The Fanged Crown tw-1

by Jenna Helland

  On the other side of the wreckage of the device, something shattered against the floor. Harp dashed around the machine, startling the slight figure that was clutching a wooden stick in his bloody fingers. He swung the stick at Harp, who easily knocked it out of it his hands. Harp grabbed his arm and twisted it up behind his back, and forced him to his knees just as Kitto rushed around the corner. Harp saw Kitto’s eyes widen in surprise.

  “Let her go!” Kitto cried.

  At Kitto’s unexpected command, Harp dropped the writhing body like a stone and backed away. Instead of fleeing, the person crouched on the ground like a cornered animal. Now that the figure was still, Harp could see that it had an unmistakably female form. Kitto crouched beside her and brushed back the red hair from her face.

  “Liel?” Harp asked, recognition hitting him like a physical shock. At the sound of her name, she looked up at him in confusion. The elf hadn’t changed since he’d seen her years before. Her hair was still the reddish color of a sunset. She had the same graceful curve of her jawbone, the same sea green of her eyes. But she was smeared with blood, her body trembled, and her feet were bare and muddy.

  Despite the years, despite her disheveled condition, despite her betrayal, Harp wanted to reach out and touch her. He wanted to carry her through the jungle to the relative comfort and safety of his ship. He wanted a lot of things, but uncertainty kept his hands firmly at his sides. It had been so long since he’d seen her, and she had become a stranger.

  “Harp? Kitto?” she implored. “What are you doing here?”

  “Looking for you,” Harp managed to say as Kitto helped her to her feet.

  Liel stared at them with bloodshot eyes. “How did you know where I was?”

  “Your father hired us.”

  “Avalor hired you?” She stared at Boult as if he had just said something.

  “That’s Boult. He’s with us,” Harp said. “Come on, let’s get outside.”

  “What about the machine?” Liel asked.

  “Yes, what about the machine?” Boult looked up at the half-destroyed contraption and back at Liel.

  But Harp didn’t care about the machine. He wanted to get Liel out of the place and away from the bars and sticky troughs, and machines made from fleshy cords. But when he tried to lead her to the door, she shied away from his touch.

  “We can’t leave it,” Liel said urgently. “We have to destroy it.”

  “It’s been split in two,” Harp told her. “I think it’s destroyed.”

  Liel hesitated and then allowed him to put his hand on her back and lead her up the passageway. But as they neared the entrance, she grew more and more agitated, casting furtive glances behind her and slowing her steps until she was barely walking at all.

  “It’s all right,” Kitto assured her. “We’re close to the ship.”

  Liel shook her head. “I can’t leave.”

  “Why?”

  “I just can’t!”

  “What is that machine?” Boult asked gruffly. “What does it do?”

  At his question, she stopped walking and turned back the way they’d come. From where they stood, Harp could see the entrance to the cavern. The door was ajar, and outside he could see Verran leaning against a sunlit boulder, looking back at the entrance to the cave. Hearing the rush of the river made Harp want to be gone from the cavern immediately.

  “Give me a reason,” Harp said quietly. “Tell me why you can’t leave.”

  “Cardew,” Liel said promptly.

  Boult frowned. “Cardew what?”

  “Cardew’s not in Chult,” Harp told her. “He’s back in Tethyr.”

  “Tethyr?” Liel repeated.

  “Avalor wants to see you. We’ll take you to the Wealdath.”

  “I can’t leave,” Liel repeated. “You don’t know what Cardew has done in the jungle.”

  “Show us what he’s done,” Boult said, surprising Harp. But when Harp started to ask why Boult had suddenly had a change of heart about staying in the jungle, Boult silenced him with an abrupt gesture. “Show us the colony.”

  “What?” Harp said. “You’re the one who wanted to leave.”

  But Boult’s declaration had calmed Liel down. Her shoulders relaxed, and she stared at the dwarf with unblinking eyes. “You won’t believe what he’s planning to do.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  1 Flamerule, the Year of the Ageless One

  (1479 DR)

  Kinnard Keep, Tethyr

  “I’m so sorry about your wife, Declan,” Ysabel said quietly, reaching out and resting her fingers lightly on Cardew’s hand. Cardew gave her a sad smile and her small fingers a quick squeeze. “When did she die?”

