Servant of the Serpent (Serpent's War Book 1) (8 page)

She shook her head. Her dad wasn’t like that. He loved her. Loved her to the point where he had given things up for her. Another woman and the chance to spend his gold on things he wanted, for one. Living somewhere else, somewhere better, for another. He’d read to her as a child and taught her to read when she was old enough. He’d taught her everything she knew, from how to be a good person to how to take care of herself.

“No,” Allie said to the river. “My dad is a good man. No matter what happened, he’s my dad and nothing will change that!”

The river flowed on, silent and uncaring. She stuck her tongue out at the water and walked upstream far enough that there was no chance someone would come across her. She glanced about a final time to be safe and then placed her clean clothes on top of a rock. She unbuckled her sword belt and tucked it beside the rock. Allie hesitated, considering how upset her grandpa would be if the impossible happened, and covered the scabbard with dirt so that only the hilt was left in the open, but it was in the shadow of a rock her clothes were on. She smiled at her clever job and then checked her surroundings again before pulling her sweaty tunic over her head.

Allie untied the man’s breeches she wore for training and let them drop to the ground. She glanced around the grass and scrub-covered shallow hills again, making sure nothing was amiss, and then turned and waded into the Silverflake.

The water was cool and raised goose bumps on her skin. She shivered and grinned before wading in deeper. The bottom dropped away but she’d learned years ago to be careful and not go too deep, too soon. Her dad had taught her to swim and the water didn’t move so fast she couldn’t get back to the side if she had to, but swimming upstream was very tiring.

Allie dropped down and held her breath as she submerged herself in the water. It chilled her face and scalp and made her tingle all over. She ran her fingers through her sand-colored hair, digging at her skin to work the sweat and dirt away. She stayed under as long as she could, her toes digging into the soft but gritty bottom to keep from being swept downstream. When she couldn’t hold her breath any longer, she burst through the surface and gasped for air. Allie flung her head, spraying water from her long hair and grinning at how alive and wonderful she felt.

She blinked the water out of her eyes and looked around. Everything was as she’d left it. As it should be. Her life was as it should be. She whined about wanting to move to the city, even Almont, to be around people but the truth was she relished the time alone she was able to spend with her dad. He was her life, and she knew she was his. When he was gone, she got to spend time with her grandpa.

Allie rubbed the sore spot on the swell of her growing breasts and grinned. It hurt, but it made her proud. He’d been real with her. He hadn’t treated her like a child. That meant he had enough respect for her to treat her like an adult. She was old enough to have children and be someone’s wife; she supposed it was about time.

Allie fell back into the water and swam on her back. She kicked and splashed her arms, fighting the current and playing in the water. She rolled over, breathing hard from all the exercise, and struck out trying to swim across the river. She made the forty-foot swim as she had scores of times before. Every day she was with her grandfather, she made a point to swim in the water, unless one of the rare winter rains came on them. The river surged then and wasn’t safe for man, boat, or naked girl.

She giggled at the thought. Her grandpa and dad had no idea that she did this. It was her private adventure. She’d even ventured into the bushes and trees on the far side a few times. It was scandalous, a naked girl scampering through the wilderness like some sort of wood nymph. She knew if she was ever caught, the consequences would be worse than bad. Even after she’d be able to sit down again after the strikes from her grandpa or father’s belt, she’d never be allowed near the river again.

Considering the way Talwin had looked at her earlier, the same way she’d seen other boys and some men in the town glancing her way, she suspected that might be the least of her worries.

Allie suppressed a shiver and realized she’d almost walked out of the water. She hugged her arms to herself, pretending too late at some modesty. She’d been growing fast the last year. Filling out in areas that drew the attention of others and began to make her embarrassed and awkward. She felt the heat in her face that had nothing to do with the warm wind and hot sun.

Allie ran back into the water and dove in, swimming under the surface for several seconds until she felt the need for air. She pushed up and finished swimming back to the eastern bank, and then debated whether she should stay in the water to walk back upstream to her clothes or walk along the shore.

