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

by D J Salisbury

  The lightning-blasted monster was chewing on his weapon!

  He grabbed the smallest sword off the wall and hurtled under the door. “Stop that, you furry sandcrab!”

  All four serdil turned and glared at him. The one dragging the broad­sword dropped its victim and charged at him.

  He raised his sword. Standing on the driver’s bench, he had the tactical advantage. He’d simply slash them when they tried to leap at him.

  Crayl steel dragged his arm down. Had the blade turned into lead? Or was he just that wimpy?

  No time to worry about it now. He grabbed the hilt in both hands and shoved it at the serdil’s throat.

  He missed, but the beast yelped and fell back. Blood sprinkled across its shoulder. A thin line of blood.

  Why hadn’t he grabbed a knife? When Lorel got back, he’d ask for the sword practice he’d been avoiding.

  The ground shook. Everything in and on the wagon jangled and rattled. Blast, he’d forgotten today was an Alignment day. Just what he needed.

  A wave roared halfway up the beach. A taller wave formed far out in the ocean. He had to move the wagon farther inland.

  But he couldn’t do anything until he got rid of the serdil.

  Another gray beast leapt at him.

  Frederick appeared behind it and grabbed at its tail. Flesh and fur slid through his hands as if they were made of mist.

  “Shuttle break your thread,” Frederick shouted. A Zedisti curse, from a Zedisti ghost. The spirit wouldn’t be much help in this battle.

  The serdil didn’t appear to notice him. It surged up to the driver’s platform.

  Again, Viper aimed for the throat, but only scored his new attacker’s shoulder. If he aimed at the shoulder, could he hit the neck?

  The sandblasted serdil snapped at his foot. Its teeth sank into his boot. And yanked the padded boot off his stump.

  “Deathsinger take you!” He lobbed the sword at the serdil’s back. Crayl steel thudded in the sand.

  The serdil dropped his boot and twisted back to face him. All four monsters turned and stared at him.

  And he’d just tossed away his only weapon. Well, only obvious weapon. He willed a small dome shield to form around his body. That should do to defend him for the short term.

  Now for offensive maneuvers. He pointed at a stick of driftwood next to the cook fire and chanted, “Stirie, palus, stirie.”

  The wood rose into the air.

  He pointed at the beast facing him. “Sklapp tha serdil.”

  The serdil lunged at him.

  The stick swished across the camp and swatted the creature’s back.

  The serdil yelped, twisted in midair, and dashed under the wagon. The stick followed, swatting at it ineffectively, but keeping it distracted.

  The serdil carrying the scimitar dropped its hostage and lunged toward him.

  Blast. The only wood left was a single, fist-sized chunk. It might be enough to distract the monster. He pointed at it.

  His padded boot rolled over, bounced into the air, and kicked the serdil on the hip.

  His jaw dropped.

  The serdil tumbled onto its side, but jumped up again. It spun and lunged at his boot.

  It kicked the monster straight on the nose. Thunderer, his boot had better aim than he did.

  The serdil yelped and scurried away, running in a circle inside his shield.

  His boot bounced after it, kicking its tail every third step.

  But the instant they passed the last serdil, the monster dropped the flute and sank its jaws into his loyal old boot.

  The fleeing serdil spun about and latched onto his boot’s heel. In seconds they tore its leather into shreds.

  His poor, gallant boot. He wished he had time to mourn it. Later, he promised it, if he survived this attack himself.

  Looking altogether too pleased with themselves, the monsters spat out leather scraps and trotted back to their stolen weapons.

  The serdil under the wagon whined and yipped. The enchanted stick whacked the wagon as often as the monster, but he wasn’t complaining.

  Another wave swept up the beach, falling back only yards from his camp. He didn’t have much time. He had to get the wagon inland before it was swept away. But how could he run off the sandblasted serdil without letting them carry off the weapons?

  The white serdil dropped the seahorn, stalked to the seaward edge of his shield, and glared at the receding water. It turned and growled at him.

  Whispers ticked the edge of his mind. Angry whispers.

  Was it talking to him? How?

