Rise of the Serpent (Serpent's War Book 2) (2 page)

Namitus’s hand dropped to his pommel. “I tell you what—walk away now and I won’t hold this disagreement against you. Consider the past as making us even.”

“Even?” Dal scoffed.

“Aye, for all the gold you skimmed from what we fenced.”

The man snorted. “I earned my cut. Got you into the business and showed you what was what. Took you under my wing and kept you safe, then you stabbed me in the back.”

Namitus snorted. “I was doing fine on my own. Had more talent than you and a hundred others, else you wouldn’t have picked me time and again.”

“You betrayed me,” Dal growled.

Namitus shook his head and drew his scimitar. “If I stab you, it’ll be in the front, not the back.”

Dal snarled. He waved his sword and spat, “Take him!”

Namitus swept his sword through the air, making the ruffians behind him pause. “I’ve fought men, splisskin, ogres, and trolls,” he warned them. “The edge of this blade is sharp enough to cut through a mountain troll as though they were made of butter. Think what that will do to you.”

Dal howled in response. “Don’t listen to him! Gut him like the silver-tongued swine he is!”

Namitus shook his head and stared at the thief. “Why don’t you try me, or are you still anxious to have others do their dirty work for you?”

Dal sneered at him. “Don’t you worry, I’ll get mine in before you’ve pulled your last breath.”

Namitus twisted away and leapt forward, catching the two thugs off guard. His scimitar came up under the thrusting dagger of one of the ruffians. Instead of striking the blade and deflecting it high, the edge cut through the thief’s wrist and severed it with as much effort as Namitus had promised.

The rogue kept twisting, putting the injured man in the way and using him as a shield. “Told you it cuts like butter,” he taunted.

The injured man grabbed his spurting wrist and staggered back into his companion. The man with the club pushed back, sending the bleeding ruffian forward and knocking him off his feet. Namitus tried to get away but his leg was jarred by the falling man.

Namitus threw himself forward and doubled over to take the descending cudgel in a glancing blow off his back. He cried out and fell forward, reaching out with his right hand and pinning his sword against the ground. He held his left hand tight to his body and waited.

“He’s mine!” Dal snarled.

Namitus smiled. His gamble paid off. He pushed himself up with his legs and right arm. His back hit the chest of the man poised to drive his club into the back of Namitus’s head. His left hand drove the dagger he’d drawn up into the man’s belly. He jerked up, cutting and driving the blade higher and deeper.

The thug fell back, his club forgotten in his attempts to stop the blood and viscera from escaping the tear in his belly.

Namitus leapt over the dying man and drove Dal’s sweeping sword up and over with his scimitar. He ducked his head to be sure and rose up as the blade passed him. The dagger in his left hand jammed forward, stabbing into Dal’s shoulder and grating off the bone.

Dal hissed. His sword slipped from numb fingers, hitting the hard-packed ground with a thud that was louder than the noise Namitus’s scimitar made as he drew it back across and Dal’s belly.

Namitus’s old accomplice fell forward to his knees. He gasped and stared up at Namitus. “You—”

“Won?” Namitus asked as he straightened. “Are a better man? Always deserved better? Were the best thing to happen to you?”

Dal shook his head and let out a rattling breath before collapsing onto the ground. Namitus studied him and the pool of blood and guts that spilled out beneath him. He shook his head and turned away from the spreading stink.

The man with the severed wrist had escaped down the alley, but the trail of blood on the ground showed which way he’d run. The other man was lying on the ground and holding his stomach tight in spite of the blood that pumped out through his fingers with each rapid beat of his heart. Namitus walked over and stood above him.

“Please!” the thug whimpered, his breath coming in gasps. “I didn’t—he was our boss!”

Namitus nodded. “It’s a damn shame,” he said. “I was in your shoes once. Only way out was to double-cross him and get away. He won’t bother you anymore.”

“Help me,” the man pleaded.

Namitus shook his head. “I’m no healer and that wound’s not the type you walk away from. I can offer you a quick end, that’s all.”

His eyes widened and he shook his head. “Don’t. Want. To. Die.”

Namitus frowned. “That decision’s not yours anymore. I gave you a chance.”

“I didn’t know,” he mumbled, tears now streaming from his eyes.

