Where Serpents Strike (Children of the Falls Vol. 1) (59 page)

She knocked on the doorjamb to Tavia’s room
and then opened the door. The silk sheets of the scented bed had
been thrown aside, the bank of pillows spilling onto the floor.

“Tavia?”

Brynlee looked behind the folding screen
over which was draped an extravagant blue dress, one of Tavia’s
favorites. She looked inside the wardrobe and then toward the
cushioned seat under the bow window, but the room was empty.

She went downstairs, a growing sense of
uneasiness rising within her.

She hurried through the front door and ran
around the back of the building. She took the stairs as fast as she
could, up five flights, to the garden on the brothel roof.

There she saw Tavia standing atop the brick
and mortar parapet looking down at the street five stories below.
Her toes were on the very edge.

“Tavia!” she called.

The girl turned, her swollen face covered in
tears.

“What are you doing?” Brynlee asked.

Lips quivering, Tavia said, “I don’t want to
do this anymore, Emma.”

“Do what?”

She gestured toward the mountain of bruises
on her face, the one eye that was sealed shut. “Look what they did
to me. I don’t… never again. Do you understand?”

Brynlee moved toward her. “Don’t do
this.”

“I have to. I’m not strong like you. I’m
sorry.”

She backed closer to the edge.

“You know what my older sister once told me?
She said, ‘Brynlee, whenever you’re afraid, you pretend to be
someone else. Someone stronger.’ And so I dig down inside every day
and I find someone bigger than me, someone who can take the hits
and keep living.”

Tavia’s expression seemed confused. She
looked from Brynlee to the street far below. “Brynlee?” she
said.

“That’s my name. My real name.” The
admission brought a tear to her eye.

“As in the princess of Aberdour?”

Brynlee swallowed a lump in her throat and
moved her head up and down.

“Everyone thinks you’re dead,” Tavia said.
“They think all the Falls children are dead.”

“I know.”

“Why would you tell me that?”

Brynlee inched closer to the parapet, almost
close enough to touch the young woman’s leg. “Because you’re my
friend, and I want you to know who I am. I need you, Tavia.” She
reached up for the young woman’s hand. Tears trickled down her face
as her heart banged against her ribs. “If I can be strong, you can
be strong, too. I can show you.”

Tavia regarded the ledge one more time.
“Brynlee Falls of Aberdour.”

“Take my hand, Tavia. Please.” Her sobs came
full force now, an embarrassing mess that covered her face.

Tavia’s expression melted and she took
Brynlee’s hand. She hopped down off the waist high ledge where
Brynlee grabbed her and pulled her in close, mindful of her broken
arm.

“By the gods,” Tavia whispered. “Brynlee
Falls!” She jerked away from her embrace and looked her square in
the eyes. “Placidous. He–he told me… on Efferous… Oh, I can’t–this
is amazing!” Her words came out in a spluttering mess and she
cupped her brow with her palm.

“What are you trying to say?”

Tavia’s eyes focused on her, intense and
wide. “Brynlee, did you know that your brothers are still
alive?”

Behind him a large dark shape moved against a
cobalt sky scattered with stars and luminous with moon-washed
clouds. He remained still, muscles taut, but when he saw that it
was Stoneman, he relaxed.

“Didn’t mean to frighten yeh, young master,”
said the soldier of the King’s Shield. His massive frame lumbered
through the dark until he squatted down next to Broderick, the
leather straps of his armor creaking and stretching.

“It all looks a wee different at night, dun’
it?” he said, his strong bearish voice comforting in the unfamiliar
night.

Broderick focused his attention back on the
city of Thalmia stretching out below him. The shadows of its
buildings and streets were etched in moonlight, their dark
silhouettes peppered with fire-lit windows and towers.

“Actually, I think some things are easier to
see at night,” Broderick said.

“Such as?”

Broderick pointed west, toward the ocean
shore, where a section of the wall bowed inward to accommodate the
harbor. “See those two narrow towers all lit up? That’s the most
prominent gate. The road passing under it is wide, and the entrance
is well lit.” He moved his finger to a smaller gate in the northern
wall that was facing their direction. “That gate, on the other
hand, is barely lit at all, which means fewer guards.”

