Serpent's Silver (3 page)

“Run! Run!” The girl was shaking with terror, and whimpering, but still she tried to warn him away.

Not a chance. His legs wouldn’t work for him now. His gauntlets and his sword had to work together to save them. With the gauntlets, he had to believe, there was at least a chance of accomplishing something.

The serpent emerged sinuously all the way from the hole, lifted its head, and reared back. The eyes swayed above his own. A long, drawn-out hiss like that of a salivating dragon came from the mouth. Then that dread mouth opened, revealing dagger-length crystalline fangs. Drops of clear liquid fell to the ground, spattering and hissing and emitting little puffs of steam. Where the drops struck grass, the grass writhed, turned black, and crumbled into ash.

What a beast! What a monster! At least as formidable as the dragons. Wait till Kelvin heard about this—if Kelvin ever did hear about it. If Kian survived to tell him. If.

The beady black eyes looked into his. They held him as the body writhed behind the head, getting into better position for attack. The head and fangs moved closer. The body coiled around under that elevated head as if independent of it, the tail section undulating in unnerving fashion.

Kian found himself staring into bottomless pits. Beady eyes? Now they were windows into some kind of hell. He saw, peripherally, the open nostrils and the bright spots reflecting from the flashing scales. He felt overwhelmed.

He shook his head, trying to clear it. This was magic. The magic a snake used to immobilize its prey. All the prey had to do was break that gaze and flee, and the snake would not be able to catch it, but somehow that seldom happened. Now Kian understood why. He
couldn’t
break the gaze.

The snout darted suddenly, along with the long, flat, enormous head. The mouth opened wide, the fangs dripping their corrosive poison. The girl screamed.

He tried to snap out of it. He tried to raise the sword. The gauntlets, unaffected by the serpent’s spell, raised his unresisting arms and his sword-hand for him.

The left gauntlet grasped the lower jaw of the serpent. The right gauntlet swung the sword hard at the serpent’s eye. The blade rebounded from silver scales, leaving a barely detectable groove. His arm felt the jolt, and pain lanced through his shoulder.

The serpent’s head went back again. It was not hurt, but now it seemed more cautious. Perhaps it distrusted anything that resisted the power of its mesmeric gaze.

His brother, Kelvin, had slain dragons by driving a sharpened pole and a heavy lance through their eyes and into their tiny brains. This serpent’s eyes were smaller than a dragon’s and no easy target, despite their hypnotic power. He had no lance, no pole. His sword was worthless against any part of the serpent except the eyes, and he couldn’t get a clear shot at them.

Now something else happened. His left hand, within the gauntlet, began suddenly and severely to hurt. It was as if he had thrust his armored hand into a fire. His hand—and the gauntlet—were being injured by the serpent’s venom.

The left gauntlet dropped from his hand and landed on the grass. His hand continued to hurt, still burning. His right hand still held the sword—but what could he do with it? The angle was wrong; he could not get at that eye with a side slash, and he could not orient properly for a stab with the point.

Hissing the hiss of a thousand lesser serpents, the monster bared his fangs again and prepared for the final strike.

As if in a dream, Kian heard the drumming of a war-horse’s hooves. He heard a voice, a man’s, screaming something that sounded like: “Back! Back! Into your hole, you worm!”

He would gladly retreat, if he only could.

A whistling sound filled his ears, and that, too, was coming from outside the range of his trapped vision. His eyes remained locked by the serpent’s; only his ears were free.

Belatedly he realized that it was to the serpent the man was yelling, not to Kian.

Help of some sort had arrived. But was it soon enough, or strong enough? Could it break the spell that held him, and give him even a slight chance to survive?

Chapter 2

In-law

There was an abrupt knock on the cottage door. Heln gave Kelvin a startled look, then put down the dough for the exotic dish she was making: an appleberry pie whose recipe had been in both their families. “Who?”