Namitus sighed. “Damn it. If I save you, are you going to go back to the Shadows?”

“No!” he vowed. “On my life.”

“Your life is measured in minutes,” Namitus pointed out. “Not much worth to it.”

The man reached for him, his hands stained red with his own blood. Namitus leaned back to avoid letting the man touch him. Undeterred, the dying man vowed, “I give you my word. May Saint Millesius strike me down if I lie!”

Namitus nodded after he invoked the saint of oaths and contracts. The rogue reached into a pocket of his shirt. He pulled out a small golden vial and held it up. He twisted the cap to loosen it and held it out to him. “Drink this. This is a magical draught straight from the high priest of Saint Leander. You may sell the vial if you wish, or if you don’t, bring it to the Kingdom of Altonia. A man of his word is a man of worth. Altonia needs men like that.”

The man lifted his head and fumbled the cap off the vial. He brought it to his lips and then hesitated. “Who are you?” he whispered.

Namitus smiled. “Namitus, Knight of Altonia. May the saints take mercy on you, because if I found you return to a life of this, I won’t.”

Chapter 2

Allie looked at the city across the water. Mira, the capital of the Empire of Shazamir. The Jewel of the Sands. The Heart of the Desert. She’d heard many names for it but none of them called the place as it truly was. Dirty. Dirty and smelly.

“Been awhile since I been up this far north,” Gor grunted. “Wonder if the Spotted Lizard is still here.”

“Spotted Lizard?” Corian asked. The elf made a face. “Sounds like something that bites.”

Gor smiled and stared into the distance. “That’s a tavern. And yes, it can bite.”

“Let’s try to avoid it,” Jillystria, Corian’s older sister, advised. “There is a wizard named Arcturion who might be able to help. He aided me long ago.”

“When you were forced to give up your child?” Allie asked.

The elven woman dropped her gaze to the water in front of the raft and nodded. “Yes.”

“Don’t you know the family?”

“I would prefer to start with the wizard.”

Allie nodded and reached over to squeeze her hand. “I understand. We’ll start there.”

The two men with poles moved the raft across the river with a practiced ease. The ride was smooth and boring, something Allie knew she should appreciate. Other than a brush with a party of goblins one night while they camped alongside the road, their voyage to Mira had been eventless. She wanted something to do. Some excitement. A reason to justify the voyage.

She turned her head away from the hot wind that carried stinging sand with it. Her cowl spared her face and let her keep her eyes open so she could see the massive warrior who had sworn to uphold her father’s last wish and keep her safe. He squinted as the wind washed over them, but showed no other reaction.

The two pole men kept the raft moving and soon were pulling up to the docks. They tied ropes to poles and moved aside. Gor got a nod from one of them, but the other ignored them and climbed up onto the dock to head off and look for passengers or goods to ferry back across.

Allie tugged her cowl forward and followed Gor onto the dock. Corian and Jillystria followed behind and kept moving until they were off the docks and in the shade of a tavern. Gor started towards the door but stopped when Allie cleared her throat.

“The wizard?” she reminded him.

“Oh, that,” Gor said. “I was going to ask for directions.”

“No worry—I remember,” Jillystria said. She offered Allie a knowing wink and turned away. “This way.”

Gor sighed and followed behind Allie. The wind near the river disappeared within the first few steps, letting the sun-baked buildings and ground heat the city. Allie was used to the heat from living near the desert. They’d taken a road from Easton that led them south and east of the great desert of Shazamir. It had taken them longer, but it led them farther from the splisskin that had already destroyed so much.

“This city could be loaded with half-breeds and we’d never know,” Corian muttered as they walked. “How can people live like this? So close and so filthy?”

“We lived next to tanners and dyers,” Jilly reminded him. “It wasn’t tight, but it didn’t smell like a flower garden either.”

Corian sneered and looked around, studying the people they passed. Beggars cried out for coins and merchants shouted for people to buy their wares. Bedraggled whores gestured for people to come into brothels and taverns. Miran guardsmen moved in groups through the city, ignoring everything around them whenever possible. It was chaos, pure and simple and ugly.

The trip through the city took almost two hours before they approached a quieter section. They were all hot and miserable but Gor looked the worse with sweat darkening his already dirty tunic.

