The Fanged Crown

by Jenna Helland

  “You know you just doomed us,” Boult groaned. “Now there’s going to be something horrible waiting for us on the other side of that pretty little door.”

  “Silly Boult,” Harp said dismissively. “As if you can change the world just by saying a few simple words.”

  “Have you tried to explain the basics of spellcasting to him?” Boult asked Liel. “How a few simple words can change the world?”

  “I’ve tried, but it’s beyond him,” Liel smiled.

  “I’m a simple man with simple pleasures,” Harp explained. “I like tools, levers, skin. Things I can put my hands on. None of that ethereal nonsense for me.”

  When they opened the pearl door, they saw a cramped anteroom with stone benches carved out of the wall. An eerie red glow illuminated the tiny chamber, but a screen made of blackened wood blocked their view of the corner of the room. Harp put his fingers to his lips, but the aura of tension and malice was so profound, nobody wanted to speak anyway.

  Harp moved quietly along the wall until he reached the screen. Peering around the corner, he saw a much deeper chamber, its walls cut from hazy red stone. At the far end of the chamber was an unremarkable wooden pedestal holding a circlet of unpolished silver. But it was the floor of the chamber that captured Harp’s attention. Waves of light rolled off its glassy red surface, and Harp could hear a constant humming noise that made his head ache despite the low-pitched sound.

  “The Torque is just sitting there,” Harp whispered as he turned back to the group.

  “Do you see anything else?” Liel murmured quietly.

  “An ominous floor.”

  “What?” Boult whispered in confusion.

  “Have a look.” Harp said in a normal voice. There wasn’t anything to disturb besides the Torque.

  They walked out from behind the screen and stared at the expanse of red glass that stretched across the floor.

  “What makes it glow?” Kitto asked.

  “I have no idea,” Liel said, looking worried. “I’ve never felt anything like it before.”

  “So, should I just walk over there and take it?” Harp asked.

  “I don’t think you should step on the glass at all,” Boult cautioned. “In the jungle, isn’t the color red supposed to be a warning to stay away?”

  A voice came out of the shadows behind them. “Not for my loyal servants who come bearing the gift I have craved for too long.”

  They spun around in unison, their hands on their weapons, as a massive serpentine guardian slithered out of the shadows behind them. An illusion of a brick-and-mortar wall had concealed an empty room where the guardian had lain in wait and kept guard over the Torque. Like the warriors who had captured them at the colony, the guardian had the body of a snake and the torso of a human, but he was more than double the size of the largest ophidian warrior they had encountered so far. The thick plates and scales that covered his body were a mottled yellow and glistened with mineral deposits formed during the eons cloistered in the damp chamber. The guardian wore a jeweled breastplate and gold bands around his upper arms, but his hands were empty of weapons.

  “Huh. I guess there was a fish in the fishbowl after all,” Harp said.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  3 Flamerule, the Year of the Ageless One

  (1479 DR)

  Chult

  The guardian slithered out of the shadows, driving them back onto the red floor and blocking the only exit out of the chamber.

  “Loyal servants?” Harp said, gaping up at the serpent guardian. who was so large that his head nearly touched the ceiling. Once he crawled out of the shadows, he seemed to expand to fill the anteroom from wall to wall. He was everywhere at once; his serpentine body coiled around itself in constant motion like a wall of flesh, blocking the entrance.

  “I am Shristisanti, Guardian of the Atrocity. I have been waiting, not asleep, not awake but in a constant state of watching. You’ve brought me to my end.”

  “Is that a good thing?” Harp asked Boult.

  “I have no idea,” Liel replied. “I have no idea what he’s talking about.”

  “Bring forth the blood, and I will destroy the Atrocity.”

  With wide-eyed horror, Boult whirled around and stared at Verran, who gave a little whimper.

  “You didn’t,” Boult exclaimed. “Please tell me that you didn’t.”

  “Didn’t what?” Harp asked, alarmed at the dwarf’s expression.

  “Steal the Captive’s elixir from the urn in the Spirit Vault.”

  Verran looked terrified, and he pressed his hand against his chest where the vial hung from a leather strap around his neck.

  “Majida told me about it,” Boult said hurriedly. “It was very strange. She must have sensed something about Verran and wanted me to know about it.”

