Servant of the Serpent (Serpent's War Book 1)

by Jason Halstead

  “Thork?” he mumbled and then coughed from the irritation in his throat.

  “What?” the troll asked.

  Corian’s eyes narrowed. The troll was Thork? “You?”

  Thork grinned, displaying a mouthful of teeth Corian knew he’d be seeing again in his nightmares. Assuming the troll hadn’t saved him from the river so he could toss him in the cauldron over the fire.

  “Dis is Thork,” the troll said while jabbing himself in the armored chest with his thumb. He nodded to the goblin and added, “Dat’s Bonky, Thork’s goblin. Is yous hungry?”

  “I—I can’t move,” Corian realized. He managed to budge his left arm but it wasn’t acting right. His right was tingling as though it had fallen asleep and was struggling to wake up. His legs were worse; they were numb.

  “Oops,” Thork mumbled. “Thork whacked yous too hard.”

  A blast of heat fueled by panic rushed through him. He lifted his head up higher and gasped out, “What?” He wanted to demand more but a fresh fit of coughing rocked him.

  “Yous is scared,” Thork said. “Dat's how Thork knew yous was here.”

  “Scared? What? What’s wrong with me?” Corian growled. He found speaking in a lower voice irritated his throat less. “What did you do?”

  “Thork maybe broke yous’s back,” the troll said. He offered a gruesome smile and added, “Sorry bout dat.”

  “My—you—I can’t move! Ever?”

  “How scared is yous?”

  “I’m not!” Corian yelped.

  Thork scowled. “Yous is scared of being scared. Thork hoped yous was beddur dan dat.”

  Corian’s brow furrowed as the troll turned and walked back to the fire. Thork pulled out one of the sticks, showing pale strips of meat that he’d been cooking. The troll squeezed it and grimaced, and then shook his fingers and stuck them in his mouth.

  “Almost done, Bonky,” Thork said after dropping the meat back into the cauldron. “We’ll have to find anudder stupid dat can do what needs doing.”

  The goblin shrugged and tossed his stick aside. He eyed the alligator’s corpse and licked his lips.

  “Wait—” Corian hissed. “What do you mean? What are you doing? You can’t just leave me here—you did this to me!”

  Thork turned to look at Corian. He frowned and reached up to tap a large tooth with his dirty fingernail. “Troof, Thork did bash yous back,” the troll admitted. “But Thork saved yous from being gator bait while yous was napping. Dis stupid spot for a camp wifout someone to watch yous.”

  “I fainted,” Corian said. “I was after my sister—splisskin took her. I tracked them for days and then I couldn’t go anymore. I—”

  “Yous can’t get her,” Thork interrupted. “Not here. Not now.”

  “I just have to follow them. I’ll get her,” Corian vowed.

  Thork guffawed. “Not like dis yous won’t!”

  The elf opened and shut his mouth. The troll was right. He was useless. Worse than useless, he was crippled. The gator should have eaten him; it would have been a merciful death.

  “Is yous scared yet?”

  Corian glared at the grinning monster. “Scared? Of what? Wasting away until something comes by to kill me? Another alligator or a snake? Something else, like a prowler bear? Maybe more splisskin coming through, since they seem to walk the forest with impunity.”

  “Yous is feisty,” Thork said. “What about gitting bashed? Does dat scare yous?”

  “Bashed?”

  Thork drew his finger across his throat and made a croaking sound.

  Corian grimaced. “I don’t want to die,” he admitted.

  “And Jillybean?”

  “Jil—Jilly!” Corian’s eyes widened and then narrowed. “You—”

  “Is yous scared for her?”

  “You bastard!” Corian hissed.

  Thork grinned. “Is dat a yes?”

  “Yes!” the elf shouted. “You whore-son, yes! I have to save her but I can’t. Because of you! I swear on Saint Millesius that if he gives me the strength to rise, I will gut you like the pig you are!”

  Thork’s eyes widened and then he started to chuckle. His chuckle grew louder until he was bellowing with laughter. Corian could only stare, not understanding at first and then snarling his anger.

  “Yous should be careful who yous asking for help,” Thork said. “Yous might git what yous want and find out yous didn’t want it.”