  A serdil sorcerer? Was that even possible?

  It growled again and pointed its snout at the ocean.

  Amazing. He assumed it wanted out before it drowned. “Leave my things here, and I’ll let you go.”

  Here he was, talking to a monster that wanted to eat him. Was he insane? Well, it couldn’t be any crazier than talking to a snake.

  He wrapped his cloak around his chest and tried to look dignified. Commanding. While wearing a cloak made of pelts of the creature he was trying to impress. Not a good way to win a friend.

  The serdil glared at him, glanced at the ocean, and dipped its head toward the ground.

  That looked like surrender to him. And he had to do something before they all washed away.

  He released the shield and the enchanted stick.

  The three gray serdil dashed out of his camp. But one was still carrying the flute!

  “Stop! Don’t!” He swung back to the white serdil, who sat very still, staring at the ground. “You promised!”

  The serdil looked up at him, tilted its head, and barked one time.

  The gray serdil dropped the flute onto the sand, but kept on running.

  This fellow had better control of its troops than he did. “Thank you.” Another wave washed in, far too close for comfort. “But you really should leave now.”

  The serdil blinked slowly, and trotted away.

  He didn’t release his personal shield or climb down from the driver’s bench until they were nearly out of sight, but then he hustled.

  Walking on his naked stump hurt, but he didn’t have time to fuss about it, or to go inside for his winter boots. He scooped up bits of shredded leather and tossed them inside the wagon. Undignified treatment for his murdered rescuer, and he regretted it, but a huge wave was headed toward him.

  He snatched up the seahorn, and laid it on the bench inside the doorway. The scimitar followed. He had to drag the broadsword through the sand, but managed to get it to safety, too.

  Where was the flute? Blast, a hundred feet from the wagon, where the lightning-blasted serdil dropped it.

  Water roared toward it. It couldn’t wash out to sea! They didn’t have time to make a new one.

  He lurched across the gritty sand, collapsed beside it, and wrapped his shaking fingers around it.

  Thundering roars overwhelmed his hearing. He sucked in a deep breath and closed his eyes.

  The overgrown wave crashed over his head, carrying him with it.

  Tumbling over and about, he lost track of all direction. His back thudded against a submerged tree – no, a Hreshith skeleton. No trees here.

  His forehead thunked against another bone. Blast, that hurt. And he almost forgot to hold his breath. He clung tighter to the flute. No way would he lose that.

  The third time he whacked against a skeleton, he wrapped one arm around the bone and hauled his head out of the water long enough to gasp in some air, but his grip didn’t hold. The wave yanked him under again.

  Another skeleton sped past him, but he couldn’t reach it. He forced himself to stay calm. The water couldn’t be very deep, the beach was nearly flat. All he had to do was stand up. Once he figured out which way was up.

  But Thunderer, the water was cold. Getting out of it couldn’t happen soon enough.

  Getting more air into his lungs couldn’t happen soon enough.

  He clutched the flute to his chest and tri
ed to stand upright.

  His foot met water, and more water.

  ***

  Lorel slouched down the cliff trail, coming out on the beach not far from their camp. She ached all over from walking so far, but her heart hurt worse. Why had she let Nightshade down? Her lad’s dried blood still stained the front of her shirt. It would stain her soul forever.

  The roans looked up from grazing. Poppy stomped and snorted at her. Periwinkle pawed at the sand. What were the fraying horses doing so far inland? They hardly ever wandered far from the camp.

  Why hadn’t the kid called them in?

  Nobody was outside the wagon, not even Kyri-thing. Not that she often saw the toad, but the kid insisted that if everybody left, the legless lizard had to stand sentry. The snake oughta be curled up on the driver’s bench.

  No smoke rose from the cook fire. The sand around the camp looked wrong. The little creek, even the whole creekbed, was missing.

  She broke into a run and sprinted to the wagon. The roans loped after her.

  The sand here was firm and damp. And smooth, like a tabletop. Like nobody ever camped there. Like water had washed it flat.

  Fresh seaweed was wrapped around one wagon wheel.

  “Kid, you here?”

  No answer.