Kelvin shrugged. He was putting things together in a travelsack for the journey he didn’t want to make. Yet it was expected of him, and he did feel obliged to rescue his father and half brother. It wasn’t as though he wouldn’t have the laser and the gauntlets that had saved his life numerous times. Kian should have taken the laser, the only operating laser in the Seven Kingdoms. Instead Kian had chosen the unfamiliar and alien weapon found in the hidden chamber. Possibly he had also taken along the levitation belt the chamber still held. But Kian had almost been killed while using a flying device from his father’s world. Of course, that was partly because Jon had felled him with a stone from her sling. Still, it showed the hazards of flight. So if the term “levitation” meant what they thought it meant, neither he nor Kian wanted any part of it.

“I expect Jon to come over,” Kelvin said as Heln wiped off her hands and started for the door. “She and Lester won’t let me start out alone, or with just you and my horse.” He added to himself:
But I wish all of you could come along. All of you all the way to wherever Kian and our father and our terrible former queen have gone.
Because all of them had more actual courage than he did, though no one ever spoke that truth openly. Especially Jon, whose nature at times seemed more like that of a big brother than a little sister. That had changed substantially when she got together with Lester. Still—

Heln made a face at him for joining wife and horse in the same breath, though in truth the two were of similar value in many Rud families. She often made faces like that, and despite her worst effort she remained as pretty as ever. Tongue out in a mock spell of insult, she went to the door and heaved at the heavy latch. It released with unaccustomed ease and the door jerked open—leaving her making a face at the visitor.

“Heln Hackleberry?”

She jammed her tongue back in her mouth and put her face straight, too late. She would have blushed, but instead she paled. The stranger at the door was a formidable sight.

He was a big, rawboned man with a stockelcap pulled down around his ears despite the heat of the summer day. He was approximately Hal Hackleberry’s age, with a big ugly nose and black beard, dirty clothing, and a travelsack on his back. He wore a formidable sword.

“Yes, I’m Heln Hackleberry,” she said, stepping back. Kelvin, fearful of robbery or worse, positioned himself for a quick rising and charge. “Mrs. Hackleberry.”

“You won’t recognize me,” the stranger said with considerable understatement. “You never laid eyes on me before. Adult eyes, that is.”

Heln frowned. Kelvin held his position. This didn’t sound like robbery, but…

Abruptly the man reached up and pulled off his stockelcap. His ears popped into view. They were large and red—and round. As unpointed as her own and Kelvin’s.

“I’m Sean Reilly, nicknamed St. Helens,” he said.

“St. Helens!” she gasped. “You—”

“Right, girl. I’m your father.” His dark eyes swept past her to Kelvin. “And you be the Roundear of Prophecy, son?”

Kelvin and Heln looked at each other. Kelvin felt as though the floor had vanished.

“A Roundear there Shall Surely be,” the man said. “Born to be Strong, Raised to be Free.”

“Fighting Dragons in his Youth,” Heln continued faintly. “Leading Armies, Nothing Loth.”

“Ridding his Country of a Sore,” the man said, reciting the prophecy of Mouvar. “Joining Two, then uniting Four.” He looked directly at Kelvin.

“Until from Seven there be one,” Kelvin said reluctantly. He had been thrilled by the prophecy as a child when his mother had told him about it, but as an adult, he had been wary of it. “Only then will his Task be Done.”

“Honored by Many, cursed by Few,” the man concluded. “All will know what Roundear can Do.”

Kelvin experienced the old embarrassment. “I’ve heard it all my life, but I’m not sure that it applies.”

“Hmpth. I’m not sure either, son. But you did slay dragons in your recent youth, and you did, to your great credit, rid Rud of the sore that was her queen.”

He had indeed—but the accomplishment had been far less heroic than the prophecy made it seem. Kelvin was afraid that any further testing of the prophecy would get him killed. So he changed the subject. “You’re really Heln’s father?”

“You doubt my word?” the man demanded gruffly.

“I don’t know you,” Kelvin said with some asperity. Ordinarily he would not speak this way to such a formidable stranger, but the man’s attitude and round ears had shaken him. “How can I know whether your word is good?”

“Maybe I should go elsewhere.”

“No, no, come inside,” Heln said quickly.

Kelvin could hardly protest. If Heln believed in this man, there must be something to it. Certainly there were few roundears in Rud.

St. Helens entered, and Heln closed the door. He looked around the cottage, as if evaluating it.

