“I did,” Corian said. “I came back.”
“But—”
Corian shook his head and walked out of the mounds of burnt wood and cloth. Their beds, belongings, and even plates and pottery were incinerated. Nothing remained, save for some warped and blackened metal utensils and tools.
“Cor, hold up now. These fires burned with a heat no natural fire has. I saw Jaca’s shop go up and burn down faster than I’ve ever seen anything. No one came out the front of that shop, and I’m sure no one escaped the tanners either.”
Corian spun on the apprentice. “Are you saying my sister’s gone?”
Arlund opened and shut his mouth. He turned, looking at the ashes around them. “I’m saying anyone who was inside when those fires went up didn’t come out.”
Corian blinked away the tears that stung his eyes and shook his head. “No!” he snapped. “I won’t believe it until I see it.”
“Cor—”
Corian turned and pushed his way across the street to the tailor’s shop. Jilly had worked for a man named Jaca. He was a kind man. Kind enough, at least, to give her a job when everyone else either laughed at her or turned their backs in disgust. Only Corian had stood up for her since the day he’d seen how grief-stricken she’d been to be separated from her half-blood child and brought back here. A part of his sister had died that day. The part that smiled and laughed and made him feel like the world was right. Perhaps, if she had perished in the flames, she might finally be at peace.
Corian shook the thought from his head. Oblivion was never the answer! He scowled and tried to walk into the remains of the tailor’s shop as he had his own house. An arm grabbed his and halted him. He wrenched at it but the grip was one of steel. He turned and saw Helten standing there.
The smith shook his head. “It’s too hot yet; you’ll burn through those boots in no time.”
“I don’t care,” Corian said and tried to free his arm again.
Helten held him a moment longer and then let go. “You will,” he promised. “And how will you find justice against those who did this when your feet are bandaged and crippled?”
Corian stopped before taking his next step towards the rubble. He turned back to Helten and saw Arlund standing just behind the smith. “This was no accident,” Corian stated.
Helten nodded. “I heard the mayor’s court and some other places were burned too.”
“It’s true. I saw it as I ran through town.”
“Magic,” Helten muttered. “No other way of it.”
“I have to find my sister,” Corian insisted.
Helten shook his head. “She’s not here. There are more people over yon, but I wouldn’t hold much hope.”
Corian turned in the direction the smith pointed and was off without another word. He ran, dodging around people and wreckage on his way. He studied the people as fast as he could, but none of them had the look or shape of his sister. She was small and skinny. Scrawny, he used to tease her. She always wore a hood and full clothes as though she could hide her pain and her shame from others. It was a terrible thing because she was such a beautiful woman.
He wandered through the town for hours, searching for his sister and ignoring those who called to him. The fires were long put out and the damages being put to right by the time the sun broke the eastern horizon. Corian’s body and legs were numb. He was beyond exhausted. He had to find her, that’s all he knew. He could eat and rest once he was by her side again.
Corian looked at the rising sun and turned around. He was near the eastern edge of Glennduril, not the western side where his home was. He blinked and shook his head, trying to put together how he’d come so far. He’d wandered up and down streets, ignoring everything save his need to look at one more person. To visit one more healer and see if anyone had seen her. One of the few benefits of having a poor reputation was that almost everyone knew of her. Unfortunately, no one had seen her.
Corian sighed and began to turn away from the rising sun when a glint caught his eye. He turned back, his mind on where he could look next even as his body responded to something he didn’t understand. He stared at the sparkle and then narrowed his eyes. Two steps brought him closer and left his throat tight and hands trembling. The young elf knelt down and reached for the broken necklace from where it lay in the lee of a rock that was itself next to a building.
He stopped as the sparkle went out of the topaz in the charm. It lay in the shadowed side of the rock; there was no way he could have seen the sunlight glint off it. Corian looked around, studying the buildings and people who went about their business. They seemed oblivious of him.
