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

by CW Thomas

  Lia stepped up to the line, cracking her neck, and putting on a show of looking dizzy and a bit drunk. It served to illicit a few chuckles from the crowd, effectively lowering their expectations. When she planted her knife right next to Tomas’, the crowd gasped, laughed, and applauded all at the same time.

  She bowed, and said, “Thank you. Thank you.”

  “Two out of three, right?” Tomas said with a smirk.

  She responded in the language of Edhen, “Yes, sir.”

  The black soldier froze, looked at her, and his smirk broadened. “Very well. Might the lady go first this time?”

  Lia accepted, and threw her knife into almost the exact same spot.

  Tomas’ blade stuck right under Lia’s with a rare upward spin that dislodged her knife and sent it tumbling to the floor.

  This, the crowd loved.

  “Very nice,” she said, feigning astonishment.

  Tomas shrugged. “An amusing trick I learned long ago.”

  On the third and final round, Tomas went first. He threw his knife hard, burying it deep into the wood.

  Lia stepped up. “Here’s a trick I learned,” she said. She lifted her right leg and balanced the knife on the toe of her boot. She stood there for a moment on one leg, arms out, waiting for the crowd’s bated breath to be at just the right moment. Then she kicked the knife into the air, spun around, grabbed the blade, and used her twirling momentum to throw the knife into the end of the first knife’s handle.

  The eruption of cheer from the crowd was deafening in the tight confines of the tavern.

  Tomas clapped as he walked up to Lia. He put a firm hand on her shoulder and drew her into him, speaking into her ear, “Come outside with me, miss.”

  “Oh, but sir, I—”

  “Now.” His tone was calm, collected, and not to be trifled with.

  Tomas and his two comrades escorted Lia out the front door and around the side of the building.

  Now that she was alone and walking among them, Lia had to admit the black vipers were far more intimidating. For a while she couldn’t discern if she was feeling more fear than excitement, or if it was the other way around.

  Once they were off the street and between the shadows of the buildings, Thomas said, “You hide your accent well, little miss, but not well enough, I’m afraid. What part of Edhen are you from?”

  To Lia’s own surprise, she froze. All at once the shadows, the soldiers, her own small size, the situation in which she had gotten herself, all settled upon her at the same time. She felt ashamed and foolish and well out of her depth.

  “Miss? I asked you a question.” Tomas snapped the fingers of his right hand in front of her eyes.

  The gesture was just what Lia needed. Khile had done the same thing to her many times over the years, always in an attempt to get her to focus. She hated it, but it never failed.

  Lia grabbed Tomas’ right wrist and bent it forward toward the notch of his elbow, the pressure and pain of which sent the man to his knees. She heard his wrist snap as she leaned forward. At the same time she brought her heel up into the blind eye of Ewan on her left. She vaulted over Tomas to give herself some space. With a death grip on his broken hand, she twisted it in a half circle as she kicked Ian in his left side where she knew his ribs were tender. He dropped like a cart of bricks.

  She clenched her fist, allowing her middle knuckle to protrude about a finger’s width, and rapt it into the side of Tomas’ neck, paralyzing his right arm and knocking him down. She bore down onto him with a crushing blow to his face, relishing the way his nose popped against her knuckles.

  Khile arrived in a flurry of fists and knees. He roughed up Ian and Ewan until they lay motionless on the ground.

  As Lia surveyed her handiwork, a wide grin broke out across her face. When she caught the look in Khile’s eyes, however, her smile vanished.

  “What?” she said, holding out her hands. “I knew I could beat them.”

  Khile’s blue eyes glared at her in disappointment. He turned and left the alley without a word.

  Confused, Lia followed him across the street to the inn. She thought he would’ve been impressed. Not every thirteen-year-old girl could knock a grown man unconscious, let alone three.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked. She trotted behind him as he entered the inn and stomped up the stairs to the second floor. “Will you talk to me? What are you doing?”

