Where Serpents Strike (Children of the Falls Vol. 1) (53 page)

The beast charged. The trees in front of it
split and snapped in a rush of noise akin to an avalanche of stone.
The mountain troll roared into view, a towering four-legged beast
that seemed hewn from the forest earth. It swatted at Khalous’
horse, knocking it and its rider aside.

“Go!” Pick shouted to Brayden as he drew his
sword.

But Brayden’s horse was out of control,
spinning first away from the troll and then back in frantic
confusion.

The troll reared up on its hind feet,
extending its already immense height to three times that of a man.
On stumpy cloven hooves it stood before them and pounded its chest
with a massive fist of dwarfish fingers. If it had eyes, Brayden
couldn’t find them under its dome of gray bony protrusions and
bulging root-like veins.

The troll crashed down onto all fours. It
knocked Brayden off his horse as it charged toward the wagon,
roaring at the pair of dray horses.

Stoneman cursed and dove off the wagon seat.
The troll plowed into the horses, ripped the head off one and
struck the other with its forearm so hard that it went sailing into
the trees. The wagon came apart with the blow, its contents
spilling all over the ground.

From the scattered mess of provisions came
the horrified scream of a girl.

The troll flinched, startled at the
ear-piercing wail.

Brayden’s eyes went wide.

“What in all the bloody hells?” Pick
shouted.

Nairnah scrambled out from under the mess of
broken wagon parts. She sprinted for the trees, legs scrambling
over rocks under the folds of a gray dress.

“Nairnah!” Brayden shouted.

Her scream seemed to irritate the troll. It
leveled its bony head at her and charged.

Brayden jumped off his horse and ripped his
sword from its sheath. Any thoughts of fear or hesitation were gone
from his mind. He charged forward, shouting at the beast in hopes
of getting its attention.

Broderick and Nash unleashed a slew of
arrows at the animal, most of which just bounced off its calloused
hide.

Stoneman, Pick, and Preston attacked the
troll from behind, drawing thin lines of red across its thick squat
legs. Broderick and Nash circled around in front of it and
continued to fire arrows at its head in search of a weak spot.

Brayden worked his way toward Nairnah. She
was caught between a wide boulder and a pair of trees through which
the troll was making desperate grabs for her with its stubby
fingers. It grabbed one of the trees and lifted it from the ground,
uprooting a massive spiny orb of dirt and branches. It chucked the
tree aside.

Brayden wasn’t sure which had struck him—the
tree or the arm of the troll. He just knew that his world was
spinning out of control. He landed on the other side of the road
where he tumbled through leaves, dirt, and pain.

He staggered to his feet, clutching his
sword in a vicious grip.

Stoneman, Pick, Preston, and Clint lay in
scattered heaps on the road while a cloud of leaves rained down
around them. The troll had gone feral, ripping up trees in a
frenzied effort to find Nairnah, who was screaming in a terrified
panic.

Brayden got to his feet and saw her
sprinting down the road toward the unconscious body of Khalous. She
would’ve escaped the troll’s notice had she not screamed again.

The mountain troll pulled back from its
frenzy. When it spotted Nairnah, it gave chase, shaking its head in
protest of her high-pitched wails.

Brayden raced to intercept it. He dove out
into the road and threw himself in front of the beast’s charge. He
caught the troll in the throat with the full shaft of his sword and
hung on tight as it plowed over top of him. He twisted the hilt of
his blade and allowed the friction of the ground against his
clothes to drag him along the beast’s underbelly, tearing a long
gash through its neck. Brayden’s cloak and tunic turned to shreds
as his left arm and face raked across the gravel.

The mountain troll moaned an effervescent
bellow, coughing blood and mucus onto the road. Its feet stumbled
and gave out. Brayden lost his grip and felt his body toss and turn
under the mammoth monster until it slid to a stop.

All went quiet.

For a moment Brayden remained still, his
heavy breaths muffled against the rancid skin of the mountain
troll. With great effort he pried himself out from under the
animal’s hind leg, covered in dirt, his skin pepped with shards of
rock and a plethora of burning scrapes and bruises.

On shaky knees he walked around to the front
of the animal. Blood was flowing from the long gash in its
neck.

It was then that he noticed a tiny black orb
nestled beneath a small horn on the side of its head—an eyeball. It
was staring at him, using the last bits of its life to examine its
conqueror. The black orb flitted from Brayden’s face down to his
feet, then back up again. Then the skin around the black orb
relaxed and the eye went dead.

“Brayden?” came Nairnah’s meek voice. She
staggered toward him, her teary expression frozen in horror.

He ran to her, scooped her up in his arms,
and held her tight.

“W–what was that–that thing. W–what… I
don’t… I’m sorry. I–I…”

“Shh,” Brayden said. He did his best to calm
her, but he knew that nothing could take the edge off except
time.

Nash and Broderick jogged over to him in a
clatter of leather, quivered arrows, and astonished breaths.

“Brayden, you do realize you just killed a
mountain troll,” Nash said. He grinned. “A bloody mountain troll.
By the gods!”

“Well fought, young master,” said Pick. He
pointed toward the left side of Brayden’s face. “Better get that
cleaned up.”

