Chronicles of Sunno: The Serpent's Door

He waited for a long while, lying behind a large gray granite stone, whose rounded shape had been carved by the passing of countless centuries under rain, cold, and wind. He had hidden Regino in a small nearby clearing, where some sparse grass grew that could keep the animal occupied for a while, while he kept watch.

The night was cold and clear, and the gusts of icy wind struck his face mercilessly, making his nose run and his eyes blur with tears. But it wasn't so bad, covered with a sturdy woolen blanket and sheltered among the large rocks. He had done worse watches in worse places.

From the elevation where he was, he could peek out and see almost the entire perimeter of Perro Celado, some three hundred yards below. He had been watching the little commotion caused by his escape, but the people who had decided to investigate soon got discouraged, partly because of the freezing wind and partly because they had been quick to cover up the traces of what had happened. As long as they didn't open the room Lysandra had occupied or look behind the hay bales in the stables, they wouldn't find anything. After an hour, it seemed that everything had returned to calm.

But there was still no news from Crab. Alaric knew something was wrong. The big man should have reached the inn by now, even if he had to take a detour to avoid some danger. Images of his friend trapped, tortured, or even worse, came to his mind. What if he had fallen into an ambush? What if he was already dead? He closed his eyes for a moment, letting his memory take him back to the day he had rescued him from the flames. At that moment, even he hadn't known why he had done it. Crab, or Sweetmouth as he had called himself back then, was a stranger and a member of the Crow's band, no less. He could have ignored his screams and fled, but something inside him had compelled him to go back into that inferno to save him, even at the risk of his own skin.

And the truth was, despite himself, Alaric couldn't look the other way if someone needed his help. He had tried to harden himself, to be colder and more inhuman. Because that do-gooder attitude always brought him more trouble than benefit. But the remorse of leaving someone to their fate was something that gnawed at him inside. He had been abandoned as soon as he came into this world. He had been denied the affection of family and friends. He knew how terrible that was, and for that reason, he did everything possible to prevent those around him from suffering the same fate.

A distant murmur began to rise above the continuous howling of the wind, pulling him out of those distracted thoughts. A faint noise at first, which gradually grew into a deep rumble mixed with the neighing of many horses and the voices of even more men. He cautiously peeked out and saw in the distance a dark, worm-like mass approaching along the path toward the inn. It was a column of soldiers, both mounted and on foot. He could make out the shapes of the banners in the wind and also discern the silhouette of a couple of wagons.

They took a while to reach the plain where the inn stood. There, the column halted, and he watched the soldiers, who, from that distance and in the shadows, looked like dark ants scurrying back and forth. He quickly estimated: about a hundred men on foot and another thirty on horseback. They were setting up camp, erecting several pavilions for the officers to rest in, even though the wind had decided not to make it easy for them. The troops, however, would have to sleep on some mat or blanket, under the open sky.

He also noticed a couple of mounted soldiers entering the inn's grounds and meeting a large, rotund figure that had come out to greet them. Gelthrán, no doubt. They were likely asking for accommodations for the high-ranking officers. Or inquiring about their scouts. Or both. After this, he tried to focus on the wagons, but given the darkness and distance, he could barely make out their shapes. Still, it seemed to him that one of them was like a cage with bars, and that someone or something was inside. Suddenly, a fearful doubt crossed his mind. Could it be Crab? What if they had captured him? What if they had forced him to talk? That would explain how they had managed to find them so easily. Maybe he should risk getting a bit closer to get a better look or wait for the clarity of dawn.

The two riders who had approached the inn returned to the main group and soon went back to the building, escorting a third rider. Despite the distance, he could clearly see the light from Las Damas reflected in the long blonde mane. The Count himself. This troop movement was no coincidence, then.

Alaric turned around to lean back against the rock again. What the hell could he do? He was almost sure that the figure inside the cage was Crab. And he had no idea how to help him.

“The night is cold, Alaric. Perhaps I could offer you some warmth.”

The soft, sweet voice made him jump in surprise, throwing the blanket aside. Standing on a raised rock was a female figure, looking at him with purple eyes that seemed to glow with their own light, like embers in the night. He recognized her immediately. The same terrible woman they had met in the castle with the Count. She was wearing the heavy dark cloak she had worn during their previous encounter, which barely moved with the wind, unlike her wavy red hair, which fluttered softly, almost as if it had a life of its own. He tried to get up quickly, instinctively reaching for his sword. But before he could do anything, the woman made an incredible leap, landing on top of him, placing her pale, bare foot on his chest. He lay there, almost unable to move. The pressure was enormous, as if several men were crushing him at once.

“Please, don’t get up, there's no need,” she said with a hint of mockery.

“How…?” Alaric began to say, surprised. According to Edel, this woman was just an image, like a ghost. But the foot on his chest felt very real.

“I am no longer a mere shadow in the mind of a deranged boy, my dear Alaric. With each moment I spend away from those witches, my presence in this place becomes stronger and more tangible,” she replied, as if reading his thoughts.

“How did you find me?”

“I was sure you would be waiting for your friend and wouldn't be far. And I see many things your eyes cannot see.”

“What do you want? And who is in that cage?” Alaric asked angrily. He tried to move again but with little success.

“You know perfectly well who we have locked up in there. That huge man you call Crab. Or Brisur, whichever you prefer. We found him on the way. Bad horse for running away. And he led us here, like a faithful dog,” the woman said, looking disdainfully toward the camp.

“Damn you. If you’ve done anything to him...”

“He’s a simple man, with a simple mind,” she continued, ignoring him. “It wasn't hard for me to extract the information from him. But you were clever, telling him only part of your plan. I know the old woman is still on the run, though I don’t know where she’ll hide.”

