A month of travel. Even for a man like Brannok, it was a challenge. The dust that caked his skin, the biting cold of the nights, the torrid heat of the day, and the furtive glances of bandits lurking in the hills. Nothing new, but this time, the solitude weighed on him. Managing the horse, the provisions, standing watch every night… Doing everything alone over such a long distance tested even his legendary resilience.
"I should have joined a caravan," he grumbled to himself, wiping sweat from his brow.
Then, finally, it appeared on the horizon: the City of King Osric. Imposing, majestic, its walls of light stone reaching for the sky. But his gaze was immediately drawn to a scar on that landscape: a tower, or rather what remained of it. A stump of blackened stone, as if shattered by a titanic force.
The Serpent's Tower, he thought at once, a strange shiver running through him. That's it. Where it all began for him. Where Conan, Subotai, and Valeria stole the Ruby. The story told by the prostitute suddenly took on a tangible reality, made of stone and ashes.
As he approached the city's heavy gates, the commotion seemed abnormal. The line to enter was long, and the guards, far more numerous than usual, were conducting thorough searches.
His turn came. A guard with a grave expression signaled for him to stop.
"You!Dismount. Remove your cloak and tunic. And hand over your weapon."
Brannok, surprised, remained still in his saddle. "Why? What's the matter?" he asked, his gaze sweeping over the other travelers undergoing the same treatment with resignation.
The guard, seeing his genuine astonishment, seemed to soften a bit. He sighed.
"Orders from the Queen.Sorry, it's procedure for all new arrivals."
"The Queen?" Brannok repeated, confused. "And King Osric?"
The guard's eyes clouded with weariness, as if he'd had to repeat this a thousand times.
"You're not from here,that's clear. King Osric died two years ago. Of grief, some say. His daughter, the Princess who was saved from the cult's clutches, has taken the throne."
Brannok nodded slowly. The past was falling into place. Osric's daughter… the one his father had brought back.
The guard continued, lowering his voice as if not to be overheard by the other soldiers.
"The Queen has ordered the eradication of all remnants of the Cult of Set.But it's like a snake whose head you cut off: the body still writhes. A new sect, an offshoot, has appeared. They call themselves 'The Children of the Serpent.' They're more discreet, more insidious. They're identified by hidden tattoos on certain parts of the body. Hence the searches."
The guard shrugged slightly, almost apologetically.
"I'm sorry,stranger. Don't make our job harder. It's for everyone's safety."
Brannok stared at the guard for a moment, weighing the situation. Resisting would be pointless and draw unwanted attention. With a nod, he dismounted. He removed his heavy leather jacket, then his tunic, exposing his powerful torso, pale where the sun hadn't touched it, and studded with the scars left by the claws and fangs of his past adversaries. He had no tattoos.
He then drew the impressive Cimmerian greatsword and handed it, hilt first, to the guard. The man took it, visibly impressed by its weight and edge.
After a quick inspection of his belongings and his saddle, the guard returned his clothes and his weapon.
"Everything is in order.You may pass. Be careful in the city. Beware of the shadows."
Brannok pulled his tunic back on, took his sword, and remounted. He cast one last look at the destroyed tower before passing into the very heart of his father's history. The city was safe, but a new, creeping evil had been born from its ashes. His journey of discovery had just taken a darker, more personal turn. The Children of the Serpent… A name that rang like a challenge.