Where Serpents Strike (Children of the Falls Vol. 1) (61 page)

The entrance was guarded by a massive set of
doors standing a good twenty feet tall.

A guard stopped them before they could pass
through and said, “The herus has requested that all weapons be left
outside the dining hall tonight.”

Brayden’s eyes went to gauge the reaction of
Tenri. He appeared to be stifling his annoyance even as he removed
his sword and passed it to the guards. “The herus does this from
time to time, Master Brayden. Nothing to be worried about.”

Brayden followed suit and surrendered his
weapons to the guard even though doing so created a hollow feeling
in his chest.

Inside, flickering torchlight enriched the
pale angles of the hall’s architecture while a large bonfire
crackled in the center of the room. Deep shadows hid a plethora of
corners while the foreign chatter of the surrounding guests made
Brayden feel uneasy. Above him, however, the open roof of the
dining hall gave way to a pleasant view of the night stars that he
found calming.

“Decorus Ferrum,” Tenri said, greeting a
sharp looking man in a trim brown and gold jacket.

The man turned. His devilish look surprised
Brayden. He had a short ponytail of coal black curls pulled
straight back from a dark, angular face.

“Brayden, I want you to meet the greatest
swordsman on Efferous, and possibly the known world,” Tenri
said.

Brayden extended his hand toward the dark
skinned stranger. “Nice to meet you.”

Decorus shook it methodically, staring at
Brayden with scrutinizing brown eyes from under dark, low set
brows.

“You words carry the taint of an Edhenite,”
he said.

Brayden wasn’t sure how to take his remark.
“Is that bad?”

“Only if you’re an Edhenite,” Decorus
said.

Tenri laughed, diffusing the tension that
had unexpectedly sprung up. “You’ll have to forgive, Master
Decorus. He is suspicious of everyone and has not a shred of
kindness. But a finer warrior you will never meet. It’s a shame he
no longer accepts students.”

“If one were worthy enough, I might.”
Decorus gestured to Tenri. “I was wondering if I might have a word
with you.”

“Of course.”

Tenri excused himself to converse elsewhere
with the mysterious sword master.

“This Proditous fellow knows how to throw a
party,” said Nash when he found Brayden standing near the entrance
of the dining hall. The young man had made himself comfortable in
the dress clothes that had been provided to him by Proditous, an
embellished gold and yellow jacket that hung to his knees, silk
shirt, embroidered slacks, and a leather belt bejeweled with blue
stones.

“Don’t you look… lovely?” Brayden said,
trying not to laugh.

“Hey, just because it’s not a style where we
come from doesn’t mean I don’t look amazing.”

“You look like a girl.”

Nash put a hand on Brayden’s shoulder.
“Don’t take this personally, but impressing you with how good I
look is the last thing on my mind. Impressing them, however, is of
utmost importance.” He gave a nod of his head toward a pair of
beautiful young women eyeing them from across the room. The girls
noticed them looking in their direction and turned into each other
giggling.

“Incredible aren’t they?” Nash said.

Clint attacked him. He wrapped his arm
around Brayden’s neck and dug his knuckles into his scalp.

“Take that, cousin!” Clint said, slurring
his words.

Brayden shoved him away, annoyed.

“Someone’s been at the herus’ ale,” Nash
said as Clint staggered on his feet.

“I could take all of you drunk when I’m
drunk, but only when… when, um…” He belched. Brayden noticed that
his eyes were glassy and moist. “You’re a bunch of ducks, you know
that?”

Brayden chuckled. “Ducks, eh?”

Clint nodded and lifted his goblet to his
lips.

Broderick walked over to them. He had
exchanged his leather armor and worn slacks for a formal black
tunic with a dignifying high collar, matching black pants, and
polished leather boots.

“Did you hear?” he asked.

“Hear what?” Nash said, tipping back a mug
of ale.

“Khalous says the Kriegellians don’t recruit
outsiders,” Broderick said. “They’re a pretty superstitious lot, he
says, always fearing they’re going to bring evil into the ranks or
something.”

“So does that mean we came all this way for
nothing?” Nash asked.

“I guess so.”

Brayden lifted a quelling hand. “We don’t
know that yet. I don’t think Khalous and Tenri are done talking
about it.”

