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

  She shrugged and kicked at the brown clumps of grass under her feet. “It’s not so bad.”

  He tilted his head and fought the smile. “You’re stubborn, like your mother, but under it all, I think you’re kind of soft.”

  Her cheeks clenched at the mention of her mother. “Soft?”

  Gildor winced. “In a good way! Caring. Even for a crusty old sword like me.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Of course I care about you. You’re my dad!”

  Gildor grinned. “Good, then pick up that sword and stop me from giving you a hug.”

  “Gross,” she muttered as she knelt down and grabbed the sword. She stood up and held the dull weapon in her hand. “It’s heavy,” she complained.

  He dropped into a crouch and held his curved talwar in front of him. “Because you don’t practice with it like I tell you to.”

  Allisandra lunged forward with the straight and short blade he’d given her. He knocked her blade to her right and stepped to her left. She jumped back before he could counterattack and brought her sword back in front of her. “Because I’m a girl and—”

  Gildor lunged in and knocked her sword to the side, interrupting her. She let go of it and stepped inside his reach. She hooked his ankle with her foot and threw her weight into him, tripping him and riding him down to the ground. Gildor’s breath exploded out of his chest and his sword rang when it bounced off the ground.

  “Girls. Don’t. Fight!” Allie growled into Gildor’s face.

  Gildor groaned and let his head fall back on the ground.

  “Did I win?”

  He took in a few deep breaths and then nodded. “Yeah, you won.”

  Allie let out a squeal and climbed off him, earning a few more grunts as her hands and knees dug into him. She picked up her sword and slapped it against her hand while shaking her hips in a dance.

  “Knock it off,” Gildor muttered. He rolled over to grab his sword and climbed to his feet. He sheathed his blade and turned to see her grinning. “So what happens next?”

  “What?”

  “You took my sword and knocked me on my arse. Then what do you do?”

  “What do you mean? I won.”

  “A man who comes looking for you will want to get you close like that. On the ground is even better. Then what?”

  Her eyes narrowed. She lowered her sword and then realized she still held on to it. She jammed it in her sheath and shrugged. “I’d figure it out.”

  “You’ve got no sword; neither does he. So what do you have left?”

  “Dad! Enough already. Come on, it’s not like it’s ever going to happen!”

  “It’s not?” he said. “There’s a lot of things that have already happened to us that I knew was never going to happen.”

  “Fine,” she snapped. “I’d kick him between the legs so hard he couldn’t stand up.”

  Gildor winced. “That’s good, but that close there’s no kicking. Use what you have. Feet, knees, elbows, fingers, even bite if you have to.”

  She shuddered and crossed her arms again. “Yeah, okay, that too.”

  Gildor nodded. “Go get cleaned up. I’ll check for some eggs and see if there’s anything else.”

  She nodded and said, “We’ve still got some of that bread I made.”

  Gildor nodded. “Good. Now get to work. You’ve got chores yet to do, and I want to make it to your grandfather’s before dark.”

  She turned and walked towards their well. Gildor watched her go and admired the young woman she was becoming. She was stronger than she admitted and better with a sword than he gave her credit for. She was a far cry from being a warrior, but she could protect herself in a pinch. It was his job to make sure that pinch never happened, but if it did, he knew she’d stand a chance.

  He walked to the chicken coop and started upsetting the three hens they had while he looked for fresh eggs. He stretched his back and rubbed a sore spot on his hip. Being knocked to the ground served as a painful reminder he wouldn’t be around forever. Sixteen years ago, he’d nearly been burned alive and then drowned while saving Allie. He was fit and healthy now, but the aches and pains that lingered each morning grew worse every year.

  Gildor thought ahead to what needed doing still. His sword was nicked and dulled from the training with Allie; it would need sharpening. He’d need to get their horses ready and make sure Allie helped. She had to know such things. There was no telling what her future held; she had to know as much as she could. He’d taken responsibility for her and raised her as his own. That meant she would be able to do what needed to be done, no matter what it was. If she couldn’t, then that meant he failed. Failed himself and failed her, two things he just couldn’t accept.

