Where Serpents Strike (Children of the Falls Vol. 1) (44 page)

Brayden wasn’t thinking about making any
kind of statement. This had nothing to do with earning the respect
of his brother or the confidence of his team. This was a
rage-fueled loss of control, and he knew it, but he didn’t care. He
was sick of his cousin. He was sick of the training. Sick of being
forced to become someone he wasn’t.

He stood over Clint, grabbed him by the
lapel, and sent one final blow into his head. Clint lay still on
the ground, unconscious.

“Bloody hells,” Nash whispered as he gawked
at Clint’s prone body.

Brayden looked at Nairnah, bawling on the
ground. Clint had blown out her eardrum, he wagered. She wouldn’t
be able to hear out of her left side for some time, that is if the
damage wasn’t permanent.

Ariella hurried down the road wrapped in a
white shift and a dark blanket. She rushed to Nairnah whose wails
had turned to panicked sobs.

Behind her in a flowing brown robe came
Prior Gravis, a torch held over his head. He took one look at Clint
lying on the ground and regarded Khalous with an accusatory
stare.

Brayden began to feel like he had done
something wrong.

“Well done,” Nash said. He started to
clap.

“Nash!” Khalous snapped.

“Sir?”

“Shut it!”

Khalous put an arm around Brayden’s
shoulders and steered him away from the commotion. He led him
across the road to the entrance to the communal garden. Under the
canopy of a graceful elm, he started pacing.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Brayden said. His hands
were shaking and he felt out of breath.

Khalous stopped, as if surprised by
Brayden’s admission. “Sorry for what?”

“I–I lost my temper. I tried to do what you
told me to do, but I did it in the wrong way.”

He looked across the road at Nairnah. Gravis
was carrying her toward the chapel with Ariella in tow. Two other
priests were kneeling next to Clint.

“When I saw him hurt Nairnah, I–I don’t
know. I just… reacted.”

The captain strode up to him. His eyes
searched his face in the growing light of dawn. “You recognize
that?”

Brayden nodded.

“You understand that?”

Again, he nodded.

“Then there’s nothing else to say.” Khalous
pivoted toward the barn. He started to walk away when he stopped,
turned, and said, “Except, well done.”

The Old Warhorse strode away.

Brayden supposed he should’ve felt proud,
but he didn’t. He looked down at his hands. His knuckles were sore
and bleeding in several places. If this is what being a leader felt
like, he didn’t want any part of it.

The setting sun topped the hazy blue of the
surrounding forest in a warm golden glow. Merek admired the
splendid blossoms of the apple trees in the garden, swaying in the
evening light.

Awlin had fallen in love with the trees the
moment she found them deep in the woods north of Velia. Wanting to
give his sister the home she dearly missed, Merek cleared away the
saplings encroaching upon the apple trees and planted a garden
underneath. He then took advantage of the space in the adjacent
glade to build a small cottage. By the following spring, he and
Awlin had made a home.

The cottage was illegal, he knew, sitting on
land that belonged to the province of Betharous, untaxed. He just
hoped the deep woods concealed the humble abode well enough to
prevent it from ever being discovered.

Awlin emerged from the cedar woods with an
armload of fabric, bouncing on her toes and humming to herself. The
sun made her blonde hair glow. It had taken her all day to walk to
Velia and purchase the materials she needed to sew them some new
clothes. She had been making many journeys into town lately,
purchasing things they needed with money Merek had earned by fixing
armor.

“You’re in a good mood,” he said as she
trotted past him, her ivory skirt swishing through the tall
grass.

“Oh? Well, it was a good day, and a good
trip. See?” She showed him some of the fabric she’d found, a gray
wool to make him some new slacks, and a soft yellow fabric—her
favorite color—for a new dress. “I even found some linen to make
you a light shirt for hot days,” she said.

He gave her an appreciative grin. “Come
inside. I’ve kept some supper warm for you.”

Merek led Awlin into their homely cottage.
The rear wall and chimney were constructed from the native river
rock, the other four from cedar and pine boards he’d hewn from the
woods himself. The cottage was a crude, single level, three room
structure containing a kitchen and eating area, a sitting area, and
a bedroom. Not a masterpiece by any means, but it had thrilled
Awlin’s heart to have a place to call home.

