Silver Serpent

by Michael DeAngelo

  Rowan looked over his shoulder, watching as the prince raced for the stairwell. Once the lad in green was gone, the Watcher cast his gaze on the carriages down below. That burly fellow ripped through wood and iron alike to tear a hole open in the vehicle. In only moments, he had carved a way through and disappeared inside. Even Rowan, aloft in the sky, couldn’t restrain a smile as the door on the opposite side of the carriage opened and a member of the Brotherhood was unceremoniously heaved out into the street.

  Farther behind those initial carriages that darted from the west, more vehicles careened forth at breakneck speed. Those drivers wore shimmering silver armor—guards of Argos, no doubt.

  The stone-covered scout in the sky looked east and noticed the torches moving through the area. He growled at the sight of them. The Brotherhood was sending every possible resource to help Jerrod realize his plan.

  As more carriages found their way to the streets behind the Titan and the escaped convicts, Rowan turned his attention to his companions leaving the tower. He dropped like a stone to reach them, ready to bring the disconcerting news. Before he could speak, though, the disappointment etched on his face told them what he hoped to convey.

  “Jerrod’s here,” Kelvin spat.

  “With a sizable force,” the Watcher confirmed. “I didn’t think the Brotherhood had that many members.”

  “They don’t,” Thoro confirmed. “He’s making new allies somehow, just like he did with Ciara.”

  “You think they’re brainwashed?” the prince wondered.

  The former member of the Brotherhood only growled in reply. “He’s using them as fodder. While they distract us, he and his closest entourage can do what they set out to do. While we’re wading through that wave of people—people who likely don’t know what it is they’re doing—he’ll activate the book and send the Banshee to the top of the bluff.”

  “Then we have to get there first,” Rowan said.

  “He’s already got men on the ramp leading up there,” Thoro said. “If we try to muscle our way past, we’ll be trapped in a pincer.”

  “Who said anything about the ramp?” the man covered in stone replied. He flapped those gray wings to help convey his intentions.

  “You can’t be serious,” Thoro said.

  “Why not?” Rowan asked. “I carried you from the woods when I rescued you.”

  “And I was unconscious.”

  Kelvin’s grin was not lost behind that mask he wore. “I can cover you from the ground. My bow would be useless held aloft like that.”

  “If we get you up there,” Rowan said to Thoro, “it’ll be us performing the pincer attack.”

  A sigh shook Thoro’s frame, and he allowed a nod to indicate his concession. “Let’s do this quickly, while we’re still cloaked by the dark of night.”

  As those members of Jerrod’s troupe drew nearer, Kelvin spun to face them. As his eyes glowed golden, he confirmed what his companions feared. These were not members of an underground syndicate or mercenaries trained in warfare. They were base citizens of the city, rabble summoned to a cause they couldn’t believe in.

  And surrounded by that group of innocent people, Jerrod, the Magician, walked with purpose. While he could surely hear the ruckus caused by the carriages beyond the tower, he hadn’t noticed the trio of his enemies who awaited his approach. The prince considered bringing his bow to bear and shooting between those befuddled members of his city. There was no guarantee they could be saved, though. And while they were unscathed at that moment, Kelvin couldn’t be certain Jerrod wouldn’t sacrifice a selection of them just to make a demonstration.

  In the darkness, it wasn’t difficult for the prince to see the flames that took shape in the Magician’s hand. Even without his enhanced vision, Kelvin noticed as he lifted that magically summoned fire. Those golden rings did confirm his target, though. He saw Jerrod’s upturned gaze and followed it to the sky, where the Watcher was aloft.

  Arrows soared at Rowan and Thoro, but the winged hero was agile enough to dodge this way and that with ease. Kelvin wasn’t so sure Jerrod’s magic would be so avoidable.

  The lad in green swung his bow over his shoulder and nocked an arrow to the string. Those rings in his eyes glowed as bright as they ever had, and he focused on the area in the sky between his companions and the Magician. The moment that blazing missile screech across the sky, he loosed his arrow.