  Gildor sighed and walked back to the house. The hens hadn’t laid any more eggs today. Not surprising, but he was tired of the jerked meat they had. Trail fare was one thing, but he was home now. His home, that he’d built with the help of his dad. All the while, Allie had wandered around, getting into things and nearly hurting herself time and again. He chuckled as he remembered the time she fell into the hole they’d been digging for the root cellar. Thank the saints she hadn’t done the same when they’d been working on the well.

  Gildor stopped and stared at his land. He’d set up a home and built the shelter for his horse and the coop for the chickens. Later he’d built onto the basic stable and turned it into a small barn. His tools were stored inside and he hoped for the day he might get some cattle, if nothing else than for fresh milk.

  He shook his head. Dreaming about the future was one thing; making it happen was another. It wouldn’t happen with him standing around. He turned and headed to the barn to get their horses ready. His dreams wouldn’t happen without gold. He needed to get Allie to Almont so he could leave her with Bucknar. His dad spent time as the small town’s unofficial mayor. Bucknar claimed he was too old and slow to be a guide or caravan guard anymore.

  “Dad!” Allie shouted from the direction of the house after he’d been tending to the horses.

  Gildor cinched the saddle on Allie’s mare and turned his head to call back, “In the barn.”

  The door creaked open after a moment and she stepped in with a wooden plate in her hand. “I’m guessing you couldn’t find any eggs?”

  “None,” he admitted. “Figured I’d get the horses ready for us to save time. Wanted to make you help me, but you take too long.”

  “You need to eat.” She ignored his joke and thrust the plate towards him. “That’s what you’d tell me, right?”

  Gildor chuckled. “You learned something after all!”

  She smiled and gathered her dress before she sank down and sat on her calves. “It was that or run off and live with the wolves.”

  Gildor chewed on the bread and swallowed. “You chose wisely. They’ve got fur to keep them warm at night.”

  Allie opened her mouth and then clamped it shut. He saw her cheeks darken before she stood up. Without warning, she changed the subject and asked, “Are we almost ready to go see Grandpa?”

  He chewed through another bite and nodded. “Yes, just need supplies from inside, whatever you’re taking.”

  “What about you? Don’t you need anything? You could be gone awhile.”

  “My bow,” he said. “That’s about it. Better to travel light. Better for me and for Patches.”

  Allie walked past him to her mare. She petted her behind the fence and then lifted the latch and walked into the open stall. Allie checked the saddle and turned back to him. “You’ve done good.”

  Gildor grunted. “I was afraid I’d need to loosen the straps. Not sure what she’s finding to eat but she’s a growing girl.”

  “I meant, um, with me.”

  Gildor lowered the last bite of bread and stared at her.

  Allie’s cheeks reddened again. “I guess I don’t know what things would be like if my mom was still here, but I’m okay with how things are.”

  “What about wanting to live in town and
have other ki—other people—around?”

  She shrugged and turned to pet her horse for several seconds. She lifted her shoulders again. “That’d be nice, but then things would be different too. I mean, I still get to do that when you’re gone. Grandpa’s pretty rough on my friends in Almont, though.”

  Gildor chuckled. Bucknar’s gruff words when he’d first saved Allisandra were smoke and mirrors. He’d taken to her instantly and treated her like his own. As much as he’d treated Gildor, anyhow. Maybe better.

  “Anyhow, I just thought that maybe you should know I’m not always upset about it. Besides, it’s kind of fun busting your chops.”

  Gildor scoffed. “Is that right?”

  She pressed her lips together and then let her smile shine through. “Almost as much fun as taking you down today.”

  He snorted. “Don’t get used to it. You’re still a scrawny little girl as far as I’m concerned. I was taking it easy on you.”

