Where Serpents Strike (Children of the Falls Vol. 1) Page 2

  Until now.

  The gem between Versch’s fingers started to emanate a bluish glow that throbbed like a heartbeat for several moments as the wizard’s gibberish quickened. A low reverberation, like distant thunder, shook the room and then an ear-splitting crack rang out as an explosion of light burst from the wizard’s hands. The torches went out, plunging the room into near darkness.

  After his eyes had adjusted again, Merek saw Versch kneeling on the floor, the regenstern still clamped between his fingers, its blue light dimmed.

  Orkrash descended the steps, the loud thuds of his heavy boots echoing throughout his throne room. He walked up to the wizard and held out his hand. With trembling fingers, Versch released the regenstern into the palm of the high king—all six shattered pieces of it.

  Ustus gasped. “What did you do?”

  “I–I did nothing, my lord,” Versch said. “I told you I–I could not be certain what would happen. Regensterns a–are especially—”

  The gloved fist of the Black King smashed across the wizard’s face, knocking him back. Versch released a pitiful wail.

  “My lord,” he cried. “Wait!”

  The black vipers went to him, lifting him up.

  “Wait! Wait! No, no, no! Please!”

  “You will suffer for this, wizard,” Ustus said.

  “No, please!” Versch said as the soldiers dragged him toward a seventh pillar where a long pointed lance lay across the floor. “Wait. I can fix it!”

  “Stop!” The voice of the Black King cut through the night like ice. He carried his dark frame through the shadows of the throne room to Versch. Orkrash towered over the man by a good head’s height. “How?”

  “I–I–I can prepare the gem, my lord, to receive whatever magic you would like, but it would help, my lord, if I knew what you needed it for.”

  The Black King paced away from him, thinking. At last he handed the shattered pieces of the regenstern to Ustus, whispered something into his ear, and stepped away into the shadows.

  “A mind,” Ustus answered.

  Versch acted as though he had been caught off guard. “A mind? The mind of a person?”

  “Surely if a stone can hold such great mystical powers, it can carry the simple essence of an individual’s mind.”

  “Perhaps,” Versch said, “but I will need to return to my tower, but, I swear to you, great king, I will restore the gem.”

  The Black King gestured to his captain and strode out of the room, leaving the two vipers behind in the darkness and silence with Ustus and the quivering wizard.

  “You better not be lying,” Ustus said a moment later. “The high king has many resources and spies at his disposal. If you do not fulfill your promise, there is no place you can hide, no hole you can burrow deep enough to keep you from his majesty’s reach. You will be ferreted out of wherever you are, skinned like any small game rodent, and roasted over a pit. And I will make it my personal effort to ensure that all of that happens before you take your last breath.”

  Versch nodded vigorously.

  “I will send a group of soldiers to accompany you on your journey home to make certain that you do not neglect your task.”

  Ustus dropped the shards of the regenstern into Versch’s hands.

  “Now leave.”

  The wizard seemed more than happy to oblige. He breezed from the room with the two black vipers following after him.

  Merek exhaled in silence. He couldn’t deny that being so close to the Black King gave him the shivers, but to his surprise he found the presence of Ustus equally unsettling. Up in the shadows of the throne room’s lofty rafters, Merek waited for the room to clear.

  Merek started to adjust his footing in preparation to stand when Ustus’ voice cut through the night. “Did you enjoy that?”

  Merek froze, physically and mentally seized.

  Ustus stood in the doorway, looking back into the throne room. For a moment Merek wondered if the man had spoken to another person that he had failed to notice, someone hiding in the shadows perhaps, but when Ustus’ eyes began searching the rafters above Merek realized, with undeniable dread, that he was talking to him.

  “It is good to meet you at last, Merek Viator,” Ustus said. “I have heard many good things about you. Yes, your notoriety precedes you. Skilled thief. Assassin. And dare I say it—former gladiator?”

  Malice lurked behind the man’s wicked grin that made Merek’s skin crawl.

  “Surely you must be wondering who that note came from?” Ustus said. “I summoned you here so that you could witness this little meeting of ours, but I also wanted to see just how good you are. I do not know how you managed to get in here, but, I must say, I am impressed.”

  Ustus wandered about the floor, quiet while his eyes searched the darkness above.

  “What do you want?” Merek finally ventured to say.

  “He speaks! Wonderful.” He withdrew a small leather pouch from his tunic and shook it so that Merek could hear the rattling coins inside. “Gold. As the note promised. Half now, and half when you return the regenstern.” He dropped the pouch on the floor. “I do not trust Versch Leiern. You will follow him to his tower on Efferous, kill him, and bring the shards of the regenstern to me. Leave no witnesses, not even if they be the high king’s soldiers.”

  Confused, Merek couldn’t tell if Ustus was playing his hand behind the Black King’s back or if this was all part of their elaborate scheme. Either way, he wanted no part in it.

  “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 a
nother 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.

  LIA

  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 believ
e 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.