Silver Serpent
Page 33
He struggled to open his eyes, the wind produced by Ciara’s cry summoning tears he couldn’t blink away. Despite the pain he knew he would endure, he lowered his hand from his ear and reached for the dagger on his hip. With her voice overpowering him, he ventured a glance through opened eyes and took aim. That jeweled dagger took to the air, spinning end over end.
Ciara roared all the louder, and Thoro heard a snap like that of a whip. Desperation fueled his movements, and his hands were at his ears again. He struggled to keep his eyes open, and though his vision shook, he saw that dagger fling back in his direction.
The former member of the Brotherhood let his shaking legs buckle beneath him. He fell to his rump, ready to succumb to the fatigue that overwhelmed him. He didn’t hear as his weapon thumped against the pillar, but he felt when it tumbled against his shoulder and landed in his lap.
He also felt as that tempest subsided, and by reflex alone, he drew in a sharp, painful breath. As the tears fell from his eyes, he saw, though Ciara’s wailing continued, he was free of her power.
Rowan stood between them, the winged, stone man rooted in place atop those thick talons. Thoro climbed to his feet, though he couldn’t dismiss the lack of balance he felt. Everything seemed to spin.
When the Watcher turned to regard his companion, a gust of wind swept by, and Thoro nearly flung off the cliff. Rowan spread his wings wide, shielding his friend once more.
“You need to get out of here!” he shouted, though it might as well have only been a whisper beneath the power of Ciara’s voice. “Go after Jerrod. He must have the compendium!”
Thoro abided by that request. He charged for the ramp, letting adrenaline take over as it coursed through his veins.
The Banshee pivoted on her heel, turning her attention on the fleeing scoundrel. But in that short moment where she didn’t have her focus on Rowan, the Watcher charged forth.
Ciara had no choice but to let Thoro go. With rage in her eyes, she turned again, her sights set on the stone creature before her. A solitary breath was all she needed to bring her voice to bear once more.
As close as he was, Rowan couldn’t reach that wailing witch. And that proximity only seemed to make her cry fiercer.
He struggled to move forward, but it was no use. He could gain no momentum. As she pushed the boundaries of her power, he felt himself losing ground.
Then, even beneath that echoing voice, he heard a shuddering crack. When he looked to his side, a new fissure had been cast in his stone.
Rowan could only hope he had earned Thoro enough time to stop the Magician.
*****
“Stop them,” she warned the Titan before she turned her attention toward the aqueous form.
Marin was beside her fallen pupil at once, bringing her rapier to bear before Riptide, who let his wicked smile flash at her.
“Haven’t we already had this dance?” he gurgled.
“And if memory serves, we chased you away,” the Silver Serpent was quick to retort. “This time won’t be any different. Best to leave while you still can.”
Those words didn’t placate the water being. Enraged, Riptide stomped forward on undulating legs, splashing water upon the grounded lad in green. He brought his rippling broadsword across, tapping it against Marin’s rapier.
The absence of a metallic clang caught her attention. A hollow thud was all she heard, but Riptide’s weapon still had substance. She knew it was just as lethal a weapon as her own.
Kelvin rolled to his side, desperate to get his hand on his bow once more. As he moved, though, another jet of water shot forth, sending his weapon sliding down the cobblestones. He looked up and saw the torches held aloft by Jerrod’s chosen. If he chased down his bow, they would surely see him, and in the Magician’s sights, there was no telling how useful he could be to his mentor.
Blowing out a sharp breath, he climbed to his feet and tugged the rapier—the one that belonged to Marin—from its sheath. “Let’s put an end to him quickly,” he said. “Before his friends arrive.”
The man made of water let a jarring, gurgling laugh pass through his lips. He spun his sword about, sending trails of water flying off, and lunged at Marin.
The Silver Serpent held her ground, parrying and dodging enough to show she had not missed a step since their last encounter. The prince, meanwhile, took a more cautious approach. Less practiced with a sword, he kept his distance, prodding at the man whenever an opening was presented.
