to bring the human named Bucknar. He failed, and brought me you instead.”

Allie couldn’t tear her eyes away from the dragon to look at the splisskin responsible.

“I brought you her!” a voice insisted from her left. It was a normal-sounding voice, not a splisskin trying to speak. “Not all of my kind have forgotten the true cause!”

Allie wanted to turn and look, but she couldn’t tear her eyes from the dragon.

The dragon swiveled its head to look at the new speaker. “And that is why you will survive this day.”

The dragon turned back and opened his mouth. She heard a rushing wind and then screamed as the swamp was lit by blinding flames that burst from the dragon’s mouth. Blistering winds slammed against her. The splisskin holding her disappeared, letting her topple to the ground. She pressed her face into the mud and felt it dry and crack against her skin.

As quick as it began, the flames ended. Heat radiated off the ground and she could hear the cracking of swamp trees burning. The superheated air that seared her lungs cooled and the wet air from the swamp pressed back in against her.

She kept her face down, eyes shut and her body trembling. Was she next? The dragon wanted something from her. Some half-blood, whatever that was. If she didn’t give it to him, would she be roasted alive next? Or would he cook her once she did tell him? Was that her fate when he realized she was useless to him?

“I will find them all.” The dragon’s voice boomed over the deathly silent swamp. “Think on that, human, and do not deny me!”

The ground trembled and then wind buffeted her again. It wasn’t hot air this time, or at least not the fires from hell she’d just felt. Allie was crying again when she was grabbed and jerked up. A man was there. A human man.

He leaned in to her, his thin mustache twitching as he looked her in the eye. “You’ve just escaped with your life. It won’t happen again. Look and see what happens to those who don’t deliver on their promises.”

Allie’s head was turned by his hand to where flames still burned on the ground. She saw bumps on the dried and cracked mud. Bumps that had the white chunks of cracked bone sticking out of them. She gawked at it and then felt herself jerked up all the way, to her feet.

“You see what he can do?” the man growled. “If I cut your ropes, are you stupid enough to try to run?”

He had to shake her to get her to jerk her head back and forth.

“Say it, girl!”

“No,” Allie rasped. “I won’t.”

He nodded. “Good. Don’t try. If you do, you’ll be lucky if he catches you. He’ll kill you. If anyone else does, you’ll wish you were dead.”

Allie gasped as he drew a knife and jerked it against the rope around her ankles. It took two slashes before it parted. He repeated the process on her arms and wrists. He straightened and looked her in the eye until she dropped her gaze.

“Good girl. Learn your place. You might live long enough to see tomorrow yet.”

Allie heard him chuckle and watched his feet as he walked away. Another splisskin grabbed her arm and twisted her about. She stumbled and caught herself. She had to lean on the snake man as her feet began to tingle with the return of blood and feeling. Her hands were next and it was agonizing. She endured it as quietly as she could on her way back to the boat she’d been brought in on.

The splisskin shoved her into a seat and slapped the oar in front of her with the flat of his sword blade. She winced and reached out for it. She wasn’t riding as a captive anymore; she was a slave now. A slave of the splisskin.

Tears ran down her dry, wind-burned cheeks. A whip cracked, earning a scream from her. It cracked again, closer to her ear. She pulled on the oar and earned a hissing rebuke that she didn’t understand. The back of a scaly fist to her shoulder made her jump and try to figure out what they expected her to do. She watched the others and tried to move her oar in time with theirs.

They pushed away from the dock and began heading downstream again, floating deeper into the Silverfens and farther away from her hopes of being saved.

Chapter 15

Gildor slowed as the road began to veer away from the river to the southeast. Long grasses, green at the base and browning near the tips, rose on either side of the road. To the southwest, they could see the darker trees of the Silverfens swamp.

“The sun’s setting. You want to risk the swamp at dark?” Corian caught up to him and asked. “Aren’t you tired?”

“Do we have my daughter back yet?” Gildor asked.

“But a swamp at night? Teeming with splisskin, no doubt.”

Gildor nodded. “The Silverfens has more than splisskin to fear. We’ll be riding around it. The river bends and weaves, slowing down. We ride hard and we’ll be able to reach the mouth in time to stop them.”

Corian’s eyebrow raised in appreciation of the man’s plan. “You are a pathfinder. Can you track?”

“Some,” Gildor said. “Hard to do in this dry ground, so I never put too much effort into it.”

“All the more reason to learn it,” Corian argued. “A man with that kind of skill could command much respect. Or at least a high price.”

“I don’t worry about high prices. I only need enough to get by.”

Corian let his answer rest. It seemed odd. Why not try for more if it could be had? Could anyone truly believe good enough was enough? He turned his eyes to the southwest and studied the distant swamp. “Why do your people have a fascination with silver? Everything is named after it, but the mines are played out, are they not?”

Gildor allowed himself a hint of a smile. “The grass and some plants in the swamp have silver tips on them. You’ll see for yourself soon enough.”

“Be careful,” Corian warned. “I spent a couple of days running myself ragged and collapsed when I could go no farther. I would have died if it hadn’t been for Thork.”

