Serpent King’s Castle is a sword-and-sorcery-inspired fantasy tale. Wulf Almsson is a city guardsman torn between duty to a tyrant king and love for the people quietly rising against him—until he discovers the king is an inhuman serpent.
Blackmailed into helping a rebellion he never chose, Wulf must decide how much of himself he’s willing to lose to save a city already sliding toward ruin.
He knew why they called him ‘Wulf’. It was for the necklace his mother had left him with, when she’d placed him on the chapel steps as a baby. The wolf’s head coin on a leather cord that he still wore tucked under his tunic and breastplate.
It was more than that, though. It was as if his mother had fated something upon him, by placing that cord around his neck. His hair was thick and coarse, bristling like a wolf’s hackles, and peppered with white among the brown, though he was only a few years above twenty. He currently wore it long, pulled into a tail when he was working. His eyes were a yellow-brown, sharp and quick-sighted. Wulf rarely missed anything, from a new face in Castle Town, to a slim, tanned hand slipping into his fellow guardsman’s pocket.
“Hey now,” he growled, catching the wrist of the street urchin and pulling him away.
The boy glared up at him, eyes narrowed in defiance. He very deliberately spat at Wulf, the spittle splattering against his breastplate. Wulf jerked back, but didn’t let go of the urchin’s wrist.
“Stop that,” he snapped. Wulf didn’t recognize him, but then, he didn’t recognize half of the kids he saw nowadays. So many people had flooded into the town over the last few years, as farms failed with a poor harvest two years running, and their subsistence being taken for the king’s stores. Wulf scanned the market square. If he could find someone who could take guardianship of the kid...
Too late.
His partner, Julen, had finally roused himself enough to notice the noise. Julen turned, grinning at the kid. “Caught a sneak thief, did you, Wulf?”
The kid’s face went from defiant to pale in an instant. Julen’s sneering grin was enough to make anyone uncomfortable, but framed by the beast-head helmet of the city guard, the look was even more sinister. Wulf fought the urge to wrap his arm around the kid’s shoulders. What did the little urchin think would happen? That he’d get away with pickpocketing one of the Guard?
Julen glanced at Wulf, then reached for the whip coiled at his belt.
The kid made a panicked squeak and kicked Wulf on the side of his shin. Wulf yelped and let go of the kid’s wrist.
The urchin dashed down an alley and was gone in an instant.
Julen frowned. “You shouldn’t let them go like that.”
“He kicked me!”
“It couldn’t have hurt that bad, it was half on your greave.”
Wulf suppressed a grin. It hadn’t hurt, but it had been a good excuse. He leaned over and rubbed his leg, grumbling under his breath. After a moment, Julen rolled his eyes and leaned back against the empty market booth they stood by, re-settling his spear in the crook of one arm.
Wulf straightened. “What would you do to them, Julen? A beating isn’t going to help, not when half the kids in the city are starving. And once they’ve offended multiple times? You can hardly string up a kid on the gallows just because they’re hungry.”
“Last I hear, a kid’s neck will stretch as easily as an adult’s,” Julen growled. He poked Wulf in the shoulder. “You watch yourself, mate. You’re starting to sound like you sympathize with them. Going soft. You know what happens to those who go soft.”
Wulf held back a sigh and rubbed a hand along the back of his neck. “You’re right,” he said quietly. “Maybe a lash or two would do them good.” He had to swallow down the disgust that rose in his gut to say it. But Julen was right. Captain Royse thought he’d weeded out all the men like Wulf a long time ago...those who couldn’t handle crushing any sedition under the heels of their boots, even if the sedition looked as tame as someone whispering that the king worked them too hard, or taxed them too much.
Wulf turned his attention back to the market square. No one seemed to have noticed the kid, even though he and Julen stood alone at the entrance to the square. It was quiet today, like most other market days since the drought. A few stalls stood open at the far end, next to the dry, cracked marble fountain. A small knot of twenty or so townsfolk browsed the stalls, or stood in knots of two and three to gossip and chat. All of them seemed to be doing their level best to ignore him and Julen, which suited Wulf just fine. He’d spent the first couple of years of the new king’s reign getting cursed and spat at as the penalties for breaking the smallest laws got harsher and harsher. The townsfolk couldn’t reach the king, but they could reach the city guard.
Although since the fire in the West Quarter a year ago, the townsfolk had seemed more cowed. The curses and spittle had died down to glares and mutters as guardsmen walked past.
Wulf hadn’t been one of the ones setting the fires... He swallowed again, trying to rephrase the thought in his head. Dealing with the insurrectionists, Captain Royse would phrase it. Even in his private thoughts, he had to take care.
