Silver Serpent

by Michael DeAngelo

  Harold sat there in his seat, slowly suffocating, until his vision went black. The other two gentlemen beside him had breathed their last breaths before him, and Ciara was left alone in the room.

  Her breathing was rhythmic and fierce, and she looked at what she had wrought. Three men were dead before her, never able to fight their way from their seats. Papers were scattered about everywhere, and the candles they kept on their table had blown out.

  “What have I done?” Ciara wondered. She narrowed her eyes as she considered what had driven her to that horrible deed. “What have I become?”

  Without the courage to remain there any longer, she turned and sped from the music house.

  *****

  “It wasn’t the guilt I ran from, you see,” Ciara declared. “No. As time passed, I realized it had to be done. Those men were the monsters…but I was one, too. But if I can stop those who seek to do those kinds of things, perhaps I can find my own sort of redemption.”

  Kelvin clutched his bow a little tighter by the end of her tale and watched her walk to a vanity mirror where a glass of water was waiting for her.

  “We don’t get to choose how we’re redeemed,” the disguised prince said. “We can only choose to abide by the justice we’re given.”

  “Was Harold Tolbert’s punishment not justice?” Ciara croaked. “His barbed insults were merely a small piece of his crime. Did he not deserve to die for setting a fire that robbed two people of the lives they once had? My father left that house to us when he passed away, and now it’s gone.”

  “You could be better than people like Harold,” Kelvin bade. “You could use your power to help people, not kill them.”

  Ciara shook her head. “No. That time is over. I care not for your redemption.”

  “Then I have no choice,” he said.

  He swung his bow up over his shoulder, but the woman moved faster. A fierce cry resonated from her opened mouth, so shrill it broke the glass she was holding. The Crimson Cobra’s arrow went wide, embedding into the wall beside the mirror. Kelvin brought his hands up to his ears, just in time to shield himself from the full force of her voice. But it was still too powerful. His senses began to waver, and his vision grew blurry. It was just as Charles had said: he was losing control of his equilibrium and felt as if he was ready to vomit at any moment.

  Though he found it difficult to see, it was not so terrible that he missed the anger on her face. She looked like a demon in his fading vision, her appearance made that much more ferocious as the mirror shattered into a storm of glass that swept across the area, small pieces cutting her skin in places.

  Ciara ignored the pain and continued her attack on the disguised prince. The air dissipated like she had described in her tale. He struggled to find a breath, but nothing came.

  Kelvin knew he did not have much longer as his vision faded.

  A resounding crack was lost to him, but a sharp breath filled his lungs with air so cold he could barely stand it. His vision flared back to him as well, and he was surprised by what he saw before him. Marin was there in her Silver Serpent costume, hovering over the motionless body of the woman, with a broken chair in her hands.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked.

  Her eyes narrowed behind the domino mask. “I told you that part of being a hero in this city is being prepared. What better way to protect yourself against a banshee than with earplugs?” Marin discarded the chair and pulled a pair of small gray pieces of rolled cloth from her ears. “I think this makes us even for that night a week ago.”

  Kelvin let his body relax and fell against the wall behind him. “I think you’re right. How did you find us?”

  “You’re not as discreet as you believe you are,” Marin said. “Besides, a bright red suit doesn’t exactly scream, ‘I work in the shadows.’”

  “All right, enough of the lecture,” Kelvin said. “Let’s get her up and to the guards. We have to find some way of explaining that she needs to be gagged at all times. She could hurt a lot of people.”

  “She’s hurt enough already,” Marin agreed. She bent down, hoisted the girl off the ground and waited for Kelvin to arrive beside her. “My leg is feeling better, but I’m still not at my best. I’ll need you to take most of her weight.”

  The prince abided by his mentor and draped Ciara’s arm over his shoulder. Together, they worked at getting her to the door to the tavern.

  “You know, we would probably work very well as a team,” Kelvin teased. “Imagine what we could do if were both healthy enough to fight.”