  No footprints. No hoofprints. No snaky slithery prints.

  Had they washed away? No, the kid wasn’t stupid. He’d’ve run inland. Or if the wave was too fast, he’d’ve hid inside the wagon.

  She leapt to the driver’s bench, lifted the fraying door, and peered inside. No kid. No toad, neither.

  Three of the magic weapons were scattered on the floor, like they’d been tossed inside in a hurry. But where was the flute? Washed into the ocean, most likely. She’d have to make a new one, a simpler one, and quick. They were running out of time.

  Something little wiggled around on the floor. A rat?

  She drew her short sword and eased down to Tsai’s bench.

  The wriggly thing hopped toward her. What on the Loom? It looked like a bunch of chewed up leather bits all stuck together, with dirty wool for guts. Guts that leaked out through the gashes.

  Bitter blood in the Warp and the Weave. That was the kid’s boot. How’d it get chewed up?

  Serdil. Serdil had attacked her camp.

  Serdil done ate the kid.

  Bile rose up her throat. She wanted to throw up so bad her whole body cramped. How could she take revenge against thousands of serdil?

  No, hold on. Somebody had to put the miswoven boot inside the wagon. Tsai wouldn’t never touch the thing. The toad wouldn’t even think to do it. The kid must still be alive.

  But where? At sea?

  She squirmed out of the wagon and stood up on the driver’s bench. She shaded her eyes and searched the sloshing waves.

  There!

  About a hundred paces out, the kid floated just below the surface with his cloak spread over him like wings. His legs disappeared, like he was trying to stand up.

  Smart boy. Water couldn’t be very deep. He’d just walk back in.

  His head vanished. His cloak looked like it’d been dragged straight down. The miswoven ocean swallowed him.

  She leapt down from the wagon and dashed down the beach.

  At the edge of the shore, she skidded to a stop and searched the water. Where’d he go? How far out could he be?

  His head surfaced again, gleaming gold in the sunlight. But he’d drifted away to the south. Way too far for her to swim.

  Still, if she moved fast, she’d catch up with him. Maybe the current would send him back toward shore.

  ***

  No matter which way he thrashed, his foot met only water, not even watery sand. How’d he get so far from shore?

  He pushed with his legs, trying to swim while both hands clung to the flute. It wasn’t going to work, not with only one foot to kick with. He needed his hands free.

  But his fingers were getting numb. Clumsy. He tried to stuff the flute inside his jacket. The long pipe stuck in his collar, choking him. He pulled the instrument loose, and nearly lost it to the tide. He clutched it tight against his chest.

  Kicking hard, he tried to worm upward. He felt like he was being dragged sides. Or even down. He needed his hands free to move upward.

  His lungs burned. He needed air!

  On the second try, he managed to secure the flute inside his jacket collar and his trousers waistband.

  One end of the pipe choked his throat and battered his chin. The other end banged his knee left. How was he going to make this work? No choice. He had to keep trying.

  Finally he could use his hands. he fought for the surface – and air. He clawed at the water, kicked with his numb foot. The burning in his chest spread outward, to his throat, to the flute, to his head. He kicked harder, trying to climb an invisible ladder.

  He surfaced abruptly. For several seconds, he simply breathed. Filling his lungs hurt, but at the same time the pain was pure bliss. But he couldn’t stay here. He didn’t swim all that well, and he was freezing.

  Still gasping dizzily, he searched for the land, for Lorel.

  There was only ocean.

  “Deathsinger have mercy,” he whispered.

  A tall wave swept over him, smashing him deep into the water.

  He fought his way back to the surface, kicking and clawing like a nercat. When he could breathe again, he settled into the childish donkey-paddle he’d used while swimming in sluggish Setoyan rivers. Again he searched for land, this time watching for attacking waves. Still nothing.

  “No. No, no, no – Yipes!” A wave formed beneath him, lifting him several feet into the air.

  Land! And there’s Lorel! But what was she doing so far north? She waved at him. She saw him! “Lorel!”

  ***

  Any chance he could see her? She jumped high and waved both arms like a scared seagull trying to fly off a rock.