“What does Tenri have to do with anything?”
Broderick asked.

“He’s a Kriegellian,” Brayden said. “He’s
the one we came here to see.”

Nash’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Tenri is
a Kriegellian warrior?”

“He used to be. He has their markings on his
arms. I saw them.”

Nash swiped another mug of ale off a passing
tray.

“How can you drink that salty, sandy…
whatever that is,” Broderick said with an expression of obvious
disgust.

Another server walked by with a tray of
small pastries. Nash snatched one. “It’s called indulging. And I
plan to do a lot of it.”

Proditous had planned a grand indulgence
indeed. Among the many rows of tables and guests were serving
platters piled high with roasted boar, fish in a red mackerel
sauce, large baskets overflowing with fruit, deep bowls containing
a variety of nuts, and loaves of fresh bread still warm to the
touch.

Tenri led them to a table at the front of
the room where they seated themselves before a wide platform. Atop
the stage, several women in flowing wisps of cloth entertained the
guests with elegant dances until the herus arrived.

When Proditous entered he started at the
front of the room. He strolled among his guests on his way to his
table so he could receive their compliments, thanks, and kisses. He
was wearing chocolate leather and silks and his head was wreathed
in green leaves. At his side was a beautiful young woman in a fine
silk dress colored a deep red and embroidered with birds along the
neckline that plunged to her navel. She swept her skirts aside and
seated herself at the table across from Brayden. She looked sad and
distant.

Proditous stood at the head of the table and
stretched out his hands. When the room quieted, he offered thanks
to their gods and then permitted the crowd to eat.

The meal that followed contained nothing but
the most succulent foods Brayden had ever eaten. They began with
small plates of oiled bread and garlic. When they were finished
Proditous motioned to the servers who took their plates and
replaced them with cuts of spiced meats and boiled vegetables
seasoned with sea salt. The servers kept their goblets full with
wine and beer while a single musician serenaded the crowd with a
large U-shaped stringed instrument that resembled a harp.

A manservant stopped by their table with a
pitcher of mead and offered to refill Brayden’s mug. As the man
reached out to take the cup, his tunic parted and the hilt of a
curved dagger glinted in the torchlight. The man refastened the
button, poured Brayden’s drink, and glided away from the table.

“Master Brayden,” Proditous said, “word is
you have felled a mountain troll.” He pointed to the left side of
Brayden’s face, which still bore the scars of his encounter with
Kette. “Do entertain us with the chronicle. Please, no
prevarication and do embellish the details.”

Brayden found it difficult to weave the tale
of his encounter with the beast so spontaneously. He did the best
he could, throwing in a few spectacular additions in an attempt to
please the herus.

His wounds no longer hurt, but the scars
along his jaw, cheek, and forehead were still healing and would
likely be there for the rest of his life.

Through the dim firelight of the dining hall
Brayden saw a pair of shirtless male slaves carrying a large pillow
upon which rested what looked like a pale, hairless dog. They
brought it to Proditous and set it on the ground next to his chair.
The thing on the pillow was a wretched sight, the torso of a
limbless man. He lifted his emaciated head up toward Proditous who
stroked the man’s stringy black hair. The herus dropped a piece of
meat on the pillow that the man began to eat.

“What is that?” asked Broderick, his face
wrinkled in disgust.

“Broderick,” Khalous said, his voice tinged
with caution, “it is not polite to question our host.”

“Oh, no bother,” Proditous said. “He is
merely a curious boy.”

“What happened to his arms and legs?” Nash
asked.

“I had them removed,” Proditous said.

“Why?”

Proditous tented his fingers over his
generous belly. “This is a tale I do love to expel.”

Brayden had a feeling it wasn’t one he would
enjoy hearing.

“His name is Beggar. He is one of the Niqua.
You could say the Niqua are to us when the Fellians are to the
people of Edhen. What do you call them? Krebbers. A wonderful term,
by the way. Belonging to no one. Apropos, don’t you think, for
slaves and the weak?”

Beggar craned his neck up to look at
Proditous. When he opened his mouth to moan Brayden noticed that he
had no tongue. Proditous placed another piece of chicken in the
man’s mouth.