Stoneman nodded. “Good eyes, you got.”

“And do you see that tower?” Broderick
pointed toward a single flame high over the center of the city,
glowing through the thin white mist that hung above the region. “A
watchtower that high and that bright can only mean that whatever’s
over there is very important, probably the herus’ house or
something.”

“Herus?”

“Their king.”

“Why don’ they jus’ call him a king?”
Stoneman asked.

Broderick had to smile, because he had asked
the very same question when Ariella tried explaining it to him
once. “It’s just what they call him, I guess. Each of the eleven
provinces of Efferous are governed by a herus who answers to an
emperor who oversees the realm.”

Stoneman smirked. “I guess yeh did learn a
few things at Halus Gis, ’spite what people says.” He chuckled and
ruffled the hair on top of Broderick’s head.

“I figure we should probably stay away from
the parts of the city that are so well lit,” Broderick said. “More
light means more people, more danger.”

Again Stoneman laughed. He pointed to the
bright watchtower at the city’ center. “Tha’s righ’ where we be
going to.”

Broderick felt a nervous lump form in his
throat. “Figures.”

Stoneman tapped him on the leg. “Come. We
should get back.” The big soldier left the cliff side.

Casting one more glance at Thalmia,
Broderick let his eyes drift south along the winding streets and
alleys until a thickening fog swallowed his view of the city. He
wondered how much further the city extended, and if it reached all
the way to the southern shore.

By midmorning the following day, he had his
answer. From within Thalmia, high atop a flat cobbled marketplace,
Broderick saw what last night’s fog had kept secret—the yellow
stone city rolling for leagues and leagues toward a sparkling blue
ocean.

“What do you think, Sir Taighfinn?” Khalous
asked over his shoulder.

Ty’s head swiveled left and right as he
sauntered along atop his horse next to Broderick. “She smells of
home,” he said.

“You don’t look very happy about it,”
Broderick said, noting the worried look on Ty’s face.

“Just because this is being my home doesn’t
mean I’m full of happiness at being here.”

“What? You don’t like your home?” Nash
asked.

“Thalmia is, um, not always a nicest
place.”

“I heard the herus cuts the arms and legs
off his enemies,” Clint said.

“Sick bastard,” Nash muttered.

Gulls called overhead and hopped about the
winding cobblestone streets. A refreshing breeze whistled past dark
wood beam structures and creaky wooden signposts.

There was hardly a single road that lacked a
store selling fishing tackle or fabric for sails, leather for
jackets, wood for boats, or any number of other things required for
a tough living wrought from the ocean. Patches of people plodded up
and down the sides of the salt dusted streets, while vendors hocked
rice, fish, and skins of ale.

Broderick followed Khalous deep into
Thalmia, his eyes on high alert for the hidden contingent of black
vipers he was sure was waiting to jump out and capture them. He
felt his palms moistening, and his nerves growing thin. But no one
came to get them. In fact, no one seemed to take any notice of them
at all. The eleven travelers moved deeper and deeper into Thalmia,
with few citizens even bothering to give them a glance.

Khalous led them into the heart of the city.
He veered down a side street that circled around an enormous
central plaza and stopped in front of an old inn and tavern.

“We wait here,” he said, dismounting. He led
his horse up to a long trough in front of the building and tied its
reigns there. “Broderick, Brayden. Follow me.”

Broderick slid down off his horse, an odd
mixture of curiosity and fear wrestling around in his stomach. He
locked eyes with his brother, but Brayden looked just as
uncertain.

Khalous was all business as he strode into
the tavern, the interior of which was dim and not much unlike a
dungeon, Broderick thought. The place was quiet, save for a barman
counting coins, a table of three bearded old men playing a game
with colorful stones, and an exhausted looking traveler sipping ale
from a dingy wooden mug.

The grim captain walked up to the barman who
put aside his coins and smiled. “My lords, welcome. Will you take
drink and meat?”

“Honeyed mead,” Khalous said in Efferousian.
“With a dash of salt.”

The barman scrunched his face as he reached
for a wooden mug. “A dash of salt, eh? All the salt around here not
enough for you?” He chuckled as he filled the mug, dropped in a
spoonful of honey, gave it a few sloshing swirls, and set it on the
counter. He took a pinch of salt and tossed it in the cup.