  “The Atrocity must be destroyed.” The guardian slithered onto the glass floor and forced them to back farther into the chamber. “Give me the blood of the Captive.”

  “What Atrocity is he talking about?” Harp asked.

  “The Torque,” Kitto said quietly.

  “What?” Harp glanced sharply at the black-haired boy, who was staring up at the guardian without fear.

  “It’s a link from the Captive’s shackles,” Kitto explained. “In my dream I saw it fall to the ground just before he was hit with the blast that killed him. The Torque is from a piece of his chains.”

  Shristisanti swung his head toward Kitto. “Are you the bearer of the blood?”

  “No …”

  “Then why are you tainted with it!” Shristisanti hissed, splaying his fingers out and holding his palm level with the floor. Under his hand, the red glass rippled like water. As Harp gaped at the fluid floor, a pulse of energy swelled beneath their feet. A wave of liquefied glass rose like a tidal wave out of the ground and flowed toward Kitto. The boy dived to the side, but it caught him below the knees, spinning him around and hurling him across the room. Kitto’s back slammed into the chamber wall, and he fell forward onto his hands and knees. Kitto struggled to his feet as the rest of them drew their weapons.

  “We just healed him,” Harp growled, pulling out his sword. “There’s no way you’re hurting him again.”

  “Servant, step forward with the blood,” Shristisanti commanded as a line of glowing spikes rose at the edge of the floor and surged toward them. “Or I will kill you and search your mutilated bodies.”

  “Get ready!” Harp shouted.

  But Verran stepped forward. “I have the blood.”

  “What is your name, servant?” Shristisanti asked Verran. As the spikes dissolved back into the floor, a pulse of energy vibrated through the soles of their boots.

  “I didn’t know what I was bringing to you,” Verran explained. “I thought it might be worth something in the city.”

  The guardian made a sound that seemed like a cross between a hiss and a laugh. “Worth something! As if you could ever comprehend the wellspring of power that flows from the Captive’s essence. Give it to me.”

  “Don’t even think about it, Verran,” Boult warned. “Nothing he can offer you is worth it.”

  “Shut up, dwarf!” Verran shouted, spinning around to face Boult. “You hated me before I did anything wrong!”

  “Nobody hates you,” Harp assured him. “Boult’s just a bastard. We all think so.”

  “And you think you’re going to be able to help me by getting me a tutor?” Verran cried. “I’m corrupted already. They’ve got their claws dug into me, and I can’t make them let go.”

  “We’ll find a way to help you,” Harp promised.

  “You should have seen what I was like before I met Harp,” Kitto said vehemently. “I was a walking corpse until he helped me.”

  “You saved Kitto,” Boult said gruffly to Verran. “You can turn it around.”

  “It’s too late for me,” Verran insisted. “If you could see the things in my head, you’d kill me yourself.” He turned back to Shristisanti. “What will you gi
ve me?”

  The guardian’s forked tongue flicked out of his mouth. “You will have a place of honor in the new regime.”

  “That’s it?”

  “I could kill you, eat your flesh, and take the blood for myself.”

  “I’ll take the place of honor, then,” Verran agreed.

  While Shristisanti was distracted talking to Verran, Kitto backed to the pedestal where the Torque sat. With Liel blocking the line of sight between him and the guardian, Kitto reached behind his back and grabbed the twisted span of metal. But as he touched the Torque, he yanked his hand back in pain as the metal blistered his fingertips.

  “The barrier that protects the palace also protects the Atrocity,” the Guardian roared. “It will not come down lightly.”

  On either side of Kitto, waist-high walls of molten glass rose out of the floor and rippled toward the center of the room where Kitto stood. Just before they reached him, Kitto jumped straight into the air and pushed one foot off the top of the pedestal to boost himself higher. As the ridges of energy slammed against one another, the wooden pedestal completely disintegrated. The Torque tumbled to the floor as the waves of energy dispersed, followed by Kitto, who crashed onto the ground beside the Torque. He didn’t move, and Liel hurried over to his body.

  “I told you! Kitto’s had enough abuse for one day,” Harp shouted. He charged at Shristisanti, but Verran grabbed his arm and yanked him back.