Behind them, the Titan dealt with the Brotherhood stragglers who survived their initial attack. With his wounded shoulder still stinging, he worked at blocking a brigand with a sword and dodging his ally with a spear. Without a weapon of his own—or something that served well enough as a shield—he struggled to keep up with those men.
That crude sword came down, and Marcus brought his forearm up against the other fellow’s hand. He felt the iron land on his uninjured shoulder, but it didn’t retain the momentum to pierce his skin. A grimace was on his face while his foe wore a look of terror.
Marcus slid his hand back and caught his opponent by his wrists. He squeezed until the bones there cracked, and the Brotherhood thug cried out while he dropped his weapon. The sword rolled off the Titan’s broad back, clattering onto the cobblestone.
By instinct alone, the big man looked to his side and saw a jagged spearhead shrieking just in time to lean back. Favoring his left arm since he had been shot, he reached forth with it and grasped the spear with that hand. The Brotherhood lancer tugged back on his weapon to no avail. Even injured, the Titan overpowered him with ease. Still holding the brigand, Marcus snapped the spear in half with his good arm. Left with only the broken handle of his weapon, the lancer gnashed his teeth together while his friend was lifted into the air. He didn’t have time to move as his cohort landed upon him.
Wearing a grin, Marcus let a weary sigh part his lips.
It faded at once when his two companions slid across the ground, streams of water carrying them along. Marin climbed to her feet, but Kelvin clutched his arm, growling away the pain he endured.
The Titan turned to face the threat, and Riptide’s watery fist collided against his jaw. Besides the subtle pivot in his neck, Marcus was unmoving. Riptide’s eyes widened, his surprise seen even in his transparent form.
Though his attack had done little to move the Titan, Riptide held his ground when his opponent swung in retaliation. That oversized fist tore through the liquid form of his head, but the disgraced constable’s body remained in place. After a few moments of rippling back and forth, Riptide was whole again.
On the ground, not so far away, the masked prince watched the two powered citizens trade blows. Neither combatant had an upper hand at first, but Riptide learned to outpace the Titan. More than once, Marcus gasped for air after enduring a face full of water.
Kelvin recoiled as a gloved hand entered his field of vision. When he was certain it belonged to his mentor, his muscles relaxed, but he reached out to Marin to accept her offer of help.
“Can you still fight?” she asked.
“I’m fine,” he insisted. “That last fall had me hitting my elbow just right. You would have thought I was struck by lightning.”
“We soon might be,” Marin pressed. She pointed to the encroaching torchlight. “We don’t have much time. We may have to leave Marcus here to fend for himself. We can’t defeat Gerard, and we need to reach the top of the hill. If we control that, Jerrod’s plan can’t take shape.”
“We can’t just throw him to the wolves like that,” Kelvin protested. “He may be strong, but he can’t endure Riptide and the Magician.”
“He’s a smart fellow. When he knows he’s outmatched, he’ll withdraw.”
The prince’s face turned a deeper shade of red as he grew angrier with her decision. Turning about, he looked at his discarded bow, just around the bend of that ramp. Before his mentor could dissuade him, he broke into a sprint.
“Leave it!” she cried.
It didn’t matter. Once they had the high ground, he could be more useful with the bow than he ever could with his new sword.
As he drew close, he slid on the ground, enduring the cobblestone as best he could. The mob burst into motion, but it was their unexpected champion’s gaze which he felt the most. Jerrod had his sights on the lad in green. All alone, Kelvin knew he needed a miracle.
“Avert your eyes!” he heard.
A small leather ball, stitched together with thick thread, landed on the ground before Kelvin, and he clenched his eyes shut.
He saw the flash of light even through those closed lids. When he ventured to look out again, it took a moment for his sight to adjust. All those members of Jerrod’s mob fared worse, swatting at the air as though the lingering radiance was something tangible that could be chased away.