Inside, he poured her a bowl of vegetable
stew. He sat down in a wooden chair, his sore back and tired knees
thanking him. He picked up a mail shirt and began combing his
fingers along the metal links.

“Are you nearly finished?” Awlin asked.

“Just a few more rivets to mend. Balimous
said he’d give me an extra fifty rosi if I got this back to him
tomorrow. I should have it done tonight.”

“That will work out perfectly then,” she
said.

Merek glanced her. “What do you mean?”

For a moment Awlin acted like she’d been
caught saying something she wasn’t supposed to talk about. “Oh, I
just mean that it’s good you’ll get it done early. Fifty rosi would
be good. Do you think it will be enough to buy a window? I would so
like a window on the western side, where the sun comes in. It too
often feels like a tomb in here. I…” She stopped once he started
chuckling. “What?”

“You’re not telling me something,” he said.
He returned to the small metal links on the mail shirt.

“What? No I’m not.”

“You are. You have a secret, and you almost
let slip what it is.”

“I didn’t. I mean, I don’t. Have a secret
that is.” She huffed. “Why would you even say that?”

He shrugged. “You don’t have to tell me.
Just don’t think that I don’t know.”

“Know what? What do you know?”

“You are a terrible liar.”

She blushed, shaking her head, and proceeded
to ignore him. She became very interested in her bowl of soup,
eating quietly with a smooth wooden spoon.

“Very well. I do have a secret,” she said
after a while.

Merek looked at her, cocking an eyebrow.

“There is someone in Velia I want you to
meet. A man. His name is Panyos, and, um, well, he’s very nice. And
I, um, I think I may be in love with him.”

Merek maintained a good degree of stoicism
while he continued working on the shirt.

“How did you meet this man?”

“Last summer. I saw him looking at me during
the town fair. He offered to let me try one of his pies.”

“And all the times you went into the city
after that and took so long—”

“I was visiting him at his shop.” She
giggled. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

“So he’s a baker?”

She nodded. “He tells me his shop is known
throughout the empire for its sweet breads and pies, and that the
herus himself has twice commissioned him to make some cakes.”

“Impressive.”

She set her spoon down. “I would very much
like for you to come to town with me tomorrow and meet him. I know
it’s dangerous for you there, but I haven’t seen any black soldiers
in three moons. If we’re careful—”

“Is there still a bounty on my head?” Merek
asked.

Awlin’s eyes drifted to the floor,
discouraged. “Yes.” She looked at him. “But we can be careful,
can’t we?”

Merek put the shirt down and thought for a
moment. He would do anything for his sister, but the risk of him
being noticed could lead to more than just his capture. If he were
arrested Awlin would be in danger as well.

“Let me see if I can get this shirt done
tonight, and I’ll think about it,” he said.

Awlin finished her soup in silence. Humming
a mellow tune she cleaned her dishes and wiped down the kitchen.
She kissed him on the forehead and drifted off into the
bedroom.

Merek finished his work sooner than he
expected. The mail shirt was an expensive one, custom made for a
nobleman in Magarous. A bunch of the rivets had been torn during a
jousting tournament, and the nobleman had given the shirt to an
armorer named Balimous in Velia. Balimous occasionally outsourced
such work out to Merek. The jobs were infrequent, and paid little,
but at least it was an honest living.

Soon after finishing the shirt, Merek moved
into the sitting room and took up a chair by the fire. He knew he
had promised Awlin that he would think about her proposition, but
the truth was he had already thought about it as much as he needed
to. He couldn’t wait to meet this young man who had captured his
sister’s heart. In fact, he hoped the relationship might turn into
a marriage. Not that he longed to give his sister away, but he had
always known that she would be far safer with someone other than
him. As long as the Black King had a bounty on his head, Awlin was
in danger. Her marriage to a respectable baker might be a great
thing.