  “I’ll give it to you,” Verran said, reaching into his shirt and pulling out the vial of blood-elixir. Behind them, Liel was helping Kitto to his feet. The boy’s nose was bleeding. Kitto wiped his face with his sleeve, smearing blood across it.

  As Shristisanti slid forward to Verran with his arm outstretched, Boult charged from the side, ramming his sword deep into the guardian’s unprotected back. The sword plunged deep into his body. It should have been a serious blow, but the guardian’s flesh pushed out the sword, healing itself despite the deadly wound. Shristisani picked up the blade and hurled it away.

  Shristisanti whipped his tail against Boult, who reeled back across the chamber. Harp shook off Verran’s grip and sprinted at the guardian. He managed to cut the creature’s arm, but the blood didn’t have time to seep from the skin before the wound closed. Liel pulled out her bow, but she was forced to drop to the ground and roll to one side to avoid getting hit by an arc of energy that erupted from the floor.

  Verran stood in the middle of the fray as if in the eye of a storm.

  “You can’t hurt him,” Verran told them. “He’s invulnerable.”

  “Don’t give it to him, Verran,” Harp urged.

  A water-like geyser of molten glass erupted from the floor, forcing the rest of the group to scramble deeper into the chamber and farther away from Verran and the guardian. Glassy red drops splattered against their clothes, leaving little holes in the cloth. The boiling floor that separated them from Verran seeped like lava toward their feet.

  “I can’t go back,” Verran cried. “I think I killed Majida. She surprised me as I was taking the elixir out of the Spirit Vault, and I hit her. I think she’s dead.”

  “Verran, please,” Harp called to the boy. “Let us help you.”

  “No one can help me!” Verran said desperately. “Ask Kitto. He saw the marks across my back. You know why I have them, Harp. You know what they make me.”

  Verran held out the vial like he was presenting Shristisanti with an offering. The guardian slithered forward, but just as Shristisanti’s hand would have grasped the vial, Verran darted under his arm and sprinted around the screen and to the door leading into the great hall. Surprised by Verran’s unexpected quickness, Shristisanti whipped his body around and plunged after the boy.

  When the guardian left the chamber, the bubbling floor hardened with a crackling sound, and a webbing of cracks laced the cloudy surface like ice that was about to shatter. By the time the others had dashed across the slippery floor and into the cavernous hall, the guardian was already on top of Verran. He lifted his hand and let the boy scramble to his feet before slamming him to the ground with his tail. Frantically, Verran twisted free and rolled away, but the serpent pinned him again.

  “He’s just playing with him,” Boult said with horror as the grisly game continued.

  Harp yanked his crossbow off his back.

  “That won’t hurt him,” Boult said irritably, but he followed Harp’s example.

  They shot bolts into the guardian’s back. When the bolts pierced his yellow scales, Shristisanti arched in shock. The guardian whirled around with his fangs bared, and the pupils of his red eyes narrowed to thin slits. Black blood oozed out from the arrow wounds, and Shristisanti’s long body undulated rhythmically as if in response to the pain.

  “He’s not healing!” Harp shouted. Somehow the guardian’s invulnerability had disappeared. Hissing furiously, Shristisanti yanked the bolts out of his wounded back. Leaving Verran sprawled on the ground, the guardian coiled his body in a tight spiral. He splayed his fingers out the way he had done inside the chamber. But instead of liquefying into molten red glass, the dusty debris-strewn stones remained unchanged.

  “The chamber was the source of his power!” Liel said. “He can’t cast if he’s out of it.”

  Kitto and Harp rushed forward, but the Guardian swung around and swatted them both away with a sweeping arc of his tail. Boult reloaded and launched another bolt that lodged in Shristisanti’s shoulder. The guardian ignored it and swiveled around to face Harp. Liel rammed her sword into the base of the beast’s tail, cleaving a large chunk of flesh off the top. She darted away as the bloody tail flailed wildly and crashed down on the spot where she had been standing.

  “Keep him out of that chamber,” Boult said, circling around the guardian to Verran and the debris pile.

  “He wants the blood more than the Torque,” Harp yelled back. He was between Shristisanti and the entrance to the Torque chamber, but he doubted he would be much of an obstacle if the guardian decided to slither back into his enchanted lair. The guardian curled and spiraled around himself as he swung back and forth, making him a very hard target to hit.