Jillystria slowed and took in the surroundings. “He had a grand tower, but I don’t see it now.”

Allie turned in a circle, taking in the sights, and said, “It was awhile ago. Are you sure we’re in the right part of Mira? This city is enormous.”

“I was young,” Jillystria admitted. “Only in my sixties. Young and impressionable. It was a miracle I could even have a child.”

Corian sniffed but didn’t share his opinion with them.

“Sixty and young,” Allie sighed. “That’s older than my…?”

“I’m one hundred and eight now,” the elf said before Allie could dwell on her unfinished thought. “Still young, by elven standards.”

Allie whistled. “Amazing.”

“Your grandfather was only a few years older than you when he led us here,” Corian picked up the conversation. He missed the glare his sister sent him.

Allie pressed her lips together and nodded. The loss of her grandfather and father was still an open sore in her heart. “I don’t mean to be hurtful, but I’ve had trouble forgetting where I put a book down at the day before.”

Jillystria smiled at her. “You’re not hurtful, Allisandra. I can’t think of a person less hurtful in the world. This city has changed, but this is the place. It was there, where that small house is. More of a hut, really.”

“Well, let’s go ask,” Allie said with a shrug. “One way to find out.”

Jillystria looked at her brother and Gor. Corian shrugged. Gor was chewing on his fingernail. “Why not,” she said and started across the road.

Jillystria knocked on the door and jumped back when a loud voice came from nowhere and said, “Who intrudes upon the witch Arcturia?”

“Whoa!” Gor said and reached for his double-bladed axe.

“This is it,” Corian said. “Though how a tower became a house is beyond me.”

“Over forty years,” Allie said. “That’s, like, more than twice as long as I’ve been alive.”

“Arcturion, my name is Jillystria. My father brought me to you many years ago with a…a mistake.”

The door opened and revealed a tall and striking woman with dark hair streaked with gray. A dark blue dress streaked with silver was wrapped around her neck and fell open on the sides to her hips, where it gathered into flowing skirts. “I remember you,” she said. “But Arcturion has moved on.”

Jillystria gaped up at her and turned to look to her brother.

“A mistake, you said?” Arcturia continued when the elves stood dumbfounded. “Your father didn’t think so. Where is he now?”

Allie stepped up and nudged Jillystria with her elbow. “Jilly?”

The elven woman jerked. “I’m sorry, um, he’s in Fylandria, the elven capital.”

Arcturia nodded and waited. After a few seconds of silence passed, she smiled. “Please, come in. I can see you’re going to need to sort yourself out.”

“Yes, I think you’re right,” Jillystria said. She followed the witch into the small house before her brother and the others followed.

The door shut behind them on its own and left them in the unnaturally cool interior. Arcturia turned and smiled. “You’ve grown, Jillystria. Maybe your face is much the same, but I see in your eyes you’ve seen the growth of centuries.”

The elven woman bowed her head. “I carry a burden of guilt.”

“I kept an eye on your daughter and her father’s family for some time. It might warm your heart to know she bore much in common with you. Both appearance and a good, trusting heart,” Arcturia said.

“I don’t understand,” Corian blurted out. “We left her with a man named Arcturion. A wizard. You are…”

Arcturia smiled and then sniffed. Her lip twisted in a scowl as she turned on Gor. “You, young man, smell like a pig’s sty!”

Gor stiffened. He turned to Allie to see the young woman bore a matching look of surprise. She nodded and whispered, “You do kind of stink.”

“How can you abide such an odor?” Arcturia asked her.

“I grew up on my father’s farm and he was gone for weeks at a time—someone had to do chores.”

The witch nodded and turned to sweep through an archway into her home. They watched her go and move into a room that looked to be far larger than the outside walls would allow. When she returned, she held up a small vial and poured the glittering flakes in her palm. “You, big man, raise your arms.”

“What?” Gor asked.

“Just do it,” she snapped.

Gor checked with Allie and then lifted his arms so his hands were above his head. Arcturia stepped closer and lifted her palm until it was in front of her lips. She blew on the dust and sent it swirling through the air towards him.