  The spell exploded in the air like a beautiful firework, sending sparks flying in every direction. Rowan recoiled and dove forward, his aim upon the bluff. Though there were Brotherhood thugs, none had attempted anything with a bow in hand. He was certain he and Thoro could outpace and outfight the people there.

  Kelvin watched as his companions descended. Thoro rolled from the Watcher’s grasp in an instant, ripping his weapon from its scabbard. As Thoro charged forth, though, he drew out of sight from the lad in green.

  When the prince’s attention turned back to the Magician before him, Jerrod no longer had his sights upturned. Another flame licked his skin, but his gaze was drawn to the disguised prince who remained at the tower. Jerrod pushed one of his persuaded followers out of the way and slung that fire bolt at his new target.

  Everything seemed to move slower than Kelvin would have believed. He tugged another arrow from the quiver on his shoulder and drew back the bowstring, aiming with his eyes instead of his head. He was certain he could blast that flaming missile out of the air, but he hesitated, knowing to loose his missile meant firing into the crowd.

  Kelvin growled and flung himself backward, letting that bolt of fire fling over his head. When he turned back, Jerrod was already bringing a new infernal enchantment into being. The fallen prince knew he couldn’t move quick enough to avoid a second spell.

  A carriage rolled into position in front of him, and a familiar face leaned over the side. Marin tipped her tricorne hat and tapped on the side of the driver’s seat.

  “You look like you could use a ride,” she said. “Get in!”

  Jerrod’s spell slammed against the other side of the carriage, inciting Kelvin to rise to his feet. The door opened before he could reach the vehicle, and another ally offered his hand. Marcus wore a weary grin that only grew brighter when he tugged his companion to safety. Kelvin breathed a sigh of relief as he took his seat in the carriage, though he paused to consider the strange bags that lined the bottom of the vehicle.

  Before he could consider them for long, the Silver Serpent snapped the reins, urging the two horses onward. Even as Jerrod slung spells and curses at them, she kept her focus ahead, at that ramp toward the lookout.

  “There’s too many of his men there!” Kelvin shouted. “We’ll be overrun.”

  “Didn’t you just send your friends up there?” she called back. “They’ll be overrun before we are. All we have to do is distract them.”

  That was no difficult feat, she realized, as the members of the Brotherhood at the bottom of the ramp drew bows over their shoulders and took aim at the woman and her allies.

  “This is our stop!” Marin cried. With a quick sweep of her sword, she cut loose the reins from the carriage. The horses continued forward while Marin leapt over the seat of the vehicle, into the safety of the street on the opposite side of the bluff.

  Once more, the projectiles landed upon the side of the vehicle. By then, the flaming missile Jerrod had sent out ignited the cart as well.

  “Go on, get out,” the Titan bade. The big man didn’t wait for his young companion to carry out those instructions before he rose and clutched the opposite door in his hand. With one simple tug, the door was off its hinges, and Marcus leapt into the street, carrying the thing like an oversized shield. A trio of arrows thudded into the slab of wood, and a fourth broke through the glass window set into it. The Titan dropped to his knees, unwilling to allow any parts of his body to remain exposed.

  “We need to take out those archers or our biggest ally won’t last much longer,” Marin said.

  Ke
lvin swallowed away his anxiety and moved into position beside the open door on his side of the carriage. He nocked a new arrow and narrowed his eye, summoning that golden ring there once more.

  “Step to your side, Marcus!” he called out.

  As soon as his companion made room, Kelvin saw their foes beyond that ramp. The spiraling path offered them little cover, and he meant to punish them for that.

  His first arrow shrieked past the Titan and met its mark before the bluff. A Brotherhood archer there couldn’t pull his bow arm back far enough to fire off his missile when that opposing arrow struck him in his left breast. He clutched at the wound and fell back, unable to stand the pain. He was so distracted by his own agony, he didn’t notice when three more of his brothers fell to the enemy archer.