He scanned the stalls’ meager offerings, noting the withered root vegetables and fruits. There were certainly plenty of wild berries and foraged greens on offer, thankfully...summer was a blessing for the commoners, because even the king’s take didn’t extend to what everyone but the needy considered to be weeds. Wulf was mildly surprised that there were any berries for sale at all. Usually the best foods went to the castle, though they certainly didn’t end up in the barracks’ kitchen.
Julen leaned against the market stall, packing his pipe full of tobacco. The summer sun was harsh, beating down on them both, heating the inside of Wulf’s metal breastplate and helmet until he felt like he was sitting in the hot springs that fed the barracks bath house. He shuffled back into the shade of the wall and pulled off his helmet, tucking it under one arm. He wiped his forehead, leaving a slick of sweat along his forearm. His hair was plastered to the back of his neck. He lifted his ponytail away from his back.
“Gonna get in trouble with Captain Royse, if he sees you out of uniform,” Julen muttered.
“I don’t think even the captain would fancy his guards cooked inside their armor,” Wulf replied. He scanned the market stalls again. “I’m going to go buy a basket of berries.”
“Wouldn’t trust they aren’t spit on,” Julen said.
“I think I can endure a little spit. When’s the last time you had sun-ripened berries?” Wulf shot back. He stepped toward the stalls, jingling the purse at his side to make his purpose clear.
The shoppers eyed him suspiciously, but let him pass unmolested as he made his way to the stall with the berries. Wulf smiled at the old farmer, and was gratified to have her smile in return. He looked through her offerings, all presented in small, handwoven pine needle baskets. Blackberries, dewberries, strawberries, and raspberries all glistened in the sun, all of them looking fat and succulent. Wulf picked out a basket of mixed dewberries and raspberries, his favorites, and handed over a copper to the woman.
“Bless you, Almsson,” she said, slipping the coin into her apron.
He hadn’t realized she knew his name. Wulf smiled at her and was about to turn away when he noticed the parchment pinned to the price board of an abandoned stall a few steps away. Wulf stepped toward it, and out of the corner of his eyes, he noticed the crowd around him stiffen. His stomach sank as he quickly read the bold letters inked on the parchment.
A king who steals from his own people is no king at all!
Down with the pretender!
Stand up for yourself and your family!
As Wulf stared at the parchment, the breeze blew from the west, bringing the smell of long-burning fires to his nose. He bit the inside of his lower lip.
“Wulf?” Julen called. “What is it?”
“It’s--” Wulf turned, started to shout back that it wasn’t anything for Julen to concern himself with. A motion caught his eyes across the square.
The town potion-maker, Ari, and her granddaughter, Dyani, were standing at one of the far booths. While Ari was busy negotiating, Wulf saw Dyani’s hand slip something parchment-colored into the bag at her side. His stomach twisted into a knot. Dyani, I’d warned you…
“Wulf?”
In his distraction, Julen had walked up beside him. His eyes darted to the sign, and in an instant, his face twisted into a scowl. He ripped the parchment free, crumpling it in his fist. His voice boomed over the square. “Who put this up here?”
In an instant, the conversation in the square died. The townsfolk all turned to face them, some of them stepping back so they were all huddled in one group, several steps away from the two city guards. Wulf’s stomach knotted as he scanned their faces--these were mostly women, children, a few young or old men, just trying to feed their families.
“Julen--” he said, putting his hand on his partner’s arm.
Julen shrugged away and took a step toward the crowd. “Do you think this is funny?” He held the crumpled parchment up in a clenched fist. “Who is spreading treason against our king?”
When no one spoke, Julen lunged at a nearby woman and knocked a basket out of her hand, scattering fresh berries across the ground. The woman flinched back from Julen, one hand covering her mouth.
An older man stepped forward, holding his hands up. “Peace, guardsman. We know nothing of this treason.”
“Liar!”
As Julen continued to shout his abuse, Wulf noticed several people in the crowd glancing over at him. He hunched his shoulders, folding his arms over his chest. As much as he wanted to stop Julen from doing anything, he knew that stepping in would risk his job. There were only so many times Julen--or the captain--would tolerate disobedience of the laws.
“I didn’t tell you that you could leave,” Julen shouted.
Wulf looked up. Ari and Dyani had taken a few steps away from the fringes of the crowd, edging for a street exit. Julen shoved his way through the crowd and stepped in front of them, glaring at them.
“Ari, isn’t it?” he sneered. “The apothecary.”
Years of sitting at a workbench brewing potions had left Ari hunched and in need of a cane, but few dared called her ‘old’ or ‘feeble’ to her face. She stared levelly up at Julen, her black eyes snapping. “Aye.”
“And this is your granddaughter?” Julen’s eyes roved over Dyani, and his lips twisted. “What’s your name, love?”
Wulf’s fingers tightened into fists.
