Where Serpents Strike (Children of the Falls Vol. 1) (18 page)

Brayden first went to investigate
Broderick’s lean-to, though he was unsure of what he could find
that Dana hadn’t already looked for. Father had always called her a
good detective. Her sharp eyes and keen mind missed little.

He lifted Broderick’s jacket off the ground.
“Wherever he went he wasn’t planning to go far,” he said.

“Can’t believe I missed that,” Dana
muttered.

Brayden walked to the next shelter where he
saw Preston Stonefield squatting over a basin of water. The boy had
suspended a leather jacket over a series of sticks he’d stabbed
into the earth, forming a bowl in which he could wash his hands.
Brayden had known Preston for years and was always impressed by his
ingenuity, even if the young man was always a little too pristine
and refined to ever be much fun.

“Have you seen Broderick?” he asked.

Preston stood, wetting his wavy brown hair
back with his hands. “I saw him and Clint heading off into the
woods around dawn.”

Dana yelped when an upside down head swung
past her ear. “Why didn’t you say anything, you halfwit?” it
said.

Dana scurried back.

Hanging by his knees from a branch,
Preston’s twin brother, Ashton, whom everybody simply called Nash,
crossed his arms. He looked at his brother. “You saw them headed
off and you didn’t say anything?”

“They had Pick’s bow with them,” Preston
said. “I thought they were going off to hunt.”

“Broderick hates using a bow,” Brayden
said.

“And Clint couldn’t hit a hay bale an arm’s
width away from him,” Dana added.

Nash back flipped out of the tree and cast a
curious look at Dana. “I hope you don’t talk like that about me
when I’m not around.” He winked at her.

“You scare me like that again and I’ll punch
you in the nose,” Dana said.

“Did you see where they went?” Brayden
asked.

Preston pointed in the general direction of
the glade’s northern edge. Brayden hurried toward the trees with
Dana and the twins in tow.

The four of them continued north, working
their way up a gradual hillside packed with aromatic evergreens
that, after a ways, spilled out into a sparse forest of maples and
white birches.

“‘I thought they were going off to hunt,’”
Nash repeated. “I can’t believe you actually thought those two
would be doing something productive.”

“Are they not allowed to hunt?” Preston
asked.

“And why would they do that? Because they’re
such responsible, upstanding young men? Have you listened to more
than five words out of Clint’s mouth lately? That lug can
transna ort felin
!”

“Nash!” Dana scolded.

“Watch your tongue in front of the lady,”
his brother said.

“Bah!”

The twins had been polar opposites for as
long as Brayden had known them. Where Preston liked to be clean and
have his leather polished, Nash would roll in the mud and then give
his brother a hug just to spite him. They shared little
resemblance. Preston was taller, paler, with brighter eyes and wavy
hair. Nash kept his hair short, which made it stand straight up on
the top of his head. They bickered about everything and exchanged
insults like most people swapped jokes.

Brayden continued to lead the way,
circumventing a cold fresh-water brook where dragonflies buzzed
until he found a narrow place to hop across.

Over the next rise he found Broderick and
Clint hovering over a dead fox. The animal lay next to a crude
wooden trap—presumably the trap that had caught it—with its head
crushed, the evidence of its gruesome demise on a nearby bloody
rock. Clint was in the process of gutting it with a short
dagger.

“There you are,” Dana said, relieved.

“What are you doing?” Brayden asked. He
couldn’t help but notice that Broderick seemed a little pale,
almost nervous.

“Clint caught this yesterday,” Broderick
said. “He wanted a bow to shoot it with.”

Brayden counted the three arrows that had
been plunged into the dirt around the wooden trap.

Dana raised an amused eyebrow. “Looks like
someone needs to work on their aim.”

Clint Brackenrig shot her a dirty look over
his husky shoulder, but said nothing.

“Breakfast?” asked Nash.

“This is mine,” Clint said. “I caught it. I
killed it.”

“We have to share, Clint,” Brayden said.

“Who says? Khalous? He’s your Shield
Captain, not mine.” The boy’s tone was tinged with contempt.

