by Jeff Wheeler
Rista looked at him, again confused at why he was talking to her in such a way. He wasn’t boasting. He was speaking in a low, conspiratorial voice, almost as if he were trying to confide in her.
She wanted to ask him questions but the gag prevented it.
“Watch how he uses his power,” Gabe said, nodding. “Pay attention.”
Rista kept her eyes fixed on Mattson Kree. He unlatched the satchel he carried and then hefted out the enormous atrox. The man’s face brightened as he held the serpent. He seemed to be speaking to it, whispering to it in a strange, encouraging way. Then he set it down on the ground as he kept walking toward the ridge ahead of them. Rista felt something brush against her and saw with terror another atrox slither past. They were emerging from the woods and brush all around them, flocking to the Serpentarium as if he were invoking them.
“He’s been summoning them for a while,” Gabe whispered. “See how they come to him. The mountains are full of atrox.”
Gabe kept Rista back a few paces as she watched the serpents writhe and slither around their master’s legs. They came in a horde, first dozens, and then hundreds, until the entire trail was full. Some hissed and reared at each other, as if fighting to be closest to him. It was like a river of snakes, and it horrified Rista to see it. She was trembling uncontrollably at the sight and felt Gabe’s hand tighten on her arm. They were walking amidst the river of snakes also and she saw the uncomfortable look on his face. He wasn’t enjoying it either.
Then the shouts of men started up again. The soldiers saw the threat. There were cries of pain. Rista cringed as she heard the noises, the groans of men, the shrieks of fear. This was awful magic. This was the stuff of nightmares.
The serpents converged on the gap ahead and all the while he walked, the Serpentarium smiled with glee and satisfaction. He reached the top of the ridge and stopped, staring down at the scene before him. He chuckled to himself, satisfied at what his power had invoked.
Gabe and Rista reached his side, and she stared down, growing sick at the vision of soldiers wearing the tunic of Stanchion castle spread out on the ground, some still twitching as the venom overwhelmed them in moments. The sight horrified her and made her tremble. There were at least two dozen soldiers. Some had perished while trying to climb up on boulders. All were slumped and fallen. The serpents had done their work quickly. The river of snakes would have been able to handle ten times that number. In fact, she realized with horror, it would be enough to stop an army. She thought she’d be sick. She knew she’d have nightmares.
The cruel look in Mattson Kree’s eyes as he glanced at her spoke of his willingness to do anything to achieve his goals.
“What now?” Gabe asked solemnly.
“We await word of the Beesinger’s death,” he said coldly, and his look made Rista even more afraid.
* * *
It was an agonizing wait and Rista took a long time falling asleep in one of the tents used by the soldiers. She couldn’t stop thinking about the soldier whose tent it was. She had been raised on her father’s stories of adventure, but now she understood a part of the sadness that was always in his eyes. Gabe was positioned outside to guard her, but she was so tired and heartsick, she eventually fell asleep.
A tug at the gag awakened her and she blinked her eyes quickly, confused and trembling. She felt little claws digging at the bond and suddenly the gag loosened. She turned her head and saw Twig. Her heart leaped with excitement.
Rubbing her eyes, she tried to contain her emotions. Gabe was no longer patrolling the door. She heard his voice outside, talking to Trea and Mattson Kree.
“What do you mean he’s dead?” the Serpentarium said with fury. “He’s an aging man, how did he manage to kill Damon Papenfuss?”
Trea’s voice was full of worry. “Kylek turned on him. Kylek killed him!”
“That doesn’t make any sense,” Gabe said. “One person’s magic cannot be used against another form of animal.”
“I know that!” Mattson Kree snapped. “It’s not possible. Tell me what you saw. What you saw, Trea!”
“It happened very fast,” the woman said. “Papenfuss sent the bear down to kill him. It was quite a distance from me, so I couldn’t see it well. Kylek is huge! He roared and came down to fight and then suddenly . . . I don’t know . . . he was distracted. He kept swatting his face.”
“Bees,” the Serpentarium said with a shiver of revulsion in his voice. Rista peeked through the tent and saw the emotion of fear in his eyes.
