Where Serpents Strike (Children of the Falls Vol. 1) (3 page)

“No,” Merek said. He hurried along the
rafters toward the window. He thought of the pouch of gold sitting
on the floor far below and how nice it would feel in his empty
pockets, but he pushed the idea away. As much as he needed it, he
knew it wasn’t worth it.

“Very well,” Ustus said. “A more enticing
reward then? Your sister perhaps.”

Merek nearly tripped. He knelt to grab onto
the beam. Swallowing first for control of his voice, he said, “What
do you know about my sister?”

“I know where she is. I can help you get her
back. In fact, if you do this for me, I will even punish those who
took her from you. Punishment is my specialty.”

Merek’s chest thundered like a warhorse. He
didn’t trust Ustus at all, but the man claimed to have more
knowledge of the disappearance of his sister than he had been able
to dig up in the last two years. After weighing the cost of landing
in the employ of a man such as this, Merek realized that although
he couldn’t deny the risk, he also couldn’t pass up the chance.

“Prove it,” Merek said. “Tell me where she
is.”

Ustus wagged his finger. “That is not the
deal.”

“And I should just trust you? Like the
people of Edhen trusted the Black King? Like Aberdour trusted
him?”

“You dare mock the high king with that fowl
name?”

“I wonder if your king intends to show mercy
to Aberdour? After all, the Falls have given nothing but mercy to
the people suffering from the devastation your king has wrought.
They don’t deserve what he’s sending their way.” He paused. “I have
no reason to trust him, or you. No proof? No deal.”

Ustus drew a peeved breath. “I have no
proof. I know she is on Efferous, and I know who holds her captive,
but all of this is just words. Proof, I do not have. It is simply a
choice you must make, and I suggest you make it soon.”

Merek’s feet were already moving toward the
window, even though he hadn’t made up his mind about whether he
believed Ustus or not.

“Versch is likely in his carriage by now on
his way back to the docks,” Ustus said.

He slipped over the windowsill, the stone
gritty beneath his pale hands. He worked his way down the
latticework, knowing that for Awlin’s sake he had no choice.

He hit the ground running, his heart beating
faster, his mind swirling with renewed hope. If this adventure did
bring his sister back to him he knew it would be a while yet. He
figured it would take him three months to get to Efferous, another
month to find the wizard and plan the theft of the gems, then
another long trip back to Edhen. Surely though, within a year, he
and Awlin would be reunited again.

And if Ustus was lying, or if he refused to
help him rescue Awlin after the gems were returned, then Merek
would kill him.

In the midst of his haste, rising above the
pounding of his heart, were thoughts of the people of Aberdour. If
Merek were a man of faith, he would’ve prayed for them. There
wasn’t a kingdom yet that had withstood the destructive force of
High King Orkrash Mahl.

Aberdour was doomed.

When Lia saw him, she froze, curiosity
gripping her. She had never seen a man like him this far from
Aberdour’s castle. Typically those clad in torn shirts and muddy
brown slacks, like this man, were vagabonds of the city’s stone
alleys or slaves to noblemen in their comfortable estates. Then she
noticed the shackles on his ankles and the broken chain that once
linked them dangling between his feet, and her curiosity melted
into fear.

Lia gasped. The bucket of oats slipped from
her small hand and spilled on the barn floor.

The man was distressed, his eyes wide and
worried. He pressed a single dirty finger to his lips. “Quiet,
little girl.”

Lia’s fear vanished. “I’m not a little
girl,” she snapped. “I’m ten, and I’m—”

“I said shut up!”

From somewhere outside, a woman called Lia’s
name. Her shape appeared, passing by the gaps in the barn
boards.

The man pointed his finger at Lia. “Not a
word!” he whispered, and then shuffled behind the hay bales.

The door creaked open and a lovely,
wide-hipped woman with her brown hair pulled back in a ponytail,
poked her head inside. Lia spun around, startled, kicking the
spilled oats at her feet.

“Is everything all right?” the woman
asked.

“I’m sorry, Abigail. I, uh…” Lia looked down
at the mess. Kneeling she started to clean it up. “It just…
slipped.”

Abigail made her way across the barn floor,
her simple brown dress swaying around her ankles. She knelt next to
Lia, holding her pregnant belly as she bent down.

“It’s all right,” she said. “Aggie won’t
mind.” She looked up at a white and brown rouncey peering down at
them from her stall. “Will you girl?”