  Her jaw dropped. “You said—”

  Gildor winked at her, causing her to clamp her mouth shut. He swallowed the last bite of bread and nodded to the mare. “Pull the horses out. I’m going to get my things.”

  “Don’t forget to check your saddle,” she said as he walked out of the barn.

  Gildor stopped and looked back. Patches’s saddle looked fine. He lifted his gaze to her and saw a far too innocent look on her face.

  “You never know,” she said. “Things come loose sometimes.”

  Gildor’s eyes narrowed. He shook his head and turned away. He’d be sure to check it. She was a handful and it wouldn’t be the first time she’d played a trick on him. Allie was sharper than a sword fresh off the grinding wheel. It wouldn’t be long until he couldn’t hold her back anymore. He’d have to let her out in the world to find her own way. Someday soon, he feared. In the meantime, he’d make sure he and Bucknar did everything they could to put the fear of the saints in the boys who came calling for her!

  Chapter 3

  Corian stumbled to a halt and stared at the road and forest ahead of him. He’d been running for hours, coming down from the hills that led into the mountains. Long enough the sun was setting in the west and making the southern forests as dark as the northern reaches were. The callowill trees that dominated the southern forest weren’t as tall as the oaks and cedars in the north. They made up for it by branching out, extending their thick branches to grab as much sun and water as possible.

  It wasn’t the trees that gave him pause; it was the acrid scent of smoke in the air. He peered into the gloom while catching his wind, searching for signs of the fire. Other than the faint scent carried on the wind, there was nothing amiss.

  Corian snorted to try to get the scent out of his nose. The wind might be carrying a campfire or perhaps an accident caused a forest fire. At any other time, he would have investigated. Now the message in his pack bore down on him like a heavy log carried across his shoulders. He needed to deliver it and find out what was going on.

  Refreshed from his short break, he resumed his run along the road. The stink grew worse as he ran. Soon he began to see wisps of smoke swirling in the branches of the trees. Corian’s heart hammered in his chest harder than his pace required. The sweat on his back turned cold but it spurred him to run faster.

  He reached the top of a ridge that marked the outer reaches of Glennduril and staggered to a stop. The road sloped down from the ridge and trees blocked his view, but there were enough breaks in the canopy of leaves that he saw smoke rising above the trees. There was no denying it: Glennduril was on fire.

  Corian took off like an arrow shot from the bow on his back. He ran hard and nearly lost his balance and fell several times as rocks and roots threatened to trip him. The air was thick with gray and black smoke by the time he ran among the stone and wood houses.

  He slowed, panting and fighting the bitter taste in the air. People were milling about, some running and others walking or standing still. “What happened?” Corian asked a man who was standing and holding his wife.

  “There’s been fires,” he said. “They’ve put them out, but nobody’s sure what happened.”

  “Fires?”

  “Yes, two or three I think,” the man confirmed.

  “What of the prince?”

  “What of him?”

  “Was his estates burned?”

  The man scowled. “Who would set fire to the prince’s castle? They’d be killed by the prince’s guard!”

  Corian frowned and rushed on into the town. He saw the elves gathered and trying to learn what had happened at different points, but he pushed on towards the center of town where the court of Glennduril was held. The city offices were where the mayor and council members met daily to attend to the affairs of Glennduril. The southern reaches of the city, where the hills began to rise again, was where Prince Thesperus lived in his palace. He ruled the southern reaches of the elven forests, but left the governance of the city to the mayor.

  The crowd near the city court grew thick and forced Corian to struggle to push through. When he finally managed to, he gasped and then coughed out the putrid air. The once beautiful building had been reduced to charred and smoking rubble. Even the mighty callowill tree that grew out of the courtyard in the center of the complex was nothing more than a stump with red coal glowing along its surface.

  “What happened?” Corian mumbled. He shook himself out of his shock and turned to the elven woman beside him. “How did this happen?”