“Of course it was bees!” Gabe snapped. “He’s a Beesinger, after all! But bears have thick hide. They destroy hives all the time.”
“The bear was distracted. Then the Beesinger went around the bear and charged at Papenfuss. He’s no match for the giant, but suddenly a swarm struck him. I saw it. He was crying out and swinging his arms. The Beesinger hit him with a pack. A bag. Something. He clubbed him in the head but kept running. Then Kylek came and attacked Papenfuss. He killed him. I saw it! Then the bees started coming up the mountain and after me, so I ran. We have to get out of here! He’s brought a whole swarm with him!”
Rista heard the story and rejoiced. She turned to Twig and asked what happened. The kobold gave her a toothy grin. He was proud to tell her the story but it was difficult for her to understand. Twig had just come from her father, who had sent him ahead to help her escape. Father had used honey. He knew the bear’s instincts for sweets would overcome its will for a few moments. Her father had used the confusion of bees to distract it from him and then smacked Papenfuss with a small beehive he’d discovered in the woods, making him drip with honey and bees. The swarm had interrupted Papenfuss’s control of his own magic, and his own bear had attacked him to get more honey.
She grinned with triumph at her father’s ingenuity. She was so proud of him.
“Grab the girl!” Mattson Kree said angrily. “Bring her to me.”
Twig looked panic-stricken, and Rista quickly grabbed a blanket and smothered the kobold with it to conceal him. She went to the tent and stepped out.
“Where’s the gag?” Gabe demanded.
“I was tired of it,” Rista snapped. She glowered at the Serpentarium, but her mind was working fast. “Well? Are we going to stand around at the summit or go to Battle Mountain? I think my father’s planning to defeat you there.”
The taunt was probably ill-advised, but she did not regret it.
“We’ll see who wins,” Mattson Kree said angrily. “I still have you, after all.”
“There’s a bee on your shoulder,” Rista said, nodding at him.
The man jerked back, eyes wide with the involuntary spasm, and flapped his arms almost comically. It confirmed Rista’s suspicion. Mattson Kree was terrified of bees.
* * *
After crossing the highest summit of the Arvadin, the terrain changed drastically. The western slopes had been lush and full of trees. Rista’s father had explained to her that the leeward side of the mountains was stark and barren, for although it did get storms, it did not get as many because of the height of the mountain range. Different creatures infested the rocky, scraggy country—creatures like lizards, serpents, vultures, and even roaming bands of kobolds.
As Rista walked, she sensed the presence of bees, but they were distant and the colonies were small. There were more carpenter bees in the desolate land, their size and hardiness better suited for the rough landscape. Rista sensed them, but she didn’t like them. There were also a variety of wasps clustered around the mud pits that were the remains of dried-out ponds. The earth was cracked and parched, the ground hard on her legs and ankles.
The march down the other side was quick and uneventful, and before them stretched a massive plain with another range of mountains in the far distance. The peak of one of the distant mountains was shaped like a pyramid. Battle Mountain. Pockets of scrub and brambleweed stretched for leagues in front of them. The plains were barren of trees, save for a few stunted mesquites. There was nowhe
re to hide, unless you were small like Twig. Rista tried to spot the kobold to make sure he was following, but she couldn’t discern him from the foliage, which would have perfectly hidden the creature’s movements. Her thirst became a concern, but Mattson Kree had filled several water flasks up on the mountaintop and they had claimed those left behind by the slain soldiers.
As she plodded on the dusty road, the sun scorching high above, she would occasionally glance back to see if she could also spot her father. But there was no sign of pursuers, no sign of the massive eagles that patrolled the valley on the other side.
“Why do you keep looking back?” Gabe asked, dropping back suddenly to walk alongside her. “Do you think he’s going to suddenly run up and save you?”
“I don’t know what he’s going to do,” Rista replied stiffly. “But he’s smarter than the lot of you.”
“You think so?” Gabe asked with a wry smile.
