Where Serpents Strike (Children of the Falls Vol. 1) (60 page)

They followed the tall soldier in the
polished armor out of the tavern. They mounted their horses, and
fell in behind Khalous and Tenri. The escort of foreign soldiers
surrounded them along the way, which only made Broderick’s nerves
grow thinner.

“What’s all this about?” Nash asked out of
the corner of his mouth.

“Wish I knew,” Broderick muttered.

Sharing the saddle behind Nash was Preston.
He poked his brother in the ribs. “They can hear you.”

“That’s the fourth time you’ve poked me
since we lost the wagon. Do it again and you’re walking.”

The soldiers of Efferous were a sight to
behold. Unlike the soldiers of High King Orkrash Mahl with their
dark armor, black cloaks, and devilishly shaped helms, the men of
Efferous displayed their soldiery with a much more outlandish
pride. Their breastplates were almost mirror like in the sun,
fringed with gold plating, and held together by tan and brown
leather. Bright buckles on their shoulders clung to long red capes
that draped over the flanks of their horses.

Khalous and Tenri began conversing with one
another, and though Broderick strained to hear them, he caught only
a few words.

The street spilled out into an enormous
circular public square paved with a patchwork of large sand colored
slabs. The soldiers of Thalmia escorted the company across the
square toward the tallest structure, a prominent building standing
five stories tall. The building’s facade was supported with a long
sequence of round grooved columns that reached up from a sequence
of wide steps to a roof adorned with statues and carvings of
ancient figures.

“The Lex Dificat,” Tenri said, waving an
open hand toward the building. “What you might call a Law House.
Home of the adjucept, and the seat of our government. It also
houses many important guests and dignitaries.”

The shadow of the building enveloped them as
they left their horses and started up the steps. Through the front
entrance they emerged into a tiled promenade of stone—flowery
troughs carved from rock, tall pillars etched with a tracery of
vines and leaves, ornamental boarders along the ceiling’s edges,
and eloquent statues of armored men and robed women. The back wall
of the promenade opened into a luscious green garden courtyard.

“When we stand before the adjucept, you may
call him Adjucept Proditous, Herus Proditous, or simply Herus,”
Tenri explained. “Adjucept is the name of his position, but herus
is a title given to men who hold that position.”

“Is it true that there are no women
adjusepts?” Preston asked.

“No,” Tenri said, which, judging by the look
on Preston’s face, surprised him. “There is one, in which case she
is called a hera, unless she is in the presence of a man of equal
or greater importance, in which case her title is demoted to
matrona.” He looked at Preston. “On Efferous, women are never held
in higher regard than men.”

Broderick and the others followed Tenri
through the garden courtyard. Everywhere he looked he saw plants he
could not identify—long stemmed flowers of white, blue, and yellow,
spiny ferns that looked dangerous, and palm trees that stretched
beyond the building’s five stories where winged leaves fanned out
against blue sky.

A second set of stairs took them out of the
garden courtyard to a cavernous meeting room of white and tan
marble stone. Lengthy white and yellow tapestries rippled in the
breeze in between high narrow windows void of glass.

At the far end of the meeting room, atop a
raised platform and under a canopy of red and gold drapes, reclined
a man of significant girth. Mountains of pillows and an abundance
of fruit and sugary pastries surrounded him. At his back stood two
servant women wearing small yellow triangles of fabric over their
breasts and hips. Their heads were bowed and their hands clasped,
awaiting to serve the fat man’s whims. The man made no effort to
rise and greet his guests, but he did looked pleased to see them,
clapping his hands and flinging bits of frosting off his
fingers.

“My heart is made merry that you have
brought them to see me,” he chirped.

Tenri thumped his right fist to his chest
and dipped his head. “Your Excellency, I beg your pardon for not
bringing this matter to your attention sooner. I had every
intention of—”

“Oh, bother me not with your cerebral
libations. I trust you implicitly, my friend, and your deference to
our mutual consortium. No bothers. No bothers.” He vigorously shook
his head. With a loud clap of his suety hands, he said, “But when I
heard these weary travels had come to sojourn in my kingdom, my
heart was elated. Friends of Edhen, come, come!”

“Were we that obvious, Herus Proditous?”
Khalous asked.