The horse shook off a few flies.

Lia paid no mind to either Abigail or the
horse. Her every thought was on the escaped prisoner hiding behind
the hay bales. She considered grabbing Abigail and racing from the
barn, but then her eyes fell on the woman’s belly and Lia knew she
couldn’t do anything that would put the baby at risk.

Abigail looked up and exhaled in
disappointment. “I hope this isn’t your new tunic,” she said. She
brushed her hand along the front of Lia’s shirt, peeling away the
layer of hay and dirt that had affixed itself to the dark green
fabric, marring the pattern of branches and maple leaves.

“Uh,” was all Lia could say. She looked down
at her baggy gray slacks, hoping she hadn’t dirtied them as well,
but she had.

“Oh!” Abigail said, and her hand went to her
stomach. “Lia, feel. She’s awake.”

Abigail took Lia’s tiny fingers and placed
them over the spot where the baby was kicking. Even in the face of
her fear, Lia couldn’t help but smile as the little life pushed
against her palm.

“How do you know it’s a girl?” she
asked.

Abigail smiled. “I don’t, but it’s fun to
pretend that I do.” She leaned in close and lowered her voice. “And
it confuses Thomas, but don’t tell him I said that.”

Lia forced out a chuckle, trying to sound
relaxed.

“Are you all right?” Abigail asked as Lia
finished picking up the spilled oats.

“Yes,” she answered. “Just, um, thinking
about my school work.” She took the bucket over to the stall and
dumped it in Aggie’s feed box. “I left without getting it done. Or
my chores.”

Abigail frowned. “Honey, we’ve talked about
this. I don’t want your mother getting mad at me.”

“I’m sorry. Some days it’s just nicer here.
In fact, it’s always nicer here. Things are peaceful and…” She
stopped, her eyes darting toward the hay pile.

“And what?” Abigail asked.

Lia cast the woman a forced smile. “Plus
Aggie is far smarter than my dumb horse.”

“Aggie is also very old, but I’m glad you
like it here.” The woman walked up to her and gave her a motherly
embrace, stroking the straight brown hair cascading like a silky
sheet down Lia’s back. “You’ve always been a good help to us, but
it can’t be at the expense of your responsibilities at home.
Understand?”

Lia pulled away and agreed.

Abigail started for the barn door. “Send
your mother and father our love.”

“I will.”

“And come inside and get some breakfast
before you leave.”

Lia watched Abigail exit the barn, her
breath held in her chest.

The mysterious man emerged from behind the
hay bales. He had a raw masculinity that enthralled and intimidated
all at the same time.

Lia opened her mouth to speak, but he lifted
his finger again and mouthed, “No.” She closed her mouth, not
because he had said so, but because of the two other men who
slipped into the barn behind him, chains clinking at their feet.
One of them, husky and tall, had a murderous look in his bloodshot
eyes. The other looked sprightly, with a scrawny torso and
protuberant eyes in his bony face. He ducked into a nimble squat
and wiped the perspiration from his brow with a tattered
sleeve.

“They got a ride,” he said, pointing toward
the packhorse, Aggie, as she peeked over her stall.

“One horse, moron,” Fatty said. “And there’s
three of us, so don’t even think about it.”

“Shh!” said the first man to his
companions.

The three men ignored Lia, their ears
tilting up to the dusty brown rafters as though listening for some
sound in the forest beyond.

Lia heard the gentle clomping of horse
hooves on the rough road outside. The three men with their clinking
chains hurried toward the barn wall to peer through the narrow
slits between the clapboards.

“Is that ’im?” Sprightly asked in a gruff
whisper.

No one answered.

Curiosity returned, and Lia drifted toward
the barn wall where she pressed her eye up to a knothole. She
imagined her mother scolding her for lingering in the presence of
these three peculiar men. She half-smiled, knowing she would’ve
ignored her mother anyway. She didn’t like playing it safe. She
much preferred to gallivant through the woods by day and scale the
castle’s bookshelves by night. A day in which she didn’t earn a few
new scuffs on her palms or knees was a boring day indeed.

Her eye took in a picturesque country scene
where an opening in the forest canopy spilled a wide swath of
sunlight onto a stone cottage. Chickens pecked at the dirt near a
trickling brook sided by reeds and croaking frogs while a pasture,
barely visible through the trees, sat at the rear of the home.

