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

by D J Salisbury

  When they’d finished, he led the team back to the shore.

  Three more loads completed the circle. Two additional loads provided reinforcements. That should keep the monsters out of trouble.

  They coaxed the horses into the ring and tied their halters to the wagon.

  Lorel dragged more driftwood over and closed the gate. “That should stop them blood-weavers.”

  The serpent reared tall. “This one notes that inadequate time remains. The sproutlings have not finalized their defense.”

  Viper slapped his hand to his forehead and dashed to the cook fire.

  Lorel drew her sword. “What’s wrong?”

  “Wood isn’t going to stop those sandblasted monsters,” he yelled. “We have to set the circle on fire!”

  “Weaver crush the Loom and me with it.” Lorel sheathed her sword and grabbed the firebrand out of his hand. She thrust it under the nearest log.

  The flame sputtered, smoldered, and went out altogether.

  “Loom bust a Thread.” She trotted to fire for another torch. She held it steady under the log, but the wood refused to catch fire.

  Tsai’dona had no better luck with the driftwood on the opposite side of the camp.

  “This ain’t gonna work. The wood must be wet.” Lorel stood up and glared at the logs encircling them. “We gotta use it like a fence and hope it slows the miswoven Loom-breakers.”

  “Wait a minute.” Viper carried a new flaming stick over to the log Lorel had tried to ignite. “Hold both torches together. Here, next to the log. Now wait a minute.”

  He closed his eyes, concentrated, and chanted. “Fire, grow, Ich neowe demande. Thy strengthe encreasen aet min commande.”

  The log began to burn. A slow fire, but steady nonetheless. Both torches glowed brightly. It wasn’t mage fire, but it would keep the serdil off.

  If he could make wet driftwood burn higher and hotter.

  Viper stepped back, dizzy from effort. He shook his head to clear it. He refused to show the girls how much magic drained him. They’d worry at him forever if they knew.

  He grabbed one torch from Lorel and held it to a second log.

  The driftwood caught fire immediately.

  “Sing to the Weaver, kid! I knew that magic stuff had to be good for something.” Lorel walked around the circle, lighting each log as she went.

  “I’m useful for a few things.” Viper walked in the opposite direction, igniting the driftwood on that side. He suspected he’d enchanted the torches instead of the logs, but as long as they burned, he didn’t care.

  An eerie wail wiped the smug grin from his face.

  The horses stamped nervously.

  Tsai’dona grabbed her mare’s halter.

  “We ain’t ready.” Lorel gestured at the low circle of flames.

  “We’re almost ready.” One more thing to do. Or, at least, to attempt. “You two keep the horses as close to the wagon as you can and hold them.”

  He jumped up to the driver’s platform, ducked inside the wagon, and darted to the cupboard where he kept his most precious treasures. He pulled out the blade-shaped chunk of black stone and stuffed it in his pocket.

  The Kyridon stared down at him from the top bunk. He hadn’t noticed it go inside.

  He reached up and touched its soft skin. “The serdil are here.”

  The serpent nodded. “This one shall assist as it is able. What is the hatchling–?”

  He scooted out the door without waiting on the question. He wasn’t sure he knew what he was doing.

  He stood on the driver’s bench and looked east.

  Five hundred serdil. A thousand? The Kyridon had underestimated the size of the pack horribly. What could he do to stop so many?

  After all these lunars, why should they attack in such strength now? All of his group together wouldn’t give them a mouthful apiece.

  All four horses screamed. Blast. He’d hoped for a little more time before they scented the horde.

  While he was inside the wagon, the girls had tied the lead ropes all together and secured them to the driver’s platform. Now the horses reared and struggled against their restraints. He hoped they didn’t tear the wagon apart. Or damage either of the girls.

  Tsai’dona clung to the riding horses’ lead ropes. Lorel clutched the teams’ halters. Their efforts wouldn’t keep the horses from bolting long.

  “Do something, kid.” Lorel’s voice wobbled from the strain of containing the terrified horses. “I’m about to lose these noodle brains. And I can’t hold them and defend the hole at the brook both.”