Proditous’ belly shook as he laughed. “The
gods smile upon you benignly, my friend. Others like myself might
not have been so charitable.” With great effort he stood. His thick
ankles swelled under his knee length white robe when he shifted his
weight onto a pair of tan sandals. “I know why you have come. Your
hearts fear the black vipers and the dark king of Edhen who pursues
you still. This is unfortunate.” He waved his hand and shook his
head. “But not why I have brought you here.” He descended the
platform saying, “The pulchritudinous kingdom of Edhen beguiles men
far and wide with both its alluring beauty and otherworldly charm.
I admire your home extensively. Lamentably, never again will I
presume to entertain myself there as long as your dark king remains
in power. He is—how should I say this?—a horrid man.” Proditous
flopped a thick arm around Khalous. It draped across the captain’s
shoulders like a lazy boa. “Regale me, if you will, good captain,
of the grand tale of your adventures thus far. Come, come. Spin me
a brilliant tale!”

Proditous and Khalous wandered out of the
adjucept’s cavern-like meeting room to the garden courtyard. Slowly
they meandered around its perimeter with the old captain doing most
of the talking. The herus listened with wide eyes and a boyish
grin, clapping his hands from time to time and laughing with that
stupid sounding chirp.

“Are there many black vipers in Thalmia?”
Broderick asked.

Tenri shook his head. “Their presence on
Efferous dwindled considerably about a year ago. We still see
patrols from time to time, but nothing more.”

“You mean we could’ve been living down here
this whole time?” Clint said with a groan.

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that, young
master,” Tenri said. “Your dark king rules with a hammer of fear, a
fear that has stretched even to Efferous. The people here are leery
of anyone from Edhen, and they’ll report them to black vipers if
they see them. Anyone caught harboring or helping refugees from
Edhen will be arrested or killed.”

“So why is he willing to help us?” Nash
asked, nodding in the direction of the fat herus.

“I wish I could say.”

Broderick sat down on the steps leading up
to the herus’ pillowed throne. “Have you heard anything from
Aberdour lately?” he asked.

“Bits and pieces,” Tenri answered. “Thalmia
still enjoys open trade with Aberdour, but since the fall they have
had little to offer.”

Broderick felt his heartbeat quicken. None
of them had heard anything about Aberdour since the attack more
than three years ago.

“Tell me more,” Broderick said. “Who rules
the kingdom now?”

“The king there is a man by the name of
Dearg Mordoch, though, to call him a king would be an insult to all
true kings. Regardless, he is a passionate supporter of Orkrash and
not a man easy to disagree with.”

“How is it there?” Brayden asked. “The
people, are they well?”

Tenri looked hesitant, almost like he was
afraid to speak. He gazed down at the ground for a moment,
thinking, before saying, “They are struggling. Aberdour is not what
it used to be. When Orkrash sent his army to attack the city it was
not like the times he besieged Montrose or Tranent or Turnberry.
His forces came at Aberdour to destroy it, and they nearly did. All
the outlying towns were burned, the people of the region were
scattered or killed.”

“Why?” Broderick asked.

“Orkrash hates Aberdour. No one knows why.”
Tenri folded his arms across his leather and metal chest. “The man
who led the attack, a knight by the name of Sir Komor Raven, was
given permission by the high king to keep any spoils of war he
desired. What The Raven desired was money, and so he had made a
deal with a wealthy northerner to sell him the kingdom.”

“Sell the kingdom?” Nash repeated. “Sell
Aberdour?”

“To Dearg?” Broderick added.

“Indeed. Dearg is a mad king, they say, but
it was his arrangement with Sir Komor that spared most of
Aberdour.”

“So in the end,” Nash began, “The Raven got
rich, King Dearg got a city, the outlying towns were demolished,
and half of Aberdour was destroyed.”

Tenri just looked at him, a deep frown on
his lips.

Broderick realized how unprepared he had
been to hear this news of his homeland. It made him furious to know
that Aberdour had been conquered and traded like a piece of
merchandise.

And then there was Dearg. Broderick’s
insides clenched at the thought of what the mad king was doing to
his home. His muscles ached for vengeance, yet his mind knew there
was nothing he could do, not now anyway, not from Efferous.

Proditous came ambling back from the garden,
his eyes like orbs and his smile wide and fat. He slapped Khalous
on the back, laughing at some joke. Khalous must have told him a
brilliant tale indeed.