The prince felt the curve of his bow in his hand and plucked it from the ground. In that moment of confusion, he knew there was no better time to search out the Magician—to put an arrow between his eyes.
Jerrod, it seemed, was more rational than his mindless slaves. He was gone, hunkered down between the masses, while his sight returned to him.
Kelvin was already in motion before he began a sprint back to his mentor. Already preparing an apology and words of gratitude, he was taken aback when he saw her gazing north. More torches drew forth from there, and he cursed their rotten luck.
There was a smile on Marin’s face, though, and as the nearest glow came into sight, he realized they had more allies on the way.
Edmund Volpe threw another of those leather balls onto the cobblestone, just before the ramp. While Marin leapt behind the incline to shield her sight, the two combatants locked in violence were unaware of its presence until it rolled between their feet. Both the Titan and Riptide looked down, confused as to what it was.
The luminescence that exploded from there was so fierce it nearly knocked them off their feet. At once, the fight between them halted, and the world was coated in a veil of white.
“He’s corporeal once more!” they both heard. Though he had not known her long, Marcus was familiar enough with Marin’s voice. He didn’t question her before he drove forward with his shoulder.
Sure enough, he felt the substance of the man—no longer was Riptide a being comprised of water. As they both cut across the area, blinded by Edmund’s flash grenade, neither was prepared for the sudden stop as the fallen constable’s back collided with the carriage.
Riptide cried out, cursing as he considered that pain. Though he was reminded of his mortality, it was a sobering occurrence for another reason. As that pain ripped through him and he saw shades of crimson, so too did the luminescent veil wash away.
The Titan’s fist came soaring in, and the smaller fellow moved on reflex alone, ducking away to his side. While voices from both sides grew fervent, Riptide could only hear the sound of wood protesting and cracking apart. Marcus punched a hole in the carriage with enough force to send splinters flying this way and that…but his opponent remained just out of reach.
The Titan threw another punch, that time from his injured arm. He didn’t feel his fist connecting with flesh, though. His failure had earned Riptide enough time to let his body revert to that watery form again, and as Marcus regained his sight, he saw the wicked grin his adversary wore.
Not far away, the lad in green lowered his bow, dejected. There was no sense sending an arrow flying across while Gerard was intangible.
“Another, Edmund!” Marin cried, considering the same thing.
As the two combatants traded blows—Marcus only splashing water into the street—one’s weariness was apparent, while the other only seemed to grow in his aggression. As Riptide outpaced the Titan, he delivered one stunning jab after another, until the large fellow was teetering on his heels. All the while, torrents of water smacked into his face, never affording him a moment to breathe.
Too weary to fight back, too battered to consider how to defend himself, Marcus wasn’t prepared for Riptide to discorporate and splash onto the ground below. As he reflected on that brief respite, he could sense his foe behind him.
Riptide brought his arms together, combining them into one larger aqueous weapon. He brought that mallet across the Titan’s back, and it had all the power an ordinary hammer would.
Marcus turned, only held upon his feet by the carriage at his back.
“Throw another!” Marin pleaded to her friend.
Edmund fumbled with the leather pouch, and when he looked up at those two combatants, he knew he would never throw that explosive in time.
Riptide separated his lips into a wide and cruel smile. Once more, his arm turned into a weapon—this time a long spike that dripped water from the edge as though it were fresh blood.
As that sharp spear jabbed forward, the Titan turned to his side. The watery spike grazed his back, and he grimaced, sucking air through his teeth. Though the liquid that rolled through the tear in his tunic was cool, he could only feel heat as his wound bled.
That pain only fueled the man with rage. All the weariness that overwhelmed him was gone in an instant. He looked down and grabbed one of those hefty bags on the floor of the carriage. Without another thought, he brought it across, despite the pain in his injured arm.
Wearing a sinister grin, Riptide brought up his arm to block that improvised weapon. Neither of the men were prepared for the bag to split upon his arm, a cloud of gray dust rising in the air while the rest of the material inside splashed through Riptide’s body.