Khalous thanked him and took the drink.

Broderick followed him to a table against
the wall next to a tall red and yellow stained glass window.
Broderick pulled off his gloves, tugging at the bottom of the old
armor chest piece that rode up to his jugular when he sat, its
leather worn and dark with old sweat. He ran his fingers over the
time-polished surface of the table, smooth under his fingertips,
and glanced outside.

Khalous made himself comfortable in a seat
that allowed him to view the tavern. He took a sip from his cup and
wrinkled his face in disgust. “Still can’t get used to this piss
water,” he said, passing the mug to Brayden.

Broderick watched his brother lift the cup
to his scarred face and recoil after a quick whiff. He ventured a
sip, but pulled away and gagged.

“Too salty,” he said.

By the time the drink reached Broderick he
wasn’t interested.

“It’s the sand,” came a voice behind
him.

Broderick looked over his shoulder in
surprise. A tall man in brown and tan leather armor, buckled with
shiny plates of metal, looked down at them. His appearance
shimmered of wealth and status.

The man’s presence perplexed Broderick, for
he had done a headcount when he entered the bar and this man was
not among the patrons he had noticed.

“They use sand to help churn the mixture,”
the man continued. “It is eventually filtered out, but it leaves
behind a taste that often takes foreigners by surprise.” He looked
from Brayden to Broderick. “If you boys ever want people to believe
you’re from Efferous, choke down a goblet of mead without
gagging.”

Broderick wondered how the man knew they
weren’t from Efferous. Their accents were perfect, at least his
was, and their skin had darkened from years of training in the hot
Efferousian sun. They may not have been true natives, but they
could’ve passed as some.

Khalous stood. “Is that why you told me to
ask for salt?”

“No. In fact, salt makes it worse, but I
needed to know who you were.”

The man sat, his motions singing of
readiness and control. He introduced himself as Tenri Hollandara,
military consultant to the herus of Thalmia.

“I sent a messenger to Tenri last night,”
Khalous explained to Broderick and Brayden. “The adjucept has long
been a friend of Edhen, but times have changed. I needed to be sure
he would help us.”

“Adjucept?” Broderick asked.

“It’s another word for herus,” Tenri
said.

Broderick shrunk, wishing he had paid a
little bit more attention to his lessons.

“Much has changed in our land these recent
years,” Tenri said, tossing a lock of brown hair away from his
forehead, “but, fortunately, Herus Proditous has not. He remains as
sympathetic to the plight of Edhen as he was the day your dark king
invaded.”

“A relief that,” Khalous said. “We could use
some supplies, and a place to stable our horses for a night or
two.”

“Of course, and about the other matter you
wished to discuss—”

Khalous lifted his hand to beckon a pause.
Broderick thought he noticed the eyes of the Old Warhorse flicker
toward him and Brayden. “We’ll discuss that later.”

The sounds of horse hooves trampling the
ground outside called everyone’s attention to the windows. When
Broderick looked he saw a contingent of Efferousian soldiers riding
up toward the inn. They encircled the others who were waiting out
front.

Broderick noted the disconcerted expression
on Tenri’s face.

“Are they with you?” Khalous asked.

Tenri stood. “No. Of course not.”

Broderick’s fingers wandered to the
reassuring coolness of his sword hilt. He noticed Brayden doing the
same.

The door flew open and a soldier in a shiny
silver helmet and armor that matched Tenri’s strode inside. He bore
a grim frown and several sheathed weapons. “Commander,” he said in
a cold tone, “Herus Proditous wishes to see you at once. He demands
that you bring,” he paused, as if uncertain of his choice of words,
“your companions.”

Broderick’s eyes flitted from the soldier to
Tenri to Khalous. His muscles were ready for whatever came next.
The Efferousian solider was a good two feet taller than him, but
Broderick was already assessing his armor and saw two weaknesses
that would yield a killing blow if he were quick enough.

Tenri extended a calming hand toward them
both. “It’s all right. I should have told the herus about your
arrival as soon as I knew. I was just being cautious, as is he.” He
looked at Khalous and said, “Trust me, old friend,” but the look in
his eyes solicited nothing of the sort.