  When he opened the door, his gaze was drawn toward the Silver Serpent. He didn’t notice the pack of Brotherhood thugs there just before him. Thoro, in the front of that group, was just as surprised to see the Silver Serpent and her protégé, but he was quicker to move. He stepped back and delivered a stunning kick to the Crimson Cobra’s chest, launching the unsuspecting lad backward into the dressing room.

  Marin whipped the unconscious woman to the side, dismissing any care for her as she fell. At once, she drew her rapier, the metal scrape reporting its eagerness for blood.

  Thoro’s three companions rushed into the room, each focusing their attention on the more renowned of the heroes. The Silver Serpent was upright and therefore more dangerous. Though she was injured, she persevered through that pain—she wouldn’t let them notice her leg had not yet healed.

  While those members of the Brotherhood worked on the outnumbered woman, Thoro set his sights on Kelvin. The scoundrel arched his eyebrow, taking account of the fellow—his long blond hair, his outfit, the bow draped over his shoulder. At once, he understood who it was before him.

  “I still feel your arrow in my shoulder,” he snarled. “Let’s see if we can’t show you that feeling.”

  Thoro leapt forward, drawing a dagger from his belt. Though Kelvin was winded and dazed, he rolled to safety, just beside that impromptu leader’s feet. The prince looked to his mentor, noticing her fighting against those three bandits. She made her work look easy, but Kelvin could only assume every step on that injured leg felt like a lightning bolt surging up one side of her body.

  The least he could do was offer a hand—or, in that case, a sturdy boot. He kicked out like a mule, striking the nearest member of the Brotherhood in their ankle. That fellow went down hard and quick, yelping as he struck the ground.

  With the odds leaning in her favor, Marin went on the offensive, swinging her rapier with more force and finesse. The skirmish was more mobile against just two foes, and they moved back and forth on the far side of the room.

  Kelvin paid for his assistance, though. By the time he righted himself, Thoro kicked out, knocking his leather boot against the lad’s jaw. Once more, the prince struggled to see, and his enemy landed upon his chest, clutching his throat in his hand.

  “Let’s see who wears the mask,” Thoro growled. “Who is foolish enough to stand with the Silver Serpent against the Brotherhood?”

  Though he was weary and in pain, Kelvin caught the brigand’s hand before it landed on the domino mask. Even with both his arms, he found it difficult to fight against Thoro’s leverage. It was only adrenaline that steadied his grip, and that faded fast when Thoro brought his other hand up as well.

  The crisis unfolding in that room was not lost to Marin. If the prince was unmasked, everything would change. The four men in the room would have to die—a task she did not relish.

  Desperate times, she thought to herself and struck her closer foe’s weapon with just enough force to convince him she was still out for blood. But she feigned his power, swinging her blade back as though she was nearly disarmed. He charged forth, his sword brought overhead for a killing blow.

  Marin was hoping for such a maneuver. The Silver Serpent ducked beneath his swing, but she was already twisting into position. A stunning swipe of her hand delivered the basket of the rapier into the back of that fellow’s head.

  Afforded time to breathe, she looked at her ward. Thoro’s finger
s were nearly upon that mask, and she knew she had no other choice. She reached for her hip and pulled the pouch from her belt.

  “Now,” she bade.

  At once, Kelvin felt energized. With a bout of strength, he wrenched from Thoro’s grasp just as that pouch landed against the floor. A volatile hiss filled the air as a bright light did, and everyone in attendance was blinded.

  “Let’s get out of here,” another member of the Brotherhood cried.

  The sound of shuffling throughout the room could be heard. Finally, that white light and the smoke that accompanied it dissipated. Kelvin sat in a corner of the room, catching his breath and thanking the gods he was not found out. Marin stood in the center of the room, ready for any brave thugs that sought to renege on their claims of retreat.

  The Brotherhood thought better of it, it seemed. Once again, the two masked heroes were alone in the room.

  That was both a blessing and a curse, they realized. Kelvin’s eyes widened, and he looked to his mentor. “They’re gone,” he said. “But so is Ciara.”

