Serpent's Child (The Mindbender's Rise Book 3)

by D J Salisbury

  “Morbid.” He set his bowl aside and got up to check on the horses.

  Poppy, Periwinkle, Sumach, and Nightshade. Good, they’re all there. And what would he do if they weren’t?

  He shook his head. He wasn’t about to hunt them down, and Tsai’dona seemed as wary of them as he was.

  “Hey, kid? Could I have a pint of beer?”

  “You’re dreaming.” Viper shook himself and limped back to the fire. His padded boot wasn’t hurting his stump as much as it usually did. Maybe getting soaked shaped it to a better fit. “We didn’t buy any beer, remember? You didn’t like the Leiyan brew. How about some red wine? We’ve got plenty of that.” He dipped his fingers back into the bowl of herbal tea.

  Tsai’dona nodded. “My grandmother says wine eases pain better than beer. Of course, she hates beer. It’s too expensive in Moyara-Dur.”

  Lorel shrugged, but she looked interested. “Wine’s gotta be better than the crap you’ve been pouring down me.”

  He dried his fingers on his tunic and climbed up into the wagon. He grabbed a large flagon, turned the tap on the oak barrel, and carefully carried a mug of dark red wine out to her. “Here, this will cheer you up.”

  She smiled weakly and saluted him with the flagon. She took a mouthful of wine–

  And spat it out violently, spraying the campfire. The flames hissed and sputtered. And stank like… like… some of the best food his beloved Faye ever cooked for Trevor and him, back before his world collapsed.

  Tsai’dona hastily rolled out of spitting range. “What’s wrong with you?”

  “Poison! You’re trying to poison me!” Lorel started to fling the flagon into the forest.

  He hopped to her side and snatched the mug before she managed to spill much. He took a cautious sip and groaned. “Vinegar. Lightning strike it, I’ve got three kegs full of vinegar.”

  Tsai’dona laughed outright, but quickly hid her face. Did she think he’d throw a spell on her? If only he could create magic that fast. Besides, he’d never hurt a friend. Not very much, at least.

  Lorel snickered. “All your precious wine. Poor high-drinking kid. Now you gotta throw it out.”

  “I won’t.” He’d paid far too much to throw it out. It tasted like ambrosia in the tavern. How could it turn to vinegar so quickly? Had he been cheated, or had one of his spells gone awry? He hadn’t done anything exotic.

  Except yesterday, when he’d used a pest-be-gone chant against the ghost. And that hadn’t worked at all. The blasted thing had laughed at him until the Kyridon hissed at it.

  “You gotta toss it. We can’t haul garbage around.”

  If Faye could do it, he could, too. “I’ll cook with it.” He put the mug next to the fire, well out of her reach. Should he try soaking his fingers in it? He suspected that would sting. “I wanted vinegar the other day, and now I have enough to make anything I care to try.” And he had a captive audience to experiment on, too. Meals should become more interesting now.

  “You fell off the Shuttle, kid.” Lorel laid back and moaned pitifully. “No beer, no wine.”

  “I’ll make you some tea. Real tea this time, not medicine.”

  “You want some help?” Tsai’dona looked like she wanted him to say ‘no.’

  “No, thanks.” He didn’t want her near his pots. The girl was almost as inept – make that dangerous – a cook as his turybird, even when it came to boiling water. “You could go get the teapot and three mugs, though.” If she broke any of them, he’d kill her. Well, chant a curse on her.

  Too bad he didn’t know any curses. Trevor’s wine curse would have done nicely, but that had turned out to be entirely imaginary.

  But Tsai’dona was safe. She fetched the crockery without breaking anything. He really ought to learn an itching spell, just in case. He pondered his available sources while he made tea. Didn’t any of his books describe curses?

  Lorel dozed until he poured strong black tea into a clean mug. She sat up and smiled crookedly as he handed it to her. “Thanks, kid.” She took a cautious sip. “This ain’t too bad. Hey, maybe you could play the mandolin for me?”

  “I’d like to, but …” He showed her his bruised and seeping fingers. “I’ve got a little problem right now.”

  She blushed. “Sorry, kid. I saw you messing with your fingers, but I didn’t figure why.”

