Jenna Helland - The Fanged Crown

Spluttering in pain as the shard slid all the way through its cheek, the Jumper reared back in confusion. Liel grabbed its elbow and yanked it back toward the railing. Sweeping her foot against its ankle, she knocked it completely off balance. It leaned precariously over the railing, and with a light push of Liel’s hand, it went tumbling over the edge and slammed into the ground where a pack of hissing niferns were milling around in front of the palace door. Excited by the scent of the creature’s blood, the frenzied animals ripped the yuan-ti’s limbs from its body.

Still in the doorway between the palace and the balcony, Boult blocked a blow that came at the side of his head, stopping the blade just before it slid into his ear. Skirting the edges of the combat with his crossbow, Harp threw a dagger at Boult’s attacker. The dagger sank deep into the yuan-ti’s shoulder, just outside the edge of its armor.

With the dagger still protruding from its skin, the yuan-ti flicked its long tongue angrily. The fingers on its damaged arm twitched spasmodically as it pulled the dagger free. It hissed and let the dagger fell to the ground. Holding the other dagger straight in front of it like a battering ram, the Jumper charged Harp, who raised his sword in a sweeping upward arc, but he was too slow. The yuan-ti coiled its body low and drove its fist toward Harp’s abdomen. Harp doubled up to protect his stomach, dropping his sword, and the dagger sliced into his arm just above the elbow.

With the blood from his arm dripping onto the ground, Harp slammed his boot into the yuan-ti’s leg, right above what he hoped was the creature’s knee. He heard a satisfying crunch as the leg twisted backward. The Jumper yelped and stumbled toward Boult, who had just parried a blow from another warrior.

“Boult! Spin!” Harp shouted

Without hesitating, Boult wheeled around, cutting Harp’s wounded Jumper across the chest. The dwarf spun full circle and resumed his fight with another warrior, who was startled by Boult’s sudden change of direction. Boult thrust his sword under the warrior’s arm near the shoulder. As he felt the blade slide into skin, Boult yanked down with such force that the straps securing the breastplate snapped and the warrior’s armor clattered to the floor. Boult’s sword sliced from armpit to hipbone, and the warrior slumped to the ground.

Kneeling on the ground with its broken leg twisted underneath him and gushing blood from its chest, the yuan-ti was done for as well. But before Harp could finish it off, the Jumper hissed at Harp, raised the dagger in its right hand, and stabbed itself in the neck. The creature crashed onto the floor with blood jetting out of its neck.

“Anais’s crown!” Harp swore. “Have I killed anything since we’ve been in Chult?”

“Of course you have,” Boult said reassuringly.

Verran and Liel were two-on-one with the last serpent warrior, who was backed into the corner against the railing. It was missing an eye and barely able to hold its remaining dagger. Harp pointed at them, but Boult gave an unconcerned shrug. Liel and Verran clearly had the situation in hand.

“Who? Who have I killed?” Harp demanded.

“Bootman?” Boult suggested, watching Verran slam the hilt of his sword against the Jumper’s skull. The creature crumpled to the ground.

“No, you shot an arrow through his throat.” Harp grumbled. “And Verran melted him. I don’t know who deserves credit, but it isn’t me.”

“Didn’t you kill a yuan-ti?” Boult asked. Together, Verran and Liel pushed the dazed yuan-ti over the railing to the pack of niferns waiting below.

“At the waterfall?” Harp asked. “No, Majida killed both of those.”

“I know,” Boult said, snapping his fingers. “You killed an ant.”

Harp gave him a dirty look. “Oh, thank goodness. For a moment, I felt like I had lost my manhood. Now I feel like a brute. You’re too kind.”

“It was a big ant,” Boult said.

Just as Verran and Liel turned away from the railing, a rumble shook the palace.

“Kitto!” Harp shouted.

But there was no sign of Kitto in the rushing, white-capped water, which rotated around the pillar, creating a giant whirlpool under the dome.

“We have to get him,” Harp said, moving to jump in the water.

Boult grabbed him. “No! You’re not going to find him in that.”

“Wait! The waterline is falling,” Liel said.

As the water disappeared down the hole in the floor of the hall, Harp shrugged off Boult and sprinted down to the ramp that led off the gallery and spiraled around the pillar. By the time he reached the dripping floor, the water was gone. Harp sprinted to where Kitto’s body lay near the door, his foot still tangled in the strap of the heavy pack.

“Kitto!” Harp said, kneeling by the boy’s body. “He’s not moving!”

Liel crouched beside Harp and laid her hand against Kitto’s cheek. “I can feel a heartbeat,” she told him. “But something else is wrong.”

Harp turned Kitto on his side to drain the water out of his mouth. But even then the boy didn’t move.

“He’s breathing!” Harp exclaimed. He could see a shallow movement beneath the boy’s tattered shirt. “Why isn’t he moving?”

Liel placed her hands on Kitto’s chest and closed her eyes. A faint white glow appeared around her fingertips, but after a moment, she pulled away with a pained expression on her face.

“I’m sorry,” she apologized. “I can’t heal him inside. Whatever is blocking my magic … I can’t do it.”

“Please,” Harp begged.

“It’s some kind of curse, Harp,” said Liel, reaching down and untangling Kitto’s foot from the backpack. “It isn’t a natural injury.”

“Then break the curse!”

“I can’t, Harp. At least not in the presence of the Torque.”

“Maybe Majida could help him,” Harp lifted Kitto off the ground as if he were a small child. “We can get him to the Domain, and she’ll heal him.”

“What about the Torque?” Boult asked. “We’ve drained the water; Tresco can walk in here and take it.”

“I don’t care about the damn Torque!” Harp snapped. “We need someone who can help Kitto. And if Majida can do it, then I’m going to find her.”

“Wait!” Verran pulled a vial of red liquid from under his tunic. “I can do it. I can do it with this.”

What is that?” Harp asked curiously.

“You can’t do magic in here,” Liel stated flatly.

“How powerful are you?” Boult demanded loudly.

All three had spoken at the same time, and Verran looked from one face to the next as if trying to decide whom he should answer first. Then he stared at the wet floor, looking very much like a schoolboy who had been caught doing mischief.

“It’s all right. We just don’t understand.” Liel assured him. She peered at the vial clutched in his fist. She could see the ornate golden stopper, but his fingers concealed the rest of the vial.

“It’s just something about the place.” Verran’s voice trembled. “I can feel the old magic.”

“What do you mean?” Liel asked.

“It’s revealing itself to me, just the way it did when I brought down the barrier in the tunnel. It’s revealing how to use it.”

“You know what these creatures were capable of doing,” Boult sputtered. “You’re channeling dark magic. What you’re sensing is death.”

“In death comes rebirth, you know that,” Verran protested.

Boult glared at him. “Is that what your father said? Because that’s how evil mages like to justify brutalizing the innocent.”