“Thork is a person?” Gildor asked. “You mentioned him before.”

Corian considered the question and nodded. There was no sense in sharing what Thork really was. Gildor would think him mad. “Yes, he is.”

Gildor grunted, his interest fading. “Let’s get going.”

“Can your horses take it?”

“These are rugged horses, bred for the desert and hills,” he said. “If you’re aching, you can stay behind any time.”

“I’m not stopping,” Corian said. “I want to be sure we’re not taking a greater risk than we should.”

Gildor shook his head and stared ahead at the road. “If they escape the mouth of the river, they’ll be lost to us. I won’t let that happen.”

Corian opened his mouth to agree but Gildor urged his horse on before he could. He sighed and gave Brownie the nudge he needed to take off after Patches and catch up. Stinkeye whinnied behind him but was forced to break into a trot as his reins were pulled.

The sun dipped beneath the peaks of the mountains to the west, plunging them into shadows. It was another half hour before the stars began to overpower the setting sun rays hitting the sky. Darkness came quick, turning the shadows into night. Gildor rode on memory and what he could still see. Corian stayed close, ready to warn him if his night vision helped him see a threat the guide didn’t know about.

The road veered back to the south, taking them closer to the tall grasses and bushes that bordered the Silverfens. Corian yawned time and again, his mind becoming muddled with the steady ride. He’d been awake for a couple of days after his injury. Gildor had been awake even longer.

Vengeance and need drove the human on. Corian understood that, but the single-minded determination the father displayed impressed him. More than that, it left him humbled. He’d sworn nothing would slow him but he’d given up on his own quest. Maybe his mind hadn’t, but his body had and he hadn’t done anything to stop himself. Gildor had the sort of spirit and will that heroes were made of.

The night wore on and, no matter how hard Corian tried to focus on their surroundings, the scenery began to blur. The grass became a solid sheet of murky green in the darkness. It wasn’t until three deer burst up out of the grass and ran off towards the swamp that he realized he was a few seconds away from falling out of his saddle.

Corian shook his head and glanced up to see if Gildor had noticed. The man was focused on something to his right, in the direction of the Silverfens. He pulled back on his reins and slowed his horse to a stop.

“What’s wrong?” Corian asked as he joined him.

Gildor pointed into the grass. “See that trail?”

Corian followed Gildor’s arm and squinted. The grass looked shorter and even bent at more of an angle than the rest of the waist-high vegetation. “Yes, but I would have missed it. Why?”

“That will take us there. Pay attention. There are some ruts and, rarely, I’ve seen snakes and cats waiting for something tasty to wander by.”

Corian nodded. “I’m ready. I—”

A flare of brightness to the west stole his breath. They saw light flickering in the trees and leaping above them, sending flames into the sky for several seconds. Then it was gone, the Silverfens plunged back into darkness.

“What in the name of the saints was that?” Corian gasped. “Some kind of swamp gas?”

Gildor stared and shook his head. “Perhaps. It was a fire, but the likes of which I’ve never seen. Even a broken cask of oil won’t go out that like that.”

“Cask? More like a wagon full of barrels.”

Gildor grunted and gathered his reins. “Come! Ride hard. I fear that Allie’s involved.”

Before Corian could respond, the man was off, plunging Patches into the grass. He had no choice but to follow him and whisper a prayer to whatever saint would listen. Saint Dice was his best bet; he was said to favor fools and gamblers.

Stinkeye, the oldest and most experienced horse in the group, was the first to go down. He stepped in a hole and tumbled, granting Corian a shrill whinny as a warning before his saddle was yanked and Brownie jerked to the side. The reins tying Stinkeye to Brownie snapped, but the damage had been done. Corian flew off Brownie and hit the ground rolling.

The grasses cushioned his fall but not enough to stop him from lying on the ground and struggling to recapture his breath. He rolled up onto his side and cradled his ribs. He panted for fear of drawing in a deep breath and learning his injuries were more serious.

“You all right?”

Corian lifted his head and saw Gildor standing nearby, blood dripping from his curved sword. He stared at the blade and then craned his neck to look around. Only Brownie and Patches were standing and both horses were looking down at something.

“You killed the horse?” Corian whispered.

“Broke his leg,” Gildor said. “He was old and we can’t do anything to heal him. Don’t have time to wait.”

“I’m okay,” Corian said and hoped he meant it. He rolled onto his hands and knees and then stood up. He rolled his neck and swung his arms and nodded. “A little stiff, but it just knocked the wind out of me.”

“Good. Let’s go.”

“Gildor, are you sure you’re not pushing too hard? We just lost a horse. We can’t help anyone if we end up dead because we’re reckless.”

“It’s a risk we have to take,” Gildor said while returning to his horse. “Or one I have to take. Once she’s safe, I’ll slow down.”

Corian shook his head. “I’m still coming. I said I’d help and I meant it. I suppose if you don’t get us killed, it’s my best chance of finding Jillystria.”

Gildor spun Patches away from Stinkeye’s cooling body. “Hurry up.”

