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

by Jason Halstead

  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?” Cor
ian 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.

  Gildor turned away without a word. His arm was trembling as he moved through the remains of the village. Corian spared one more glance at the sleeping splisskin and then hurried after Gildor.

  The human veered to his left, avoiding the crumbling houses and buildings and making his way along the sloping edge of the raised land the town had been built on. Corian saw the trees thinning out on his left and then began to notice the breaks in the leaves overhead. Stars twinkled down at them, shedding their tiny pin pricks of light down on them. Below the open sky, he saw Lake Silvermist at the mouth of the Silverflake River, complete with one large island with a crumbling lighthouse. A few smaller islands dotted the mouth and shore, but were mostly obscured by the silvery mists that floated off the water’s surface.