  Corian sneered at him and turned away. “Kill me, already.”

  “Really? Yous’s given up?”

  “I can’t do anything!” Corian shouted. “I’m crippled. Worthless. Useless! I can’t help my sister. I can’t help anyone!”

  “What if yous could?” Thork asked. “Would yous?”

  Corian’s eyes narrowed. “What nonsense is this? You’re no priest—you’re a troll!”

  Thork grinned and reached into the cauldron. He pulled one of the sticks out and kept pulling. Corian’s eyes widened as the skewer proved impossibly long for the pot. When he finally pulled it free, he saw it was the length of a spear, complete with a blade that had runes etched into it. The final proof was the green glow it emitted, overpowering the fire and basking the campsite and riverside in a green radiance.

  “I’ll have no part of your unholy schemes!” Corian sputtered.

  Thork plucked the strip of gator meat off the blade and tossed it to Bonky. The goblin caught it and hissed as the scalding hot meat burned his fingers. He tossed it from hand to hand and blew on it to cool it down. “Da gator’s done,” Thork announced. “Yous hungry?”

  “I told you I—”

  “Yous got balls,” Thork interrupted him. “Dats saying sumfin, for an elf.”

  “What? You—”

  Thork chuckled. “Der's fings happenin. Lots of fings. Thork needs someone to help wif dat. Thork will help yous, if yous help Thork.”

  “I told you, I won’t deal with dark forces!”

  “Thork isn’t dark forces. Thork is Thork. Power is power. Yous do wif it what yous want.”

  Corian’s eyes narrowed. “What are you saying?”

  Thork thumped the butt of his spear on the ground, causing a burst of green light to flare from the spear. “Da spear and da sword isn’t good or bad. Well, most of da time. It’s da stupid using dem. Same with mojo.”

  Corian blinked, more lost now than before.

  Thork sighed. He dug into a pouch and pulled out a dagger. He chuckled. “Dats where dat went!” The troll tossed the knife on the ground and then reached in and rooted around some more. Like the cauldron, his arm went deeper than should have been possible. When he pulled it out, he held two vials in his massive hand. He looked them both over, frowning a little, and then tossed one off to the side. The bottle rolled across the ground and came to a rest near Bonky.

  “Drink dis,” Thork said and walked closer to Corian. He held it out to the elf and then grinned. “Oops, Thork forgot yous got bashed.”

  “What is it?” Corian asked.

  “Mojo. Mojo in a bottle,” Thork said. “Dis fix yous bashins.”

  Bonky gagged and clutched at his throat. He staggered and toppled to the side.

  “Good, Thork gived yous da right one.”

  Corian stared at the fallen goblin. “Is he—did you—is he dead?”

  Thork frowned. “Don’t fink so. Dat was an experiment. Thork runs Trolwerkz!, da mojo potion shop. Yous heard of it?”

  “Uh, no.”

  Thork sighed. “Dats okies, da hardest part is gettin da word out. Here, open yous mouf and Thork will pour it in.”

  Corian’s instinct was to shake his head and clamp his mouth shut. He stopped himself. If the troll wanted him dead, he’d be dead. He glanced at Bonky again and took in a reluctant breath. “All right,” Corian said and then turned his head and opened his mouth.

  Thork grinned and pulled the cork out of the vial. He leaned forward and tilted it, spilling the liquid into his mouth. Corian took as much as he could a
nd swallowed it, noting that it tasted like the river water that had nearly drowned him. It went down, soothing the ache in his throat and then spreading through his body. His chest seized as the magical water slipped into his chest and stomach and filled him so he couldn’t breathe.

  Corian stiffened and tried to force his lungs to move. To force the water out and draw in a fresh breath. He shook his head back and forth, mouth opening and shutting. The water flooded through his body, passing beyond his stomach into his legs and arms. Corian thought it was impossible, but with the troll’s magic at work, there was no telling what could happen to him.

  He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. He was tired. Exhausted. The troll wasn’t helping this time; he was just staring at him. Corian squeezed his eyes shut and tried again, tightening his belly to try to push the water out. His throat was frozen, refusing to let the water out and air in. He clutched it and rubbed and scratched, desperate for air. Corian rolled up on his side and opened his lips while curling in a ball. He tried striking himself, driving his fist into his belly and forcing the water out.

