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

With slow, but deliberate footsteps Ustus
walked up to the wizard until he stood a hand’s width from the
man’s nose. “This, I promise to you, Versch Leiern, if you speak to
the high king in this manner you will not leave this room with your
life.”

This seemed to shock Versch into silence.
Merek grinned. He always found it gratifying to see a wizard put in
his place.

But as much as wizards made him leery, Merek
found himself becoming equally distrustful of Ustus. The man had a
sly way about him, mannerisms tinged with menace, and it made
Merek’s internal warning flags stand high.

“Now, as I was saying,” Ustus began, “when
his majesty enters you will bow your head and greet him with his
customary title. You will remain standing with your hands in front
of you at all times. You may only speak when spoken to. Do not
stare at him. Only when his majesty leaves are you free to go. Do
you understand?”

Versch nodded.

When the large double doors at the far end
of the throne room groaned open, Merek pivoted on his rafter perch
to get a better look at those entering. He saw four men. Two black
vipers, soldiers of the high king, their dark metal chests embossed
with the kingdom’s serpentine emblem. They marched behind their
captain, a brooding man in dark armor and a long red cape, a
fierce-looking bear’s head helmet tucked under his arm.

In front of them all was the high king
himself, Orkrash Mahl.

Merek couldn’t deny the excitement building
within him at the sight of the infamous high king of Edhen. The
Gold Viper, many called him. Orkrash the Ravenous. The Mauler of
Edhen. But no title was more legendary than the one most despised
by Orkrash himself—the Black King. As a result of the high king’s
widely known disdain for the name, naturally, Merek loved it.

Orkrash strode across the floor, his black
metal armor and thick-soled boots composing a ruckus of clatters
and groans that echoed around the room. A long heavy cape brushed
the floor behind him. He breezed past Versch, ignoring the wizard’s
courteous bow. He stopped just long enough to whisper something
into the ear of Ustus. Then he continued to the opposite end of the
room where he stood at the bottom of a series of stone steps that
led up to the platform holding his throne.

“His majesty wishes me to ask you a
question,” Ustus said with great calm. “Are you acquainted with any
of the other wizards he has summoned here?”

Versch looked nervous. His eyes trailed the
three soldiers as they took up their positions in front of the
raised platform behind the Black King—two on either side of him,
the captain in the middle.

“Um, I heard that Commodus Lagein, of
Tranent, and Moinen Weathersky, from the northern regions, had both
come, but I do not know all those that were summoned, or even how
many—”

“Six,” Ustus said. “There have been a total
of six wizards summoned to the high king’s castle. His majesty
presented each with the same problem. None of them were able to
fulfill the high king’s request, which brings us to you.”

“And what, may I ask, was the request?”

Ustus paused. He folded his hands in front
of him and sauntered toward the raised dais where the Black King
still stood, his back to the room, no skin save that of his pale
bald dome visible amidst his deathly black attire.

For the first time since sneaking into the
room, Merek noticed what appeared to be three black pillars
standing off to the right side of the platform. Upon closer
inspection he realized the pillars were not actually black, but
rather covered in long drapes of deep blue. A moment later he
noticed three other shrouded pillars mirroring the first three on
the other side of the platform. Six total.

Merek covered his nose as a strong whiff of
the foul odor swept by him.

“Before we get to that,” Ustus said, “his
majesty wishes to quell any desire within yourself to lie, cheat,
or otherwise weasel your way out of solving this problem for him.
If you cannot fix it, you cannot fix it. Simple as that. No need to
waste the high king’s time. So, to reinforce my point, allow me to
provide a visual aid.”

Ustus snapped his fingers and two of the
guards sprang into action. One moved left. The other went right.
They each took hold of one of the long dark drapes and gave it a
yank. On the right stood the corpse of a bald-headed wizard in
shredded brown robes. His back had been whipped to ribbons and his
body impaled from anus to mouth on a long pole that now propped him
up like a decorative statue on a stone base. Across from the
corpse, a similar sight, only this wizard’s stomach had been flayed
with his innards left hanging in a pile on the floor.

The stench of the rot seemed amplified now
and Merek felt a punishing blow to his stomach’s constitution.

Versch had covered his mouth with one of his
sparkly sleeves.

The black vipers yanked the drapes from the
other four decorations, exposing four impaled corpses in various
stages of decay. The oldest corpse was little more than a dried up
skeleton, its crooked jaw hanging open in a silent ceaseless
scream.

“The cost of failure,” said Ustus.

Versch hurried to the nearest ceiling column
and vomited on the floor. Merek didn’t blame him. In fact, he
believed he would’ve done the same thing were he not hiding over
the head of the most violent high king Edhen had ever known.

The Black King seated himself on the large
gold throne, the top of which fanned out like the folds of a
serpent’s head. He remained in the shadows, but Merek could still
see his pale face glowering down from his position of ultimate
power.

Orkrash nodded to Ustus who pulled something
out of the pocket of his long tunic. He walked over to Versch and
held it out to him.

“Do you know what this is?” he asked.

Versch wiped his mouth, cleared his throat,
and straightened up. “Murdering wizards,” he said, his throat
hoarse. “You have no idea what you’re bringing upon—”

“Do you know what this is?” Ustus asked
again.

Finally Versch looked at the item, a milky
white gem about the size of his palm, flat, with a colored center
that sparkled even in the dark. The small item seized the wizard’s
full attention. He lifted and examined it, his eyes wide with
fascination.

“A regenstern,” he answered. “It is a
powerful wizard’s stone. This is… amazing. Where did you find
this?”

“Can you empty it?” Ustus asked.

Versch looked stunned, like Ustus had just
said something profoundly stupid. “Empty it? The value of a
regenstern is in what it holds. Emptied, it is useless.”

“And do you know what this holds?”

Versch examined the stone again. “Only the
wizard who crafted it knows that answer.”

“Precisely. Now, can you empty it?”

Merek watched, amused, as all at once it
appeared to dawn on Versch the enormity of the problem he’d been
challenged to solve. His enthusiasm melted, replaced with fear and
confusion.

“Emptying a regenstern is–is impossible. To
extract the power, without even knowing what it is, could be
devastating. Why would you even want to—”

“It is no concern of yours why the high king
has asked this of you,” Ustus said. “Your choice now is simple. Do
as your high king has commanded, or do it not, but I am compelled
to remind you that there is a seventh lance waiting nearby.”

Versch remained silent for a long moment
before taking the regenstern between both his palms and lifting it
to his lips. He whispered to it inaudibly then held his eyes shut
tight as though listening for a response.

“I can extract the magic,” he finally said.
“B–but without knowing what it is I–I do not know what will happen.
It may do nothing. It may kill everyone in this room.”

Merek shivered. He glanced toward the
window, itching to begin making his way back, but fear of being
spotted held him in place. After all, the Black King had a lot of
lances.

Versch kept the gem clamped between his
palms as he knelt on the floor and began chanting some bizarre
wizard’s speech. Merek rolled his eyes. He had never thought of
wizards as anything more than fancy showmen whose sleight-of-hand
tricks impressed fools, and he had held to that belief his whole
life.

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.