  She shook her head and turned away.

  Undaunted, Corian stepped forward towards the guards who were still trying to throw buckets of water on the remains. “What happened here?”

  The guard looked at him and then at another guard. He frowned and said, “There was a fire.”

  “I see that. But how? In the middle of the day? I left this morning to go to Fylandria and this is what I come back to?”

  The guard turned to face him. “Fylandria? You can’t have made it there and back in a day.”

  “I didn’t make it there,” Corian explained. He hesitated before continuing, “I met someone on the road and decided to come back. I wanted to speak with the council.”

  “The council?” The guard shook his head and looked at the smoking rubble. “Go home, Corian; there’s no council to speak with.”

  Corian’s breath hissed through his lips. The guard knew who he was! He bit his lip and tasted the soot on it. He grimaced and tried to spit the taste out. “I have news from the north. I have to tell someone!”

  “News of what? Let me guess, something to do with the humans? Have they come to woo our children?”

  Corian clenched his hands into fists and snarled at the guard. “Damn you, it’s not like that! I didn’t even—”

  “Go,” the next guard closest to them said. “We’ve work to do here and you’re a distraction. Everyone in court was consumed by the fires. They burst all at once and burned with a heat reserved for the forges of dwarves or mouths of dragons. No one knows what happened, but those asking questions will be looked to first.”

  Corian slammed his lips together and nodded. “I’ll seek out the prince then,” he declared.

  “Seek out your home and your sister,” the second guard advised. “I heard there were fires throughout the city, including some near the tanners.”

  Corian stiffened. He stared at the guard long after the man turned away from him and took a fresh bucket passed from a line of elves handing buckets along from a nearby well. Corian took a step back, overwhelmed by everything that was happening around him. A charred post with a few planks of wood clinging to it cracked and fell, startling him.

  He turned away and pushed back through the crowd. By the time he was through the gathered elves, he was sweaty and panting. He kept going, walking faster and faster until his nerves got the best of him. He broke into a run and passed over a bridge that ran over a small stream.

  The bridge marked a different section of town, the crafting tract. The sm
iths and tanners were located in the well-ventilated region that was downstream from the rest of Glennduril. This kept the stink of chemicals and forges from reaching the rest of the city. Other craftsman, jewelers, tailors, and even some bakers, set up shop nearby for ease of access to the resources. The market tract was nearby, though upwind.

  In Corian’s case, it was also where he and his sister lived. It was the only place they’d been able to find that would take them after the shame of what Jillystria, his sister, had done. She worked as a seamstress now and, in his opinion, she was the best one in the entire southern realm. Her expertise with a thread and loom did nothing to offset the stigma of her youthful indiscretion.

  Corian saw the crowd ahead of him. A tanner and three small cottages lay in ruins while a nearby smithy had been saved from complete destruction. Corian stumbled at the realization that his fears were confirmed: his home had been destroyed. He turned, trying to move slower than the world was spinning around him. He couldn’t see Jillystria’s familiar hooded shape in the crowd but he did see the tailor’s shop she worked at across the street. It had been burned to the ground as well.

  “Jilly!” he breathed. He broke into a run, bouncing off curious gawkers or elves trying to help. Corian ignored them all and managed to slip through the guards and workers pouring water on the stubborn coals and flames that they unearthed in the rubble.

  He stumbled to a halt at the charred remains of the once small but cozy two-story cottage he shared with his sister and stared into the ash and scorched timbers. He walked in, oblivious of the filth and heat.

  “Corian? Get out of there—it’s not safe!”

  Corian turned and saw Arlund, one of the elves who he and his sister called a friend. Arlund would have argued the relationship, but only in front of others. Arlund was the senior apprentice to Helten, one of the two master smiths in Glennduril.

  “Jilly—I can’t find her,” Corian said. “Have you seen her?”

  “What? No. I haven’t. Was she here? Wait, I thought you’d left to go north?”