  “Well, dat’s sumfin,” Thork mused.

  Corian heard the troll and ignored him. The bastard was probably enjoying his torture. He had to breathe so he could get up and— He’d moved. Not only moved, he could feel his arms and legs. He could use them! He was healed and he hadn’t even known it. He’d felt the water rush through his body and heal him, even as it filled his lungs and paralyzed them.

  Or had it? His chest and throat had ached from the near-drowning earlier. Was it the magic healing him? Was he really imagining things? Was it his own fear of drowning that was killing him?

  Corian relaxed his throat instead of fighting it. He gasped and gagged, coughing as he breathed in and out. There was no water, just air and some drool. He gasped and looked up at the grinning troll.

  “Yous gonna do just fine,” Thork said.

  Corian heaved for breath and shook his head. “I’m still going to kill you.”

  The troll laughed loud enough to scare the sleeping birds from nearby trees.

  Chapter 7

  “Turn the blade! No—don’t step back, you— Bah!”

  Allie stepped back and turned to place her hands on her hips. She was breathing hard and sweat plastered the tunic she wore to her skin. The padded jerkin her dad insisted she wear when training was on the ground nearby. It was too hot for it. “Grandpa, you can’t yell at me while I’m fighting. It’s distracting!”

  “Then do the right thing!” Bucknar snapped. “You’d have your young arse in a sling if your foe knew what he was doing.”

  “Hey!” Talwin, her younger training partner, said. Bucknar and Allie both ignored him.

  Allie plucked at the neckline of her tunic, peeling it away from her skin and fanning herself with air. Nonplussed by the way that Talwin’s eyes widened as he stared at her, she said, “I’m in the middle of a fight! If I try to think about what you’re saying and how I can do it, he’s going to hurt me.”

  Bucknar scowled and motioned with his hands. “Fine. Again. Talwin, show her no mercy, boy.”

  Talwin raised his wooden practice sword and waited for Allie to let go of her shirt and turn back to face him. Bucknar scowled and shook his head. Before he could rebuke the boy for not pressing an advantage, he lifted his sword-shaped stick overhead and jumped at her.

  Allie cried out in fear, causing Talwin to slow and look uncertain. He landed wrong, stealing his momentum and power, and then had his sword knocked from his hand by Allie’s stick. Allisandra swung back and slapped her sword against his side, earning a grunt from him. She drew it across as though disemboweling him and then she leapt back.

  “See, I’m a good fighter,” Allie said.

  “You’re a fool,” Bucknar snapped at Talwin.

  “She cheated!” Talwin cried while rubbing his side. “I thought she was hurt.”

  Bucknar waved him away. “Give me that stick,” he snapped.

  Talwin jogged over to his dropped practice sword and brought it to Bucknar. “She’s tricky,” Talwin warned.

  “You’re thinking like you’re a boy and she’s a girl,” Bucknar chided him.

  “I am! And she is!”

  “Not in a fight you isn’t,” the old man said. “Watch, boy, and learn what will keep you alive.”

  “Grandpa, come on—hey!” Allie jumped back as Bucknar’s sword swished through the air where her head had been. She jerked her sword up and settled into the stance her father had taught her.

  Bucknar advanced, knees bent and sword at the ready. He poked out at her a few times and then swung at her legs, forcing her to leap up and back. He followed her, keeping her off balance and listening to her hiss and grunt as she blocked or dodged his strikes. He stayed on the offensive, knocking her wooden sword aside time and again and leaving her thighs, hips, and arms bruised from strikes against it.

  “Grandpa!” Allie yelped when she’d had enough.

  “I’m not your grandpa,” he barked at her and drove his wooden sword towards her side.

  She caught it with hers and held him at bay with a trembling arm. Her lips parted in a snarl that showed her clenching her teeth as she struggled. Sweat ran down her face.

  Bucknar rolled his sword over hers as he’d taught her and jerked his wrist and elbow up. Her sword went flying up and over her shoulder, barely missing her face. Bucknar lunged in and drove the rounded point of his wooden sword into her chest.