Merek fell asleep in the chair and didn’t
wake until the smell of warm oats and sugar reached his nose. He
opened his eyes, noticing Awlin in the kitchen. She pattered around
the table on bare feet, a white linen shift draping her lean
form.

“Sugar?” he said, stretching.

She smiled. “I bought some yesterday. I
wanted it to be a surprise.”

“Consider me surprised.”

Merek wandered outside and relived himself,
then walked down to the brook behind the cottage to wash his hands
and face.

When he returned to the cottage, Awlin asked
him if he had finished his work on the mail shirt.

“I have.”

“Then shall we go into town today and take
it to Balimous?”

Merek sat down at the table. “No. Not ‘we.’
You.”

Awlin froze. A moment later she cast a
heart-broken look at him over her shoulder. Her green eyes, usually
so alive, turned dark.

“And while you’re doing that,” he continued,
“I’m going to go meet this baker of yours.”

A wide smile split across Awlin’s face.
“Really?” Relief washed over her like a stream and her eyes
sparkled again. “You were this close to having a pot of boiling
oatmeal thrown at you.”

“You’d throw hot oats in my face?”

“For starters.” She flicked the spoon at him
and a glob of warm, pasty breakfast meal hit him on the cheek.

“Uh-oh. Someone’s in trouble,” Merek said.
He jumped at her.

She scooted around the table. “Don’t!”

“Or what?”

“Get away! No!”

He chased her around the table, his fingers
aimed for the sides of her ribs where he knew she was most
ticklish.

Merek had long missed her laugh.

After breakfast they set out for Velia.
Merek led the way, picking his own path through the woods so as to
avoid any confrontation with other travelers or vipers of the high
king.

Velia was a sprawling town of affluent
nobles and other well-to-do citizens built on the corners of three
of the northern provinces of Efferous—Betharous, Danium, and
Damium. The town had become an epicenter of commerce in the
northern regions, and one of the most important cities in the
empire.

Merek took comfort in the fact that Velia,
being so well traversed by people from so many different regions,
would conceal him and Awlin well. They blended into the crowd as
they walked along Velia’s numerous sloping streets that curved
through multiple levels of beige stone buildings and pillared
archways.

“You remember what we discussed?” Merek
asked.

“Yes, yes,” Awlin said in clear
annoyance.

“Tell me again.”

She exhaled in a puff. “If we need to
separate I am to head west out of Velia and hide in one of three
locations. When the sun has almost set I can return to the cottage,
but I am not to approach unless you’re there to give me the
signal.”

“And do you remember the three
locations?”

She stopped and turned to face him. She
seemed ready to burst, but after a momentary pause she calmed.
Setting a hand against his cheek, she said, “Brother, I love you. I
know what to do. Now please relax. You’re making me even more
nervous than I already am.”

He took a breath. “I just want you to be
safe.”

She gave his cheek a pat and continued down
the street.

“You’d do well to find yourself a woman,
brother,” Awlin said as they entered a large round plaza paved with
smooth sand colored stones. “It shouldn’t be hard with those honey
brown eyes of yours. Do you still like your ladies in blue?”

He shook his head. “The color of the dress
doesn’t matter much, I suppose.”

She waved her hand at him. “No, I know you
like blue. Blue dresses, brown eyes, and brown hair. That’s always
been your type. Give me some time. I’ll find you such a girl.”

Panyos’ bakery sat at the south side of the
plaza, on the corner of an adjoining street. A sign hung over its
entryway in the shape of a loaf of bread adorned in a graceful
Efferousian script.

Awlin wiped her hands along the folds of her
dress.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

She offered a smile. “Mm-hmm.”

As soon as Merek opened the door to the shop
the delicious aroma of fresh bread and pastries rolled over him. He
hadn’t smelled anything that good since his mother’s baking back on
Edhen.

The walls of the store shimmered with
polished mahogany panels and ornamental trim. Fancy tables adorned
with delectable samples of mouth-watering treats occupied the
floor. Wooden shelves filled with wrapped loaves of bread gave
Merek the immediate impression that Panyos was a man well versed in
his craft, and if what Awlin had said about his success was true
then he was making a good living from his work as well.