Chapter 4 – The Serpent’s Tongue

The oasis reeked of death. Even after the zealots fled, the husks remained, crumbling into sand that stained the water black. Traders whispered in corners, refusing to meet Kael’s eyes. Mothers pulled children away as if his shadow might burn them.

Kael tried not to notice. He scrubbed his hands raw in the murky water, but the stink of ash clung stubbornly. It wasn’t blood he couldn’t wash off. It was what the Blade had taken.

Behind him, Arinya argued with the caravan leader. “We need fresh mounts. Supplies. Weapons if you can spare them.”

The man shook his head, eyes darting Kael. “Not after what I’ve seen. You bring death with you. Take your cursed steel and begone.”

Kael’s jaw tightened. He wanted to shout that it wasn’t him, that it was the Blade—but what difference would it make? To them, there was no separation.

Arinya stalked back to him, lips pressed thin. “We ride at dawn. On what’s left of our supplies.”

Kael grunted. “Better than nothing.”

She glanced at his hands, still red from scrubbing. “It’s not your fault.”

He barked a laugh. “Tell that to the corpses.”

Her voice softened. “If you let it break you, Kael, the Blade wins. You can’t afford that.”

He didn’t answer. Because the truth was, a part of him wanted to let it win.

---

They left the oasis under starlight, avoiding eyes and questions. The desert stretched ahead, vast and merciless. By the second day, Kael felt the weight of silence pressing harder than the heat.

That night, camped in the lee of a dune, Arinya studied the fragment map by firelight. Her brows furrowed, lips moving silently as she traced symbols.

“What’s got your head in knots?” Kael asked, gnawing on dried meat that tasted like leather.

“The next resting place,” she murmured. “If I’m reading this right, we’re headed to the Serpent’s Spine.”

Kael snorted. “That ridge of cliffs that looks like a snake’s back? Dangerous ground. Raiders nest there.”

“Not just raiders.” Her eyes flicked up to his. “Legends say one of the Emperor’s warpriests was buried in the cliffs. With his Blade.”

Kael’s stomach sank. Another Blade.

The one he carried pulsed faintly at his side, as if it had overheard.

Find it. Take it. Feed me.

Kael’s throat went dry.

---

By the time they reached the Spine, the sun was a merciless coin overhead. The cliffs jutted from the desert like a massive stone serpent, ridges sharp as teeth.

Kael led the way up a winding path, hand never straying far from his weapon. The higher they climbed, the narrower the trail became—until it was nothing but a ledge hugging a sheer drop.

Arinya moved carefully behind him. “Keep your eyes sharp. This place is a haven for cutthroats.”

Kael grunted. “If I were one, I’d put an ambush right—”

The arrow came out of nowhere. He ducked instinctively, the shaft skimming past his ear.

“—there,” he finished grimly.

Figures rose along the ridgeline, bows drawn, blades gleaming. Raiders. At least twenty.

A voice called from above, smooth and mocking: “Travelers in my Spine. How rude.”

A tall man stepped into view, cloak snapping in the wind. His hair was shaved on one side, the other braided with bone beads. A scar split his cheek, and in his hand gleamed a curved saber.

“I am Veyran, Lord of the Spine,” he announced. “You trespass on my domain.”

Kael’s lip curled. “Funny, I don’t see your name carved in the rock.”

The raiders laughed. Veyran didn’t. He studied Kael with unsettling calm. “You carry something that belongs to me.”

Kael stiffened. “Do I now?”

“The Blade.”

The laughter died instantly. Arinya’s hand shot to her weapon, but Kael didn’t move. He met Veyran’s gaze, weighing him.

The man’s eyes weren’t hungry like the zealots. They were calculating. Cold.

Kael asked slowly, “And if I do?”

Veyran smiled faintly. “Then you and I should talk.”

---

They were disarmed and led into the raiders’ camp, a sprawl of tents wedged into a hollow in the cliffs. Smoke curled from cookfires, and weapons gleamed on racks. This was no ragged band. It was an army.

Veyran’s tent was larger than the rest, its walls hung with silks taken from looted caravans. He lounged on a pile of cushions, gesturing for Kael and Arinya to sit.

“Wine?” he offered smoothly.

Arinya folded her arms. “We’re not here for hospitality.”

Veyran ignored her, eyes fixed on Kael. “You’ve drawn it, haven’t you? Felt it to burn through your veins.”

Kael’s silence was answer enough.

Veyran leaned forward. “Good. Then you know what I know: the Blades aren’t weapons. They’re destiny. And destiny isn’t meant to be carried by priests and prophets. It belongs to those strong enough to wield it.”

Arinya’s voice was sharp. “You sound just like the Firebrand.”

At the name, Veyran’s smile widened. “Ah, the Prophet. A zealot with fire in his lungs and ashes in his brain. He gathers Blades for faith. I gather them for power.”

He looked at Kael, eyes gleaming. “And you, mercenary? What do you want?”

The Blade pulsed, answering for him. Power. Blood. Rule.

Kael forced his voice flat. “I want coins, food, and a place to sleep where arrows aren’t aimed at my head.”

Veyran laughed. “Then perhaps we can help each other. You seek the warpriest’s tomb, yes? I know where it lies. But such knowledge comes at a price.”

Arinya bristled. “What price?”

“Simple,” Veyran said smoothly. “Join me. Walk away from your scholar’s chains, from the Prophet’s flames. With my men and your Blade, we could claim every relic, every ruin. The desert would kneel before us.”

His words slid like oil, slick and dangerous.

Kael felt the Blade thrum with approval. Yes. Join him. Together, take them all.

He clenched his fists, heart hammering. For a moment, the vision burned too brightly: himself standing atop the Spine, Blades blazing at his side, no master, no fear—only power.

Arinya’s voice cut through, sharp as steel. “We’ll find the tomb without you.”

Veyran’s gaze flicked to her, then back to Kael. “Think carefully, mercenary. The desert chews up men like you. But stand with me, and you’ll be the one doing the chewing.”

Kael forced a smirk. “Tempting offer.” He leaned forward. “But here’s the problem: I don’t like snakes.”

Veyran’s smile froze.

Kael moved before anyone could blink—snatching the dagger from the table and driving it into the cushion beside Veyran’s hand. Raiders surged, but Veyran lifted a palm.

“Enough.” His voice is cold now. “Let them go. The Spine always takes what defies me.”

They were escorted out under a dozen watchful eyes. The cliffs seemed sharper now, the drop more eager.

As they mounted their horses, Arinya hissed, “You nearly got us killed.”

Kael’s mouth was dry. “Maybe. Or maybe we just learned what kind of game we’re playing.”

The Blade pulsed again, hungrier than ever. He is right. Together, you could be gods.

Kael’s knuckles whitened on the reins. “Shut up,” he muttered.

But deep down, he wasn’t sure if he meant Veyran… or the Blade.

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