Rise of the Serpent (Serpent's War Book 2) (18 page)

Chapter 19

“This doesn’t look good,” Gor said after they looked through the window in the last cell door.

“It’s empty,” Allie said.

“Right, we didn’t find him.”

“What about the other wing?” Allie asked.

“The other…those aren’t cells.”

“No, that’s where they took us and tortured us.”

Gor shook his head. “He wouldn’t be there.”

“Gor, please!”

He sighed. “You’re not going to like what’s in those rooms.”

“I know. I was there, remember?”

He scowled. “Yeah, but—”

“They cut and stabbed me,” Allie said. “They burned me and even gouged out my eyeballs. I told them everything I knew, but they kept asking. They kept hurting. I made things up to tell them so they would stop, but they didn’t.”

Gor winced and shook his head. “You didn’t deserve nothing like that.”

Allie shrugged. “They hurt me so much I stopped telling them anything. It didn’t matter. They did it for fun. Practice, maybe? I don’t know. I wanted to die, but they kept healing me. It taught me something about myself. Maybe about anyone.”

“What’s that?”

“When you’re hurt that bad, you want to give up. You try to, even. But they wouldn’t let me. And then when they’d heal me so that I hurt but wasn’t crippled and about to die—when I felt like that, I wanted to live again. I found reasons to fight again. Between feeling alive and knowing Jilly would be there to talk to me, I wanted to live again. At least until the next time they hurt me.”

Gor shook his head. “And you want to go back to those rooms?”

“I need to,” she said. The light from her blade stayed strong.

“Let’s go,” Gor grunted and started back up the hall to the other tunnel that led into the mountainside.

Allie followed behind him and clenched her stomach muscles tight as they entered the hallway she’d learned to dread. The difference was this time she was armed and her escort was her friend. A man sworn to protect her and help her, not a group of splisskin that jeered and tormented her.

Gor glanced back at her a few times, prompting her to give him a strained smile in return. He shook his head and trudged on until he reached the first of the torture chambers. He stopped and looked at her, making sure.

She nodded.

Gor put his handle on the door and lifted it. He swung the door open to a sight that made Gor and Allie both gasp. Someone—either a man or a woman, they couldn’t tell—hung from chains that dangled from a pulley in the ceiling. The chains weren’t wrapped around the victim’s wrist; they ended in man-sized bear traps that drove spikes through the person’s palms. Blood ran down the victim’s arms to their naked torso, where they were hidden by the long, snarly brown and gray hair.

The victim’s head hung low, proving that either they’d passed out or had passed on. Before they could guess which, a hiss drew their attention to a splisskin with a scar across the scales of his left cheek.

“You!” Allie shrieked. Her sword flickered, the glow diminishing for a few seconds and letting the fire in the brazier full of coals serve as the light source of the room.

The lapse only lasted a second. The glow returned with the force of the sun breaking the horizon in the morning. Green light painted the walls in a putrid hue that spoke of what evils the room had witnessed. Allie pushed Gor out of the way and screamed as she charged the splisskin inquisitor.

His eyes narrowed and then he hissed at her and reached for a poker thrust into the brazier. She caught the poker with her sword as he lifted it free and flipped it up in the air, disarming him. Allie’s sword arced up and around, clearing his head and then cutting down and shearing his arm off above his wrist.

The torturer screamed and reached for the stump of his arm. Allie ignored him and stepped aside as the poker clattered to the floor beside her. She stepped in close and smashed the metal scales on her forearm into his face, stunning him and leaving him reeling.

“Wouldn’t want that to bleed too much,” Allie snarled at the splisskin. She grabbed his arm and yanked him over to the brazier. The splisskin staggered, too shocked to defend himself. Allie jammed his severed arm into the burning coals and staggered back as he stiffened and howled.

Allie stared at the splisskin man that had tortured her countless times, leaving her for dead save for the priest that would bring her back. She shook the memories away and stared at the sword in her hand. The glow was fading until she realized she held the power now, not him. She wrestled the fear into anger and watched the blade grow brighter with her fury.

Allie scooped up the poker with the red-hot tip and slapped the splisskin on the side of the head with the flat of her blade. He jerked and twisted around. His good arm stretched out for her, but never reached her.

Allie jammed the glowing poker into his chest and pushed him back into the brazier. He fell against it and knocked it over, spreading the coals across the damp stone. The torturer writhed on top of them, trying to escape but unable to get away from the iron in his chest.

“It burnssss, yessss?” Allie hissed, repeating a phrase she’d heard him use many times on her.