  She followed him into the bedroom that he had rented for them to share. Her belongings were in a pile on the bed. Khile grabbed his things and turned to leave the room.

  “Where are you going?” she asked, her stomach knotting up.

  Khile stopped and exhaled in frustration. “As soon as those soldiers regain consciousness they’re going to start asking around. It won’t take long before they figure out who and where we are.”

  Lia had to admit he had a point.

  “I did it on purpose, you know?” she said. “My accent. I wanted them to hear it so they’d take me outside.”

  “It was foolishness,” he muttered through gritted teeth.

  “I did exactly what you taught me to do. Know yourself, know your enemy, and know your surroundings. That’s what you always tell me. I got to know my enemy during the knife fight. He was overly dominant with his right hand to the point that his left side was useless. One of them was blind in one eye, the other had a wound on his side. I knew what I was doing.”

  “You don’t know yourself as well as you think you do,” he said flatly.

  “How can you say that? I just bested three trained soldiers in—”

  Khile lunged at her so quick and swift that by the time Lia finished flinching and opened her eyes again, his fist was a hair’s width from her nose.

  “You didn’t even see that coming, did you?”

  A shiver crawled through her bones. “What’s your point?”

  “If you were ready you would’ve been able to defend that.”

  “You’re my friend,” she countered. “Why would I think about having to defend myself from you?”

  “You’re still letting your emotions control you. Whenever you get worked up you get sloppy. You have no self-control. And I’m done trying to help you understand that.”

  He threw his saddlebags over his shoulder and left the room.

  Lia ran after him.

  They retrieved their horses and mule without notifying the stable hand and hurried down the street.

  “What did you mean by that?” Lia asked him.

  But Khile just said, “Later.”

  They followed the main road east for a ways before heading out of Thalmia’s northeast gate.

  Khile said nothing to Lia as they made camp in the woods well off the road, far away from being spotted. He didn’t even bother to start a fire. He just spread out his mat and went to sleep, leaving Lia alone in the dark with nothing but the stars and her miserable thoughts.

  Twice she opened her mouth to say, “I’m sorry,” and twice she changed her mind. She finally decided that perhaps she had been a little too careless, but she had still defeated three of the high king’s men. As far as she was concerned, Khile wasn’t giving her enough credit.

  She looked at him asleep on his mat and allowed her eyes to trace the strong curve of his chin, his sharp nose, and handsome brow. He had been her only companion since leaving Aberdour, and though he was more of a mentor to her than anything, he was also a valued friend. Perhaps she hadn’t given him the respect he deserved.

  Khile’s place on the ground was empty the following morning. His bedding was gone, as were his horse and saddlebags. He’d left Dumbass and all the rest of their belongings, so Lia assumed he was coming back. This wasn’t the first time he had wandered off without telling her, just never under such circumstances.

  Lia decided not to worry about it. She took her time exploring the wide bend in the river beyond their campsite. She dug out some fishing line and nabbed a couple of blunt nosed silverbacks that she gutted and
cooked over a small fire. She tried to enjoy the catch, but found the meat bland and unsatisfying.

  She missed Khile’s laughter and the playful banter they often enjoyed.

  When he still hadn’t returned by noon, Lia started to get nervous. She kept herself busy by going through their entire arsenal of swords and throwing knives, sharpening and cleaning each one of them. She worked in a few practice throws with each blade before putting it away.

  Late in the afternoon, Khile returned. Lia’s heart was relieved, but she refused to show it.

  “Get your things,” he said, without looking at her. “I’ve found a place for us to stay.”

  She had never known him to be so mysterious and curt. It was obvious that he was still angry.

  She said nothing as they journeyed back into Thalmia. She asked no questions, not even when he led her near scattered groups of black vipers. In silence, she trusted him, believing that his mood would lighten once the tension between them had a chance to dissipate.