  Marin’s face went pale beneath her hat and mask. She was already shaking her head before she could bear to say the words.

  “The Brotherhood is now in the possession of a banshee,” she conceded.

  Chapter Four: All Shall Fear the Watcher

  The tower—the tallest they had built, and the only one constructed inside the city—was impressive that late at night. He hummed to himself as he considered it was probably already into the morning hours. But that was what happened when drinking with Geoffrey Mansc.

  Woldo’s senses were finally coming back to him. He could see each of those torches that lined the tower on three of its sides and pitied any fool who had to lean out of those narrow windows to light or replace them. Many were unnecessary, he thought. Just keep the damn things inside. Then again, those flames worked at drawing the eye to the illuminated golden spear, shield, and eye emblazoned upon it—a reminder the city was always watching.

  The plump fellow beside him stifled a burp and waved it away in front of him. He chortled at his own poor manners, but Geoffrey looked too green to truly enjoy himself.

  “Careful, pal,” Woldo said. “That might have opened the floodgates.” As he teased his heavier companion, he furrowed his brow to consider the way they were walking. “Geof, isn’t your house the other way?”

  His drinking buddy just grumbled and kept moving along. Woldo shrugged and went along with it. He passed another glance up to that tower and the symbol of the city. His mind wandered as he considered all the other towers Samwell Harding had constructed on the island. If Argos was meant to defend its side of Arthica from Peritas, they needed scouting towers, and perhaps none in the world were as impressive as Harding’s.

  “You know, I’ve always wanted to go up in one of these,” Woldo said. “They say you can see at least one of the other towers from the top of each of them. I’ve always been too scared to go up and peer out over the countryside.” He looked up, wondering if there was a guard or a soldier up there that late at night.

  Once again, Geoffrey seemed too ill to offer anything to that conversation. His cheeks puffed out, and his eyes looked glazed over. His pace faltered as they drew closer to that tower.

  Woldo hadn’t even realized they were subtly changing their direction to reach it. He hummed to himself and shook his head. “Don’t you go vomiting now,” he said. “And if you do, please do us both a favor and aim the other way. We wouldn’t want this to turn into a situation.” He stifled a laugh beneath his breath. There was nothing to be done, he thought. If Geoffrey wanted to expel the contents of his stomach, it was allowed to go wherever he put it.

  The soberer fellow was left to consider what he knew of his companion. Geoffrey was known for his unusual strength and stamina. He’d never seen him lose a drinking contest and never seen the man in a vulnerable state whatsoever.

  “You’ve never been this drunk before,” Woldo surmised. It wasn’t an assessment of his friend’s condition but a realization that it never happened. He halted in his tracks, finally understanding why he had been dragged out there in the middle of the night, so far from both their homes.

  Geoffrey wrapped his hands around the smaller man’s tunic and hoisted him into the air, slamming him against that tower. All at once, that ruse ended. Geoffrey stood tall and alert, and his eyes were directed with clarity at the chatty fellow.

  “Wh-what is this?” Woldo asked. “What are you doing, Geof?”

  “You know exactly what I’m doing!” the big man bellowed. “You know exactly what you did.”

  The skinny man’s eyes opened wide, and he shook his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I haven’t done anything to anyone.”

  “But that hasn’t stopped you from trying, has it?” Geoffrey asked. “You’ve been getting a little too chummy with Mardon’s old lady, haven’t you?”

  “What?” Woldo exclaimed. “No, of course not! I was just doing my job. There were repairs that needed to be made to the house, and I made them. That was the end of it.”

  The stout fellow sneered. “Just take your licks, pal. Mardon found the flowers.”

  “What flowers?” Woldo pleaded. “I didn’t send no flowers!”

  With a hearty grunt, Geoffrey reared back. The last thing Woldo saw was that heavy fist flying his way.

  With his eyes closed, he heard a tremendous crunch. He’d seen the fellow smash a watermelon into pieces with one swing of his fist and wondered what would come of his fate.