He gasped and clawed at the poker until his hand fell limp and collapsed onto the cooling coals beside him. Allie stared down at him until Gor cleared his throat, reminding her that she wasn’t alone. She jerked her head up and stared at him.

“Feel better?”

Allie looked down at the dead man and opened her mouth. No words came to her. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I stopped him. He won’t hurt anyone ever again. That’s a good thing.”

“He hurt you though, right?” Gor asked. “A lot.”

She nodded. “Just because somebody hurts me doesn’t mean I need to hurt them back.”

“The way you went after this guy says it does.”

Allie shrugged. “This was special. And he was evil.”

Gor grunted and turned to the person hanging with his toes a few inches above the ground. His body was covered in scars and burns. Blood still dripped from wounds inflicted earlier. “Too late for this poor bastard,” he said.

Allie frowned and shook her head. “Is it even a man? He’s skin and bones and hair. Let him down, at least.”

Gor nodded and moved to the wheel that had been used to crank the prisoner up. He unlocked it and let it down slowly. The man collapsed with a groan that made Allie stiffen.

“He’s alive!” she hissed.

Gor cursed and stumbled towards the fallen man. Allie beat him to it and knelt down next to him. She reached out and brushed his hair back from his face, anxious to see if the poor man was awake or if he’d—

“Son of a—”

Allie didn’t hear Gor’s curse. She stared into her father’s confused eyes until her own vision grew blurry with tears.

* * * *

“Is it bad?” Namitus asked the limping elf.

Corian pulled his hand off his hip and stared at the blood on his hand. He twisted his neck and arched his back to study the wound on his hip. “Stings, but a good wash and some stitches and I’ll be fine,” Corian judged. “Can’t believe I got cut in the arse.”

Namitus smirked and turned away from the side passage the splisskin had rushed out from. Both groups had been surprised, but Namitus and Corian reacted faster. “Let’s go. Their defenses are in place now. Too much longer and they’ll start sending out patrols to find us.”

“Yeah, I’d hate to make their jobs difficult,” Corian muttered.

Namitus raised an eyebrow and moved on. His leg felt sticky from the blood that ran from the wound in his side. The warmth and numbness in the wound had faded, leaving a dull ache and occasional sharp pain if he moved too much or too fast. Unfortunately for him, he was running and fighting constantly.

“Namitus!”

Namitus slowed and struggled to walk sideways. They were alone, save for the seven dead splisskin bodies scattered down the length of the hallway. “What?”

“Last time we were here, they had archers,” Corian said. “This time just spears. Why?”

Namitus opened and closed his mouth. “That does seem odd. I’m grateful, though; bowman would have ruined this assault before it began.”

“I could use some of their arrows, though,” Corian said.

Namitus smirked. “If it’s all the same, I’m going to continue hoping we avoid their archers. Now, let’s move. We’ve already taken too much time dealing with the stragglers.”

The two jogged down the hallway another forty feet before a single splisskin emerged from a side passage. He hissed and reached for the sword at his side. Namitus caught his blade and spun him around. Corian took the opening and plunged his dagger into the splisskin’s back. The elf ripped his dagger away and let the splisskin sag to the floor. The wound was fatal on its own; the fact that it would continue to bleed until the snake man’s heart beat its last only hastened his death.

Namitus nodded to the elf and spun around, wincing from the sharp pain in his side. He pushed through, fighting to ignore the injury. “Almost there,” he said to himself as much as Corian.

The hallway ended at a wide-open intersection. Namitus staggered to a stop and stared up and down the main hallway through the palace. “What the…are we too late?”

Corian studied the bodies of splisskin that littered the hallway. Blood and body parts, both internal and entire limbs and heads, decorated the walls and trampled carpet. Both men turned to look to their left, where the hall led deeper into the palace.

“How?” Corian whispered. “Lariki couldn’t have beaten us.”

A cry from behind them made them turn. More splisskin were rushing down the hall. Not a handful, but enough to fill the breadth of the eighteen-foot wide passage. “This is bad,” Namitus muttered.

“Back to back?” Corian asked.

“Don’t be a fool! There’s more than I can count!”

“What then? They’ve seen us!”

“Let’s find whoever tore these snake lovers apart,” Namitus said. “And hope that they’re friendly.”

Corian nodded and said, “Go!”

They ran. Namitus winced and gasped at the pain in his side, but it reminded him of something Garrick and Mordrim had once told him. Pain was a good thing. So long as he still felt hurt, he was alive. The elf pulled ahead of him and glanced back to see Namitus limping. Corian’s eyes dropped to his leg before he slowed his pace and fell back beside him.

“Run!” Namitus spat between breaths.

“I am,” Corian said.