  Kelvin drew another arrow, content with his aim. Many of the remaining Brotherhood brigands bore swords and spears, not bows. In moments, he had righted the balance between his allies and his enemies.

  With Jerrod quickly approaching from the southeast, however, he knew he and his companions had to move quickly to gain control of the ramp.

  *****

  There was a benefit to fighting alongside that man made of stone, he realized. While his concentration remained on the men before him, every one of them was distracted by the winged monster.

  His foes didn’t notice when he feigned in one direction or spun a pirouette with his jeweled dagger. And those brave enough to step into battle with the Watcher understood too quickly what kind of danger they were inviting upon themselves.

  Rowan swatted jagged spearheads aside, caught swords in his hands, and shrugged off blows from crude cudgels. When he drew close, he wrapped his clawed hands around the throats of those foolish Brotherhood members. Sometimes, he hoisted them into the air and tossed them behind him, toward the bluff. If one of those brigands tried with all their might to crack his stone shroud, he squeezed until the light went out in their eyes.

  Between him and Thoro, they made short work of the men defending the lookout for Jerrod. The Magician’s plan would not be realized if he could not bring the Banshee above.

  As they fended off one brigand after another, their opponents realized how futile the fight was. Thoro knew how they fought—studied them for years—while his monstrous ally was impervious to any of their attacks. The two defenders of Argos noticed when one of those men broke from the pack.

  “What are you doing?” another Brotherhood member cried out. “Not yet. It isn’t time!”

  That fleeing thug didn’t care for that warning. He wasn’t running for the ramp, though, Thoro realized. His aim was on the large trunk in the center of the dais. The former member of the Brotherhood didn’t know what was at stake or why the man charged for that chest in such desperation. He only knew he would stop him.

  At once, Thoro cast aside his anger. He made no efforts to strike down his foes, choosing to pass them by instead. He dodged clunky attacks and pushed his enemies toward Rowan, who was more than happy to slam his stone forearm across their heads.

  As that fleeing member of the Brotherhood lunged for the trunk, the jeweled dagger left Thoro’s hand. A guttural grunt rang out as the blade sank into the poor fool’s shoulder. He tumbled to the ground, just out of reach of the chest.

  Without his weapon, he was at a disadvantage. When he reached the wounded fellow, he was quick to wrap his hand around the hilt of his jeweled dagger. He placed his boot on the thug’s back and tugged the blade free. A cry flew from the man’s mouth as blood flung from his wound. Every move he made sent ripples of pain down his back, and after a time, he remained where he was, whimpering to find solace.

  “Let’s see what you were after, shall we?” Thoro said. The trunk opened with a subtle creak, and in the darkness, he didn’t notice anything at first. As his vision adjusted, though, he noticed the white fabric folds within the chest. “What is this?” he muttered.

  He recoiled when those folds shifted and rose. It didn’t take long for him to realize who was standing before him. As the thrum of combat behind him ceased, Thoro could only worry about the devastating sound sure to erupt from the lips of the woman before him.

  “Ciara,” he whispered.

  *****

  Another trio of arrows thumped against his oversized shield, and he grimaced as strips of wood splintered off past his face. In more than one place on that door, arrowheads pierced through, and Marcus knew his luck would run out before long.

  Once more, an arrow whistled past his ear in the other direction. The Titan looked back to his companion, and the lad in green offered a nod.

  “How many more of them do I have?” the big man wondered.

  Kelvin narrowed his eye and looked down the latest arrow nocked to his bow. “Archers?” he asked. The missile left his hand, and a gentle strum reverberated as the string snapped back into place. “Just two now.”

  An arrow came flying back the opposite way, thudding into the carriage. Kelvin threw himself to the side, bracing against the seat to escape whatever missiles might still come his way.

  “You all right, mistress?” the lad called out.

  “Take care of those bowmen, and I’ll be fine!” Marin shouted.

  When the prince nudged over to choose his next shot, he was surprised to see the Titan lower his guard. The Brotherhood could no longer rely on bows and crossbows, it seemed. A pair of thugs with hand axes rushed out at the big man, bringing their weapons to bear.