  Allie’s grunt was part scream and part air bursting from her chest. She fell back and hit the ground bottom first. Her upper back and head smacked next, causing her to bounce back up and catch herself on her hands and elbows.

  “I’m an opponent who knows it’s my life or yours,” Bucknar said. He rocked back and lowered his sword to his side. In seconds, it became a cane to help him walk. “Now get up and take this serious.”

  “You hurt me,” Allie whispered. She reached up to rub her chest. “That really hurt!”

  “I took it easy on you,” Bucknar growled.

  She clamped her mouth shut and glanced at Talwin. He was staring at her, but not at her face. His eyes were lower. She followed his gaze and saw her tunic was pulled up and left her midriff exposed. The rest of her tunic was soaked with her sweat and clinging to her chest. Her eyes narrowed. She’d thought Talwin was a friend. Someone she could rely on. Someone who cared about her.

  Her father was right. He was a boy. A boy who wanted a girl for what she could do for him—cook and clean and make babies. Her dad said most men never get past that. He’d also said he used to be that way too.

  Allie rolled onto her hip and then her hands and knees. She climbed to her feet and walked over to where her sword had fallen. She picked it up and swung it a few times, loosening up her muscles. “I’ll try harder,” she promised, her gaze focused on Talwin.

  “What about you?” Bucknar asked as he turned to give Talwin the evil eye. “Or do I need to beat you down too?”

  Talwin jumped. “No, sir! I’ll fight.”

  “Like you mean it,” Bucknar growled. “Like she’s not a she, but a bandit who’s already killed your dad and wants to steal your sister as soon as he’s done with you.”

  Talwin’s nostrils flared at the thought. He stiffened and caught the sword Bucknar tossed him. He nodded and turned Allie.

  “Now get her. Stop her,” Bucknar ordered.

  Talwin started forward and then hesitated when Allie charged him. She cried out and slammed her sword into his, knocking him back a half-step and leaving him confused and on the defensive.

  Two more strikes drove his sword down and to the side before she kicked her leg out and swept his left leg across. Talwin cried out and went down under the backhand slash that smashed her training sword into his shoulder and chest. He hit the ground hard enough to make Bucknar wince.

  Allie stood over him while Talwin rocked back and forth and finally managed to gasp in a fresh breath. He groaned and rolled away
, but couldn’t get back to his feet. Talwin clutched his shoulder and began to breathe through clenched teeth. He blinked back the tears.

  “Saints, girl, you busted his arm,” Bucknar muttered. “Back up.”

  Bucknar knelt down and pushed Talwin’s hand away from his arm. He poked and squeezed, drawing gasps and cries from Talwin while he tested the injury. He frowned and shook his head before helping the pale-faced boy to his feet. “Go to Saint Leander’s shrine; they’ll do what they can.”

  “Can’t afford it,” Talwin whimpered.

  “Tell them I sent you. They sell faith and empty promises. Healing and a sling I’ll handle.”

  Talwin nodded and turned away. Allie stepped around Bucknar and in his way, causing him to flinch. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I just wanted to prove I wasn’t just some stupid girl good for nothing but cooking and making babies.”

  Talwin offered a thin smile and nodded. “It’s okay. Just, um, don’t tell anyone?”

  Allie frowned and then nodded. She stepped away before he could see the annoyed look on her face. She watched him stumble off and head down the road towards Saint Leander’s shrine. When she shook her head and turned back, her grandfather had picked up Talwin’s sword. “Don’t tell anyone?” she repeated.

  Bucknar nodded. “Doesn’t want no one knowing he got beat up by a girl.”

  She snorted. “He made me mad—the way he was looking at me, I mean.”

  Her grandpa nodded. “He’s a boy and you’re a pretty girl. Prime age for marrying, too. You did good. You were mad but you kept your head and fought with skill and strength. I should have knocked some sense into you years ago.”

  Allie reached up to rub her chest. She pulled her tunic out and stared down at the purple coloring that was spreading from where he’d jabbed her. She let the tunic fall back against her chest and sniffed. “Dad and you never talk about girls much. Were you ever married?”

  He chuckled. “I had my share of romances, but nothing lasted.”

  “Wait—what about Dad? Weren’t you married?”

  Bucknar cursed. “He never told you, did he?”

  “Told me? What?”