He turned back, wondering if the necklace would disappear like the reflection had. It was still there. He picked it up, daring himself to believe in spite of the impossible odds. The charm was made by a human craftsman. It had been fashioned out of silver that wasn’t treated with the same skill an elven jeweler possessed. The charm was dented and scratched, but the topaz was one he knew well.
Jillystria had taken the necklace from her human lover’s body when it had been found in the river. She never knew how he died, only that he’d been pierced by arrows and left to float away in the river. She’d suspected her father had a hand in it; the shame of having a daughter in love with a human would ruin his reputation among the nobles.
For Corian, it was a brighter ray of hope than the morning sun. If her necklace was here, on the far side of the city, then that meant she had been here too. She slept with the damn thing, it was so important to her. And that meant she hadn’t burned up.
Corian lifted his head and looked to the east. Jillystria had to be alive. She had to be, and he had to find her.
Chapter 4
“Go ahead,” Gildor said as he swung off his horse’s back. “I’ll take care of the horses.”
Allie leapt off her horse and hit the ground running. The door to Bucknar’s small house opened in time for her to barrel into him and wrap the grunting and sputtering old man in a hug. They stumbled back into the house and out of sight, leaving Gildor shaking his head and smiling.
He found the lantern in Bucknar’s shed and struck a flame to light it. He removed the horses’ saddles and blankets before he brushed them down. He scowled when he saw how low the water in the trough was. He turned to see Bucknar’s horse watching from the rickety wooden fence he was trapped inside and asked, “Stinkeye, is he even pretending to take care of you anymore?”
The horse lifted his head at hearing his name. He leaned forward against the fence, making it creak as though it would give with another few pounds of pressure.
Gildor led his horses to the gate and showed them into the small pen. It was big enough for one horse, but for three the small pasture wouldn’t suffice. With Allisandra there, she’d make sure to keep the horses watered and fed, though, and his would be gone with him on whatever job he managed to find.
Both his horse and Allie’s went to the trough and snorted. There was barely enough water to wet their lips. Gildor grabbed a bucket and headed for the nearby town well. The sun had set and most of the people of the small village had returned to their homes. With no one to get in his way, he returned with a full bucket and earned grateful nudges from the horses as he poured the water in the trough.
Gildor spread some hay and grain for the horses and grabbed his and Allie’s packs. He entered his father’s house off balance and struggling to kick the door wide enough he could slip through. He would have succeeded if the door hadn’t swung back and caught the saddlebags loaded full of Allie’s books and clothes.
“Dad!” Allisandra chided him from Bucknar’s small wooden table. “Be careful with my stuff! You know how hard it is to get books.”
Gildor eyed the wedge of cheese and loaf of bread on the table. He grunted. “Next time, bring them in yourself then.”
Allie jumped up and walked over to pick up her things. She harrumphed and walked back and around the wall that Bucknar had added years ago to accommodate
his growing family. She returned a moment later, pushing the blanket aside. “No harm done, but be careful. Please.”
Bucknar slapped his thigh and laughed at the bewildered expression on Gildor’s face. “Good to see you again, son.”
“Yeah, great,” Gildor muttered. He set his gear down next to the door and walked over to cut off a slice of cheese. “How’s Almont doing?”
“Busier than ever,” the old man crowed. “Lots of wagons coming from the Havara Mountains now that the dwarves took it back over. Word is the new king’s none too happy about it, but he’s leaving them alone. Been near a year now and that’s a long time for peace down this way.”
“There hasn’t been any wars in years!” Gildor argued.
“Open wars? No,” Bucknar agreed. “But you remember how them soldiers of Shazamir were. Merchants hired us to guard their wagons from the soldiers as much as they did from bandits. Not much of that going on anymore.”
Gildor grunted and went to a cupboard to grab a mug. He held it under the tap in a small barrel Bucknar had on his counter and filled it with the warm ale. “Wagons loaded with dwarven gold make a fine target.”
“That they do, if you think the dwarves would pay that much for the supplies being delivered to them,” Bucknar said. “And mind you don’t drink all my ale. That’s not cheap, you know. Bad enough I’ve got to watch your brat while you’re out and about with no pay for it.”