Corian jogged over to Brownie and leapt up into the saddle. The horse was reluctant to turn but after a few tugs of the reins and kicks of his heels, he managed to convince the horse it was time to go. Seeing that Gildor had already started ahead helped coax the horse into hurrying after.

The grasses grew taller and the ground wetter as they rode ahead. Soon the field of grass turned to clumps growing from high spots among puddles. Dark trees loomed ahead of them and grew larger with each splash of their horses’ hooves. Corian couldn’t tell what kind of trees they were, but they reminded him of the callowill he was so familiar with.

“What are those trees?”

Gildor jerked his head back around to look at him. “What?”

“The trees ahead, in the swamp, what kind are they?”

Gildor glanced ahead. “Elderfoil. They’re a kind of Cyprus, I heard. The trees grow tall but the branches droop, like they’re old and weak.”

“Foil?”

“The leaves have a sheen to their bottoms; it looks like a thin metal foil.”

“Of course,” Corian muttered. “I should have known silver would play a part.”

Gildor smirked and nodded. “No trees like that where you come from?”

“Some Cyprus, but not these. I live in Glennduril. Mostly callowill there, though there are bronzewood, oak, beech, birch, and others. I have family in Fylandria, high in the mountains. Oak, pine, maple, and eagleroot abound there.”

Gildor nodded and let the conversation drop. They rode on several more minutes, slowing as the puddles grew to ponds. The trail branched out as both animals and men who had taken it before sought the best way through. Gildor veered to his left, towards the south.

“It looks lower and wetter this way,” Corian warned. “I can see better in the dark than you.”

“Can you see Lake Silvermist? How about the river emptying into it this way?”

Corian frowned and shook his head.

“Trust me, this is the right way,” Gildor said. “All the same, speak in a whisper if you must speak at all. We’ll be in the swamp soon.”

Corian clamped his lips together and nodded. He reached back over his shoulder out of habit and then had to stifle a laugh. He’d lost his bow. Now all he had was his dagger. Daggers, including the one Thork had given him. It was amazing, the troll’s dagger. It really did cut through anything, or at least it cut through the wooden door as though it was made of cloth.

He dropped his hand to the hilt of the dagger at his waist and took comfort in knowing it was there. A dragon’s tooth, the troll had said. Based on what he’d seen so far, he believed it.

In minutes, they began to ride between the edges of the trees of the swamp. Gildor led them along a path that forced them to slow as it wound between trees and brush. Their path came to an end when the ground sloped to the edge of a narrow waterway between ponds.

“Now what?” Corian whispered. His faith in the human’s path finding skills began to waver. For all he knew, they were lost in the swamp.

Gildor reached down and pulled out his short bow. He strung it while sitting on his horse and drew an arrow from the quiver tied to the saddle. Even the arrows seemed almost child-sized to Corian. Gildor drew it back and aimed at the dark water. Corian saw nothing but the shore and some logs. Then the log blinked.

Corian gasped. Gildor released his arrow and, true to his claim, it splashed into the water beside the alligator. The reptile ducked under the water and out of sight.

“You missed him!” Corian hissed.

“Hit what I was aiming for,” Gildor said. “He’s swimming away. Won’t try to take out a horse now.”

“Take out a—what do you mean?”

Gildor slipped his bow over his back and took up the reins of his horse. He urged Patches forward and soon was crossing through the shallow water. Corian watched him and then put it all together. He chuckled and followed behind.

After countless puddles and two more swamp water crossings, Gildor held up a hand and pointed ahead. Corian stared into the darkness and saw ridges on the mounds of land ahead of them. Ridges with the unnatural shapes of small buildings on them.

“A tribe of splisskin took over this village long before I was born,” Gildor whispered. “I was told it used to be built up and used for trading what the dwarves mined upstream and sent downriver into the world. After the dwarves left, the snakes took over.”

“Why are we here?” Corian asked. “Shouldn’t we go around?”

“Mouth of the river is here,” Gildor said.

Corian’s eyes widened. A village and the splisskin on the rafts? He swallowed and nodded. “Let’s do this.”

Gildor dismounted and made sure the reins to his horse were tied to his saddle pommel. He slipped the quiver of arrows across his back and patted Patches on the neck. Patches offered a soft whicker in response. Corian followed his actions but received no confirmation from Brownie when he tried to reassure the horse.

“Stealth,” Gildor urged as he drew his sword. Corian held tight to his dragon-tooth dagger and followed the man through the swamp.

The human moved with ease and familiarity, but his larger frame couldn’t match the natural woodcraft that Corian had known since he was old enough to walk. They complemented each other well enough that they made it all the way to the first ridge without raising any alarm.

Gildor paused outside the first building. The shutters had long since rotted and fallen off and even the door was a gaping hole into the stone structure. The roof was on the verge of collapsing. The pathfinder looked into the building and stood still. His hand clenched and unclenched around his sword.

“What?” Corian breathed from beside him. The elf peered past the man and saw a few of the splisskin curled up around each other, sleeping. It was hard to make out how many there were, exactly. Three or four, at least.