“I extend to all of you an invitation,” he
said, opening his arms in a grand gesture. “Tomorrow we shall have
an opulent fete, and in exchange for my hospitality I request that
you all spin me wondrous tales of your adventures. Embellishments
encouraged of course.”

Broderick looked at Khalous, surprised by
their good fortune. To go from being humble orphans taking refuge
in the crowded confines of Halus Gis to honored guests at a massive
banquet felt like a dream.

“We would be delighted,” Khalous said.

Proditous clapped his hands.
“Brilliant!”

Brayden twirled as a trio of street performs
flipped and cartwheeled past him. When he turned back around he had
to shuffle sideways to avoid being run over by a man balancing atop
a rolling sphere of wood.

The festive music pouring out of the dining
hall had attracted dozens of entertainers to the public square. The
evening air was thick with the scent of wood smoke, spiced meats,
and beer while acrobats tossed themselves about, jugglers wowed
spectators with twirling torches, and weapon masters demonstrated
their skills with throwing knives and swordplay.

“There’s good money in entertainment for a
performer who knows when and where to showcase his talents,” said
Tenri Hollandara. He walked up to Brayden with his hands clasped
behind him, flawless armor reflecting a hundred tiny
torchlights.

“Thalmia has many talented people,” Brayden
remarked as he watched a man swallow a flaming sword and then pull
it back out again.

“The only place you might find better is in
Konia,” Tenri said. “There you will find the home of the gladiators
and the largest war reenactments on Efferous.”

Tenri walked with Brayden among the crowded
square as they made their way to the dining hall. Vendors offered
them sales on sharpened steel, brand new pieces of armor, jackets,
and colorful silk shirts. Farmers and bakers showcased fresh
produce, sugary tarts, pies, and frosted cakes topped with
raspberries.

Brayden looked curiously at Tenri. The man
was a perplexing character. Although he talked and dressed like an
Efferousian, his hair was too light and his eyes too dark to make
him a native. When he spoke the language of Edhen, however, his
accent disappeared.

“Sir?” Brayden asked. “You are from, Edhen,
aren’t you?”

“Turnberry, to be exact,” Tenri said.

“I always liked Turnberry.”

“It’s a kingdom rife with notions of honor
and family, yet bereft of grace and mercy.” His tone was cold, and
Brayden didn’t get the feeling that he had much fondness for his
homeland.

“Why did you leave?”

“For the same reason as you. For the
Kriegellians.” Tenri rolled up his right sleeve, exposing an arm
covered in black tattoos. “I found them. I joined them.” He paused
to let Brayden examine the plethora of dark mystic markings. He
pulled his sleeve back down. “And then I lost my place among
them.”

“How?”

“A Kriegellian can lose his place within the
brotherhood through one of two ways, death or by losing his sword
in combat, though most who lose their swords pay with their lives.
My opponent was far kinder.”

“Are you a servant?”

“And Proditous is my master.”

Brayden tried to hide his surprise. The
thought of the oafish Proditous besting a man as lean and athletic
as Tenri was laughable.

“Oh, he did not fight me himself,” Tenri
said, noticing with a smirk Brayden’s dubious expression. “But it
was he who commanded the soldiers who bested me, thus my life went
to him.”

“Soldiers? How many soldiers did it take to
best you?”

“Twelve.”

“It took twelve men to defeat you?” Brayden
lifted his brows in awe.

“If you don’t count the thirty who died in
the process, yes.”

“I want to be a Kriegellian warrior,”
Brayden said. “Are you going to teach us?”

Tenri chuckled. “Unfortunately, I am
forbidden. Even were I not, that decision doesn’t lie with me.” He
clapped Brayden on the shoulder. “Come, we should make our way to
the banquet hall. It is never polite to be late for dinner when the
herus has invited you to be his honored guest.”

They passed by a pair of big dray horses
standing latched to a stationary wagon piled high with barrels of
ale. Behind the wagon sat the dining hall, a broad building of
stone and plaster, its sand colored pillars carved with a pattern
of vines and flowers and illuminated by towering bowls of fire. The
sensual aroma of roasting meat wafted down the steps and spilled
out onto the plaza below. When the scent touched Brayden’s nose he
felt his stomach lurch in anticipation.