“Hey!” Allie yelped.
Gildor snorted. “Pah, she’s your family too; you wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Bucknar raised his eyebrow and glanced at Allie. “I was there when she entered our lives, true enough.”
Gildor lowered his cup and fixed his father with a stare to silence him. Bucknar smiled and looked at the young woman with her hands on her hips. Her nose was wrinkled in mock outrage.
“Keep making that face and it’ll get stuck on you,” Bucknar chided.
Her eyes rounded and she gasped. “It will not! Dad told me you teased him with that when he was a boy too.”
Bucknar sighed and shook his head. “Fool kids never learn. One can’t keep his tools and wits about him and the other’s thinking they got it all figured out. My problem is I’m not sure which is which anymore!”
“That’s because you’re old,” Gildor said. “Mind’s probably halfway gone already.”
“I’ll show you old,” Bucknar said as he put his hand on the table to help him stand from his chair.
Gildor and Allie laughed. Gildor held out his hand and calmed his father down. “I know my place and I know I wouldn’t have what I’ve got without you. There’s no need to embarrass either one of us.”
Bucknar harrumphed and settled back into his chair. “Be at the guild by sunup,” he recommended. “Every day, I’m seeing people passing through. Had a couple of wagons roll in last night pulled by camels that looked ready to fall over. They’ll be swapped for horses to head south, but I’m thinking they’ve got some heavy loads they’ll pay well to keep safe.”
Gildor nodded. He motioned at Allie. “Keep on your toes with her,” he warned. “She’s got it in her mind that girls don’t need to do much but sit there and be pretty. Some boy destined to be a prince will come by and whisk her away, telling her how she’s too pretty to work.”
“The hell with that.” Bucknar chuckled.
“Grandpa!” Allie gasped.
“You’ve been blessed by Saint Syllenia herself with your beauty,” Gildor said.
Bucknar was quick to add, “And the saints know you didn’t get any of it from your father!”
Gildor tossed a scowl his way.
“There’s no sense of being right or fair to the world, Allie. You’ve got a heart as pure as the morning sun and wits enough that one day soon you’ll be outsmarting the two of us,” Bucknar said. “But all of that won’t do you a bit of good if you can’t take care of yourself. Saint Dice might favor you with luck to find a good man, or like as not you might end up being tricked and turned into the wife of a drunkard before you know it.”
Allie’s eyes widened. She shook her head. “No!” she insisted. “I don’t—I mean, that’s not what I want.”
“Then do as we teach,” Gildor said, glad to have his father helping beat the lesson home. “I’ve fought to give you the best I could, but I expect the best from you in turn.”
“I know you have,” Allisandra said. “And I do. I mean, well, sure. I whine and complain and try to get out of it, but I do it because it’s fun. It gets you fired up and shows me that you really do care.”
Bucknar chuckled. “Never doubt that, young lady. You have no idea what your dad’s gone through for you.”
She tilted her head at the cryptic statement and then looked at Gildor. “I can believe that, I suppose. And I appreciate it. It’s just—”
“Just what?” Bucknar asked.
She took a deep breath and let it out. “I don’t like fighting,” she blurted out. She looked at them with her lips pressed together and her body poised as if she was going to run and hide.
Bucknar laughed. “There’s not a sane man who does!”
Gildor grunted. “Some boys, maybe, but fighting’s done when there’s no talking left.”
Allie nodded. “That’s not what I mean. Er, well, I mean to say I know that. I get it, I mean.”
“Then what are you saying?” Bucknar asked. He glanced at Gildor and added, “Maybe I am getting old?”
Gildor nodded. “You are.”
Bucknar snorted but his rebuke was interrupted by Allie’s explanation.
“The tales I hear when I’m in Almont and the stories in my books show me there’s so much more to the world,” she said. “I want to know it all! I want to travel and visit the elves in the west and the fierce northern people who wear the hides of bears and wolves. I want to sail with the Kelgryn and walk in the halls of the dwarves. Did you know that northern man, the king they call Alto? Is it true what I heard about him killing dragons and fighting the old king of Shazamir to rescue his friends?”