“Dyani,” she replied, her tone as calm and brisk as her grandmother’s. If Julen had been expecting her to blush or look away, like so many of the women did when they caught the attention of a guardsman, he’d tried to pick the wrong woman.
“Why were you attempting to leave?” Julen demanded, taking another step toward Dyani.
Her back stiffened. “My grandmother can’t stand for long--it’s her hip. She needs to go home.”
“Don’t you care, Dyani, about the treasonous words found in this market?” Julen asked, his voice soft and dangerous. “Don’t you care that we might have a dangerous rebel in our midst, disrupting the peace of our home?”
Someone in the crowd said loudly, “Reading a parchment ain’t treason, guardsman.”
Julen turned to face the crowd, his hand going to the whip at his belt. He let the knots at the end of the leather slip through his fingers as he stared, trying to find the speaker. “Isn’t it? I don’t know that the king’s law agrees with your assessment.” He stepped forward, gripping the shoulder of a young man. “Let’s see if you rebels can remain cowards, eh?”
Wulf let out a groan under his breath, then stepped forward. He grabbed Julen’s arm, stopping him from uncoiling his whip. “That’s enough. We can’t start beating random people for a crime no one has committed.”
Julen’s grip on the woman’s shoulder loosened, and he glanced at Wulf. Wulf swallowed hard at the sight of the rage and--even worse--the feverish glee alight in Julen’s eyes. He could feel the way Julen trembled under his grip, like a bloodthirsty animal on a leash, waiting for the signal to tear into an innocent. Wulf pushed him back another step, his fist tightening in a twist of Julen’s shirt sleeve, not dropping his gaze from Julen’s eyes.
After a moment, Julen looked away, his body slouching.
Wulf relaxed his grip and turned to the crowd. “Go home. Curfew starts now.” He made eye contact with Dyani, long enough to let her know that he’d seen her. That his words were meant for her. “Go home.”
He could hear soft grumbling as the crowd dispersed. Curfew was already at sunset, and he’d just started it two hours early. No one would be happy with him about that--there was still plenty of daylight for shopping, gardening, feeding animals--and he’d ruined that.
Wulf waited until the last townsfolk had disappeared from the square before releasing Julen’s shirt. “Let’s go,” he said, turning away. “We need to spread the word of the early curfew, and tell the captain about the poster before--”
Julen hit him, hard, in the lower back.
Wulf staggered forward, dropping his helmet as he flailed to stay upright. His hip hit the edge of a stall counter, and he grabbed at it, bracing his hands on the splintering wooden surface. He took a second, catching his breath, then turned, still leaning against the stall. He could already feel a deep ache spreading up his side, foretelling an ugly bruise.
Julen stood flexing his fists for a moment, glowering at him. “You let them go,” he stated.
Wulf nodded slowly. “You can’t--”
Julen grabbed the rim of Wulf’s breastplate, shoving him back against the stall again, hard enough that Wulf’s head snapped against the boards. He gritted his teeth to hold back a yelp of pain.
“You’ve always been a sympathizer,” Julen snarled. “I’ve put up with this long enough. But if you’re going to start letting treason slide--”
“Let go of me.”
The ice Wulf put in his tone was, thankfully, enough to make Julen back off a little. Wulf straightened, holding back a wince as scrapes on his back rasped against his rough tunic.
“You can’t beat an entire square of townsfolk, Julen,” Wulf said quietly. “You might have gotten a few lashes in, but sooner or later they were going to realize we were only two guardsmen. You can’t push people to their breaking limit.”
“So you’re saying you’re a coward? That it was self-preservation?”
“I’m saying it was common sense.”
“Bullshit.” Julen jabbed his finger into Wulf’s chest. “I saw you the night the Western Quarter burned. I saw the tears on your face as the houses collapsed. You were letting people flee right past you.”
“What was I supposed to do, shove people back into the blaze?” Wulf’s throat tightened. He could still taste the smoke, thick on his tongue, and feel the heat of the alchemical fire his skin. He thought he’d been safe in that moment, that he could let the splinters in his loyalty show. At least Julen hadn’t seen the times he’d stepped into the quarter to help people get out.
“We were supposed to be weeding out insurrectionists,” Julen snapped.
“By burning an entire quarter full of innocents?”
Julen threw his hands in the air. “You know what? Why do I bother. If you’re going to sympathize with the peasants, maybe I should let the captain deal with you.” He turned, stalking out of the square.
Wulf considered--just for a moment--leaving his helmet lying on the cobblestones. Walking away. Leaving the city, finding somewhere else to live, pretending that this whole problem no longer existed. Instead, he sighed, scooped up his helmet, and followed Julen out of the square.
Thank you for reading this installment of Serpent King’s Castle!
An intriguing start!