The Serpent Queen by Josh Reynolds

Author:Josh Reynolds
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Fantasy
ISBN: 9781849705929
Publisher: BL Publishing
Published: 2014-03-24T07:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 13

Felix lit the fire carefully. There wasn’t much in the way of combustible material, but he’d scrounged a few bits of wood, dried grass and what he hoped wasn’t a bone belonging to anyone important. He blew on the tiny flame until it caught. Then he sat back, and huddled in his cloak and wondered how any place as hot as the Land of the Dead could grow so cold, come nightfall. Zabbai’s warriors stood sentry, and though they didn’t require it, Zabbai and Antar sat near the fire. Only ten of Zabbai’s warriors remained. Felix wondered how the dead viewed death, or whatever passed for it among their kind. Was it a simple cessation, or something more poignant? Maybe for some of them it was a kind of relief.

They had reached the Doom Glade Swamp not long after nightfall. Like the coast, it was mostly water, albeit water the colour of strongly brewed Cathayan tea or the dark, bitter kahve favoured by the Arabayans.

Thin, serpentine trees rose in close-knit groups from thick nests of sword blade-shaped foliage, punctuating the dark water. Hummocks of earth and compacted, decaying vegetation slumped and crouched in out-of-the-way places. Larger trees, heavy trunked and with a profusion of thick roots, occupied these, sitting silent sentry. Felix fancied that he could see faces in their bark, and when the thick branches rattled in the night breeze, just at the edge of his vision, they gave the impression of voices.

The group had made camp on one such hummock, where the ground was more or less solid. ‘This arm is lacking in divinity,’ Antar grumbled. He flexed the stone fingers of the forearm he’d filched from one of the fallen Sepulchral Stalkers. Somehow, he’d managed to attach it to his elbow joint, as if whatever residual magics lurked within the severed limb had interwoven themselves with the magics that kept the prince of Mahrak ambulatory.

It was slightly larger than his original, and Felix suspected that it was a good deal heavier. ‘It has no grace, no skill. Antar, the Swift Edge of Justice, is displeased. Also, he believes that it smells of damp.’ He shoved the arm under Felix’s nose. ‘Judge, fleshy one. Judge and answer the question of the Most Beneficent Prince.’

‘It smells like stone,’ Felix said, pushing the offending limb aside with distaste. Antar retracted his arm and glowered at Felix as if he were at fault. Felix ignored him and looked at Zabbai. ‘Is that something all of your folk can do?’ Felix asked, gesturing to Antar.

Zabbai shook her head. ‘The liche-priests of Mahrak have ever been masters of joinery. After the Great Awakening, it was discovered that many of their princes and kings had been badly damaged by the Usurper’s bone-gnawing acolytes. They had cut into the sacred mummies and scattered them across their tombs with all the care of jackals at the feast. Thus the priests were forced to repair them with what they had to hand. Stone, bronze and turquoise were used to replace missing limbs or repair broken spines and skulls.

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