Gildor and Bucknar turned as one to look at each other. Gildor clamped his mouth shut while Bucknar said, “Hold on a minute—”
“Why?” Allie asked. “He had women with him. Warrior women. I heard his wife was dressed as a southern harlot but she fought with the strength of a barbarian! And his sister, a noble in Shazamir who fought at his side. He had wizards and priests at his beck and call.”
Gildor saw his chance and spoke words that struck with the force of a bucket of cold water. “Allie, we’re not royal! We’re not nobles. We’re not even wealthy. We’re commoners, through and through. I’m not even a soldier to a king or a lord. I’m just a pathfinder and a guard.”
“You’re more than that,” Bucknar growled. “You’re a damned good father. Terrible at keeping a wagon safe and sound, but good at what matters most.”
Allie laughed and shook her head. “Dad, that’s just it. I heard that Alto was a farmer! Most of his friends were commoners too. Peasants and even outlaws.”
Gildor looked at his father with the beginnings of a frown twisting his lips. “Commoners and outlaws?”
Bucknar shrugged. “I heard some things like that too. But you hear all sorts of things from the sort of people who come through here. There’s no telling who’s got the right of it. I heard that man rides a dragon he tamed, too. I’m here to tell you that’s hogwash, pure and simple.”
“Commoners don’t become kings,” Gildor said. He sighed at the mask of determination his daughter wore. “I’m sorry, Allie. If you want to make something of yourself, become a tutor or scholar or something. I’ll do my best to help you, but I don’t want you setting yourself up for disappointment.”
“I can’t be a king,” she said. “I’m a girl. And I don’t want to be a queen if that means marrying a king.”
Gildor did a double take. “You don’t want to get married?”
She shrugged. “Someday, maybe. Not now. I want more than
being trapped in a house, tending babies. I want adventure!”
Gildor’s brow furrowed while Bucknar laughed. “Raising you was adventure enough for both of us!”
Gildor nodded and smiled. “He’s got the right of that. We had no idea what to do with a girl!”
Allie blushed. “Well, I think you did good.”
“Too good,” Gildor said. “You should have had a woman around to teach you womanly things. Such as knowing when not to risk your hide wishing to see the world and meet people who would just as soon not meet you.”
Allie stared at him a long moment. Her only movement was to blink, a sign that meant she was thinking hard. When she reached the end of her thoughts, she nodded and said, “I wish my mom had been here. I don’t blame you, but I wish I knew more about her. I don’t even have anything that was hers. Something to give me an idea of what she was like.”
Gildor stared at her, searching for something he could share. He shook his head and sighed. “I wish she’d been here to help you too.”
“The truth is we don’t know,” Bucknar said.
Gildor spun on his dad, his eyes narrowing.
“What? What do you mean?” Allie asked.
“Well, it’s been what, sixteen years? There’s no way of knowing what a person will be like in that kind of time. That’s a lifetime for some. Who’d have guessed you’d turn into who you are when you was wet, cold, and screaming?”
Allie’s brow furrowed. “What?”
“She would be amazed at how you’ve grown,” Gildor said, anxious to distract her from his father’s slip. “And she had a fire in her too, but none of the crazy notions you’ve got. I expect she’d be urging you on to do what you need to do.”
“Really? I’m like her?”
Gildor nodded but didn’t speak. He had no idea what her mother was like and it made his stomach twist to lie to her about it. He took a breath and said, “You figure out what you want and you promise me that you’ll learn what I teach you. You learn to protect yourself and listen good, and when you’re ready, we’ll go out in the world. Out past the desert north of us. Maybe down the Silverflake to Easton, on Lake Silvermist. Maybe farther, to more of the free cities. I can’t promise the elves, that’s a hike through mountains and into places that are best visited with a lot of hard men at your back, but we’ll give you a taste of the adventure you’re thirsting for.”
Servant of the Serpent (Serpent's War Book 1) Page 4