The aqueous villain swatted away that lingering cloud, unaware his motions slowed. Everyone who surrounded him noticed as the material took hold of him, mixing with the water that comprised him. It was only when he saw the color of his hand that he realized something was not right.
“What is this?” he gurgled. Even as he spoke, the gray stuff swirled about in his body until it solidified.
As curious as his opponent, the Titan turned to the carriage and gazed at the bags there. He turned one over and read the word inscribed upon it.
“Cement,” he whispered. He couldn’t dismiss his surprise, even though he did steal the carriage from one of Ralek’s work sites.
“You may think this will stop me, but I’ll keep coming back,” Riptide promised. “I am the river. I am the ocean. I am the very essence of life, and I will never fade away.”
As the solidified fellow made his threats, Marcus lifted another bag of cement over the man’s head and ripped the package in half. The contents spilled out, dropping on Riptide. He ceased speaking in the middle of one of his warnings, and then all seemed silent beside that carriage.
Though the adversity they faced was far from over, Kelvin leapt into the air and cheered. The Titan stood, staring at the statue of his opponent, taking the moment of respite to collect his bearings.
Marin sprinted to another of their allies, with Edmund and several men she was familiar with advancing on the battlefield.
“We have to get up that hill,” she told him. “We can hear the Banshee’s wail, which means she’s already there. If we stop her, Jerrod’s plan falls to pieces.”
The old advisor nodded. “We’ll do everything we can to keep the Magician’s men away from you.”
Kelvin was beside his large ally, his hand upon his shoulder. “Are you all right to follow us up the hill?”
Bracing against the solidified body of his defeated foe, the big man nodded. “Just give me a moment to catch my breath.”
Another wail echoed from the top of that hill, and Kelvin clapped his friend on his healthy arm. “Meet us up there when you’re ready.”
*****
A grunt escaped the stone lips of his ally. A moment later, Rowan’s frustrated shout joined
Ciara’s howl, and Thoro felt the hairs on his arms rise. Already on the ramp leading down from the bluff, he saw Jerrod among the brainwashed masses.
Trails of smoke slithered into the air, and the Magician hunched low, but his mob pressed ever forward. Thoro couldn’t see his companions below, but he wasn’t blind to the other force that had arrived. Whoever opposed Jerrod and the Brotherhood had a more distinguished look, and that man at the forefront, though older, seemed overburdened with confidence. If the fate of Argos was at stake, he seemed certain to put Jerrod down.
That was all Thoro needed to see. Spinning the jeweled dagger in his hand, he shifted on his heel, back toward the screeching Banshee and the man who had once rescued him. Rowan saw his friend’s approach, but his gaze didn’t waver long enough for Ciara to notice.
As winded as the Watcher must have been, the Banshee—only earning a brief respite to catch her breath here and there—must have been worse off. Still, she did not relent. While Thoro charged forth as fast as his legs would carry him, the force of her voice covered those heavy footfalls.
Yet as he drew near, he knew he wouldn’t be able to focus on her. He saw the first grapple swing over the lip of the hill, and he skittered a step. Thoro deflated when another quartet of those clawed prongs rooted into place upon the carved stone that lined the perimeter of the lookout.
He sent a dejected glance toward his friend, and in that moment, Rowan lost his will. For the first time in his bout with the Banshee, he fell back a step. Just seeing that small victory was enough to incite Ciara, and her voice boomed ever louder. Even the foot that Rowan kept rooted in place slid back against the stone.
The Watcher brought his heavy arms up, but he couldn’t cross them over his body to stop the Banshee’s wail. Through tears, he saw the villainous glare Ciara wore as she stepped from the trunk onto the ground. With every step she took toward him, her voice felt more empowered. His clawed feet left gouges in the stone beneath him, and before he realized it, his back collided with one of the lookout’s upright pillars.