Now Kelvin began to see certain trace similarities between St. Helens and Heln. Nothing tangible, just hints in the lines of the face and the manner of gesture. This, he fought to realize, really was Heln’s father: the last male survivor of John Knight’s twelve-man squad from unlikely round-eared Earth.

“I’ve come from the kingdom of Aratex,” the man said. “I’ve come to visit my daughter and my famous son-in-law. But I’ve come for a purpose.”

“You have?” Certainly it was easier to accept this formidable man than to doubt him. St. Helens and Mor Crumb were about the same size, Kelvin decided, though Mor’s girth was greater and St. Helens seemed all chest and muscular arms. There was a wildness about this giant’s appearance and manner that reminded Kelvin too much of men he had only pretended to command in the war.

“I’m here to lend you my age and experience. ‘Joining Two’ might as well mean Aratex and Rud. You agree?”

“It might,” Kelvin agreed. But it might also mean any one of the other kingdoms. Or, as was the way with prophecy, the words might mean something else entirely. He had speculated once that they might refer to his marriage with Heln, or the marriage of his sister to his friend Lester.

“Things are not right in Aratex. The dissatisfaction is great. Together we can do it, son.”

“You mean annex Aratex?” Kelvin asked numbly.

“Annex is a good word. So is invade.”

Kelvin shivered. The thought of going to war again, of risking everything he had so narrowly gained, and in an unnecessary war at that, was just more than he cared to contemplate. He feared that his face gave him away.

“You know about Blastmore, of course?” St. Helens inquired. “Rotten excuse for a king. Good chess player, but otherwise rotten. In his way he’s as bad or worse than your former queen.”

“I, uh, heard reports,” Kelvin agreed. “He has a witch to keep people in line.”

“Old Melbah. Ghastly hag. She goes up to Conjurer’s Rock, waves her fingers and shouts gibberish, and everybody faints. People there are real cowed—afraid to do anything on their own. With help, well, that’s a different matter.”

“I’ve heard she controls the elements through magic. Wind, water, fire, and earth. That she can make the wind blow, the water rise, the fire burn, and the earth tremble.”

“Superstitious nonsense!” St. Helens flared. “Are you really my commander’s boy? John was a skeptic.”

Kelvin found it difficult not to flinch. Indeed, his father had been a skeptic. John Knight had maintained that all magic was superstition. But that had changed after Zatanas the sorcerer had demonstrated his power. No one would have disbelieved, after seeing what Zatanas could do. But this attitude of St. Helens was exactly what was to be expected in a member of John Knight’s crew, and went far to confirm the man’s authenticity.

“I, uh, haven’t made any plans to invade Aratex,” Kelvin said after a moment. “I have something else to do that may take time. My father and half brother are in another frame, and in trouble. I have to try to help them before—”

“Yes, yes, I reckon they’ll come in handy. Is it true that the queen escaped?”

“I’m not sure. Kian thinks she’s alive—or he did before he left. Heln couldn’t find her astrally, so maybe she’s dead.”

“Or at least out of action. As far as this frame’s concerned.”

“I—suppose.” Kelvin still wasn’t comfortable with the concept of multiple frames, though he certainly couldn’t doubt them. The implications—

“Well, we’ll just have to go together. You’ll need my help, and later we’ll make plans together for Aratex.”

“Go? You mean with me?” Kelvin felt new alarm. “Into that other frame? That other existence? Only roundears can enter the chamber and make the trip.”

“I know.” St. Helens smiled and tweaked one of his own very prominent ears. “I’ve got the tickets on either side of my thick Irish head. Don’t worry, you and I will do just fine.”

Chapter 3

Outlaw

AS THE SERPENT TWISTED around in the direction of the disturbance, a rope with a large loop at its end sailed neatly over the wide, flat head. A gigantic black war-horse with a large dark-featured man in the saddle made an abrupt turn in front of Kian. The noose tightened, yanking the head to the side.

The serpent swayed but did not fall. It darted at the horse just as the rope reached its limit. Obviously the serpent found the noose no more than a nuisance—an irritation that would quickly be dealt with.