“He saved your life, too,” Brayden said. “We
all have to rely on each—”

An arrow whisked through the air and struck
a white birch trunk near Dana’s head. The arrow rattled to a sudden
stop, bringing their conversation to an equally abrupt end.
Brayden’s eyes flitted from the arrow to its source atop an
adjacent ridge where he saw Khalous standing, his bow in hand. The
captain raised a single finger to his lips.

With obvious caution that made Brayden
fearful, Khalous crept his way down into the gap between the
hillsides followed by Moreland Fields and Connell Stone. He hiked
up to where Brayden and the others were gathered.

“The lot of you bicker loud enough to be
heard in Aberdour,” he whispered through clenched teeth. He
motioned back the way he had come. “There is a road over that ridge
with a brood of black vipers riding by.”

Khalous’ voice carried just enough alarm and
anger to make Brayden’s heart pump just a little bit faster.

“Their ship probably landed north of us a
few days ago,” he continued. “They’re taking the Merchant’s Road to
Galori and they’ll be all over this province in a few days. We need
to move out.”

The captain led the way back to camp at a
brisk jog. He extinguished the makings of an early fire that
Placidous had started. He then informed the priest and Ariella of
what he had seen.

“Where are we going to go?” Dana asked.

“The Chapel of Gis,” Placidous
suggested.

“The what?” asked Pick.

“What Efferousians call Halus Gis. It is
where I hail from. It is a community of faithful followers of the
Allgod. They will give us shelter.”

“A monastery?” Pick asked. “Is it far?”

“Ten days. It is set on the northern cliffs
far off the main road. The high king’s soldiers are not likely to
go there.”

“Savages,” said Sister Ariella, her tone
infused with fear. “Dragon devils. Mountain trolls. That’s what
lies between us and Halus Gis. The wilds of Efferous are a
dangerous—”

“There are no dragon devils this far north,”
Khalous said. “And most savages dwell inland closer to fresh water.
We’ll stay close to the shores and the northern cliffs.”

“Can we risk moving the wounded?” Pick
asked.

“We will have to,” Khalous said.

He ordered Pick to scout ahead and ensure
that the brood had moved on. He warned him to be careful, reminding
him that to be caught by the enemy would mean interrogation,
torture, and then death.

“The black vipers will try and get you to
confess any information about the whereabouts of the remaining
refugees,” he said. “If they believe that the children of Kingsley
and Lilyanna Falls are still alive there’s no telling how far
they’ll go to find them.”

Pick nodded. “For the west.”

“For the west,” the old captain
responded.

Pick took off into the trees, his sinewy
legs sailing over the tall grass.

Sister Ariella and Dana began rounding up
the children.

Khalous sent Brayden, Broderick, Clint, and
the twins to gather as many supplies as they could carry. They
rolled blankets packed with roots and herbs and plants for
remedies, extra clothes, bandages, and some bread and dried fruit
that had been given to them by Captain Alec. They tied off the ends
with the willow bark rope and slung the improvised satchels over
their shoulders.

“This is so stupid,” Clint grumbled as he
rolled up his belongings. “We should head for one of the
towns.”

“Weren’t you listening to Khalous,” Nash
said. “The more populated areas are filled with black vipers, or
soon will be.”

“Old churl. He was given one task, protect
the king and queen, and he failed, so what does that tell you
about—”

The beefy hands of Stoneman descended upon
Clint like hot anvils. They grabbed him by his shirt collar, spun
him around, and lifted him a few inches of the ground.

Clint looked at him like he was some
poisonous snake that he had surprised in a place he’d been about to
put his hand.

“Take a damn good look at me face, boy,” he
growled. “See ’at nasty scar ’ere?” He inclined his head to the
light to better reveal his left eye where an old gash tore a jagged
brown mark along the outside of its socket. “Jackdaws came at meh.
Sprung on meh five summers ago in ’em hills south ah Aberdour.
Killed two of me mates. Bastards ate one a ’em alive. I watched ’em
suck the bones clean as I hid, too damn scared and too damn hurt to
move.”

Brayden watched with no small measure of
delight as the blood drained from Clint’s face. He trembled in
Stoneman’s clutches as the big soldier held him suspended off the
floor.