“Why are we traveling during the day and not the night now?” she asked him, feeling the dust and dirt all over herself. Each step kicked up more plumes of it.
“Once we crossed the mountains, we became less of a target for the Enclave. It’s very far to the south. If they did know about us, it would take weeks before they could get here.”
“What about your father?” she challenged.
Gabe shrugged. “Again, it will take weeks before he learns about the soldiers on the pass. What clues will they have? Bite marks. They won’t know who was behind it. They don’t know about us. They don’t even know about Mattson Kree. But they will.” He glanced ahead at the Serpentarium who maintained a bold, tireless stride. He was speaking to Trea in a low voice. There was no effort to hide their trail.
“What is his plan?” Rista asked conspiratorially.
Gabe glanced back at Mattson Kree, then at her. He dropped his voice even lower. “Do you really think I’m going to tell you? I thought you were smart, Rista.”
She elbowed him sharply in the ribs, which startled him and he grunted. Mattson Kree glanced back angrily and Gabe rubbed his side and stepped away from her, giving her a sulky look.
“My father will stop you,” Rista said hotly, her voice cracking.
Mattson Kree looked back at her again, his look sly. “I’m counting on it,” he replied ominously.
* * *
They walked until well after sunset. Rista’s legs were tired and aching, but she never complained of the fatigue. The mountains in the far distance seemed no closer at the end of the first day. It was like they were walking in sand that pulled them backward ten paces for every five they went forward. After it was dark, Mattson Kree directed them at a sharp angle to the one they had been traveling. They made camp in the dark, with no fire. The earth was hard and sharp with stones and cracked edges. The diminutive shrubs weren’t gentle either. Rista cleared a space to stretch out on her blanket.
Gabe walked by and tossed another rolled-up blanket to her. “It gets cold at night,” he offered by way of explanation. She took it without thanks.
Mattson Kree sat nearby, his back straight.
“I saw no sign of him during the day,” Trea said in a dark tone. “Not even a smudge on the horizon. He could be camouflaged, though.”
Mattson Kree shook his head. “He may have waited for the dark to follow us.”
Trea wrinkled her nose. “Why do you think that?”
Mattson Kree extended his arm, pointing.
Rista turned back and she saw it too. There was an orb of light shining in the mountain, winding down the trail they had come from.
“He stands out like a beacon,” Trea said angrily.
“He’s doing it on purpose,” Mattson Kree said, chuckling. “He’s a clever man, Trea. We shouldn’t underestimate him. He defeated the Overlord, after all.” The Serpentarium turned his gaze to Rista. The moon showed just enough of his face that she could see his sardonic expression. “How did he defeat the Overlord?”
Rista huddled beneath the blanket Gabe had thrown to her, feeling a spark of hope and a deep reservoir of defiance. She leaned forward, glancing from one to the other, keeping her voice low. “Do you really think I’m going to tell you? I thought you were smart, Mattson Kree.”
Gabe stifled his snort of laughter and tried inadequately to disguise it as a cough.
Mattson Kree’s face hardened. “I grow weary of your insolence. Perhaps you’d care to feel an atrox’s fangs again.”
Rista lifted her chin. “I’m not afraid of you.”
“But you are afraid of serpents,” he said knowingly. He opened the flap of his satchel and the snake lifted its head out and then coiled on the dusty ground in a heap. Rista’s skin shivered at the sight of it, despite all her efforts to control her fear. Cold sweat leeched from her skin.
“You cannot help yourself,” Mattson Kree whispered. “It’s the enmity magic. Little children are unaffected by it—until they are hurt. Children are afraid of nothing. But soon they learn, and it is pain that teaches them. The scalding handle of an iron skillet. The sting of a bee. We are a weak and vulnerable race. A sack of watery blood and soft organs enmeshed in brittle bones.” His voice took on a mystical quality as he gazed at her, his eyes fierce and determined. “All the while, the Enclave exists in a state of peace. They have immortal bodies that cannot age and die. They sing their fat songs and drink their ancient wines and pluck the strings of their melodious harps.” He said this with derision. “They could be the rulers of the valley. They could knock down Stanchion castle with an earthquake. Yet they refuse to participate in the world at large. They let kingdoms rise and fall. They let us squabble and fight, and they do nothing to intervene. Nothing until humanity is too wretched and irksome and only then will they be bothered to lend assistance. They could make the world like the Enclave. Instead, they huddle within its confines, sipping its precious magic, free of fear.” He leaned forward, his arm resting on his knee. “But they will fear me.”