The man in black brought down a sword on the serpent’s snout. The horse leaped with instinctive dread, barely escaping the dripping fangs. The two actions were beautifully coordinated, so that instead of sinking its fangs in flesh, the monster received a smart rap on the nose.

Kian felt the spell relax as the serpent’s eyes pulled away from him. He was standing there, wearing one of the magic gauntlets, holding his sword. Meanwhile, a total stranger was doing the fighting. This wouldn’t do. Kian had to act while he had the chance.

The girl screamed again, apparently in fear for the horse and the heroic rider. But both were safe. The flank of the horse swept on by, and the great head struck the grass just in front of Kian.

Now the rider was circling a tree, the rope still attached to the serpent. The slack went out of the rope and the horse backed as the rider jumped down and ran on foot, charging the serpent with a long spear. It was no dragon lance, but it was a far more effective weapon than a sword in this instance.

Kian’s right gauntlet dropped the sword, pulled his arm to the left gauntlet on the ground, and replaced it on his hand. The poison was still in it, and the pain resumed in his left fingers. Yet he knew he had to endure it.
Good gauntlet! Good gauntlet! Make me brave as Kelvin! Make me brave!

Kian did not know what he could do, if anything. But he had to try. He ran to the side of the serpent, waving his sword and shouting something unintelligible even to himself. The notion of frightening the monster this way seemed ludicrous, but it was all he could think of. If he could distract it so that the other man could attack it more effectively—

Now the spear was flying through the air, right toward one of the serpent’s eyes. It struck near the lid of the eye and bounced off. With a clatter it alighted almost at Kian’s running feet.

The gauntlets acted. They had the spear by its shaft and his sword stuck in the ground before Kian had quite stopped.

A forked tongue darted from the great serpent’s mouth. Then the head snapped upright. The rope that held it snapped like a thread. The head swiveled to orient on the dark stranger, who was retreating after casting his spear.

Galvanized by the gloves, Kian’s arm moved. The spear flew upward. This time it struck true, right in the center of the serpent’s dark eye. The razor-sharp point and balanced heft of the weapon had effect; the specially forged spearhead plunged deeply in. The serpent jerked all along the length of its body, and gyrated, moving its head violently, but the spear remained in place.

The gauntlets hauled Kian forward. With no wasted motion they reached for the moving silver wall. Then, to his complete surprise, they propelled him into a handspring that landed him on the monster itself! They prevented him from pitching off the rounded hill that was the serpent’s back and tugged with astonishing insistence at his arms.

Kian found himself running along a slowly moving and abruptly sharply jerking surface.
He was riding the serpent!
The scales were slippery, and threatened to cause him to slide off at any moment, but he never slackened his pace. The gauntlets wouldn’t let him. On and on, ascending the slope of the thrashing monster.

Now he was on the huge, tossing head. How had he gotten here? He was at a dizzying height, and slippery blood was spattered across the silver, making his footing even more treacherous. Indeed, he skidded, unable to handle the violence of the head’s motions.

His feet went out from under him. But the gauntlets were straining to reach the spear’s haft. The left glove, overriding the pain of his hand, grabbed the edge of the eye. The right glove captured the shaft of the spear.

The serpent vented a deafening hiss of anguish and threw back its head. The left gauntlet shifted its grip as Kian’s body slid entirely off the snake’s head. He found himself pulling on the spear with both hands, hanging in midair. But the spearhead was barbed; it would not come out without inflicting far worse damage than it had on entry. The serpent’s head twisted, rotating sidewise—and the spear angled straight up. Still the gauntlets clung, and now the weight of Kian’s body bore down on the spear and rocked it back and forth, so that it dug yet deeper into the socket.

Scarlet blood spurted, some of it onto him. But he could not let go. Acid drops flew from the bared fangs, hissing where they struck. One drop of it struck Kian’s face on the left cheekbone. It burned like fire. Still he clung, unable to do anything else. Relentlessly the gauntlets forced the spear inward, rocking it, questing for the serpent’s brain.