  With a mighty roar, Marcus swept that door out, smashing it into the nearer of those two men. He flew back, rolling across the ramp until he fell off the other side. With his free hand, the Titan stopped that second axe from coming down upon him. A mighty boot collided into the stray Brotherhood follower, and he gasped for air as he teetered back.

  Marcus stumbled back a moment later as well, and as he drew to a stop, Kelvin saw the feathered shaft protruding from his shoulder.

  Fuming and snorting like an enraged bull, the Titan dropped the door onto the cobblestones, the wood reporting with a loud echo. He slid his hand around, grabbing the handle from the opposite side. With one powerful heave, that door flew like an awkward discus. Though the pain throbbing in his arm distracted him, he wasn’t blind to the archer’s widening eyes before the door collided into him. If he wasn’t wearing that thick leather armor, it would have sheared him in two.

  When Kelvin heard the telltale smash of that piece of wood, he leaned out into the open and nocked another arrow into place. The last Brotherhood bowman wouldn’t be a risk, he knew. He was already running to the safety of the ramp where it hooked and rose to meet the bluff.

  As the bowman braced against the cobblestones, thinking he found solace, he felt a snap on his hand. A wave of heat rushed over him, and he couldn’t make sense of the pain that coursed through him. When he looked down, though, he saw the quavering shaft that had pierced between his fingers and ripped through his hand.

  Before his scream entered the air, Kelvin was sure the archer would never pull back a bowstring quite the same way again.

  He didn’t need to announce his victory over the rival archers. At once, his mentor entered the fray and raced to reach the injured Titan, arriving there before the Brotherhood’s remaining warriors drew near. Marin dared them closer, taunting them with a flourish of her rapier.

  While Marcus tugged the arrow from his shoulder, the Silver Serpent worked on those members of Jerrod’s guild. She overwhelmed them with her speed and surprised them with her tactics. A pair of swordsmen and a lancer circled her, though she never let them reach the Titan. When they encroached too close for her to bear, she fell back.

  Eager to give chase, those men forgot the archer in the carriage. The whistle that cut through the air was a harsh reminder.

  Marin glanced back at her pupil, tapping her mask in thanks. She returned her attention to the battle before her, but it didn’t take long for her to take a second look at her protégé.

  Seeing the widened eyes of hi
s mentor sent the hairs on Kelvin’s arms standing on end. He heard the click of a tongue behind him, and a deep breath left him deflated.

  As Kelvin turned about, the familiar figure before him faded to a shimmering shade of aqua. The last thing to fade into that translucence was Gerard’s wicked smile.

  Kelvin couldn’t move before a jet of water struck him in the chest, flinging him from the carriage. He landed in the street on his back, his bow sliding away from his hand.

  The torrent of water rose into the air, before cycling back atop the street. In a matter of moments, the water returned to a human shape, though Gerard never returned to a fleshy tone. He remained in that aqueous form, one in which he could not be harmed.

  “Mister Purdell, stop this,” Kelvin pleaded.

  “Purdell is gone,” the man made of water insisted through a rippling voice. He set his empty eyes upon the fallen lad, gazing upon him as though he had already defeated him. “All that remains is Riptide.”

  As that frightening foe stepped forward, he used the water under his control to make a new weapon. A large sword splashed and bubbled into existence, and he pointed it at the disguised prince, ready to end him once and for all.

  With the sound of Jerrod’s mesmerized legion drawing near, Kelvin and his allies knew their advantage was fleeting.

  *****

  Before Thoro could shout a warning to his companion, the Banshee parted her lips and sent a devastating scream in his direction.

  He remembered the last time she assaulted him with her voice and brought his hands to his ears at once. Being in the open air only seemed to empower her, though, and in his vulnerable state, he couldn’t hope to resist her wail.

  Thoro’s feet dragged against the stone dais, and, with eyes closed, he contemplated how far he was pressed. When he felt a pillar against his back, he breathed a sigh of relief, though he knew that alone wouldn’t save him.