“You cannot get into the Enclave,” Rista said, her voice trembling. She wanted to be brave, but there was an atrox coiled in front of her, its forked tongue flicking at her. Mattson Kree sat behind it, his eyes probing into hers.
“Can’t I?” he whispered smoothly. “But you misunderstand my goals, Rista. I don’t want to go into the Enclave. I want to stop them from coming out. A serpent population will continue to grow so long as there is plentiful food. Trust me, my dear. I have thought this all through. The Overlord had the right plan. He had the right protections. He just underestimated the folk wisdom of a Beesinger. That is why my plan begins there. Your father should have gone to the Enclave while he had the chance. No one will ever go in there again.”
There was a hint of madness in the man’s eyes, and Rista feared it. He was ambitious and confident. He was convinced he would succeed. But Rista wondered how many would die for his ambitions to be fulfilled.
Mattson Kree leaned back, stretching out his long legs, resting on his elbows. “Get some sleep. The Beesinger is still a league away, if not more. Don’t try to escape, Rista. These plains are full of snakes. And they are hunting your father just as they are protecting us. If you try to leave this camp, you’ll be bitten. I may or may not save you a second time.”
* * *
It was the middle of the night and the moon had gone down. Only the stars offered some meager light. Rista blinked awake, afraid, feeling a tap on her shoulder. She lifted her head and found the kobold leering down at her. He pressed a clawlike finger to his snout.
Rista nodded. The atrox was gone. In the dim light, she saw the satchel was flat, empty. The Serptentarium breathed in and out, deep asleep. Trea was nestled again him, her face buried against his side, his arm around her shoulder. It made Rista frown. Looking over her shoulder, she spotted Gabe on his blanket, away from the other two. Part of her wanted to rouse him, to persuade him to come with her and escape these two.
Twig gestured for her to follow him. The kobold slunk low to the ground, keeping an eye on the
sleeping forms and listening for sounds of trouble. Rista got to her feet and grabbed her half-full waterskin. Each movement felt loud and distracting and she winced at herself. Twig grabbed her hand and led her away from the camp, each step as soft as the wind, while her boots scuffed on the dirt and pebbles. Twig guided her away from the stunted shrubs, weaving and crossing. The kobold would suddenly stop, sniff, and then pull her a different direction. He was helping her avoid the snakes, and she was grateful.
Once they had crept far enough, the kobold tugged on her hand and began to move more quickly. He was taking them east toward Battle Mountain.
“Why are we going this way, Twig?” she whispered.
The kobold tugged and pulled again, chittering softly. They had not gone far when a cry went up from the camp.
“She’s gone.”
“What?” Mattson Kree growled.
“I said she’s gone!” It was Gabe’s voice, full of worry.
“How did she get past the serpents?” Trea asked.
“Can you see her footprints?” Mattson Kree demanded.
“Not in the dark. I need light.”
“Can’t risk it,” he answered angrily. “The Beesginer will be watching.”
“How did she get past the snakes?” Gabe demanded. “Do you think she went back?”
“It won’t be long before my pets catch her,” Mattson Kree said with savage fury. “Stay here. She can’t get far.”
“Let me light a torch!” Trea pleaded. “Let me hunt her.”
“No,” shot back Mattson Kree. “Snakes don’t need light to hunt.”
* * *
The sun slowly brightened the eastern sky and was on the verge of being seen. Rista was cold and tired from the night walk and she was hungry. But the fear of capture and being bitten had kept her moving. She shivered, rubbing her arms vigorously, and was grateful for the sun. She had only drunk two mouthfuls of water, wanting to preserve what little she had.