“Hey! What—”

“Now turn around,” Arcturia said. “Don’t look at her! Do it or I’ll feed you a love potion that will leave you mated to a pig!”

Gor’s eyes widened. He snorted as the glittering flakes flashed in his face. After shaking his head, he turned around and muttered, “I love bacon.”

Arcturia snorted and waved her hand. Purple and pink sparks of light marked the end of the flakes. Gor finished turning and blinked in confusion. He looked around and then down at himself.

“You’re not sweating!” Allie cried.

Gor grunted and lifted his arms so he could bury his nose in his armpit and sniff.

“That’s vile,” Allie whispered.

“You’re right,” Gor said and grinned. “I’m not sweating!”

“Or stinking,” Arcturia said. She turned back to Jillystria and Corian. “Magic can have strange effects on those who practice it.”

Corian opened his mouth but his sister jabbed him with her elbow to stop him.

“Arcturia, tell me more about my…my daughter. Is she well still? Where is she?”

Arcturia smiled. “I don’t know. As I said, I kept an eye on her for a while, but she fell in love with a wandering minstrel at a young age. Soon she bore a son, but for such a life as they meant to live, she couldn’t subject a baby to the hardships.”

Jillystria gasped. “She didn’t!”

Arcturia nodded. “She did. As I said, she was young like her mother once was and inclined to let others convince her what was best for her.”

Corian’s cheeks whitened and he started to step forward. His sister grabbed his arm with her hand and shook her head. “She’s right. I was young and impressionable. Naïve.”

“Your daughter’s family kept the boy as long as they could,” she said.

“As long as they could?”

She nodded. “He was willful and often getting into trouble. He spent time with the sort of people most of us seek to avoid. Beggars, ruffians, cutpurses, and such. The boy had a talent with music, a gift from his father.”

“So we’ve come for nothing,” Corian lamented.

“Nothing?” Arcturia asked. She turned to Jillystria. “It’s been two generations. Did you really hope to reunite with a person who has grown to adulthood knowing next to nothing of you?”

The elf blushed and shook her head. “No, it’s not that; it’s…”

“It’s the splisskin,” Allie supplied. “They’re after half-bloods. They sought my grandfather for serving as a guide for Jilly and then my father and me.”

“It’s a prophecy,” Jillystria said. “They fear a half-elf will be their undoing. Allisandra’s father and my brother found a way into the citadel they imprisoned us in and secured our freedom.”

Arcturia’s eyes narrowed. “I remember the young man, Bucknar, wasn’t it?”

Allie closed her eyes and nodded.

“I see from your face he has not fared well.”

“They…they killed him,” she said.

“He would have been an old and frail man, I imagine,” she said. “I trust he lived a good life.”

Corian snorted. “Not so frail. Gildor and I found him amid a pile of dead splisskin high enough to be a small mountain.”

“Who’s Gildor?”

“My father,” Allie said. “Corian met him after I’d been taken by the splisskin.”

“I see. And where is he?”

Allie sighed and shook her head.

“I’m here in his stead,” Gor offered. “Bravest whoreson I’ve ever met. Went on to keep fighting the snakes after he’d been pierced by sword and arrow alike.”

Arcturia winced at his choice of words. “I see. My condolences on your loss. I have heard rumblings of splisskin activity and unrest to the south and east. It seems your story would confirm it.”

“They destroyed my grandfather’s town, Almont.”

“I heard it had been burned to the ground,” the witch said.

“So what do we do now?” Allie asked her friends.

“Pardon, but what are you looking for, exactly, a half-elf, or a half-blood? Because there are many half-bloods in the world.”

Allie’s eyes widened. “There are?”

“With magic, anything is possible. I am living proof.”

“You are?” Allie frowned and then gasped. “Oh! Because you used to be a man.”

Arcturia winked at her. “There are many secrets and surprises hidden beneath the surface.”

“Do you know something of what, or who, we seek?” Jillystria asked.

“Something? No, but I will tell you that, from time to time at the Spotted Lizard a certain minstrel and his lady will entertain the patrons. I can’t say that they are there now, nor when they will be again if they’re not, but I know it is a favorite spot of theirs.”

Allie turned to stare at Jillystria. The elf, for her part, was looking at Arcturia. “What…did they keep her name?”