“Don’t worry about me. I can handle myself.”

Corian grinned. “I’ve spent decades at my sister’s side because no one else would. You think I’m going to abandon you? Jilly wouldn’t let me survive the day!”

Namitus snarled a grin and glanced back. The splisskin were getting closer. He turned back and pushed harder. The hallway opened into a large room less than fifty feet away. He could see figures milling about and, over the sound of his heart hammering in his ears and his breath rushing through his chest, he heard the sounds of battle.

They ran into the room and staggered to a halt. One of the Vultures was lying in the opening of the throne room, his cheek opened to the bone and a pool of blood beneath his body. The splisskin were tripping over another body that had a broken arm and a nearly severed leg as they struggled to reach the small group of mercenaries still standing.

“We’ve doomed us all,” Corian breathed.

Namitus shook his head and looked around. The splisskin behind them were fast approaching and the ones in front were beginning to take notice. A dais at the far edge of the room had a single throne on it, as well as a small table and a pedestal. A man wearing a robe stood and watched the battle unfold while a splisskin with a leather harness and a large curved sword stood beside him. Another splisskin was studying the battle and fidgeting with a talisman that hung from his neck that resembled a red eye with a black iris. It was a holy symbol of Kalkar, the patron saint of vengeance and hatred.

“Namitus?” Corian asked.

“Stand with the others,” Namitus said. There was no way to reach the people on the dais, even if they were obviously the leaders. He had some tricks left in his pouch, but not enough to get him halfway there. He was down to a single potion of Leander’s grace as well. He saved it, knowing once he used it, any further wounds would be his undoing. Now he wondered if he might never have the chance.

“All right,” Corian said. “We’ll make them pay dearly.”

Namitus saved his energy and raised his sword before charging into the edge of the splisskin ringing the surviving mercenaries. Corian was at his side, protecting his flank and lashing out with his wicked dagger. For a moment, it almost seemed like victory might be possible.

Then the splisskin recovered and struck back.

Chapter 20

“Dad!”

Gildor blinked and shook his head. Spit mixed with blood ran from the corner of his mouth. He struggled to try to sit up but his arms wouldn’t obey him. He flopped onto the stone like a fish out of water.

“No,” he moaned. His voice was slurred as he mumbled, “Another trick.”

“Not a trick,” Allie whispered. “I’m here. I—we—came to stop this. And to see if I could find you.”

Gildor stared at her and then turned to look at Gor. He squinted as he studied the large warrior. “Who’s this?” he asked, his voice so dry it was painful to listen to.

“Dad, this is Gor,” Allie said. “He came with you and Corian when you rescued me.”

Gildor blinked again. “Gor…”

Gor knelt down beside him. “You saved me, Gildor,” he said. “I was drunk and poor, but you lifted me up and gave me a chance no one else would. You made me promise to protect her. I did.”

Gildor’s eyes widened. He stiffened and reached out, his hand smearing blood on Gor’s arm. “You brought her back!”

“No!” Allie insisted. “I brought him back. I came back here with Corian and Gor and someone else. Someone special.”

“What?”

Gor looked at her, his brow furrowed. “Lariki or Namitus?”

Gildor’s gaze flicked across the stone floor. “Lariki…”

“I meant Namitus,” Allie said. “He’s a knight! On Saint Astra’s honor, he is a knight of Altonia, a new kingdom in the north formed by Alto, the champion of the Kelgryn who came to Shazamir and defeated the king.”

He shook his head. “Lariki?”

Allie nodded, trying to guess what her beaten father wanted to know. “Lariki is the captain of a mercenary company, the Vultures. And she’s more; she is a half-dragon. She is the one spoken of in the elven prophecy.”

Gildor shook his head and then jerked his gaze up to hers again. He trembled and blinked back tears. “Allie? Allisandra?”

Allie’s heart lurched in her chest. She reached out to her father’s blood- and dirt-stained face. “I’m here, Dad. Oh saints, what have they done to you?”

“Prove it,” he said. “Prove you’re my daughter.”

Allie swallowed and chewed on her lip. How could she prove it to him? She glanced around and then held up her sword. “This! Look, it has the engraving on the hilt that you and Grandpa chose for me. The desert rose, like you used to call me.”

He looked at the colorful rose and then his eyes took in the rest of the now-magical blade.

Allie frowned. “Thork, a shaman, enchanted it. He put the magic of Saint Jarook in it. It helps me fight better and the blade glows when I’m afraid.”

Gor grunted and shook his head. “I been watching. When you get scared, it stops.”

“No, I’m still afraid, but it’s when I’m moving and doing something…” Allie trailed off as she considered the sword and her actions. She gasped and said, “It’s when I control my fear it glows!”