She bit her lip, knowing she was taking a terrible risk, and decided to walk on the shore. She’d leave her feet in the water so she could jump in if she had to, but this way she could dry off some by the time she was back to her clothes.

She smiled and began her hike upstream. Today was proving to be one of the best days of her life!

Chapter 8

“This is amazing,” Corian admitted as he worked on his second piece of deep-fried gator.

The troll grinned. “Da trick is getting enough fat to boil da meat in.”

Corian jerked his head up. “Fat? How do you boil fat?”

“Yous melt it, stupid,” Thork said. He shook his head. “Bedder when yous got some flour to roll it in.”

Corian glanced at the dead alligator. Thork had trimmed more meat from it for cooking. The gator’s innards had been removed before Corian woke up and the elf had an unsettling feeling they hadn’t been buried or tossed in the river.

Thork bent over and picked up the dagger he’d dropped earlier. He grinned and tossed it onto the ground in front of Corian. “Yous might need dis.”

“I have a knife.”

“Not like dat one!”

Corian tilted his head and tossed what was left of his cooked gator in his mouth. He chewed fast to deal with the heat and picked up the dagger. He studied the hilt, noting it seemed to be made of bone and wrapped with some strange sort of leather. He pulled it from the sheath and marveled at the strange color of the blade. It looked and felt like steel, but it had a pale shade to it that almost looked ivory.

“What is this made of?” Corian asked.

“Toof.”

“Toof? Oh, tooth!” Corian nodded and then stared in shock. “Tooth? What kind of beast has a tooth big enough to make a dagger out of? Is this—by Saint Wendara—is this a dragon’s tooth?”

Thork nodded. “Don’t yous worry, him’s not coming back for it.”

Corian managed a weak chuckle. “I’d expect not. If you’ve got his tooth, he must have died long ago.”

Thork shook his head. “Him’s trapped in da water.”

“Trapped? What?”

Thork waved his hand. “Never yous mind dat. What yous gots to do now is save yous sister, right?”

Corian pushed his other thoughts aside and slid the dagger back in its sheath. “You have my attention.”

“Good,” Thork said. “Watch dat knife. It’s sharp enough to cut frough anyfing.”

The elf glanced down at the sheathed dagger and then back up. He nodded his understanding.

“So, Jillybean.”

“Jilly-what? Her name is Jillystria.”

Thork waved his hand. “Dem talkin lizard got her, and yous gonna need help if yous want to get her back.”

Corian frowned but remained silent. He’d killed splisskin before; he could do it again. He would do it again.

“Go norf, froo da forest and da mountains and hills and stuff. Norfeast, Thork guesses. Dere’s a human dat helped yous elfsies out a long time ago.”

Corian stiffened. “I remember him. Buckard, wasn’t it? That was many years ago. Is he still alive?”

“Yup,” Thork said. “Him knows da land over dere.”

“But they took her down the river!” Corian argued. “The Sarana runs to the east and south.”

“Not all da way. It turns back norf an joins some udder rivers,” Thork corrected. The troll stood up and glanced to the east where the sky was turning orange. He thumped his spear against the ground and wiped out the campfire with his magic.

“Hey!” Corian cried, stunned by the sudden lack of light. His eyes adapted in time to see Thork thrust his spear into the air and then drag it down to the ground. It left a glowing white and green rope hanging in mid-air.

The elf sat stunned as Thork reached out and grabbed the line of light. He pulled on it, opening it up and spilling brilliant light onto the forest floor. Corian blinked and tried to block the strongest of the blinding luminescence with his fingers. He saw Thork turn, grab his cauldron, and hoist it and the iron rests it sat on up and off the fire pit.

“Damn! Dat’s hot!” Thork howled as he turned and tried to shove the cauldron into the light. Boiling oil spilled from the edge of the pot and landed on his legs and feet, causing a fresh bout of swearing from the troll. He managed to shove it into the light and then jumped back and started hopping up and down.

“Thork?” Corian asked.