  Khile led her deep into a part of the city known as Perdives, a district reserved for the noble and wealthy. From smooth streets the buildings rose to form bigger and far more ornamental structures than Lia had seen anywhere else in Thalmia. Colorful banners adorned the homes along with vibrant green vines and bright flowers. Life felt more relaxed in Perdives, quieter, but much more expensive.

  They worked their way up a winding street, over a bridged rivulet, to a luxurious red roofed villa on a hill overlooking the southern sea. The main house, barn, and outbuildings were a pleasant beige color, adorned with intricately carved murals of warriors with spears and swords and shields. The villa’s L-shape design hugged a courtyard of green grass and stone walkways. Wind soughed in the massive papery leaves of four giant palms that provided some shade over the main house and grounds.

  To Lia, the most interesting part of it all was nestled upon the lush green grass under the palms. There, over a dozen different devices for the practice of martial arts had been constructed—wooden and straw dummies, wood beams and bars, thrown weapons and archery targets.

  The makings of an excited smile began to grow at the corners of Lia’s lips. “What is this place?” she asked.

  Khile dismounted and passed the reins of his horse off to a dark skinned stable hand. He took both their horses and led them away.

  “A place I once called home,” he answered.

  Lia followed him into the grassy courtyard where the late afternoon sun cast dramatic shadows on the garden of practice equipment.

  She stopped when she saw a man standing in the middle of the courtyard in brown slacks and a light linen tunic. He had long dark hair pulled back into a curly ponytail, skin the color of cocoa, and a devilish glint in his narrow eyes.

  Lia looked at Khile, her hands and feet quivering with hope. “This isn’t…” but she didn’t dare guess for fear that it would deflate her growing hope.

  Khile bowed to the man. “Master Decorus.” He gestured to Lia. “I’ve brought you a new student. Her name is Ulyssa.”

  Lia looked from Khile to the legendary blade master, her heart bursting with excitement. Decorus Ferrum. Some called him The Beautiful Sword. He was one of the deadliest swordsmen in the known world.

  “Is this my next disappointment,” Decorus said.

  “This one has potential.”

  Lia shot Khile a look of indignation. Was that all he thought she had—potential?

  “We shall see,” Decorus said. He gestured toward a rack of swords. “Choose your weapon, girl.”

  Lia took a deep, but discreet breath, and walked toward the weapon rack. There were two spears, a halberd, several swords of varying length and width, a staff, and a plethora of long knives. She took a short, slender sword from the rack, and tested its balance in her hand. Liking the feel of it, she went and stood before Decorus.

  “Now attack me,” he said.

  Lia sunk into a ready foot stance, drew her sword back, and lunged at him. The next thing she knew she was spinning past Decorus head over heals. She landed on her rump in the grass three paces away.

  Decorus tipped his face to the sky and laughed.

  “You must think me a pin cushion from the way you seek to prick me,” he mocked, pacing around behind her. “I said attack!”

  Lia scrambled to her feet, annoyed and embarrassed, and lunged at him. She slashed once, twice, three times, but hit nothing but air. Decorus moved so fast she couldn’t even tell how he was moving. In one moment he was on the left, and in the next he was on the right. When she dove at him with a straight thrust he clamped onto the blade with the flats of his hands, twisted it up out of her grasp, and caught it by the hilt. By the time she realized what had happened the point of the sword was a finger’s breadth from her nose.

  Decorus walked over to Khile who was watching silently, but critically. “This is the child you told me about this morning? She is nothing but a wild mare.”

  Lia hated his dismissive attitude, hated more the way he spoke as though she wasn’t even there. His mocking tone made her blood boil, and she wished she had another weapon to attack him again. This time she’d be fiercer. This time she’d show him how good she really was.

  “I never said she was great,” Khile said. “I told you she had potential.”

  Decorus shrugged. “Perhaps, though I suspect—”

  “Let me try again!” Lia blurted as she gripped her shredding temper.

  Decorus wheeled on her so fast it scared her. “Never interrupt me, girl!” he roared. “And certainly never in that tone.”