The head snapped about with such violence that even the blood-soaked gauntlets could no longer hold. Kian screamed as he was hurled through the air. The ground came up to smash him. He grabbed at it, and the gauntlets helped him. Pain seared him as he somersaulted and lit somehow on his feet.

A weaving silver hill nudged against him. Another shoved him out. He was still among the coils of the serpent. He scrambled awkwardly to his feet and ran away, heedless of direction, trying to get clear of the body of the serpent before he was crushed by it.

A loop of rope landed on him and tightened. Kian was hauled in a new direction, helplessly. In a moment he found himself up against the horse. The stranger was there, slapping something cold against his face.

The pain abated. Kian raised his left arm with its gauntlet, and the stranger put the medicine on its burn; instantly the brown spot disappeared, and so did the burning in Kian’s hand.

Now at last he could orient on his surroundings. He saw by the scuff marks that the stranger had used the rope to haul him away from the thrashing serpent; he might otherwise have been crushed, as he had had no idea where he was going. He owed the stranger his health or his life.

“You are one brave warrior!” the man exclaimed. “First you scored on the eye after I missed; then you ran right up the thing’s neck and drove it in for the finale! I never saw nerve like that!”

“I—” Kian said, trying to protest. It had hardly been bravery.

“But you got disoriented by the venom, so I lassoed you out. I knew you couldn’t see well anymore. The stuff gets in your eyes and your brain, so that even when you win, you lose. That’s a bad burn! But we got the salve on in time; you should be fine now.”

“The gauntlets did it,” Kian said. “I—I only followed where they led.”

“Gauntlets! They’re magic, aren’t they? No wonder! Must have come from Mouvar.”

“Mouvar? You’ve heard of him?”

“Hasn’t everybody? Where’ve you been?” The stranger took his hand. “Not that it matters. The name’s Jac. Smoothy Jac, they call me. Best skin thief in the Seven Kingdoms. And you?”

“Kian. I’m—a stranger.” He was looking at the admitted outlaw’s round ears. Round ears—could they be common here?

“Native to Hud? Or from one of the other six?”

“N-no.” Rud at home; Hud here. Still seven kingdoms.

“You know the girl?”

He started to shake his head; the pain was not nearly as bad now, and the burning had become more of a freezing sensation. Then he realized that he did know her. Or almost did. Back home that face, that beautiful face, and the curvaceous form with the definitely jutting breasts had belonged to a girl his mother had wanted him to marry: Lenore Barley.

“You look as though you do.”

“Eh, someone. Almost the same.” But Lenore had pointed ears, he remembered, and this one’s ears were as round as his or Kelvin’s or John Knight’s, if he still lived in this land, or the outlaw’s. Truly, it seemed that round ears belonged here.

Then Jac surprised him. “Damned flopears,” he said. “Sacrificing a slave girl any rich man would pay a fortune for!”

Oops. “You deal in slaves?”

“No! I
was
one! I deal only in releasing them. King Rowforth, cursed be his imperial name, is the reason there’s still slavery. His wife, good woman that she be, would like to end it. But I suspect you know that as well as I.”

“No, I didn’t. I’m really a complete stranger.” He managed to sit upright on the grass, turning to watch the weaving coils of the dying serpent. He was still recovering from the horror just past, and adjusting to the newness of this situation.

“We wouldn’t dare try to take the skin before sundown, and by that time the flopears will be here,” Jac said. “Besides, no war-horse foaled could ever carry a skin weighing as much as that one. It’s a shame; there’d be a fortune. Release a lot of slaves with what that’d bring.”

“The girl,” Kian said. “We’d better release her.” That should have been the first thing he did, but he had needed time just to get himself together.

“If we do, the flopears will try to follow us.”

“After facing that,” Kian said, nodding at the huge serpent, “I’m not much scared.” Who were the flopears? Was there really a third kind of ear?

Jac went to fetch his horse, which had wandered during their dialogue, and Kian retrieved his sword and ran back to the girl. Up close she looked even more like Lenore Barley. She always had been a pretty girl, but he hadn’t wanted to marry her. It had been his mother’s idea. At home he had always thought Lenore aristocratic and vain, not at all like the friendly kitchen women and serving maids. But now, as he looked into this sweet face, he wondered if he should not have married Lenore despite her upbringing.