The troll ignored him and ran past him to the river. He jumped and tucked his knees up before splashing into the river and sending up a deluge of water that splattered Corian. Bonky chuckled from where he stood on the far side of the campsite.

Corian rose and stared into the river, concerned about the bizarre green monster's behavior. Bubbles rose seconds before Thork’s head burst out of the water. The troll waded ashore and climbed out. He grinned when he looked at the elf.

“Are you all right?” Corian asked.

Thork nodded and rubbed his hands against each other. His burnt skin peeled away and fell off, revealing unharmed green flesh beneath it. He held up his hands and then jerked. The troll tried to twist to his right and then his left but couldn’t manage to look behind him. He reached back and floundered for a bit until he cried out and jerked his arm back around. He held up a long-nosed sawfish that had managed to swim between his armor and try to take a bite out of him.

“Stupid fish,” Thork said. “Yous bite me, Thork bites you. Thork wins!”

Corian watched the troll open his mouth and eat the fish, raw and alive, in two bites. The troll chomped and then swallowed him down before belching and turning to Corian.

Corian shook his head. He had no idea what to say.

“Yous should go,” Thork said. “Dem splisskin isn’t da bestest hosts.”

Corian’s eyes widened and he nodded. “Right, um, thank you. I think.”

“Yep, yous’s welcome. Good luck wif da snake bashins!” The troll gestured to the goblin and turned away.

Corian watched the troll turn and walk to the east. Bonky followed him and between the forest and the rising sun, they disappeared from the elf’s view in less than a minute. He stood still until the rising sun broke free of the trees, making sure the troll was really gone.

Corian glanced around the small campsite. Had all of that really happened? Had he met a troll? A troll that saved his life twice, crippled him, and then healed him? Corian looked down at the dagger he still held in his hands. It was real. The dead alligator was real too. He shook his head and tied the dagger to his waist. He had no idea what or who Thork was, but he knew he was more than just a swamp troll with a pet goblin.

Corian slipped his bow off his back and tested his string to make sure it was dry. Satisfied, he slung it over his back and turned north. He had a long ways to go and not nearly enough time. He started forward, breaking into a jog and finding clear sections of forest and game trails to help him move as fast as he could. His body felt good. Not exactly rested, but he had no aches or soreness he could find.

Corian crossed the road that led east from Glennduril shortly after noon. He slowed to sip from his skin a few times or when the bushes or ground grew too difficult to run through. Seeing no one near on the road, he pushed on to the north and soon was jogging through areas seldom visited by elves. Deer and coyotes watched him as he ran past them. He startled a black-furred hunting cat as it made ready to leap on the back of a wild pig that was drinking from a stream.

Corian wanted to stop and marvel at the things he saw in the deep forest, but he knew he had to run on. By nightfall, the rising ground turned to hills. Flowers lit up, glowing in the dark and attracting nighttime insects. In some cases, the bugs became trapped and eaten. For others, it was a means of spreading their pollen.

Other lights in the darkness bobbed and weaved in the distance. Corian had heard of the disembodied lanterns in tales told of men trailing after them in the darkness and never returning. Wisps, they were called. Or forest lights. He made sure he kept his eyes focused on his path so he didn’t risk becoming enchanted by them.

After stumbling and falling twice in the dark, Corian began to consider that he might have pushed himself too far. He slowed and began to look for a good place to spend the night. His heart was beating hard and steady in his chest and his breath came fast. The gator meat he’d eaten that morning was long gone.

He looked around, ignoring the bugs that buzzed by his ears while keeping an eye out for any nuts, berries, or other fruits. Instead, he heard the sound of water rushing and splashing over rocks. He licked his lips and lifted his head to get a better sense of where the sound came from.

Corian neared the top of a hill to his right and hesitated. The noise of the water hissing didn’t sound right. He shrugged his bow off his shoulders and bent it to fit the string to it. Satisfied, he sidestepped until he passed through the hanging fronds of a willow tree. He moved up to the thick trunk and stepped around it, straining with his eyes and ears.