  She recoiled at his wild-eyed snap and dropped her head in shame.

  “But just to convince myself that this was, in fact, a total waste of my time, take this.” He tossed her the sword, which she caught with clumsy hands. “I will grant you your request.” He started circling her again. “Now ATTACK!”

  With a scream, Lia tore into him with a series of thrusts and slashes, twirls and stabs. She kept her arms and legs in tight, her steps short and snappy, and built momentum on the sword by keeping it moving.

  But Decorus’ dance was still the stronger one.

  He disarmed her as though he had become bored with the display, and returned the sword to the rack. Then he turned his back on her and strolled toward the main house.

  Lia looked at Khile and opened her arms, confused. “That’s it?” she whispered. “How can that be—”

  “Potential,” Decorus shouted over his shoulder. “I give her one week to show me that she has more than that.” The sword master disappeared inside his home.

  For a moment, Lia’s mind went blank. Did he mean to train her? As exciting of a prospect as that was, she couldn’t deny the rising tide of terror she felt inside.

  Khile walked up behind her and said, “Listen to what he says. He’s going to push you harder than you’ve ever been pushed. He’s going to look at you like a horse that needs to be broken, and he will break you. His work isn’t finished until he does.”

  A horrible weight descended upon Lia. She faced Khile. “Wait. What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying goodbye, Lia.”

  She felt like she’d just been hit in the gut. For a moment she forgot to breathe as she tried to comprehend the why behind Khile’s decision. Had he finally gotten sick of her? Had she finally pushed him too far or argued one too many times? Over the years he had been many things to her—savior, father, mentor, friend—but no matter what he was, he had always been there. The thought of life without him was almost paralyzing.

  “Why?” she asked. “What, I mean, where are you—”

  “I’ve got some things I need to take care of.”

  She saw the quiver in his chin just before he turned his back on her. She could tell this wasn’t what he wanted.

  Lia ran after him. “Khile, wait!” He didn’t stop. “I… I’m sorry, all right?” She jogged in front of him. “I’m sorry!”

  He stopped and looked at her. “We all have to find our
limits, Lia, otherwise we’ll never be able to push past them. That’s what I’ve brought you here to do. Test yourself. Improve yourself. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, but–but not… I don’t want…” She deflated. “When will I see you again?”

  A flicker of emotion passed over his otherwise stoic face. She wondered—no, hoped—that he was having as much difficulty saying goodbye as she was.

  “I don’t know,” he answered. “Listen to Decorus. He’ll be able to give you the training I never could.”

  He stepped past her. Her fingers twitched, wanting to reach for him, hug him, hold onto what she never thought she needed. She wished he’d reach for her, but he didn’t. He continued on down the path back to his horse.

  She watched him mount, watched him trot away, wishing that he would look back one more time, but he never did. Once he was gone, she hung her head and cried, more alone now than she had ever felt before.

  SCARLETT

  Tristian’s leg was bothering him again, she could tell. He had been standing for the better part of the morning as an army of tailors made the finishing touches on his wedding attire. They tightened a black leather belt lined with gold rivets around his waist, bringing in the dark surcoat that hung to his calves. The sleeves of his velvet navy blue tunic emerged from under the pointed shoulders of the coat and draped elegantly over his arms, matching the stiff collar that rose halfway up his neck, chaffing his stubble.

  Tristian had never looked more dignified and uncomfortable at the same time.

  As she watched the dressers adorn Tristian in seemingly endless amounts of decorations, Scarlett Falls felt her friend slipping further and further away from her. There appeared to be no end to the amount of people coming between them. His mother, Lady Catherina Elle, his father, King Dagart, the high king’s witch Demulier Congrave, and now Princess Arrahbella fi Cipio who was about to become his wife.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” he said, flexing his neck under the tight collar of his tunic. “You’d rather I go to my father and tell him I’m not marrying Arrahbella, that I’m free to make my own choices.”