The Serpent Queen Read online

  At the foot of the dais, skeletal servants cleaned up the mess left behind by the dead vampires. The crowd of representatives and messengers had not dispersed, or even moved during the fight. They waited patiently, still holding their scrolls and offerings, as if such assassination attempts were a daily occurrence, and to be politely ignored. Then, if what Zabbai had said was true, it was all part of the routine. Felix watched as more guards trooped in to replace those who had fallen. Cloaked and cowled figures that Zabbai identified as members of the Mortuary Cult swept in silently and claimed the bodies of the fallen. Felix wondered whether they could bring the fallen guards back to something approximating life, or whether they were simply being disposed of, like the vampires.

  Khalida tapped her cheek and examined the Slayer for a moment before speaking. ‘In the jungles to the east and south of here, there is a temple. An edifice stained in the blood of a thousand generations and haunted by the spirits of those who died screaming on its black altars,’ she said. ‘The Temple of Skulls.’

  Felix spoke up. ‘This sword you mentioned – I gather that it’s ensconced in this temple?’ He didn’t like the sound of the skulls bit. In his experience, any structure with an appellation that grisly wasn’t exactly the sort of place a sensible sort ought to go. Gotrek, on the other hand, looked to be practically salivating at the thought.

  Khalida didn’t look at him. ‘It is,’ she said. ‘And it belongs here. It is mine, by right and by blood, and I would have it returned to me.’ She made a fist, and Felix winced as linen tore and dried flesh popped. He’d heard stories of the Tomb Kings marching halfway around the world to reclaim a single golden trinket that some unlucky explorer had stolen from them. He’d always put such wild claims down to idle fancy, but now it seemed to be nothing but the bare truth. What sort of sword, no matter how finely wrought, was worth that sort of effort?

  ‘Then go and get it,’ Gotrek said.

  Khalida fell silent. If she’d been alive, Felix would have guessed that Gotrek’s words had stung her. Instead of replying, she gestured to Djubti, who glowered at Gotrek. The Slayer ignored him. ‘The queen cannot simply go and get it. She is needed here. Mahrak bristles at imagined slights and Rasetra crouches, waiting and watching like the jackals that they are. Lybaras is adrift in a sea of enemies, and Great Settra, the Hawk of the Desert, the Great Wind Which Smashes Kingdoms, whose edicts might calm them, sleeps in his necropolis.’

  ‘Not to mention that whoever sent those assassins is still out there, and likely trying to goad the queen into just that sort of rash action,’ Felix said.

  Djubti turned his glare on Felix. After a moment, the liche-priest nodded. ‘My spies have heard drums in the jungles, and they say that the dead of the mud and marsh walk where they should sleep. They tread the ancient roads to the Temple of Skulls, where they mass.’

  ‘Do the dead fear the dead, then?’ Gotrek said.

  ‘The High Queen fears nothing,’ Djubti snapped. ‘But she knows her responsibilities, her duties, and so we must turn to other avenues to retrieve that which is ours.’

  He gestured to Gotrek. ‘That would be you, Doom-Seeker. The gods brought me word of you. They heard your tread upon the road of fate, and saw that your skein intersects with ours. Your fate is tied to the fate of Lybaras, and thus I commanded Zabbai to spare you the fate she had planned.’

  Gotrek’s eye narrowed, and he looked at Zabbai. ‘We had a bargain,’ he spat.

  ‘So we did, dwarf. But did you not wonder why I should agree, when I could have simply pierced you with a thousand arrows and dropped you over the side to sink like the stone you resemble?’ Zabbai asked. Felix had wondered the same thing. Apparently Gotrek hadn’t. The Slayer snorted and turned back to the queen. ‘Well, is that it, then?’ he said. ‘You want me to get your toy back for you, is that it?’

  ‘Unless you think it is beyond your abilities,’ Khalida said.

  Gotrek hawked up a wad of spittle and sent it plopping to the steps with a rude sound. ‘Dead men pose little challenge to my axe. Or dead women, for that matter,’ he added, glancing at Zabbai.

  Before the Slayer could say anything else, Felix interjected. ‘Supposing that we agree – not that I’m saying that we won’t, because Gotrek for one clearly seems to have his heart set on it – how will we find it? There’s a lot of jungle to cover, and we’re not what you’d call familiar with the terrain.’ He knew, even as he said it, that he was verging on the disrespectful. He couldn’t say that he cared, particularly. It had been bad enough when it looked as if they’d be wandering around the jungle, looking for a lost dwarf hold. This sounded, on the whole, as if it would be much worse. There was no question that they’d do it, for all Gotrek’s bluster. The Slayer was being aimed in the direction he wanted to go, and all Felix could do was join him for the ride and hope that he survived the inevitable bloody conclusion.