The elf had to make his way across the top of the hill and kneel down to look under the branches before he saw a group of splisskin gathered on a rock ledge above the river that flowed from the northwest to the east. He jerked back, frightened they might see him, and retreated all the way to the trunk of the tree before stopping to consider what he’d seen.

What were they doing here? There were trails through the mountains, but they were seldom traveled and considered perilous. It was quicker to reach the human land of Shazamir, but the mountain passes were too difficult for wagons. A different group of splisskin had struck Glennduril, which was dozens of miles away. Why was this group here?

Corian’s eyes widened as he remembered the small patrol he’d found and butchered after they’d kill the messenger. What were they doing there? And why was his sister important enough to capture when they’d killed the messenger?

Corian snorted and rose to his feet. Thork was another factor. The troll made him think he was important somehow. He’d known Jilly’s name, for that matter. Was he working with the splisskin? Why save him then? Corian scowled. He had too many questions and no answers. He should have pressed Thork harder but he’d been overwhelmed by everything at the time.

“I’ll get my answers now,” Corian whispered. He drew an arrow and fit it to his bow.

The elf slipped back to his position at the fringe of the willow’s branches and drew back his bow. He had to hold it parallel to the ground, a position he hadn’t practiced as much with, and drew a bead on a splisskin near the outer edges of the firelight from the camp. He loosed his arrow and reached for another, pulling it free as he heard the soft thump of his first arrow striking the splisskin in the back above where Corian had hoped to strike him in the heart.

Corian released his second arrow as the splisskin beside the first turned and began to lurch to his feet. The arrow hit him in the side and tore through his lower chest and upper abdomen. The splisskin staggered and collapsed, hands grabbing the arrow that still protruded from his left side.

Corian rose to his feet as he drew a third arrow and took two quick steps to his right before thrusting his bow between the loose branches of the willow and sighting in a third of the surprised splisskin party. They were looking around and rising to their feet, swords, spears, and even a few bows in their hands. Corian chose a random turning target and released, striking him just inside his shoulder. The arrow tore through scales and flesh and burst out the splisskan’s back near his spine before skipping off the rock underfoot.

The splisskin hissed warnings and pointed up at him. Corian’s eyes widened at how easily they’d spotted him. He hadn’t bothered counting but there was well over a dozen remaining. He’d hoped to slaughter several more before his position was given away.

Corian drew another arrow and fired as soon as he drew the string back, tearing a furrow along the outside thigh and ripping a hole in the calf of the same leg of the splisskin leading the charge up the hill towards him.

An arrow ripped through the branches next to him, making him leap back in surprise. He reached for another and grasped for a second place to move to. He hadn’t done as much scouting as he should have; his anger had distracted and blinded him. Corian turned and fit the arrow to his bow just as a fire bit him in the back of his leg just beneath his bottom. He grunted and jumped, shocked at the sudden pain.

Corian scrambled, running and trying to ignore the way his wound felt like a thousand ants biting him in the arse. He swept one hand back to make sure there wasn’t an arrow sticking out of him. There was nothing back there; the arrow that struck him was a grazing blow. He sighed in relief and spun. He drew his string and sighted through the narrow openings in the willow’s branches for movement. From what he could tell, the splisskin were charging in numbers. It was a target-rich environment.

He guessed at where one of the snake men would be based on his legs and fired through the hanging branches. He turned, uncertain if the arrow struck home or not, and darted to his right. Barely two steps passed before his leg began to burn worse and cramp up on him. He limped, jumping on one leg for a few steps until he could force himself to try to put weight on the injured leg again.

Corian spun, drawing a fresh arrow and drawing it back. He clenched his teeth and heard himself growling through the pain. He’d never been shot or stabbed but he’d hurt himself time and again. It never burned like this did. The first splisskin that burst through the branches earned an arrow in his raised forearm. The arrow struck with force enough to bury the blades just below his collarbone, pinning his transfixed arm to his chest.