A massive armored horse stomped up next to
the cottage, marring the otherwise charming scene. The dark animal
bore a tall rider in sinister black plate armor, his metal chest
displaying a silver viper—the emblem of the high king. His
ferocious appearance made Lia’s heart skip a beat. The large man
swung his long leg over his ride’s hindquarters and dismounted. She
guessed his height to be nearly seven feet. When he turned, a
tremendous broadsword, almost twice as tall as Lia, swayed behind
his back.

She noticed a contingent of mounted soldiers
coming up over the rise in the road to join the tall man. Clad in
black armor and fierce helms, the army carried flags bearing the
high king’s crest. Lia’s eyes went wide with fright.

“Black vipers?” said Sprightly, astonished.
“Khile, what they doin’ ’ere?”

The fat man shook his head. “Broods don’t
come this far north.”

“They do now,” Khile said.

For the last three years Lia had heard
rumors that one day the black vipers, soldiers of the new high
king, would invade this part of the country, but she had never
allowed herself to believe it would happen.

Lia had a sudden urge to be home, safe
within the protective walls of Aberdour. Mentally she kicked
herself for having snuck off in the morning before doing her
schoolwork, for leaving the city without the protection of one of
her father’s bodyguards.

The door to the cottage scraped open. Thomas
appeared, a middle-aged man with graying brown hair and oafish arms
defined from long days of axe wielding. He stepped outside while
his wife, Abigail, remained in the doorway.

Lia sprang away from the peephole to run
outside and warn Thomas when two strong hands clamped onto her
shoulders and yanked her back. She tried to scream except one of
the hands replanted itself across her mouth.

“Don’t make a sound!” said the man called
Khile. He had firm but gentle hands, like her father’s.

“Why are broods coming after us for?” asked
Fatty, his voice quivering.

“They’re not after us,” Khile answered.

Sprightly got up. “Well I’m not hanging
around here.”

“You step outside and you’re a dead man,”
Khile said.

His companion froze.

“What do you think they’re here to do, huh?”
Khile moved toward the barn boards to peek outside. “This is an
invasion.”

Lia heard voices outside. She squirmed out
of Khile’s clutches and returned to the knothole. She saw Thomas
inviting the big armored soldier to the water well. Abigail wiped
remnants of the breakfast she was preparing on a mottled white
apron and then stood silently in the doorway holding the bulge at
her stomach. She looked as nervous as Lia felt.

Thomas raised a bucket of water from the
well and offered a ladle to the soldier. The man drank, and said
something to Thomas. Lia’s ears perked as she heard mention of
Aberdour.

Thomas pointed east in the direction of the
city.

The tall man dropped the ladle, removed a
thick black dagger from his belt, and plunged it into Thomas’
stomach. Abigail screamed and rushed from the house, hurrying to
her dying husband’s prone body.

“No!” The word rushed from Lia’s mouth so
fast it surprised her. By the time she realized that she had
screamed it loud enough for the soldiers to hear, she was halfway
out of the barn. She sprinted up the narrow path to the house as
fast as her little legs could move, tears on her cheeks, and hot
rage in her stomach.

Abigail cried, cradling Thomas as the last
bits of life quivered out of him.

Lia dropped to her knees next to Thomas,
calling his name. Her hands reached for him, shaking as they cupped
his paling face. He blinked, those beautiful sparkling blue pools,
and smiled for one brief moment before death took him.

Lia heard a soldier stomping up next to
them, but she ignored him, unable to pull her eyes from Thomas.
Only when Abigail gasped did Lia glance up. The soldier yanked her
head back and drew a silver blade across her throat, cutting a deep
gash that spattered blood onto Lia’s clothes.

A second soldier reached down to grab Lia,
but her quick feet were far too clever. She sprang away from the
man and sprinted toward the big knight, anger washing through her
blood. Her hands slipped from a small leather sleeve the knife her
father had given her for her tenth birthday. She had never used it
to slice anything other than a dead quail, a piece of rope, and
some fabric, but, still, she kept it sharp. It slipped into the
armored soldier’s thigh, right between the plates of his armor and
deep into the skin. He growled, a sound wrought of pain and
irritation. He spun and backhanded Lia across the face with his
metal arm. She flew backward into the trampled leaves of the
pockmarked road, the right side of her face exploding with
pain.