  In reply, Khalida raised her hand. Djubti thumped the floor and a handmaiden stepped forward, bearing a golden platter, draped with a fraying cloth. At another gesture from Khalida, the cloth was removed to reveal a familiar, and unwelcome, visage. ‘Release Antar, Beloved of All the Gods, and Especially the Goddesses, or his wrath shall shake the pillars of creation!’ the skull rasped as it rattled and hopped on its platter like a dollop of oil in a hot pan.

  Felix stepped back. ‘Is that–’ he began.

  ‘So! You survived the poison of the Dutiful Scorpion, fleshy one! You shall not survive it twice, this swears Antar, King of Mahrak, Prince among Princes, Lover of Lionesses!’ Antar snarled. ‘And you, cheating boulder! Antar sees you, ape of Ind, with your stupid hair! Antar demands satisfaction,’ the skull continued, rolling in Gotrek’s general direction.

  ‘Are you sure you wouldn’t like me to mount this wastrel’s skull on the Standard of Asaph, my queen?’ Zabbai asked, gesturing to Antar. ‘He has long been an annoyance unto thee, and it would please me to display him for all to see and mock at their leisure.’

  ‘Antar is the Second King of the Fourth Dynasty, Doxy with Four Hundred Suitors!’ Antar spat, his skull wobbling with anger.

  ‘You were king for three days, two of which you spent coming up with new names for yourself,’ Zabbai said. ‘Even Ramsus of Numas, He Who Ruled an Epoch of Scattered Moments, did more actual ruling than you.’

  ‘Lies, lies and calumnies,’ Antar rattled. ‘Woe betide thee who shall deny Antar’s divinity! He is the Son of the Falcon and the Desert Wind, Greatest King of the Greatest City, He of the Glory Which Makes the Sun Weep!’ His skull bobbled on its platter, rolling about in a frustrated frenzy. ‘A knife, Antar demands a knife!’

  ‘He doesn’t have any hands,’ Felix murmured to Gotrek.

  ‘Antar heard that! Antar, He of the Iron Jaws, has teeth, does he not! Antar shall sever your tendons with one bite of His Beautiful Jaws Which Can Pierce Bronze!’

  Khalida gestured sharply and the muffling cloth was dropped over the prince’s skull by the attendant. Antar continued to make threats and imprecations, but no one paid him any attention. ‘No, his skull shall be placed anew upon his body and he shall give his parole,’ Khalida said, leaning back in her throne. ‘He is a prince of the Great Land, and courageous, if foolish. He has given me his oath of service, which he will not break, lest the jackal-ghosts that hunt Usirian’s wastes come and pluck his soul from his bones.’

  ‘Not to mention that the preening cockerel swears he’s been to the Temple of Skulls before, on a sortie against the creatures who dwelt there at the time,’ Djubti said. ‘In return for not being turned into the topper for a standard pole, he’s sworn to lead you there.’

  ‘I know where it is,’ Zabbai said.

  ‘Yes, but as long as Antar is with you, and has sworn an oath to guide you, he is not attempting to escape, or to otherwise jostle King Tharruk into open war. It is a shame that Otep got away, but Antar is the more dangerous of the two, i
f only from sheer volume,’ Djubti said.

  ‘He is an idiot,’ Zabbai said.

  ‘Yes, but an influential one. The princelings and petty kings of Mahrak have ever begrudged Lybaras its isolation from Settra’s influence, and Antar’s voice has been the loudest in reminding them of that fact. They grow restless and our encounter with their fleet has only stoked the flames of their desire for war. Tharruk will march. But the longer we keep that chattering jackal from influencing him, the more time we have between now and then. So he will be your guide, oath-bound to serve you.’

  ‘I see even dead humans lack the stomach for war,’ Gotrek said.

  ‘A war on two fronts, yes,’ Khalida said. She leaned forwards in a rustle of linen and silks. ‘The dead stir in the jungles. The cursed spawn of Lahmia make ready for war and we must stand between them and the Great Land, as we have always done.’ She fixed her burning gaze on Gotrek and said, ‘Not every war is equal, Son of the Mountains. Not every war demands immediate prosecution. Your folk know this, else why would they gnaw over old slights for centuries and hoard insults done them, the way a man might hoard bread?’