  Before Cardew could answer, Tresco coughed into his napkin. Excusing himself, he reached for a glass of water. Cardew turned back to Ysabel. Her cheeks were pink from the warmth of the fire. He hadn’t seen her in nearly a year, and she still wore her long blonde hair in a girlish braid down her back. It was very becoming, but an unusual choice for a nineteen-year-old who would be marrying soon.

  “She grew ill on the journey to Chult,” Cardew said. “She died our first night on the island. It’s been almost a year. I still think about her, of course.”

  “Of course,” Ysabel said. “What was the jungle like? Was it horrible?”

  “And how did you ever manage to survive?” Tresco asked. “I heard the colony was attacked by wraiths.”

  “No, no,” Cardew said, shaking his head. “Nothing that … supernatural.”

  Ysabel and Tresco waited patiently, but Cardew was quiet for an overly long time.

  “You don’t have to give us details,” Ysabel said. “I shouldn’t have pressed you. It must have been dreadful.”

  Cardew nodded gratefully. For months, rumors had circulated that every colonist had been slaughtered in Chult, including the Hero of the Realm, Declan Cardew. His unexpected and miraculous return to the Court of the Crimson Leaf had caused much excitement among the nobles of Tethyr. How Cardew alone had escaped death and returned home with only a bruised head and a gaunt frame was not yet clear. When pressed, Cardew was a bit hazy on the details of what exactly had happened to him in the dark jungle.

  “I heard Queen Anais ordered you to convalesce in Hulen,” Ysabel said, reaching for her glass of red wine. The black-haired serving girl came through the door with a silver tray and laid bowls of thick broth before them.

  “Yes, but it had been so long since I’d seen you,” Cardew replied. “I couldn’t wait any longer.”

  “We thought you were going to arrive two days ago,” Tresco said.

  “But we’re just as happy to see you now, aren’t we, Uncle?” Ysabel said hurriedly. “How long do you plan to stay?”

  “Several days, if you’ll have me,” Cardew replied.

  “Of course,” Ysabel said happily. “Just as you said, it’s been an age since we’ve been together.”

  “Yes, how long has it been?” Tresco asked, tapping his finger against the edge of his china bowl thoughtfully. “I believe it has been almost two years.”

  “Has it really?” Ysabel asked. “I remember fondly those nights that we played Scaffold Knights. And what was that other game you liked? Routacelle, wasn’t it?”

  “You won nearly every game,” Cardew said, shaking his head in mock disbelief.

  “I don’t remember that,” Ysabel protested. “You won far more than I did. Perhaps we can have a game after dinner. The set is around somewhere.”

  “Maybe another night,” Cardew replied. “I’m afraid I’m not up to my former glory. You would slay me for sure.”

  “I like the orderliness of the game,” Ysabel mused. “You know who your enemies are. There’s no deception.”

  “Games were your favorite pastime when you were young,” Tresco interjected. “I could barely keep you at your studies.”

  “You were away often, Tresco,” Cardew said. “I would come to visit Bella, and you were at the academy or wherever your studies t
ook you.”

  “Yet it was so hard for you to break away from court,” Tresco countered. “You had so many responsibilities. We rarely saw you. But we understood, didn’t we, Ysabel?”

  “I was so concerned for you, Bella, in the years after the massacre,” Cardew continued. “You were very much changed from the lively little girl I once knew.”

  “Those were dark years,” Ysabel agreed. “You both were a great comfort to me.”

  “Did I ever tell you that I’ve been to Chult?” Tresco said abruptly.

  “Have you?” Cardew asked. “No, I didn’t realize that.”

  “Yes, I went on an expedition with a group of scholars from Candlekeep. We were searching for a type of poisonroot with healing properties.”

  “Uncle has the most interesting stories about the jungle, Declan,” Ysabel said. “Tell the one about the giant lizard. That story gave me nightmares for days!”

