by Beth Alvarez
This is a work of fiction. All characters and events are either a product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously, and any resemblance to real people or events is entirely coincidental.
SERPENT’S BANE
Copyright © 2020 by Beth Alvarez
All rights reserved.
Cover art by Beth Alvarez
Edited by Savannah Grace Perran
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
First Edition: August 2020
ISBN-13: 978-1-952145-07-0
Serpent’s Bane
Book Three of the Snakesblood Saga
Beth Alvarez
Contents
1. Kingsword
2. The College of Lore
3. A Gift of What Was
4. Arena
5. Inconvenience
6. Discord and Debate
7. Failing Futures
8. Freedom
9. Runestones
10. Ties that bind
11. Basilisk
12. Greater Forces
13. Aldaan
14. Hard Lessons
15. Hard Choices
16. Trust and feelings
17. Succession
18. Rhyllyn
19. New Lessons
20. Cleansing
21. Bound
Author’s note
About the Author
Books by Beth Alvarez
1
Kingsword
“What is it now?” Captain Garam Kaith was not a man one wanted to displease. From the moment his foot touched the bottom stair, it was obvious he was unhappy to have been summoned.
The guard at the table in the forefront of the prison stood up. “We have an unusual problem, sir. I thought you'd want to see it.”
Garam glanced to the second guard by the mouth of the hallway. The man nudged his helmet and nodded in agreement. The cell keys in his hand rattled against his helmet's rim.
“Show me,” Garam ordered. The last thing he wanted to do was look at prisoners, but it was his duty. One of many. The mile-long to-do list in his head already clawed at the back of his mind, but duty bound him, sure as chains.
Both guards led the way between rows of prison cells.
“We found it in the market, sir,” the guard with the keys said. “Thieving from a merchant's shipments. Took three grown men to pin the thing down, not to mention getting it down here.”
“It?” The question was sharp, but neither of the men winced at Garam's tone. They were used to it by now.
“That's just the thing, sir,” the guard said. He licked his lips, betraying his nerves. “We aren't rightly sure what it is.”
Garam eyed them as they stopped, then turned to peer into the cell beside them. A figure sat hunched in the back of the cell, dressed in clothing little better than rags. The captain jostled the iron bars. The figure's head lifted, its eyes glowing a baleful red in the dark.
“Lifetree's mercy,” Garam breathed.
It pushed itself up and strode forward on feet like those of the dragons in old legends. Green scales glittered in the feeble light. Whatever the creature was, it had the form of a man, though his features reminded Garam of the unusually beautiful Eldani that sometimes came in from the forests. The angry glow in the creature's eyes pulsed as his feet carried him toward the cell door.
“Watch its hands,” one of the guards warned. “It's got claws. Tore up the men that nabbed it pretty badly.”
Garam took a step back. “He's as tall as I am,” he muttered as he looked the prisoner up and down. The man—or monster—on the other side of the bars blinked at him, and he realized with a start that he was being studied as well. He frowned.
He was not a small man, over six feet in height and broad-shouldered enough to be imposing even without his gleaming plate armor. Garam fostered that appearance, choosing to keep his dark hair cropped close and his beard meticulously edged. Everything about him was stern. Serious. And the miserable creature in the cell in front of him matched his posture as if to declare himself an equal.
Clawed hands grasped the iron bars. The color in the prisoner's eyes flickered strangely as his gaze fell to the sword at Garam's side.
“Hey now.” The captain rested a hand on his weapon and took a half step back.
The clawed creature's expression twisted with anger and spat words in a curious, lilting language.
The guards exchanged startled looks.
“It can speak?” Garam glowered at the men.
“We didn't know, Captain,” the guard with the keys said in a rush. “The men said nothing of it, and it's done nothing but growl and glare at us since we locked it up.”
“What language is that?” Garam asked.
“It sounds a bit like Aldaanan to me,” the other guard suggested.
The captain glanced at him. “Send a message to the king’s council, then. Request a scholar. If we put in a request now, we might have a translator before the day is out.”
The guard bowed and hurried away.
“Sir?” the remaining guard asked. “Why does it matter what language he speaks?”
“Even if I was allowed to keep someone prisoner without explaining why, I wouldn't be in the business of doing it.” Garam turned back toward the cell and gave the prisoner a thoughtful look. “And who knows. Maybe we can find out what you are, too.”
“He had some things with him, sir. Would you care to see?” The guard jerked his head in the direction of the doorway and the shallow crates just beyond. They were often filled with belongings stripped from prisoners, but there hadn't been much crime of late. Garam supposed he should be grateful.
The captain gave the prisoner one more glance, then turned away. “Show me.”
The guard led the way around the corner and reached for a bundle of cloth and a small leather purse. He moved it to the table for the captain to inspect.