  “Keep hold of the horses.” A wall of flame wouldn’t make the poor beasts any happier. But an illusion of fire might slow down the serdil until he figured out how to strengthen the real fire.

  A double illusion would be even better. He willed a circular image to appear, one that materialized as tall flames on the outside, and as wooden walls within. With any luck, the horses would think they were inside a stable.

  The horses calmed a little, but Lorel cussed at him. “Now we can’t see the enemy, Loom lint.”

  He concentrated, and modified the illusion to allow the girls to see through it, too.

  “That’s better.” Lorel took Nightshade’s lead out of Tsai’dona’s trembling hand and rubbed his forehead. “You do something to the horses?”

  “Not me.” Not directly, anyway, or on purpose. “Maybe they got so scared they can’t move?”

  “Not likely.”

  “Stay with them as long as you can.” The peace wouldn’t be lengthy. They’d hear the predators soon. “Be quiet and let me work.”

  “Bossy brat.”

  Tsai’dona giggled nervously and moved away from the horses’ hooves.

  He leaned back against the wagon’s door, stared down at their paltry ring of fire, and imagined the way Trevor had controlled the hearth flame at home. He needed use everything he remembered about that never-conquered spell. Which wasn’t much, or he’d have gotten it right years ago.

  Somehow, he had to make this fire burn hotter. None of his books mentioned a way. Only Trevor could tell him how.

  He had to ask for help.

  RedAdder’s grimoire said the safest way to contact a spirit was to use something meaningful to the ghost, but that the connection would last only for seconds. It also said he had to lower his personal shields. Not that he had shields he could maintain for any length of time. His defenses were limited to Lorel, Tsai-dona, and … the Kyridon, if it chose to help him fight off a dead wizard.

  He’d need the summoning spell to create the serpent’s weapons. And he was terrified to use it.

  Now he had a reason to practice the spell on a ghost he could trust not to hurt him. And not to try and possess him, unlike RedAdder herself. He just hoped that using a spell from her grimoire wouldn’t trigger a new attack.

  Unfortunately, the only object he could use to summon Trevor was part of the stone scrying mirror that had killed the old man.

  He drew the obsidian blade out of his pocket. Trevor, dear master Trevor, come to my aid.

  A howl, far too close, snarled his concentration.

  Running far ahead of the pack, a handful of serdil dashed around his illusion of fire, but one leapt through it at the weakest point of their defenses, over the brook.

  Both girls drew their swords and dashed toward the invader.

  The horses went crazy.

  “I’ve got it,” Tsai’dona yelled.

  Lorel turned back to the horses.

  The serdil hurtled forward.

  Tsai’dona danced to one side, rushed in, and slammed her sword into the creature’s gut, just behind the ribs. Blood splashed over its pale gray fur.

  The girls had the problem covered. He had a job of his own.

  Viper fought to hold both the illusions and the summoning spell steady. The illusions held. Those he could do in his sleep.

  The summoning spell fought him.

  He wished he’d created a cha
nt to back up the instructions in RedAdder’s grimoire. Willing anything to happen was hard enough. Willing a ghost to come to him was agonizing.

  He’d always been afraid of ghosts. Ghouls and ghosts haunted his child­hood nightmares. RedAdder’s attack brought those fears into reality. The magician’s ghost residing in the wagon would be unbearable if the Kyridon didn’t protect his sleep.

  All ghosts terrified him. Including his teacher’s disembodied spirt. But he continued to call to it. Come. Come to my aid.

  Cold sweat trickled down his back.

  Deep green eyes opened in his mind. Eyes bright and old and curious.

  Trevor. He’d actually come. He hadn’t changed.

  Viper wanted to laugh. He didn’t have time.

  A question. He had to ask the ghost a question. Only seconds remained.

  Familiar eyes smiled encouragingly.

  “How do I stop them?” Sandblast it, that was the wrong question. And it was too vague. How would Trevor’s ghost ever figure out what he meant?

  But the spirit’s gaze roved around the camp and settled on the nearest skeleton. Green eyes glanced back at Viper, winked, and disappeared.