  “Oh, I don’t intend to bore Cardew with my tales of adventure,” Tresco said. “After the death of his wife, I’m sure the jungle is a horrible memory.” Blushing, Ysabel looked at the floor in embarrassment. “I’m sorry,” she said. “My tongue gets away from me.”

  “It’s no trouble,” Cardew reassured her. “Your uncle is just thinking of my welfare.”

  “The soup is cold,” Tresco declared with distaste, throwing his spoon into the broth, which sloshed onto the tablecloth. “I’ll tell the cook to bring us something else.”

  Throwing his cloak over his shoulder, Tresco swept out of the room. As soon as the door clicked shut, Ysabel stood up. Lifting her skirt to her thighs, she straddled Cardew and hugged him tight around the neck.

  “I thought you were dead,” she whispered.

  “Ysabel,” he breathed as he clutched her back. He could feel the bones of her rib cage through the silk of her dress. “I’ve thought of you constantly since I left.”

  Gripping the back of his chair, Ysabel pressed her body down against his until he took a shuddering breath.

  “No,” he said. “Not when Tresco could walk in.”

  “Did you bring me something special?” she whispered coyly, her lips brushing his ear. “Did you bring me something from the wilderness?”

  “I’d go to the ends of the world to get you whatever you want,” he said. She cupped his face in her hands.

  “Did you bring me anything?”

  “I brought you another spellbook,” Cardew whispered, gazing up at her. “I’ll leave it behind the tapestry the way I used to.”

  “And I’ll reward you, the way I used to,” she promised, pressing her face against his neck.

  “You make me … desperate,” he told her.

  “When can we be together?”

  “Soon,” he promised. “Soon you’ll be my wife.”

  Ysabel kissed his mouth hard. Then she pushed away from him, smoothed her skirt down, and sat primly in her chair just as Tresco swung open the door.

  “Cardew was just asking me about the portraits,” Ysabel told Tresco, pointing to the wall at the collection of ten paintings, all of Evonne Linden. There was Evonne as a child, sitting on a swing under a massive oak tree. Evonne at her wedding feast, the day she married Garion. Evonne standing in the marble hall outside the judges’ chambers in Darromar. “I told him that it had been our personal project. We hired the best painters in the realm, didn’t we Uncle?”

  “Indeed,” Tresco said heartily.

  “I didn’t know Evonne liked horses,” Cardew said dryly, looking up at a painting of Evonne riding a chestnut stallion.

  “Well, you didn’t know Evonne well at all, did you?” Tresco replied, motioning impatiently to the servant who had arrived with plates piled with lamb. “Did I ever tell you that it was Evonne who gave me the idea of exploring Chult in the first place? She had done all sorts of research on the sarrukh and said they had wealth beyond imagination in the ruins of their …”

  As Tresco droned on about gold plates and copper goblets, Ysabel gave Cardew a secret smile. Cardew maintained a perfectly calm facade, but inside his chest, his heart was pounding.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  1 Flamerule, the Year of the Ageless One

  (1479 DR)

  Chult

  From the outside, the colony looked more like a military outpost than a village. Fashioned from roughly hewn planks and mud, the perimeter walls seemed as tall as the Crane’s mast and were crowned with long black thorns. Creeping vines had engulfed several areas as the jungle reclaimed the colony. But the ground in front of the gate was muddy and barren, making the compound seem even less hospitable.

  “Welcome to Cardewton,” Liel said, without a trace of irony. The gate was slightly ajar, and Liel ducked inside and disappeared from sight without another word.

  As if waiting for an invitation to enter, the men remained outside. Looking at the isolation of the spot, it seemed strange that Cardew chose to name the colony after himself. Only a man with Cardew’s limitless ego could perceive a mudhole in the jungle as a prize worth claiming.

  “Having seen her, I can see why you’ve been so moody so long,” Boult finally said. “But, does she seem odd to you?”

  Harp shrugged. “She seems subdued. The Liel I knew was like … a force of nature.”