Gor grunted. “That makes sense.”

Allie glanced back at her father. “What else can I tell you? Of how I never wanted to fight but you made me learn? How I wanted to explore the world and be more than just a peasant wife? Remember me talking about the warrior women from the north I’d heard of, Patrina and Aleena? Maybe now I can meet them! Namitus knows them! He says Patrina—she’s a queen now—is like his sister. Oh, and Corian and Jillystria? Well, Jilly is Namitus’s grandmother. Corian is—”

Gildor waved a hand to stop her. “Enough,” he croaked. “I believe you.”

Allie’s eyes widened. “You do?”

Gildor nodded. “You shouldn’t have come back.”

“I had to,” Allie insisted. She pulled her waterskin from her hip and held it to Gildor’s lips.

He tried to drink from it but after a few swallows he grimaced and shook his head. Gildor shifted his gaze to Gor. “Get her out of here. Protect her.”

“I am protecting her, but if we don’t stop these snakes, there won’t be anywhere safe on Kroth.”

“They want someone like her,” Namitus said. “Half-blood. To lead them.”

Allie’s eyes met Gor’s.

He cursed and said, “We need to go! She expects payment for helping us, and I have yet to find my family vault.”

“You think she’d turn on us?” Allie asked.

“Yes.”

“Vault?” Gildor asked.

“This is Gor’s castle,” Allie said. “His family’s, at least. The splisskin took it from them a long time ago.”

Gildor turned to stare at Gor, his eyes clear but no less confused.

“It’s a long story,” Gor said.

“Trust him, Dad. The rest of us do.”

Gildor grunted and tried to draw his legs up beneath him. He winced and fell back on his side. He shook his head and stared at the ground. “Go,” he gasped. “Leave me.”

Gor chuckled and rose to his feet. Allie watched him, her head shaking in disbelief. He couldn’t just leave her dad, could he?

He couldn’t. Gor bent over and grabbed Gildor under the shoulders. He lifted the battered caravan guard like a scarecrow stuffed with straw. Gor slipped Gildor’s arm around his neck and asked, “Can you walk at all?”

“Leave me!” Gildor rasped. He tried to cough but his breath was too shallow. After the fit passed, he hung limp in Gor’s grasp.

Gor grunted. “All right then, I’ll carry you. Don’t worry, I bet your girl weighs more than you do these days.”

Gildor struggled to breathe and fell limp in Gor’s arms. Gor grabbed Gildor’s tattered pants and held him steady until he could shift his grip and pick Gildor up into his arms. He turned to Allie. “Let’s go. Take the lead; I’ll guide you.”

Allie stared at her father. “Is he…”

“Passed out,” Gor said. He shook his head. “I won’t lie—he’s in bad shape. I’m no healer, but my bet would be against him waking up again.”

Allie stared at the frail form of her father until Gor cleared his throat. She started and looked up at Gor. “He’ll make it. Which way?”

“Out the door and to the right, deeper.”

“Deeper? I’ve been down that hall. There’s nothing but more torture chambers.”

“There’s more,” Gor told her. “What better place to hide a treasure vault than the dungeons?”

“Guarded by your best men in a safer place for one,” Allie said and turned to head out the door. She paused at the doorway and looked both ways down the hall.

“That vault fell decades ago. This one remains untouched.”

“You think.”

He frowned. “No, I hope. If they’ve found it, this is all for nothing. Go all the way to the end of the hall.”

Allie led the way down the hall for several hundred feet. The light from the last burning sconces faded behind them, leaving only the glimmer from Allie’s sword. She came to a stop when the passage ended in a smooth stone wall a dozen feet beyond the last door.

“I have to set him down,” Gor said.

Allie’s breath caught in her throat as she watched Gor set her father on the damp stone floor. He looked so frail and weak. Almost pathetic, but she would never see him that way. He was strong—strong enough to raise a willful girl like her and teach her not only how to fight, but how to fight for what was right.

“Where’s that damn seal,” Gor muttered.

Allie twisted around and stared at him. She moved and lifted her sword, shedding its baleful green light on the wall. Gor grunted his thanks and kept passing his hand over the wall. Allie watched him but couldn’t see any difference between one section of stone from the next.

“I think it’s here,” he said and rapped his knuckles against the wall.

“How can you tell? I don’t see anything.”

“That’s why nobody knows it’s here,” Gor said. He reached back over his head to his axe head and grunted as he sliced his palm against the edge.