  Gotrek flushed. ‘Careful, corpse-woman,’ he growled.

  ‘Care is for the weak,’ Khalida rasped. She pushed herself up from her throne with a languid grace. There was no hurry in the Beloved of Asaph. As he watched her descend the dais, Felix was reminded of the undulations of a venomous serpent. Her movements were fluid and inexorable, and he felt a chill as her gaze passed over him. She was regal and terrifying and beautiful, despite the fact that she was dead. ‘Care is for the living. We are dead, and we have our duty. We hold tight to our oaths, though the world turns and seasons pass. Surely you understand that much, dwarf. I have sworn to let no child of blighted Lahmia return to that ruin. I have sworn to hold fast against the unbound dead, and that oath supersedes all others.’ She looked down at Gotrek. ‘But you know all about that, don’t you?’

  Gotrek said nothing. He glared up at her, but beneath the obfuscating veil of hostility, his expression was unreadable. Felix knew the dwarf well enough to know that Khalida had scored a point. ‘I want my sword, Doom-Seeker. And you will claim it for me, and bring it to me. And then, perhaps, the gods will let you have your reward,’ Khalida said. ‘You will help me fulfil my oath, Gotrek, son of Gurni.’

  ‘Why should your oath outweigh mine, woman?’ Gotrek asked, finally.

  ‘Because of him,’ she said, extending her hand. Felix blinked, and realised that she was pointing at him. He stepped back, and suddenly, guards surrounded him. He hadn’t even heard them approach. The mummified warriors grabbed him before he could so much as utter a word of protest, and Djubti approached him, holding a small bejewelled and gilded casket in his hands.

  Gotrek made to stop them, but Zabbai moved into his path. Gotrek growled and lifted his axe, intending to slap the Herald aside. Khalida thumped the steps with her staff and the dust and sand that had collected in the crevices and cracks suddenly twisted up and rose, as if caught by a strong wind. The sand swirled and thickened, rising and splitting into a number of individual columns. The columns shed their skin of dust and sand, revealing the thick, sinuous forms of a number of large serpents, which struck as one. Gotrek roared and swung his axe, but it passed harmlessly through the snakes, scattering only sand in its wake. The snakes coiled about Gotrek, pinning him in place. The Slayer struggled and cursed, but was held fast.

  Felix was forced to extend his arm. His sleeve was jerked back, exposing his forearm. Djubti flipped open the casket, revealing what looked like a coiled asp made from gold, with jaws that were wide enough to encompass the circumference of a man’s wrist. Khalida lowered her staff and said, ‘In the Golden Age, before the Usurper’s curse burned all life from the Great Land, we had traitors and criminals aplenty. There were dangers then, too, and upheaval, war and politics. And sometimes, a man would be made known to the rulers of Lybaras through some great crime and his skills would be put to use, though he was bound for the scorpion pit. He would be given a number of days, allotted by the whim of Asaph, to complete a task. If he survived, and completed his task, he would shed his sin, as a snake sheds its skin. If he failed, Asaph would strike him down.’

  Djubti grabbed Felix’s arm in a grip that was at once cold and unyielding. ‘Stop squirming,’ he said. A guard took the casket from him, and he removed the golden asp. Before Felix could mount a protest, he slid it onto his arm. The snake’s jaws settled tightly over his wrist. It didn’t prevent movement, but every twitch caused his skin to rub against the asp’s mouth. Its body coiled tightly about his forearm like a gaudy bracer.

  ‘It’s heavy,’ Felix said, as he was released.

  ‘It should be,’ Djubti said. ‘It’s full of poison.’

  Felix blanched. ‘What?’

  ‘Poison squeezed from the finest temple asps,’ Djubti said. ‘You should feel honoured, barbarian. This is a royal poison, fit only for the veins of the worthy.’

  ‘Then find someone worthy to put it on,’ Felix said, clawing at the bracelet. ‘Get this thing off me!’

  ‘Should the allotted time run out before you have returned to Lybaras to receive judgement, the asp’s fangs shall slide into your flesh, and pump your veins full of death. You will die in agony in seven days, unless you return to Lybaras within that time,’ Khalida said. She gestured sharply, and the serpents that still held Gotrek’s struggling shape dissolved back into sand and blew away. The Slayer staggered forwards, off balance, and then stumped towards Felix. Roughly, he took the latter’s arm and examined it.