  Boult snorted. “She’s a druid. She is a force of nature.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “No, I don’t. And neither do you.”

  “It was like she had raw power that could barely be contained by her body,” Kitto said quietly. “It was like heat came off her in waves.”

  Harp snapped his fingers. “Exactly. That’s what I meant.”

  “I don’t feel any power in her at all,” Kitto said. “Just coldness.”

  Boult shot Harp a smug look. Harp had no idea what Boult should be smug about, but Boult rarely needed a good reason to feel superior.

  “Don’t start,” Harp snapped. “It’s been almost a month since Cardew showed up in Tethyr. We don’t know what’s happened to her since he left her behind.”

  “Then what are we doing standing out here?” Boult said. “Let’s go find out.”

  Once inside, they could see that the space inside the walls was limited, not much larger than a city block in Darromar, with only a few permanent structures. A shabby wooden building with a thatched roof stood in the center of the encampment and had probably been the common area for the colonists. Near the eastern wall, a sturdy hut had been built in a grove of goldenfruit trees-a grove that had stood long before someone built a wall around the area.

  “How long were the colonists here?” Boult asked as Harp and Kitto struggled to close the heavy gate.

  “About three months, I think,” Harp said, inspecting the locking mechanism on the gate, which consisted of a flimsy metal hook. It didn’t look very secure, but then maybe the night creatures weren’t interested in breaking and entering, just stomping and eating.

  “They didn’t get much done, did they?” Boult said, surveying the motley array of buildings.

  “What do you mean?” Harp asked.

  “If you were building a colony, what would be your first priority?” Boult asked.

  “A dry place to sleep,” Kitto said.

  “Exactly,” Boult agreed. “But look at those hovels.”

  Harp looked around at the handful of rudimentary lean-tos scattered along the perimeter. Made from sticks braced against the outer wall and covered in dried grasses, the lean-tos looked about as cozy as the low-walled pens that were clustered along the back wall of the encampment.

  “Those aren’t the dwellings of people who are planning to stay,” Boult pointed out.

  “What about that house?” Verran asked, gesturing to the hut in the grove of trees. The mud walls of the hut had been built on a wooden platform several feet off the ground, probably to discourage snakes and rodents from seeking shelter.

  “I’ll bet you the first round that is Master Cardew’s house,” Boult said under his breath to Har
p. “Is that where Liel went?”

  “Let’s give her a few minutes to herself,” Harp said.

  “To do what?” Boult asked grumpily.

  “Maybe find some shoes,” Harp said pointedly. “We’ll look around. Kitto, will you keep an eye on the gate? If you see any sign of Liel, give us a shout.”

  Kitto nodded and settled down on a stump near the wall while the others headed for the common building. They could see holes in the thatched roof, and the roughly hewn planks used for the walls were warped and graying. As they opened the squeaky door, the stench of rot was sharp in the air. “Dead colonists?” Boult asked.

  “It’s not human,” Verran blurted out. Then he looked as if he wished he’d kept his mouth shut.

  “What are you, a dog?” Boult asked incredulously. “How do you do that?”

  “Down, Boult,” Harp said easily. “Identifying corpses by smell could be a useful skill.”

  “What? Knitting is a useful skill. Cooperage, definitely handy. No offense, Verran, but that’s just …”

  “Boult, enough.” But Verran had already moved away into the gloom. “It’s not his fault,” Harp whispered angrily.

  Boult jutted out his jaw unapologetically. “Maybe not, but it’s still unsettling.”

  “Fine. Be unsettled in the privacy of your thick skull. He’s just a kid. I’m sure he didn’t ask to be that way.”

  “Oh, it’s just a family trait? Like curly hair?” Boult hissed.

  Harp shrugged noncommittally. “Well, in a way.”

  “In what way?” Boult demanded.

  “His father was a warlock,” Harp said softly, watching as Verran inspected a row of shelves at the far end of the room. “Maybe that has something to do with it.”

  “If his father made a bargain with something dark, then he would get the power, not his son,” Boult informed Harp.