Allie gasped and opened her mouth to ask him what he was doing when Gor pressed his bloody hand against the wall. A red glow flashed in the stone and spread to the entire end of the hallway. The glow was dull but still stood out against the dark stone. She turned and looked over her shoulder to make sure no one was coming.

“Come on,” Gor hissed.

She spun back and saw Gor had picked up Gildor again and was walking into the glowing stone. Into and through. She gawked for a moment and then jerked in realization she was about to be left behind. She pushed herself forward and reached out. Her hands passed through the stone as though it was nothing more than a gritty mist.

Allie stepped out and stumbled to avoid colliding with Gor and her father. She twisted and looked back in time to see the glow fade and the door return to solid stone. She turned again and held her sword up, shedding light over the chests, crates, and dust-covered racks that held suits of armor and weapons.

“By the saints!” Allie breathed. “This is…I don’t know. What is this?”

“My family’s legacy,” Gor said. He nodded towards a chest. “Open that.”

Allie went to the unlocked chest and had to use her sword to break the rust that froze the hinges. She lifted the lid and stared down at the coins that were covered with the dust and grime of years spent underground. She jerked her head up to Gor. “All of these chests?”

He nodded. “Empty your waterskin,” he said. “Fill it with pearls and gemstones. Coins too, if you can.”

Allie removed the stopper from her waterskin and poured it out on the floor. She held it in her hand with her sword and reached down to plunge her fingers into the coins. They shifted and exposed shining metal beneath the grime. She frowned; the coins were too large. She remedied the problem by sawing the neck of her waterskin off.

“Hurry,” Gor urged. “Check another chest.”

Allie frowned and moved to the chest to the left of the first one she’d opened. The hinges squealed as she forced them open, yielding up its prize grudgingly. She gasped as she stared down at the dirty chest full of pearls.

Allie dug through the chest, shifting the contents and verifying that they were indeed pearls. Some as large around as her thumb. She shoved them into her waterskin until it was bulging.

“That’s enough,” Gor said. “You’ve got fifty pearls in there, easy. Nobody’s seen freshwater pearls like these in a hundred years. They’re worth three times her price.”

“How do you have so many?” Allie wondered. The chest was still more than three-quarters full.

“Secret grottos around the island,” Gor said. “This place has many mysteries and wonders to it. Things the splisskin don’t know about and would never appreciate.”

“All right, let’s go then. Unless there’s something else?”

Gor pointed to a stand with a suit of dust-covered mail on it. “Try that.”

“We don’t have time for that,” Allie said.

“Not the armor, just the shield.”

Allie dropped her eyes to the round shield. It was dirty but looked to be solid. She tied the laces on the waterskin around the cut open neck to seal it and then tucked it into her belt. Allie walked to the rack and lifted the shield and looked it over. She blew on it and coughed at the dust that clouded the air.

What was left behind was a wooden, round shield braced with a thick metal rim and ribs that looked like it had just come from the forge, not a dank vault. She slipped her fingers through straps and tightened them before lifting it up and nodding. “Fits good.”

“It should,” he said. “Now we can go.”

“Nothing here you can use?”

Gor glanced at the treasures and sighed. He shook his head. “I don’t deserve any of them. You do.”

“Oh! Um, okay,” Allie said.

“Wait, check those other chests,” Gor said.

“Why?”

“Do it,” he snapped. “We don’t have much time.”

Allie slipped the shield off her arm and worked on the other chests, popping them open one at a time until Gor grunted. She stared down into the small chest at several round tins. “What are these?”

Gor ignored her question and instructed, “Open one.”

Allie frowned but did as he asked, struggling to break the seal of dirt and years before she twisted the top of the tin off. A spicy smell rose from inside, reminding her of some of the groves of fruit trees they’d ridden through near Mira. It wasn’t one smell, but rather several mixed together with a musky undertone. Spoiled, maybe?

Gor looked into the tin and nodded. He shifted Gildor in his arms and said, “Rub some of that on his hands.”

“Some of…Gor, this has been down here for years. It might make him sick.”

“Maybe, but he can’t get much worse.”

Allie frowned and then dug her fingers into the tin. The surface was stiff but crumbled under her fingers. The creamy gel underneath was moist and smelled even stronger of spices and rich, moist earth. She drew her fingers out and stared at the goo on them. It felt gritty and slimy, but viscous enough she didn’t fear it dripping or running down her hand.

“His hands,” Gor reminded her.

Allie sighed and turned to her father. Gor managed to hold one arm steady for her so she could rub the ointment on the back of his hand and then through his palms. She swallowed and looked away from the broken bone that was visible through one of the holes on his hand. She moved on to his other hand instead and went back to scoop more of the ointment out of the tin until it was empty.