  The kid vanished again.

  He needed help. She had to get to him, right now.

  She raced back to the wagon. Both the roans lifted their heads and stared at her.

  Which one looked faster? Didn’t matter. Which was closer?

  She leapt up on Poppy’s broad back and kicked the mare’s ribs. “Move out, girl. We gotta save him.” Too bad the horse wasn’t wearing a bridle, or even a halter, but they’d manage. Speed was more important than control.

  Poppy laid her ears flat, glanced over her shoulder, and shook herself like a wet dog.

  Faster than snot on a drippy day, Lorel skidded down the horse’s ribs and thumped flat on her back in the hard sand. Swords flared in front of her eyes. Air whooshed out of her lungs. It took a while to suck any back in.

  Miswoven horse. Who cared it didn’t want to be ridden? This was an emergency.

  She crawled to her feet and staggered toward the mare.

  Poppy shook all over again, raised her tail, and pranced away. And stayed just out of reach, no matter how fast Lorel chased her.

  When she turned to Periwinkle, the gelding kicked up his heels and trotted away.

  Blood-woven horses. She should’ve made the kid keep halters on both of them. Would they let her harness them? But that would take forever. How could she keep track of the kid?

  She had to do something. And them horses better help her. She pulled the harness and traces out of storage and laid them out in the sand in front of the wagon.

  Galloping hooves thudded toward her. Tsai rode into camp. “Bog swallow it, I was afraid the wave reached this high. Is Viper safe?”

  Lorel shook her head. “I saw him out there trying to swim. And the thread-snipping horses won’t let me ride them.” She tossed a lead rope at her friend. “Bring them in, would you? Maybe they won’t run from you.”

  Tsai caught the rope and reined Sumach toward Poppy.

  Both of the miswoven roans let themselves be caught and led back to the wagon. Weaver snip their threads. They didn’t complain about wearing their halters. They didn
’t even complain about the bridles. Poppy sighed when Lorel fitted the harness collar around her neck, but didn’t fight her none.

  After they got Poppy fully harnessed, Tsai patted Periwinkle’s neck. “You sure he won’t let you ride him?”

  “He wouldn’t even let me catch him.” Lorel laid the gelding’s collar in the sand and strolled to his side. “Hey there, boy. Let’s give this a try, all right?” She gripped his mane and started to pull herself up on his back.

  Periwinkle sidestepped like a parade horse, but he slapped his ears back and bared his teeth like a battle steed.

  Lorel groaned and jumped back to the ground.

  Tail flagged high, Periwinkle trotted away.

  “This ain’t gonna work. That old Leiyan guy said nobody could get on them, but those folk were strangers. I was hoping they’d let me ride them.” She swallowed down the lump in her throat. “We gotta hurry. We gotta be there when the kid swims ashore.” If he made it to shore.

  He had to make it.

  Tsai grabbed her little gray mare’s reins and led the horse closer. “Here, you ride Sumach. I’ll finish harnessing the bog-swamped horse and catch up with you later.”

  She’d never even thought to ask. Weaver bless the girl’s thread. “Thanks.” She hopped up into the saddle.

  Sumach grunted and locked her knees.

  Lorel moaned and shifted her weight. The saddle was so tiny, it squished her butt and cut her in half at the same time. The horse was so tiny, her feet dragged on the ground. Weaver drowned in tears, if she stood up, even bowlegged like she was, the mare could walk right out from under her.

  Sumach groaned.

  Poor horse. It’d never carried such a load in its whole life. It acted like it couldn’t take a single step.

  She must weigh three times as much as Tsai. This was the first time she’d ever felt too big in her whole life. She eased off the mare’s back.

  Sumach sighed and shook all over, just the way Poppy had. At least she’d been polite enough to wait until Lorel was clear off.

  She handed the reins back to Tsai. “Thanks, but it ain’t never gonna work.”

  Tsai nodded and stroked the mare’s head. “Now what?”

  “I’ll finish harnessing the team.” No matter how thread-snipping long it took. “You ride south and watch for the kid. I’ll catch up when I can.”