  “I’ll heal faster than you do, turtle turd. Drink your tea.”

  She hunched a little lower.

  “Hey, turybird, stop fretting.” Viper grinned at her across the fire. “When you can walk straight, you need to teach Tsai’dona and me how to harness the team.”

  Tsai’dona shuddered.

  He raised one eyebrow at her. “We’re stuck here until the two of us can do it alone.”

  They’d still need a ladder, even when they did know how to put the harness on. One problem at a time. Maybe one could climb atop the furry dragons, and the other could toss up the straps.

  Lorel grinned. “Nice to know there’s some things I can do better’n you.” She finished her drink and soon drifted back into sleep.

  Tsai’dona stood and stretched. “I’ll go catch a rabbit or two.”

  If she ever caught anything, he’d collapse from shock. Thank the Thunderer he sometimes caught a coney or a squirrel in his improvised snares, or they’d be doing without meat altogether. Unless one counted dried and salted mystery meat. He didn’t. That junk was purely emergency rations.

  He dipped his fingertips into the flagon of vinegar, and choked down a scream. Blast, that hurt. But after an eternity of torture, the pus seemed to dry up. If the redness went down too, he’d suffer through that misery again.

  But now his fingers were stained wine red. How would he know if the infection was clear up?

  Maybe he could soak off the wine tint. He washed the teapot and mugs in warm, soapy water. Sandblast it, that hurt too. But afterward both the red tint and the red soreness seemed paler. It might be worth tormenting himself again, if it prevented gangrene.

  Lorel slept on, more peaceful than he’d ever seen her. Her quiet expression was downright unnerving.

  He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the thing that truly unnerved him. He hadn’t touched RedAdder’s grimoire since he’d fought off the wizard’s ghost. A tracking spell had led the wizard to him every time he’d studied the little book. It tried to kill him so many times he’d lost count.

  Finally it decided to possess him instead. He never did figure out why. It had mentioned that Lorel wasn’t around to protect him. But what could a magic-mocking turybird do to worry a wizard’s ghost?

  What use could he be to a wizard’s ghost? He sincerely didn’t want to find out.

  Every time he opened the grimoire, he risked RedAdder coming after him again. Just because he’d fought it off once didn’t mean it would stay away now. Or that he could fight it off again. The ghost had seemed driven by its ‘master.’

  But he needed the knowledge recorded inside the grimoire. Wizards’ spellbooks were incredibly rare. The library in Sedra-Kei only had three, and he hadn’t been allowed to read them.

  He hadn’t told them he had a fourth. Not because he feared they’d confiscate it. The words simply slipped his mind. Could a book do that? A talisman could, and he suspected the book was one. He didn’t know enough about that type of magic. How many spells could a single talisman hold? A tracking spell and a forget-me spell? And how many more he couldn’t even guess at?

  It might bring RedAdder back down on him, but he had to take that risk. The Kyridon said he would need mage fire to complete the quest, and the grimoire held that spell. It didn’t make any sense, but it was there, along with ghost summoning spells – and ghost dismissals.

  The grimoire contained both danger and rescue. It was time to stop hiding from it.

  Viper opened the little book and began again to decipher the cramped, spidery handwriting.

  Chapter 8.

  The chains holding the fraying do
or up jangled every time a wheel hit a rock. Seeing as they were on a gravel road, the jangling was shoving her off the Shuttle.

  Lorel peeked out through the wagon’s doorway and checked out their destination. After sixteen days of traveling trapped inside the miswoven donkey cart, Crayl was the most beautiful little city she had ever seen.

  She was done with letting the kid play doctor, now and forever. On her, anyway. He’d finally cured his own gooey fingers by soaking them in vinegar. Remembering him cuss under his breath still made her laugh. All he knew was baby swear words.

  Every morning of those sixteen days, she’d managed to harness the team. That she’d slept for the rest of the next twelve days would embarrass her forever. Some warrior she was. She’d cost them too much by being weak.

  Besides, she was Loom-breaking envious of Tsai, who’d gotten to ride the whole way, and who was riding alongside the wagon even now.