“Well, if you expect me to tell you, you can just sit down and wait,” Alaric retorted defiantly. To which the woman responded with a sigh:

“No, my dear. I’m tired of playing cat and mouse. I’ll make you a deal. I won’t tell the Count that you’re here. I’ll let you go. Free as a bird.”

“How kind of you. And in exchange, you damned demon?”

The woman lifted her foot off Alaric's chest and brought the back of her hand to her mouth to hide her soft laugh.

“Demon... that concept amuses me. Your arbitrary view of good and evil. Angels and Demons. Divine messengers. Gods. It’s all a matter of perspective. The thief is a villain to his victim, but a hero to his family. You should know this well,” the woman continued, casting a mischievous look at Alaric and slightly opening her cloak, revealing some of her voluptuousness. “In the world I come from, there are no such dilemmas. There’s only me. I am good, evil, and everything in between. There is no interpretation, no opinion, no partial view. Things are as they are. Me, or nothing. I am Order. The Balance.”

“Well, if you like your world so much, stay in it and leave us alone,” Alaric replied, carefully sitting up.

“Oh, I’m sorry, dear. The truth is, I was very happy in my home, under the blessing of ignorance,” she continued, turning her back to him and exploring the place with little interest. “Until they brought me to this strange and disordered world. You see, I cannot stand chaos. The mere knowledge that everything here is so anarchic and confusing is unbearable and inconceivable to me. I must bring order to this place if I wish to rest. To put it simply, your world is like a rash to me. I will not know peace again until I cure it.”

“Well, I’m sorry our existence troubles you so much,” Alaric replied sarcastically. “You haven’t answered me. What do you want in exchange for letting me go?”

"Simply take a message to that old witch. I will wait for her at the Temple of Vanar-Gash in five days."

"Do you really think Edel will voluntarily expose her life?"

"I'm sure of it. With each passing day, I grow stronger, and she grows more decrepit and weak. She can hide for the rest of her life if she wants, but there will come a time when she will die of old age. As you can see, time is on my side."

"When that happens, Lysandra..."

The woman turned back to him, widening her eyes in a feigned expression of surprise, laughing without any restraint.

"Really? Ha, ha, ha! Of course, I get it now. She hasn't told you. Well, well. It seems that good old Edel has her secrets, too."

"What secrets?" he asked, irritated by the woman's reaction.

"Lysandra is not that old woman's daughter. Neither is Zarinia. The line of the Guardians will die with her," the redhead replied, stepping closer to Alaric. He took a step back but found the rock behind him.

"What do you mean?"

"That old hag has fooled you, just like everyone else," she said, whispering in his ear as she placed her hands on his chest. Her tone dripped with scorn and mockery. "That woman was never able to have children on her own. She stole them when they were babies. First the innocent Lysandra, and as she wasn't satisfied with just one, she also stole little Zarinia. Poor girls. And poor mothers, the pain they must have felt when their little ones were taken from them. The funny part will be when she dies, and they realize neither is the true guardian."

"You're lying. You're playing with me," Alaric said, uncomfortable, trying unsuccessfully to push her away.

"Believe me or not, I don't care. But ask her the next time you see her. Maybe then you'll realize you're betting on the losing horse," she whispered, leaning in until her cold breath brushed his ear. Her voice was like thick, dark poison. "Are you willing to sacrifice yourself for someone who hides such important things from you?"

"They are real sorceresses. I've seen their magic."

"Of course they are. They possess great power; Edel didn't choose them at random. But they are not the heirs of the Guardian. They don't share the same blood. That's why they couldn't do anything against me in the castle. But it doesn't matter. Keep believing that dirty old woman," she replied as her caresses moved lower, and she began to kiss Alaric's neck.

"You're only talking nonsense. You're trying to manipulate me, just like you did with the Count."

"That might be, I'm not denying it. But why are you so tense? Do you not like this body? This form I have now was found in poor Marcell's mind. An idealized image of what his sister would be like if she were still alive. What do you think? I find it pleasing. But perhaps you'd prefer me in a different form. How about this?"

And in an instant, the image of the seductive red-haired woman was gone from Alaric's sight. Her body had changed. Now she was taller and slimmer. Her hair was long, straight, and dark. Her features were sharper. And her expression had that same elegant, haughty demeanor he already knew. But the eyes that looked at him lacked the olive color of the real Lysandra's. It was still that lustful gaze, those purple embers that betrayed her true self.

"Stop this nonsense. I only have business dealings with that woman. I find her insufferable," he lied. But a shadow of doubt crossed his mind for a brief moment. What if she was right? What if Edel was hiding something from him?

"Who's lying to whom? Fine," she said, pulling away from him and laughing. "Let's get back to the matter at hand. Relay my message to the old woman. I'll see you at the temple in five days."

It was no longer Lysandra speaking to him. It was Lenna the redhead once more.

"Release Crab, and maybe I'll consider it."

"I'm afraid not, dear. I need him so that you'll come to rescue him. You're that predictable. You know where to find him."

"Of course, I do. I'll do anything to free him. But I swear if you hurt him..."

"I already have. What will you do?" she answered indifferently. "Now leave. Remember, five days to meet me at the temple. On the sixth, forget about rescuing him. But I'm sure you won't disappoint me and will arrive on time. See you soon, my dear Alaric. The paladin defender of the dispossessed. You amuse me so much..."

Lenna began to move away, fading into the darkness. Like a whisper in the wind, leaving him alone with his thoughts and desperation. He would go to find Lysandra and the others. There was little else he could do. And Edel had a lot of explaining to do.