“Jackdaws would’ah ate me up good, too,
’cept for that man out ’ere.” He pointed with his chin toward
Captain Khalous. Stoneman drew the squirming boy closer toward his
ruddy face. “That man you call ‘old churl’ save’ me life and he
ain’t through savin’ yours so yeh best drop down to yer wobbly
knees and thank whatever gods yeh pray to that it’s him leadin’ the
ways and not me ’cause he won’t think twice ’bout given his life
for spoiled rats like yeh, but I would.” He lowered Clint back down
to the ground. “Next time I hear a disrespecting word come out yer
mouth ’bout Khalous Marloch, I’m’a shove my boot in it.”

Clint blinked in dumbfounded shock, then
snatched up his bedroll and hurried away with a sour
expression.

Nash grinned at Stoneman, who stood over all
of them like a small tower. “You are my new favorite person,” Nash
said. “I mean it. Can we be friends?”

Brayden watched Stoneman saunter off, his
massive shoulders passing under streams of light cascading through
the forest boles. The man was intense, and he carried an obvious
chip on his shoulder. First Placidous, then Clint. Brayden wondered
whom he might attack next.

Over the next few days the refugees worked
their way east, crossed the Merchant’s Road, and continued north
until they reached the coastal cliffs. The going was hard and
uncomfortable with cold winds still churning winter air over the
northern countryside.

Five days into their journey they made camp
in a cleft of gray rock that sat high on the northern cliffs
overlooking the ocean. The company broke up into small groups and
huddled around scattered campfires. Exhausted, most of them went to
sleep soon after rooting around for rare splotches of soft grass
amidst the stony soil.

Lingering by one of the fires, Brayden
pulled out his father’s dagger. He turned it in the flickering
orange light, his eyes roaming the silver blade.

“Where did you get that?” Nash asked. He sat
an arm’s length away, poking at a few stray embers with the point
of a charred stick.

“It was my father’s,” Brayden said. “I took
it from his belt after he died.”

Nash looked away, his face growing sad.

“What happened to your parents?” Brayden
asked.

“Vipers got them,” he intoned. “Killed my
brother Franklin, too. Father was inspecting the quarry up by the
falls when the enemy flanked the city. The last thing he ever said
to me was, ‘Run.’” Nash looked down, a look of remorse upon his
face. “I should have stayed though. I should’ve tried to help him,
or Franklin, or somebody.”

“And you’d be dead, too,” Brayden said.

“Maybe, but at least I wouldn’t have
regrets.”

“Regrets?”

Nash didn’t look at him, only stared into
the dying flames. “I regret being afraid. That’s why I didn’t do
anything. I was too damn afraid.”

Brayden hoped Nash hadn’t noticed the shiver
that ran up his chest and neck. He looked away, trying to hide the
fear that lingered in his eyes, fear that had been there all his
life.

“Goodnight, my lord,” Nash said. He lay down
on his back in the grass, flopped an arm over his eyes, and began
snoring soon after.

Brayden pulled his knees into his chest and
wrapped his arms around them. He wished that, for once, the fear in
his heart would go away.

When he closed his eyes he found himself
hunting partridge with his father in the Aviemore Wood south of the
city. He had always hated hunting. For some reason it scared him,
the woods, the darkness, the sounds of unseen forest critters. He
saw his father creeping through the bushes just ahead, his bow in
his hands, arrow notched and ready. Brayden was far behind him, too
scared to move. He was always so scared.

Too damn scared.

Ashamed of his own memories, he opened his
eyes in hopes of washing them away.

When he looked up he noticed Nairnah
watching him. She was lying on the ground in the next group, her
back to their campfire, her arm draped protectively over the chest
of a young sleeping girl.

When their eyes met, he felt his muscles
relax. For a moment, his fear slipped away.

Nairnah, on other hand, seemed terrified
that he had caught her looking at him. She shut her eyes and
pretended to be asleep.

The voice of Placidous came staggering
through the night. “I was only—”

“Shut it!” growled Stoneman.

Brayden turned to see the priest stumbling
through the dark, trying not to trip over their sleeping
companions.

“What’d I tell yeh ’bout bein’ wit’ the
women?” Stoneman said.

“And I’m telling you, you have me confused
with another—”

Stoneman grabbed him by the collar and
yanked him in until they were nose-to-nose. “I ’member when yeh
stood ’fore the magistrate. Said yeh didn’ do it, but we all know
what yeh did.”