The Serpent Kings

by James Somers

  Twenty minutes later, Jillian was on the wall staring out over the frosted moor with the Western Road winding away from Tarris toward Urth just over a week away. A guard stood at attention next to her, obviously waiting to report to her captain. Jillian gave her a sidelong glance. She knew the woman. “Tabitha, has anyone left the city by the Western Gate recently?” she asked, trying to seem as nonchalant as possible about the inquiry.

  “Yes, Mistress,” Tabitha reported. “Two wraith dancers with clearance from the Supreme Matron left on horseback about fifteen minutes ago. Otherwise, no one has been allowed in or out.”

  Jillian smiled at the guard. “Very good, Tabitha. I have business that takes me to Urth for the next two weeks. Please have my horse and riding supplies prepared for my journey. I must leave immediately by command of the Supreme Matron.”

  Tabitha bowed and made haste to obey the command from her superior officer. Jillian looked out into the darkness. Moonlight could not reveal the wraith dancers to her. But she could see the distant snowcaps of the Urtah Mountains. Varen would remain on the road for several more days before veering aside to begin his trek up into the mountains. She had to reach his assassins in time.

  Jillian turned to look out from the wall over the lamp-lit streets of Tarris. She had been raised in this city. It was her home. All of her accomplishments were connected with this place. But her decision had been made. To save Varen, she would leave it all behind, likely never to return. She shook away a stray tear. Strengthening her resolve, she headed for the stables below.

  RUINS

  Two days outside of Tarris the weather threatened snow. There was no road north, at least nothing that had been constructed during the last one thousand years during the reign of the Serpent Kings. I watched from one of the wagons as Agnes spoke with the leader of the refugee group; a man by the name of Charles.

  We had come to the Black River which ran down from the Thorn Mountain range, winding its way along the northern border of the Kingdom before diverting west where it converged with the Ruritan River and eventually drove into the sea. The black river, though not particularly wide, had been named for its abundant depth which swallowed up any light trying to penetrate—easily twenty feet in the shallow spots. Normally, travelers heading north, and there weren’t many, would cross here at the North Border Bridge. It had been built to span the river hundreds of years earlier.

  However, looking out over the river now, I could see that the bridge had been destroyed somehow; possibly by flood waters that could easily sweep away such structures given the right amount of rainfall. Those who knew more about this area knew that the bridge, though longstanding, had been built too close to the water. Even after hundreds of years, it had been inevitable that the Black would claim it.

  Some of the other men were also standing with them discussing the matter. Agnes soon returned to me at the wagon where Charles’ wife and children were also waiting to see how we might proceed toward Thorn Mountain.

  “Miss,” one of the children asked, “how are we ever going to get over there?”

  “Hush now,” his mother said. “Your father and the others will figure out something.”

  Agnes climbed back into the wagon about the time the men broke from their deliberation on the bank of the river. I scooted over so that she could get back in and offered her one of the fur blankets we had been wrapped inside during our journey. Charles’ wife, Clara, called back to Agnes. “Well, have they decided what’s to be done?”

  “Your husband has mentioned a bridge not far from here, down the river a ways where we can cross,” Agnes replied.

  I started to speak, but Agnes grabbed my arm until Clara had turned back to wait for her husband who was making his way to the wagon. Agnes leaned in to me, whispering in my ear. “The bridge was made during the time of the old world,” she said.

  “Where is it?” I asked.

  “There are ruins not even a half day’s journey from here,” she said. “Of course, they are forbidden, but that won’t stop these people. They mean to get across the river any way they can.”

  At the mention of ruins, I shuddered. I could remember my one adventure among ruins during my childhood. Zora had been furious with me. I hadn’t been able to sit for a week after the lashing she gave me.

  Now that I was a wraith dancer serving in the High Guard, there was nothing to fear in the ruins. And we weren’t going exploring through dilapidated buildings where ancient structures might give way and collapse beneath our feet. Our tiny armada of seven wagons would simply pass through on one of the abandoned roads and make our way over the bridge. Hopefully it would still be intact and untouched by the swift waters of the Black River.

  Charles climbed onto the front seat next to his wife and snapped the reins to set the horse team in motion once again. Our wagon took the lead, veering westward along the river bank.