  But today she was strong enough for anything. Mostly. The cut on her forehead still itched, but when she’d finally gotten a look at it in a pond, it gave her face a seriously warlike look. It even made her appear older.

  “What’s the date today?” They gotta start watching time better, if they were gonna reach the end of the world by spring. The toad’s quest wouldn’t wait forever.

  The kid turned and looked back at her. “The twenty second of the Hostage, if my records are correct. Why?”

  “Just wondering.” Weaver drowned in tears. Today was her fraying fifteenth birthday. She needed to pick a new date, maybe in the spring, the way the kid had. She’d always hated having her birthday in the fall, and getting born during Hostage made her feel like a loser. Nobody important ever got born in Hostage.

  The kid was still staring at her.

  “Pay more attention to the road, Loom lint.”

  He shrugged and waggled his eyebrows at Tsai, who shrugged back. The girl wouldn’t know what she was thinking. They never talked about birthdays at the sword school.

  She inspected Crayl again. Maybe she didn’t like it, after all. Everything was smoky and filthy, and the wood-and-stucco houses looked like a smudge pot had been left burning – for the past century. Even the people seemed gray and dusty. “Why’s every­thing so dirty?”

  “I don’t know, and I’d rather not ask. Nobody looks friendly.” The kid flicked the reins gently. The team ignored him. Someday she needed to teach him how to guide the poor horses. “You can come out now, turybird, if you feel up to it.”

  She leaned her elbows on the doorframe. “I’m sick of being sick, and I’m sicker of sharing a room with that slithering toad.”

  The kid laughed.

  Several nearby townsfolk glared at them suspiciously.

  Tsai’dona rode closer to the wagon and put one hand on her knife’s hilt. Did the fraying girl really think she could take on a whole town with a fighter’s dagger? She had to make the kid buy Tsai a sword. Today.

  After the important stuff. Like food the kid hadn’t experimented on. And drink that tasted good. Tea was boring. “I want a beer.” She waved at the large building in front of them. “Is that inn?”

  “I think so.” The kid glanced at her kinda sideways.

  “Good.” She eased through the wagon doorway and sprawled on the driver’s bench. “I’m gonna buy a huge keg of beer, no matter how bad the brew is.”

  The kid smiled, but kept his attention on the unfriendly locals. He reined the team into the courtyard and sighed like he’d crawled through a battle­field. Didn’t he know by now that she’d protect him? She wasn’t hurt anymore, just a little bruised. She hadn’t seen double in days.

  An awful-young stableboy crept toward the horses. His eyes near to popped out of his head. His jaw drooped as he looked up. And up.

  She couldn’t blame him. She never met horses that big before, herself.

  The kid grinned at the boy and tossed him a copper coin.

  The child smiled shyly, hid the coin in his jacket, and began unfastening the harness. As fast as his fingers moved, she could tell that this stableboy knew what he was doing. Probably knew more about horses than she did.

  “Do you think he can handle them?” the kid whispered.

  “Not to worry. That little guy is half horse himself.” She jumped down from the driver’s bench and strolled back to where poor Nightshade was tied to the rear of the wagon. He musta been bored, too, walking all that way in the overgrown wheelbarrow’s dust.

  She patted the black stallion gently, and rubbed his forehead in parting. “I’ll be back soon, my lad.”

  The horse stomped uneasily as she walked away, but the little stableboy hurried over and soothed him.

  Something smelled good. Her belly growled. No point in waiting around. She marched into the inn.

  Tsai and the kid scampered to keep up with her.

  “What’s for lunch?” she bellowed into the empty common room.

  “Rabbit stew, mistress,” a deep voice called back. “With fresh-baked bread.”

  “I’m tired of Loom-chewing bunnies.” Especially since she never could catch one. “Bring three servings.”

  The kid slumped down at the nearest table. “You are so rude.”

  Lorel grinned and pointed to the back wall. “Move to a table over there.”

  Tsai nodded. “We’re too exposed near the door.”

  The kid sighed like they’d borrowed his map case again, but hobbled to the far corner and eased into a chair.

  A dark-haired man entered the room after a few minutes, carrying three large bowls and a loaf of bread on a lacquered tray.

  Lorel leaned back and glared at him. “Plus beer. And wine, I guess.”