  He stared blankly at the gigantic skeleton. That was a hint of some sort. But what could it mean? Had Trevor known anything about Hreshiths? Besides the fact it was an expensive component in spells…

  Hreshiths. Dead Hreshiths. And bones that simmered with so much magic, sorcerers paid enormous sums of money to acquire just a vial of bone dust.

  He closed his eyes and opened his mind to the ancient Hreshith bones.

  Power surged within him. Power that was his!

  ***

  The miswoven serdil ought to be dead, but it reared tall and threw itself sideways, knocking Tsai off her feet. The back of its thread-snipping head bashed the sword out of her hand.

  Lorel shouted, “Blood in the Weave!” If only she could get to her friend! But the fraying horses acted like they’d been eating blue-mantle mushrooms, rearing and squealing to split her eardrums. It took everything she had to hold onto their halters. And to keep them from tromping her to death.

  Tsai rolled away from the serdil, grabbed the shovel beside the cook fire, and leapt to her feet.

  The predator charged at her.

  She whacked it over the head with the flat of shovel. The beastie fell flat in the sand.

  Hey, who’d’ve guessed Tsai was a decent infighter? They’d have to practice hand to hand and whatever-weapon-available fighting, instead of just batting at each other with wooden swords every morning.

  Lorel turned back to the horses and tried to calm them. A losing battle, there, but she couldn’t let them hurt themselves.

  The serdil wobbled to its feet, but Tsai smacked it down again. Looked like it would stay down this time. The shovel looked pretty dented. The kid was gonna be pissed.

  Tsai stabbed the shovel into the sand. Good idea. It made a great backup weapon. She scooped up her sword and turned to face the creek.

  The serdil pack rushed toward them like they smelled their buddy’s blood. Most circled around the kid’s fire illusion, but lots ran directly at their camp.

  Five serdil leapt toward the make-believe flames above the brook.

  She and Tsai could deal with most of them, but the first one dashed directly at the kid. Who was sitting on the driver’s bench with his hands in the air. Completely helpless.

  She threw herself away from the stomping hooves, rolled under the wagon, and leapt to her feet.

  The kid hadn’t moved. The serdil was almost on him.

  She’d never get to him in time.

  Lorel yanked her sword out of its sheath and screamed, “Viper!”

  ***

  Magic vibrated through his head, his heart, his bones. He thrust his fists toward the sky and sang, “Fire, grow!”

  An inferno roared around the camp in place of the driftwood circle. Heat surged across the camp.

  Power. More power than he’d dreamed existed in the world. Power that demanded a price.

  The skeleton closest to their camp crumbled into ash.

  He’d be next. The power was consuming him from the inside out.

  If he didn’t release the power, it would incinerate him. If he did, Lorel and Tsai’dona would die, devoured by the serdil.

  There had to be a compromise. Trevor would never send him to his death. Had he been greedy, taking more power than he could hold?

  Or just plain stupid?

  He released his grasp on the fiery tornado of magic, holding on to only a single wisp of power.

  Swirling magic whipped around him, closer and hotter, clinging to his skin, his bones, his soul. He tried to push the power away. It wrapped around him like poison ivy. Inescapable, indestructible.

  No, he didn’t need to escape it or destroy it. He needed to separate himself from it.

  He imagined a wall between himself and the power, a thick stone wall with a single crack in the mortar.

  The firestorm of power stuttered. Heat slowed into a warm river, to a cool trickle, to nothing more than a refreshing breeze on a warm summer day. A zephyr just strong enough to float a dandelion seed.

  He carefully fed that gentle power into his protective ring of fire.

  Lorel screamed, “Viper!”

  He blinked down at her.

  Serdil had leapt through the flames above the brook.

  He pointed at the leader. Raw power followed the gesture. The serdil dissolved into maroon grit and puffs of gray fur.

  Lightning sheared through him. Sandblast it, he hurt as if he’d slashed the inside of his head with a dull, serrated blade. He wouldn’t do that again. If he ever figured out what he’d done.

  Deep purple, sulfur-scented fumes clouded his vision. Blood magic surged around him.