With one easy swing of the sword the gauntlets cleaved through the chain, first on the left, then on the right. The chain came away clean and bright: genuine silver. “Oh, thank you! Thank you,” the round-eared girl exclaimed, her bosom heaving in maidenly excitement.

“I’m, eh, a stranger,” Kian said, trying not to be too obvious about what he was noticing. “From out of this world, you might say. You?”

“Lonny Burk, originally from Fairview. I’m afraid the tax collector took me directly to the flopears. They want a sacrifice each year and they want her to be a stranger, comely, blond, and”—she hesitated momentarily, blushing—”virginal.”

“Then you’ve never actually”—he hesitated, then went bravely on—”been a slave?” Slave boys were routinely beaten, to break their spirits; slave girls were routinely raped until they stopped resisting. He tried to tell himself that this was irrelevant to his assessment of her, but his inner self didn’t see it that way.

“I told you. I was never taken to the Mart. To please the flopears and collect the most silver, the agent kept me safe. Even so, he made me an offer—to take me out of the line if I agreed to—you know—and not let on. But I knew he was married, and he was so ugly and smelled so bad I knew I’d prefer the serpent.”

“Perhaps you made a fortunate choice.” Because, he thought, if she had chosen otherwise, they would never have met, and then he would never have realized that Lenore Barley was the girl he should marry. Lenore—Lonny’s near counterpart. “You mentioned flopears. Were those the short people I saw here before—”

“You don’t know about the flopears?” she asked, amazed.

“As I said, I—”

“They can freeze a mortal person in his tracks just by looking at him! That’s why we can’t resist them.”

“A mortal person?” he asked, surprised at this term. “But all of us are mortal!”

“Yes,” she agreed unhelpfully.

He was rubbing her wrists where the circulation had been restricted by the shackles when Jac appeared, leading his horse. “I’m heading back to the Barrens before the flopears come back. You two want to come?”

“If—we can ride,” Kian said.

“Oh, don’t worry about Betts,” Jac said, patting the war-horse. “She can carry all of us. Only no skin, blast it, and I’m afraid not even that chain. Enough weight is enough for her.”

“These Barrens—”

“Blank, worthless land inhabited solely by outlaws and other dangerous creatures. Surely you’ve heard of it?”

“Yes.” Back home it was the Sadlands; here it would, of course, be almost the same.

“Well, climb on. You, missy, ride in front of me. You—what was your name?”

“Kian. Kian Knight.”

“That’s right: Kian. You ride behind me and hang on to me or the side of the saddle.”

It wasn’t quite the arrangement Kian had envisioned, but he took Jac’s hand and allowed himself to be pulled up on the back of the great horse.

“I’ve, eh, left something back on the road,” Kian said. “It may be worthless, but then again, I can’t say.”

“You know where you left this, eh, thing?”

“Close. It’s where I encountered a bearver.”

“A bearver! Near the main road?”

“Not too far. There were appleberry bushes. I’ll know the place.”

“So will I,” Jac said, turning Betts upslope. “There’s that one stretch where the berries grow and the bearvers come. Good place for berries; bad place for bearvers.”

Kian cocked his head to a now familiar sound. It came, musically, tinkling from the oaple tree he had noticed before.

“Jac, if you want skin—eh, silver—why don’t you take the chimes?”

Jac looked back at him, astonished. “You daft?”

“No. I’m a stranger. If you want silver, why not—”

“Because,” Jac explained patiently, “the flopears treat the chimes with their curse. You don’t take a chime or even a part of one. If you do, you’ll die before night.”

“Really?” This might be the outlaw’s notion of a joke.

“Really.”

Kian thought of that as they rode nearer to where he had left the weapon. “Jac, if you don’t mind my asking, why the chimes?”

Jac laughed. “You certainly don’t know much of the world, do you!”

“N-no. Not this world, at least.”

“It’s to mark boundaries,” Lonny said, turning her sweet face. “At least that’s what’s always said. Something to do with where the serpents are and where there are ancient secrets much better kept by flopears. No one in his right mind goes near a chime. You must be—you must be from another world.”