Garam tugged open the purse and spilled part of its contents across the table. A few curious square coins looked to be copper, tarnished almost as brown as his skin. But they bore no mint or mark he recognized, which made them worth less than the metal they were made of. It was no wonder the creature was caught stealing. A narrow leather cord inside the purse caught his eye, and he pulled it free. A pair of gold rings were strung upon it, the right size to nest together, though an odd purple stone was set in the smaller of the two.
“It got awful angry when we took that,” the guard said, glancing toward the cell.
“Enchanted?” Garam asked.
“Mundane, sir. As far as the seeker found.”
The captain grimaced at mention of the artifact, a small ring that glowed when it touched anything imbued with magic. He recognized the tool's usefulness to his men; Garam simply didn't trust magic. “I'd prefer if you called an artificer from now on. Just to be sure.” He turned the rings over in his hand and jingled them together.
“You requested my presence, Kaith?” The question came from the stairs.
The captain suppressed a groan. He should have been pleased to receive a response so quickly. But he recognized that voice, sniveling and arrogant. Of all the scholars they might have sent, it was that one. Naturally.
“Ran into him in the courtyard, as luck would have it,” the guard on the stairs said, glancing between the scholar and the captain as if unsure it was lucky at all.
“Lord Survas.” Garam struggled to keep his tone neutral as he turned to face the short-statured noble. “I called f
or you, yes.”
Survas gave a lofty sniff and his pointed ears seemed to quiver. Garam wasn't surprised at the man's indignation. Few nobles ever visited the prison, and fewer by choice. Still, as Captain of the Royal City Guard, Garam ranked most men who walked in the palace as mere assistants to the king. A fact few of them seemed to remember.
“My men apprehended a... man...” he tested the word, ignoring the sneer Survas gave him, “who does not seem to speak our tongue. One of the guards believes it to be a form of Aldaanan. I trust you would be happy to translate for us.”
“You're fortunate the king holds you in such high esteem, Kaith.” Survas snorted and looked down his nose. Despite his effort to look important, the difference between their heights meant he craned his head backwards until he looked ridiculous. “Otherwise, I doubt he would take kindly to you wasting our time.”
The scholar held his chin high as he followed Garam to the cell. When he made eye contact with the creature, he gave a most unbecoming shriek.
The guards burst into laughter and earned a sharp look from the captain. The humor faded rather quickly.
“Ask him his name,” Garam ordered.
“I did not come down here to converse with animals,” Survas spat with a glare.
“No, you did not,” Garam agreed. “Now ask the gentleman in the cell what his name is.”
The scholar set his jaw, turned toward the cell, and cleared his throat. He rattled off the question in words Garam didn't understand. When no reply came, Survas tried a different tongue. When he found the right words, the creature in the cell started and moved back a step. His eyes narrowed, and he replied.
“Well?” Garam asked.
Survas grimaced. “He asked for his rings. Quite angry. He said rings first, then he'll speak to you.”
The captain raised a brow. “Little bossy for a man behind bars.”
Heavy silence fell over the group and Garam sighed. The leather cord was still in his hand. He slid his thumb over it, thoughtful. “We'll throw him a bone, then, and see if that makes him more cooperative.” He crossed the floor in a few easy strides. The prisoner inched forward and waited, and when Garam held out the rings, clawed hands snatched them from his grasp with startling speed.
Eyeing the captain distrustfully, the creature pulled the cord over his head and settled the rings under his shirt. Then the reddened glow faded from his snakelike eyes, leaving a soft shade of violet.
“Strange things in the dungeon today,” Garam muttered. “Survas, ask him his name now.”
The small man made a face and brushed at his sleeves as if they'd gotten dusty. He relayed the question with a little more flourish than necessary.
The prisoner looked between the men on the other side of the barred door, uncertain. His gaze shifted down to his hands, resting on the iron bars. His eyes lingered on his left hand. “Rune.”
Garam chuckled. “Now that I understood.” He stepped closer. “Ask him if he knows why he's here.”
Survas cleared his throat again, clearly displeased at having become a translator. But he did as he was told, growing even more displeased when the prisoner did not look at him again. The creature stared right at the captain as he answered. He never even blinked.
“He says he is here because you put him here. As punishment for his actions, which were stealing to feed himself and fighting off the men who tried to stop him.” The rattle of Survas's voice made Garam frown.
“Do you feel no remorse for your crime?” the captain asked. The delay between his question and the translation made him tense.
“He says he feels no shame in surviving. He says he does what he must and would repay what was taken if he had the means.”
Garam's expression shifted between amusement and consternation. “But you don't have the means. You seem to understand your position and why you are here, and you have no regrets. So what am I to do with you now?” The last came in little more than a murmur, a mere voicing of his thoughts. He didn't realize he'd spoken it until Survas translated and erupted into laughter.
“What's so funny?” the captain demanded.