  Shristisanti turned his attention back to Verran, who had scrambled to his feet and backed away from the guardian until he was pressed against the pile of debris from the collapsed roof. Dazed and bleeding, he stood there, staring up at Shristisanti’s ruthless expression. If there were mercy to be had that day, it would not come from the ancient ophidian warrior. As if in a trance, Verran made no move to climb the rubble and get away from the guardian.

  “Run, Verran,” Liel called.

  “Throw me the blood,” Harp yelled as he and Kitto charged the guardian again. Harp’s sword sliced Shristisanti below the shoulder blade, and Kitto stabbed him in the side. Coiling around like a whirlpool, the undulations of the Guardian’s body kept them at bay. Verran stood passively, as if he knew what was coming but had no will or inclination to stop it. Shristisanti reached forward and snapped Verran’s neck, snatching the vial as the boy fell to the ground.

  “Verran!” Harp screamed.

  Shristisanti held his prize up to the sunlight flooding through the jagged hole in the roof. As he peered at the blood elixir, the red light coming through the glass vial stained the guardian’s haughty, self-satisfied face. Harp knew that as soon as the guardian slithered back into the chamber with the Torque, they would be powerless against him. Staring at Verran’s body slumped on the ground, his head twisted wrong on his neck, Harp was struck by an overwhelming sense of hopelessness—evil always won, and there was nothing he could do to change it. A flood of images filled his mind: Majida lying dead by Verran’s hand, Tresco smugly leading Ysabel down the aisle of a cathedral to marry Cardew, Anais’s palace in flames. Harp heard Liel calling his name and looked up to see Shristisanti moving toward him. Harp was overcome by a sense of desperation. He’d failed, yet again.

  Boult screamed in Dwarvish and sprinted to the pile of rubble. In the instant that Harp und
erstood what Boult planned to do, his hopelessness evaporated, and his survival instincts kicked him into action. Across the hall, Liel immediately grasped the dwarf’s plan as well. She grabbed Kitto’s hand, and everyone scattered away from the guardian.

  Still holding the vial of elixir above his head, Shristisanti stared in surprise as they ran like frightened bunnies. With his loaded crossbow in his arms, Boult charged up the debris pile like he was being chased by a pack of flaming hellbeasts. Liel and Kitto dashed under the gallery and dived behind one of the marble statues. Since the guardian was between him and the debris pile, Harp bolted for the Torque chamber. Scrambling through the door, he skidded past the blackened screen, slid feet first onto the glassy floor, and smacked into the stone wall.

  When he reached the top of the rubble, Boult leaped high into the air, fired his crossbow at the apex of his jump, and rolled down the far side of the pile.

  “You missed,” Shristisanti boomed as he watched the bolt soar harmlessly over his head.

  The bolt struck the wall above the pearl door, precisely in the center of the mosaic depicting the Captive in the last moments of his life. The impact of the bolt against the hard tile snapped the wooden shaft in half, and the splintered pieces fell to the floor. In the heartbeat of silence that followed, Kitto sucked in his breath, Liel laid her hand on Kitto’s arm, and the sound of a wire snapping echoed across the hall.

  The mosaic swelled outward from the wall, like a giant hand was pushing it from behind. Licks of fire burned between the gaps in the tile. A flaming piece of ceramic blasted out of the mosaic, ricocheted and sank deep into the stone pillar near Liel and Kitto. With increasing speed and frequency, fragments of tile snapped off the wall, shot through the air with a whine, and peppered the cavernous hall with flaming projectiles. Most of them sailed over Shristisanti’s head, but one shard winged him, piercing his flesh and carving out a circular hole all the way through his shoulder.

  The remainder of the mosaic tiles exploded from the blackened stones of the wall behind them. The flames blinked out, and deafening noise, like the sound of a tidal wave crashing into a forest, swept across the hall. The mosaic exploded in a maelstrom of knifelike shards and choking dust. The torrent of blistering hot shards engulfed Shristisanti, slicing through his scales and shredding his body. The bloody remains of his body dropped to the floor with a wet thud while the shards continued on their trajectory. They sailed through the air until they hit the debris pile and stuck into the rubble like colorful spikes.