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

by CW Thomas

  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?”

  BRODERICK

  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 chu
rn 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.

  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.