“He says you could fetch his things and let him go!” Survas crowed and slapped his thigh as if it were a joke.
Garam raised his eyebrows. “Really?”
The noble coughed and stilled his laughter as he translated the single word.
This time, the prisoner's snakelike eyes dropped to Survas as he spoke, a furrow in his brow.
The small man grew solemn, then troubled. He gave Garam a sidewise look. “I do not think he is a common thief, Kaith.”
Garam eyed him. “What makes you say that?”
“I dare not repeat it, Captain, but no peasant would speak in that manner. None would dare to.” Survas shook his head. He did not translate what had been said and did not look at the cell again.
The captain stared at the two of them for a long time. Unsettled, he returned to the table and the bundle upon it. The cloth wrappings did little to disguise the sword held within. He tore them away.
Beneath the coarse burlap, the sword's twisted hilt gleamed a polished black, inlaid with blood-red stones. The cross guard curled inward, bent toward the flared blade like black horns. A three-pronged claw on the pommel grasped a ruby the size of an egg.
“Oh,” one of the guards remarked. Despite the bland response, his eyes grew wide with wonder.
Garam hesitated. “That's certainly no peasant's sword.”
“What's it made of?” The guard reached out before he thought better of it. His fingers stopped just shy of the blade. “Ain't no metal I've ever seen.”
“A kingsword,” Survas said, the words barely more than a breath.
“A what?” Garam gave him a hard look.
“Forged by magic for rulers alone.” The scholar rubbed his hands together, though whether it was with nerves or scheming, Garam couldn't say. “Stolen, no doubt, Captain Kaith. It should be confiscated immediately and presented before the king.”
Garam's eyes darkened. His jaw clenched as he looked toward the cell. “Slop rations and prepare him for the arena.”
“But Captain—” The guard cut off at Garam's raised hand.
“A thief as well as a monster. We'll let the champions take care of him.” The captain rolled the sword back into its wrappings and tucked it under his arm.
“Ah, Captain...” Survas licked his lips and slid closer, eyeing the bundle. “Perhaps I should take that, being that I'm to speak with the king this afternoon, and—”
“Your work here was appreciated today, Lord Survas,” Garam said. The sudden appearance of title and respect in the way the man spoke to him didn't go unnoticed, but it was too late for flattery to get him anywhere. “This is my city, and I shall see to the matter myself.”
He did not wait for acknowledgment from Survas or the prison guards before he made his way up the stairs and back to the daylight that waited outside.
The sword was a curiosity, but at least weapons were something he understood. Man or monster, whatever that thing in the prison cell was, Garam had never seen anything like it. Like him, he reminded himself. Regardless of what the prisoner was, he was a person—a man with a name. Not that Rune was much of a name to go off of.
Still, a name was a name and it was a start, even if it didn't give him much of an idea of where their unusual guest might have come from. He'd never heard of any such mix of animal and man, not even in the deep, peculiar jungles that bordered his homeland.
Garam twitched his head and tried not to think of it any further. It was of no importance, not now. Thieves went to the arena and kingswords went to kings, even if he wasn't sure which king this one belonged to.
The streets of the Royal City felt empty in spite of the people around him, but the tall buildings that loomed on either side of the wide avenues still made him claustrophobic. It was his nature as a soldier, he supposed; any one of those buildings would make a perfect hiding place for archers. His dark ey
es swept the windows before he caught himself. He pretended to study the carved stone reliefs that adorned the fronts of houses and businesses, instead.
Most of the city was constructed of pale gray stone, doubtlessly ferried in from elsewhere, given the ruddy color of the rock and earth in the fields beyond the city walls. Despite their ornate decoration, the buildings were sturdy, defensible, and he liked that. It almost excused the absurdity of the Spiral Palace.
The Royal City was the pinnacle of civilization in the north. The Spiral Palace stood at the juncture where the Triad's three provinces met. Each of the three regions—Lore, Aldaan, and Roberian—were relatively self-managing, though they were held under one rule. King Vicamros seemed a stable leader and Garam looked to him with deep respect. Still, every time he looked at the soaring white structure that towered over the capital city, Garam wondered at the wisdom in letting the three provinces carry on as they were instead of uniting them as one country under one name.
Garam tore his eyes away from the palace and shifted the wrapped sword tucked under his arm. The palace library would be the best place to find information about who the blade might belong to, but so soon after dealing with Survas in the prison, he was loath to seek the man's colleagues. Instead, he made his way toward home.
The guard barracks were housed within a building indistinguishable from any others, needlessly decorated with fluted columns and elaborate reliefs that all looked the same after a while. The Royal City often felt something like a grand maze. The notion made Garam wonder how long their newest prisoner had been thieving without being seen, and he didn't like the possibilities that came to mind. He'd have to remember to increase the number of patrols in days to come. No matter, though. There was time for that.