“When I conquered his people, an importunate
and primitive race, I told his sire I would demonstrate forbearance
from taking his son’s life, but that he would live the rest of his
days like a dog by my side beseeching from me the scraps from my
table.” He dropped a greasy husk of chicken skin on the floor. “I
am a man of my word. So I truncated his limbs. I uprooted his
genitals and removed his tongue.”

A wicked smile crossed the fat man’s
lips.

“You see, it is not enough that we conquer
our enemies. We must make examples of them. It is how the world
learns peace.”

Brayden forced down the nervous lump in his
throat created by the hideous creature on the floor.

A male server bumped into Brayden’s back as
he squeezed past him. “Pardon, my lord.”

“Herus,” Nash began, “would it be impolite
to ask one of those dancing women to come a bit closer?”

Proditous glanced over to one of the stone
pedestals upon which stood a beautiful woman swaying to the music
of the stage musicians. Apart from a strip of fabric across her
breasts, she wore two long panels of fabric on her hips, one slung
low in the front and one in the back.

Proditous tipped his head back and
bellowed.

“Do they not have women on Edhen?” Tenri
asked.

“Few so lovely,” Nash said.

“You have to forgive my brother,” Preston
said. “He suffers from a lack of respect for the fairer sex.”

“Your brother is in good company,” said
Proditous. “Some peculiarities that you might see as ill-mannered
foibles are actually nothing but social commonalities here on
Efferous. Women, for example, are treated quite differently than
they would be on your homeland.”

“On Edhen we respect and love our women,”
Preston said, “but here women are treated much like servants, which
I think is disgraceful.”

Khalous leaned toward him. “Watch your
tongue, boy.”

“Oh, it’s all right,” Proditous said. “Our
culture must seem very strange at times.” He downed a generous gulp
of wine and belched. “Scientifically, women are inferior to men,
that is to say, naturally, unalterably inferior. Women are, in
other words, the second sex in the fullest sense. Deformed males.
Intellectually they simply lack the capacity to make their
reasoning powers, such as they are, authoritative. There is nothing
wrong with treating them this way. It is simply how it is.”

Brayden watched Preston fidget in his seat,
his face reddening.

He cast his eyes toward the young woman whom
Proditous had walked in with. She seemed uninterested in anything
except the food she was picking at with her fork.

“If this is true of all women, as you
suggest,” Preston began, “how is it that the women of Krebberfall,
for example, are considered equal to men? In Krebberfall, the king
does not rule with a queen by his side, rather the two of them rule
together. Some even say the women there rule over the men
folk.”

Brayden noticed a male server standing
behind him. The close proximity of the man took him by surprise.
The server noticed his discomfort and took a small step back.
“Pardon me, my lord.”

Beggar moaned for more food. Proditous
tossed him a bread roll and said, “The women of Krebberfall suffer
from a besetting sin innate to all women, which is the lack of
self-discipline and self-control. The history of the Krebber
culture is rife with women wallowing in every sort of luxury, aided
by their complaisant, uxorious husbands.”

Proditous reached over and stroked the bare
shoulder of the woman sitting next to him. He smiled as though
satisfied by something he hadn’t verbalized. “Men do well to tame
their women,” he said, kissing her hand.

Preston’s chair scraped obscenely as he got
to his feet, disgust in his eyes. Brayden could see the guests
around them listening eagerly for what he had to say. Instead, the
young man wiped his mouth with his napkin and cleared his throat.
“Pardon me, my lords. I must relieve myself.” Without waiting for
permission to leave the table, he stormed off.

“It seems we have unsettled our guest,”
Proditous said. A few of the people dining nearest to them chuckled
in response.

Brayden noticed an unusual number of
menservants gathering around the table. They stood at the backs of
their guests, hands clasped behind them, eyes staring forward.

Unsettled by their close proximity, he
scooted his chair back and stood. “I think I shall join him,” he
said to Proditous. “With your permission of course, my lord.”

Beggar snarled on the floor by Brayden’s
feet and clamped his jaws onto the heel of his boot. The attacked
startled him and he jumped back. A few guests burst out laughing,
but Proditous was not amused. He sent a hand down across the
wretch’s face that knocked him flat onto his pillow.