  When he dared to open his eyes, he was surprised to see at all. Geoffrey stood there with a scowl etched upon his face, and he waved his hand in the air. He grumbled at the frightened fellow but stepped away.

  Woldo ventured a glance to his side and saw the immense crack his associate had inflicted on the foundation of that tower. Had that been his face, there likely wouldn’t be anything left of him for authorities to identify.

  “Remember your place,” Geoffrey said. “If Mardon sees you snooping around his home ever again, I won’t be able to just ‘send a message.’ Don’t make me pound you into jelly, pal.”

  Woldo nodded and skittered to his side. As Geoffrey turned, another loud crunch resounded, and the slender fellow yelped as a reflex.

  The larger man, that enforcer among Woldo and his friends, was frozen where he stood. He looked down at the street and couldn’t bring himself to budge. It was morbid curiosity that gave Woldo the courage to circle to Geoffrey’s side and see what had stolen his attention.

  A body lay there in the street, just at his feet. That big fellow was covered in blood, and his eyes were open wide.

  “What just happened?” Woldo dared.

  Geoffrey turned his head to the side but couldn’t look away from the mangled corpse in front of him. “He just…appeared there, like he fell out of the sky.”

  With his gaze drawn toward the top of that tower, Woldo narrowed his eyes. Beyond those torches, he saw another pair of red, glowing beacons. They disappeared for a moment and then could be seen again. Though it was unthinkable, Woldo realized he was more frightened than he had been when Geoffrey slammed him up against the wall.

  “We should get out of here,” he bade.

  The other fellow nodded. “That’s right. Let’s bring back a guard. Maybe they’ll be able to make sense of this.”

  Before they could move too far from that grisly sight, the men heard the sound of buffeting wind above them. Woldo looked skyward and went pale at the sight of a terrifying beast. Stone wings stretched wide, and the monster opened its maw to scream at them, displaying two rows of razor-sharp fangs. Its roar was frightening enough to send Geoffrey tumbling to the ground.

  Woldo reached down and helped his friend to his feet. “Come on, we have to get out of here now.”

  That bigger fellow nodded as he scrambled to put the ground beneath him once more. “There aren’t enough guards in this city to bring down whatever that monster is!”


  *****

  The lad held a stack of books between his arms, and every few moments he tilted them back and steadied them with his chin. The path to the cottage in the center of the city was long and twisting, and he confirmed his speculation. That journey was much too far for Mistress Cortes to travel every day in her condition.

  Kelvin reflected on all the happenings since that day he first donned the green costume and came to the Silver Serpent’s aid. Between the battle with the Brotherhood, the aid she leant against the Banshee—and the Brotherhood, again—as well as the near-daily walks to the palace, Marin wasn’t giving herself time to heal properly.

  If she couldn’t meet Kelvin in the great library, he would bring the studies to her. When he arrived outside her cottage, he faced his first great dilemma. Carrying those books all that way had left a toll on his body. He found he couldn’t balance those volumes in the crook of one arm to knock. The prince let a shallow shrug fly and delivered three quick kicks to the door.

  That entrance was opened before him, just as soon as his foot landed on the ground again. Marin was dressed a little more comfortably than he expected. Since she didn’t have to spend her time traveling, she didn’t have to worry about impressing anyone with her attire.

  “Most days I have trouble getting you to pick up just one book,” she said. “And now you’ve got more than you can carry.”

  He didn’t say anything at first, slipping past her into the foyer of her home. After he heaved those books onto the table, he let a deep breath enter his lungs. “I wanted to make sure it was handled all in one trip. No sense going back and forth with one or two books at a time.”

  “You could have ordered a private carriage.”

  He flashed his eyebrows. “And then it would be expected that a private carriage would pick me up to bring me back home. No, if there’s anything going on in Argos today I need to be aware of, it makes more sense for me not to be trapped by the service that someone else provides.” He separated each of the books, laying them out in the order he believed Marin would speak about them. “How are you feeling?”