  ‘I’ve seen this sort of artifice before. The Arabayans have a device that they call the Riddle of Scorpions. This is something akin to that. It’s cunning, if primitive.’ Gotrek glowered at Khalida and snapped, ‘What is the meaning of this?’

  ‘It is simply to ensure that you do as we have asked,’ Khalida said. ‘Your own life means nothing to you, Doom-Seeker, else why would you seek to throw it away so heedlessly in battle? But his life – ah – that is a different story, isn’t it?’ She turned away and ascended back towards her throne. ‘Is his life worth your oath that you will return my sword to me?’ She sat down, and reclined, waiting for Gotrek’s answer.

  Gotrek snorted, ‘I was planning to do it anyway. I will return your toy to you, Serpent Queen, and then I will have the doom you’ve promised me, even if I have to take it out of your withered hide, one stripe at a time.’

  As statements of acquiescence went, Felix had heard better, but it seemed to satisfy Khalida, who tilted her head back and made a rasping sound that he had come to associate with laughter. Gotrek turned back to Felix and said, ‘Worry not, manling. You won’t die from this trinket’s sting.’

  Felix released a breath he hadn’t realised that he’d been holding. ‘Gotrek, I–’ he began.

  ‘Shut up,’ Gotrek said. ‘You’re lucky I need you. Otherwise, I’d leave you to your fate.’

  Felix took the hint and swallowed his thanks. He thought – he hoped – Gotrek was lying. After all, if the dwarf didn’t care, he wouldn’t have made the bargain that had brought them here in the first place. He’d saved Felix more than once, on this journey and others besides. Still, it stung somewhat, and he felt a pulse of the old, familiar anger. It was more trying than not, to be Gotrek’s companion.

  He prodded at the asp. He could see no sign of the artifice Gotrek had mentioned. To his eyes, it appeared to be all one piece. ‘Don’t fiddle with it,’ Zabbai said. ‘We wouldn’t want it to strike early, would we?’

  ‘We don’t want it to strike at all,’ Felix snapped. ‘You didn’t have to do this.’

  ‘No? And would the Slayer have agreed, otherwise?’ Zabbai said.

  ‘You don’t know Gotrek,’ Felix said.

  ‘No, we do not. Hence, the asp,’ she said, taking his wrist gently and tapping the golden bracelet. Felix pulled his hand away.


  ‘Is some sword really so important that you’d condemn an innocent man to death to get it back,’ he said. He almost choked on the word ‘innocent’, but it was true, as far as it went. He was no criminal, no matter what those wanted posters said.

  Neither was Gotrek, come to that, despite having Reckoners from at least three major dwarf holds, including Karak Kadrin, on his trail. It was one of life’s little jokes that though they had accomplished more good than bad, at least in Felix’s estimation, they were still regarded as outlaws.

  ‘Yes,’ Zabbai said.

  Felix heard something in her voice. He was coming to learn how to parse the faint fluctuations in the rasping monotone that all of the inhabitants of the Land of the Dead seemed to possess. Zabbai was worried, he thought, or concerned, at the very least. Before he could pry further, Djubti thumped the floor with his staff and croaked, ‘Your audience is at an end.’

  ‘Come, manling,’ Gotrek said. ‘I dislike the smell of these walking carcasses.’ The Slayer stumped towards the exit, shoving messengers and representatives out of his path with careless swings of his arms. Felix followed more slowly. Zabbai walked beside him.

  ‘We must make ready to leave,’ she said.

  ‘You’re going with us?’ Felix said.

  ‘Of course,’ Zabbai said. ‘Someone needs to ensure that you do as the queen commands.’ She sounded amused.

  ‘Then what in the name of Shallya’s sweet voice is this thing for?’ Felix nearly shrieked, shaking his forearm at her.

  ‘The queen is content to trust Djubti’s auguries,’ Zabbai said. She took his hand in a gentle grip and pushed it aside. ‘I am not. And as impressive as you and the Doom-Seeker are, you will need more shields at your sides than just that fool Antar, if you are to make it to the Temple of Skulls. Antar once led an army into a canyon with only a single entrance and became lost.’

  ‘So, you doubt the Lover of Lionesses’ ability to guide us?’ Felix said, amused despite himself. He felt his anger slowly ebbing, to be replaced by resignation. As situations went, he’d been in worse. At least it wasn’t a siege this time.