to the Night Serpent, remember?” Shaking his lupine head, Af slithered across the plaza, into another alley.
At Perdix’s prompting, Gwydion struggled to his feet, then set off at a jog after the brutish denizens. He soon found himself padding through grim streets crowded with the faceless, emotionless shades of the elder False. The sight of so many damned to an eternity without hope or love or fear sickened Gwydion, but there was something about his surroundings that preyed in more subtle ways on the sell-sword’s mind. The buildings, the streets, even the humid, stinking air seemed just as cold and hopeless as the souls of the damned. Something inside Gwydion warned him the city itself would try to leach away any true emotions he would feel if he shook off the shroud of despair that had settled over him.
At last the boroughs gave way to an uneven field of rubble, beyond which lay the city’s heart - Bone Castle itself.
Gwydion and the denizens struggled through the shattered stone and twisted metal to the mouth of a vast cave, near the oozing river that served as the castle’s moat. Stalactites and stalagmites lined the gaping hole like stone teeth. Orange steam hissed between the jagged points in a steady, sibilant flow, and dark water from the River Slith pooled around the entrance. The ground underfoot was marshy and foul.
Af clamped a hand on Gwydion’s shoulder. “Stay behind me and keep your mouth shut,” the denizen ordered gruffly.
Gwydion watched as Perdix flew to the cavern’s mouth and called out. “Envoys from Lord Cyric,” the little denizen announced, his voice quavering noticeably. “Mistress Dendar?”
A grating sound echoed from the cave as something enormous shifted position. Two eyes appeared in the darkness. They were the sickly yellow-black of rotten eggs, with slitlike pupils. “What do you want with the Night Serpent?” she hissed.
“Lord Cyric wishes us to search your cave,” Perdix explained meekly, crouching behind a stalagmite. “There is a shade hiding-“
“Ah. He is hunting Kelemvor again, is he?” the thing sighed.
Gwydion thought he saw a flash of blood-drenched fangs in the cave’s murk. The sight stirred some vague horror in him, resurrected some long-forgotten terror.
“Your master fears his old friend - or was he a foe?” The Night Serpent chuckled. “I don’t think Cyric himself remembers.”
“Lord Cyric fears nothing,” Af growled.
“I have reason to know otherwise.” A square snout edged closer to the mouth of the cave. The Serpent’s scales glowed with a thousand hypnotic hues of darkness. “The unremembered nightmares of gods belong to me as much as those of mortals… and Kelemvor Lyonsbane haunts Cyric’s nightmares. He frequently leads a revolt in the City of Strife, a revolt that brings your prince low.”
The Night Serpent tilted her head slightly. “But, come, you may search my cave. I have nothing to hide from Cyric, least of all his nightmares.”
Perdix started forward tentatively while Af grabbed Gwydion with one hand and climbed boldly into the cave. Light from the swirling crimson sky reached shallowly into the murk, revealing a wide stone floor littered with bones. Only the tip of the Night Serpent’s snout was visible, but it was as large as a noble’s town house in the richest part of Suzail. The yellow eyes seemed to hover in the darkness, twin pools of cunning and malice.
Those eyes focused on Gwydion as he entered the cave. The slitted pupils dwarfed the trembling soul. “I was sorry to see you die, Gwydion,” the Night Serpent hissed. “Your nightmares were delicious.”
“B-But I never had nightmares,” the sell-sword replied meekly.
The bloody fangs flashed again - a smile, perhaps? “If you’d remembered them, dear Gwydion, I couldn’t have made them mine.” The Night Serpent tilted her head slightly. “Come, now. Has the world grown so smug that you know nothing of Dendar the Night Serpent? Don’t
At Perdix’s prompting, Gwydion struggled to his feet, then set off at a jog after the brutish denizens. He soon found himself padding through grim streets crowded with the faceless, emotionless shades of the elder False. The sight of so many damned to an eternity without hope or love or fear sickened Gwydion, but there was something about his surroundings that preyed in more subtle ways on the sell-sword’s mind. The buildings, the streets, even the humid, stinking air seemed just as cold and hopeless as the souls of the damned. Something inside Gwydion warned him the city itself would try to leach away any true emotions he would feel if he shook off the shroud of despair that had settled over him.
At last the boroughs gave way to an uneven field of rubble, beyond which lay the city’s heart - Bone Castle itself.
Gwydion and the denizens struggled through the shattered stone and twisted metal to the mouth of a vast cave, near the oozing river that served as the castle’s moat. Stalactites and stalagmites lined the gaping hole like stone teeth. Orange steam hissed between the jagged points in a steady, sibilant flow, and dark water from the River Slith pooled around the entrance. The ground underfoot was marshy and foul.
Af clamped a hand on Gwydion’s shoulder. “Stay behind me and keep your mouth shut,” the denizen ordered gruffly.
Gwydion watched as Perdix flew to the cavern’s mouth and called out. “Envoys from Lord Cyric,” the little denizen announced, his voice quavering noticeably. “Mistress Dendar?”
A grating sound echoed from the cave as something enormous shifted position. Two eyes appeared in the darkness. They were the sickly yellow-black of rotten eggs, with slitlike pupils. “What do you want with the Night Serpent?” she hissed.
“Lord Cyric wishes us to search your cave,” Perdix explained meekly, crouching behind a stalagmite. “There is a shade hiding-“
“Ah. He is hunting Kelemvor again, is he?” the thing sighed.
Gwydion thought he saw a flash of blood-drenched fangs in the cave’s murk. The sight stirred some vague horror in him, resurrected some long-forgotten terror.
“Your master fears his old friend - or was he a foe?” The Night Serpent chuckled. “I don’t think Cyric himself remembers.”
“Lord Cyric fears nothing,” Af growled.
“I have reason to know otherwise.” A square snout edged closer to the mouth of the cave. The Serpent’s scales glowed with a thousand hypnotic hues of darkness. “The unremembered nightmares of gods belong to me as much as those of mortals… and Kelemvor Lyonsbane haunts Cyric’s nightmares. He frequently leads a revolt in the City of Strife, a revolt that brings your prince low.”
The Night Serpent tilted her head slightly. “But, come, you may search my cave. I have nothing to hide from Cyric, least of all his nightmares.”
Perdix started forward tentatively while Af grabbed Gwydion with one hand and climbed boldly into the cave. Light from the swirling crimson sky reached shallowly into the murk, revealing a wide stone floor littered with bones. Only the tip of the Night Serpent’s snout was visible, but it was as large as a noble’s town house in the richest part of Suzail. The yellow eyes seemed to hover in the darkness, twin pools of cunning and malice.
Those eyes focused on Gwydion as he entered the cave. The slitted pupils dwarfed the trembling soul. “I was sorry to see you die, Gwydion,” the Night Serpent hissed. “Your nightmares were delicious.”
“B-But I never had nightmares,” the sell-sword replied meekly.
The bloody fangs flashed again - a smile, perhaps? “If you’d remembered them, dear Gwydion, I couldn’t have made them mine.” The Night Serpent tilted her head slightly. “Come, now. Has the world grown so smug that you know nothing of Dendar the Night Serpent? Don’t
Similar Books