  The innkeeper looked uncertain, but when the kid slid a silver coin on the table he nodded briskly and left the room.

  “Why’d you show the money, kid?”

  “I just figured out what’s wrong with this town,” he whispered. “Or at least part of it. These people are broke. Penniless. That poor fellow was afraid we couldn’t pay him, either.”

  She had trouble believing that, but if showing off money got them better service, she wasn’t gonna complain about it.

  The stew tasted even better than it smelled. She shoveled it into her mouth with plans of seconds.

  Tsai concentrated on her meal like she was afraid someone would steal it from her. The kid had filched her bowl only one time. She’d never once managed it. Not that she’d ever tried hard. Tsai still had that hungry look around her eyes, like the slavers never fed her.

  The innkeeper returned with one pitcher of beer and a second of wine, and a big tray of mugs.

  “Six mugs?” Lorel asked around a mouthful of bread.

  “In case the gentle persons wish to drink wine and beer at the same time.” Good man. She liked him better already.

  Tsai looked like she couldn’t decide what she wanted. “Water?”

  “Just fill mine both with beer. I’ve been wanting a decent brew forever.” She snatched the first mug the instant it was poured and swallowed half its contents. “Weaver’s blood! This is real beer.” She put down the empty mug and sipped carefully at the second one. “Best Loom-woven beer I ever tasted. I want a keg of this. Two, if we can find a place to store it.”

  The kid smiled and saluted her with his mug of wine. “We’ll find a place. I’d like a barrel of this excellent wine, as well.”

  Where was he gonna put all that? Maybe he’d break down and toss out the nasty vinegar. He’d ruined more meals with that stuff.

  The innkeeper blushed with pride. “All locally brewed. The finest you’ll taste north of Sedra-Kei.”

  Lorel took another slow sip. “Better than in Sedra-Kei.” Not hard to say. The beer in Sedra-Kei was awful.

  The innkeeper glowed even brighter, though he bowed like he wanted to hide it. “My name is Bobhil. If there is anything I can do for you, I beg that you tell me. I am greatly honored to have such cultivated guests.”

  The kid laughed. “If you wan
t to think we’re cultivated, don’t watch us too carefully. But I do have a question. The townsfolk seemed angry when we drove in. Is it something worse than having an ugly wagon, or…?”

  Bobhil shook his head. “It has nothing to do with you at all.” His shoulders sagged. “Storms have kept away our ocean trade, but that’s normal enough, just early in the season. It’s more that all strangers are distrusted. There’s been too many raids on the town.”

  “Hopefully I’ll make a few merchants happy.” The kid smiled and leaned back. “I’ve come to buy Crayl blades with good hard coin. Do you know of anyone who’d deal with a stranger?”

  “I’ll ask around.” Bobhil tapped the tabletop. “If you’ll be staying here, I can ask some folk to come and talk.”

  “Certainly we’ll take a room and a bath, but one of us should stay in the wagon.” The kid dipped his spoon into his stew and sipped up a tiny bite.

  “Not me.” Tsai stopped eating and frowned at him.

  “Not me either, kid. You wanted that thread-snipping wheelbarrow. You sleep in it.” He’d be safe enough in town, with that Kyri-thing inside the wagon. She wanted a real bed. One she could stretch out on. “You done with your stew?” She reached across the table. “I’ll eat it for you.”

  He smacked her hand with his spoon before scooping up a bigger mouthful. “Toss a coin for who sleeps in the wagon?”

  “That won’t be necessary.” Bobhil gestured toward the door. “Your wagon will be as safe as a dragon’s nest in my courtyard. No need to–”

  “Da! Da!” shrieked a young voice. “Monster! There’s a monster!”

  Lorel and Tsai leapt to their feet, nearly knocking over their table, and dashed toward the door. At the doorway they both stopped and looked back.

  She glanced at Tsai. One of them had to stay and guard the kid.

  He steadied their table and rescued his bowl and both pitchers just before they fell off the edge. All six mugs rolled across the floor. All but his were empty, and he yanked his legs out of range of the splashing wine.

  Kid worried about the weirdest things, and at the weirdest times.