  Not blood magic, death magic! He’d killed using his magic. With the Hreshith’s power. How stupid could he get? He shoved the purple haze back, pushed it away from him, forcing it to stay separate from the Hreshith’s silvery strength.

  He refused to become a Death Mage, no matter what the cost. Short of Lorel’s life.

  But he was safe on that count. She was more endangered by the screaming horses than by the predators.

  He strengthened the illusion of stable walls, and the horses stopped fighting the ropes. He wished the roans would stop bugling, but they seemed determined to go to war.

  The next pair of serdil died instantly when they crossed his empowered fire line, but they burned only where they fell into the fire. He didn’t know what killed them, either. To be safe, he released more of the magic from his grasp.

  His ring of fire stayed tall and abysmally hot. He pushed his cloak off his shoulders.

  The last pair over his magical boundary caught on fire, real fire, but continued to run forward. They quickly died on the girls’ swords.

  Praise the Thunderer. Exhaustion overwhelmed him, but he couldn’t release the magic. They’d all die if more serdil crossed his circle of flames.

  He leaned back against the wagon’s door. Shakes rattled his bones. Sweat poured down his body. His nose ran from the stench of burnt fur and flesh. He sneezed.

  “You hurt, kid?”

  Sneezes turned into coughs that burned his throat. His lungs tried to turn themselves inside out. He gripped the magic, holding it steady. The world faded to gray mist and glowing lines of power.

  Someone dribbled cool water into his mouth.

  Water. Blessedly pure, cool water. His vision cleared.

  The Kyridon cradled his limp body. Tsai’dona held a wooden cup to his mouth. Lorel stood in front of the brook, both swords drawn.

  The brook. He had to secure the weak spot in their defense. But how?

  He must have spoken aloud. The magician’s ghost appeared on the driver’s bench beside the Kyridon.

  Tsai’dona dropped the cup and froze.

  The serpent hissed.

  “Do be quiet.” The ghost turned to Viper. “Crea
te an illusion of a ring of tall, smooth boulders along the edge of the creek, extending from the edge of the fire, across the water, and back to the fire.”

  Boulders? Of course. If the serdil thought they couldn’t climb the rocks, they wouldn’t bother the camp.

  He nodded at the ghost, jerkily, true, but an honest acknowledgment.

  The ghost grinned and vanished.

  It cost what was left of his concentration, but he heard Lorel gasp when the boulders appeared around the brook.

  Three illusions and a fire-enhancement spell. No wonder he had a headache. He dropped the illusory fire, but strengthened the illusions of boulders and stable walls. The fire encircling them held steady.

  The serdil horde split and sprinted around the camp, headed toward the beach. None of them so much as glanced at the people inside.

  His mouth was dry enough to swallow a desert. “Could I have more water, please?”

  Tsai’dona shut her hanging jaw and climbed down to retrieve the cup.

  Lorel sheathed her swords, strutted to the center of their camp, and gestured at the serdil. “Where’re them monsters going?”

  “The predators intend to consume the sea empress.” The Kyridon almost sounded sad. Could a snake could be melancholy?

  “Don’t watch, kid. You’ll get sick.” She was probably right, considering how he’d reacted to the Hreshith beaching herself. “Keep your eyes on making the fire stay high. If it goes, we’re dinner for them walking pelts.”

  He fluttered his fingers eastward, at the oncoming horde. Thunderer, his arm was so heavy he could barely lift it off the Kyridon’s coils. “We may be here a while.” He still couldn’t see the end of the gray-furred wave of bodies.

  Tsai’dona thrust the cup, a little sandy but full of water, into his hand and wrapped his fingers around the slick wood. “I don’t want to think about how long we’ll be stuck here.”

  “Not that long. They’ll get bored soon.” Well, Lorel would get bored soon. He had doubts about the serdil.

  She hauled a corpse away from the flames and inspected it. “This is really weird. It weren’t fire that killed this, I don’t think.”

  The fur had burned off completely and the rear of the beast was charred to cinders, but the flesh on the shoulders was only scorched.