Brayden’s hand went to his face to discern
what Pick was referring to. The moment his fingers touched his skin
he felt the wounds ignite—imbedded pieces of rock felt like fire
against his face. He grew queasy and sat down. His nerves became
aware of the other injuries along his left arm, which was bleeding
beneath the shredded sleeve of his shirt.

As badly as he had been hurt, he considered
himself lucky to be alive.

The horses, on the other hand, had not fared
so well. Three of them were dead, and the rest had scattered except
one.

Khalous had taken a direct hit from the
troll and landed in the rocks on his head, but apart from a bloody
rip on his scalp the Old Warhorse wasn’t badly injured. The moment
he was well enough to stand he launched into a tirade against
Nairnah. She accepted his fierce scolding with her chin huddled
against her collar.

“Forgive me, my lord,” she said. “I didn’t
wish to be left behind.”

“We don’t always get what we wish, young
lady,” Khalous growled. “I’ll deal with you more later. For now,
let’s clean up this mess and make camp. Quickly now. Move!”

The boys dispersed, but Brayden stopped when
Khalous called his name. “Sir?”

Khalous leaned back against a rock. He
pressed a torn white rag into the gash on the side of his scalp
from which had flowed several thick streams of blood. He looked at
Brayden and said, “Well done.”

Like a well-oiled set of gears the boys did
as they had been trained. Clint and Nash retrieved food from the
supply wagon; Preston gathered wood and built a campfire; Ty and
Pick corralled the scattered horses and took them to drink;
Broderick scouted around the campsite to ensure that they were
hidden from any roads, towns, or houses.

Stoneman and Khalous collected their
supplies from the wagon, which had been destroyed beyond repair. At
the campsite they divided up the provisions among what horses were
left while Stoneman brewed some vegetable stew.

“Can you eat troll?” Nash asked.

“I wouldn’t,” answered Clint. “Their bodies
carry too many diseases.”

“Says the man being unbelieving in trolls
just a short whiles ago,” said Ty.

“That’s one thing I’m definitely going to
miss about life at Halus Gis,” Pick said. “The food.” He sat down
on the ground and leaned back against a log. “Those nuns sure do
know how to marinate a goose.”

Brayden smirked at his remark, which caused
the left side of his face to ignite with fresh sparks of pain. He
winced and tried to remain still as Nairnah pulled another rock
from his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“No, it’s not you.”

She removed the bandage from his head,
dipped it into a bucket of water and rung it out. With gentle
fingers she dabbed at his pockmarked skin. She had pulled more than
a dozen pebbles from his jaw, cheek, and forehead, some imbedded so
far into the skin that they had to be pried out with a sewing
needle.

“Will these scar?” Brayden asked.

“I suspect so,” answered Khalous.

“Look on the bright side,” Nash began, “you
now have a great nickname. Leatherhead.”

“I was thinking Pockface,” added Clint.

“You’re both being so helpful,” Brayden
said.

Stoneman passed out bowls of steaming watery
broth filled with soft vegetables. The soup was bland, and made
Brayden miss Halus Gis even more.

When Nairnah was done removing the stones
from his arm, she applied a sticky green paste that Khalous had
made from some medicinal herbs and hot water. She bandaged up the
worst bits and fetched him a new tunic from the bundles of spilled
provisions.

She sat down on his right side and cuddled
into him. The warmth of her body so close to his gave him a wave of
energy that seemed to ease his pain.

“Do they have good food in Thalmia?” Nash
asked sipping broth from his bowl.

“Very good foods,” answered Ty. “Lots of
fishes. Very good spices from Konia so the meats tastes very
good.”

“Sir?” Preston asked, looking at Khalous.
“Are we still going to travel there, I mean, now that we’ve lost
the wagon?”

Khalous finished wrapping a white bandage
around the gash on his head. “Tomorrow Pick will take Nairnah back
to Halus Gis and the rest of us will continue on. We’re down four
horses—mine is dead, the carthorses are dead, and Brayden’s ran
off. That means two of you will have to double up.”

“I don’t need a horse, sir,” Pick said. “We
can make it to Halus Gis on foot by the end of tomorrow if we leave
early and move quickly.” He looked at Nairnah. “Is that all right
with you?”

Before she could answer, Khalous said,
“Serves her right.” He thrust a finger at her. “You should never
have put yourself in that wagon.”

“Stupid girl,” muttered Clint.

Brayden sprung off the ground in an instant,
slopping steaming hot puddles of soup onto the ground. “What did
you say?”

“Here we go,” Nash said through a mouthful
of soup.

Clint rose to meet his gaze. “And I thought
she was the one with the bad ear. I said she’s a stupid girl for
hiding in the carriage. Now it’s destroyed and she’s inconvenienced
everyone.”

“That wasn’t her fault and you know it,”
Brayden said.

“All right. Let’s calm down,” said Pick.

Brayden refused to blink as he stared at
Clint. “Apologize.”

“Or what? You going to fight me again?”

Though Brayden’s heart was raging at Clint’s
unending disrespect of Nairnah, more bloody knuckles between him
and his cousin was the last thing he wanted. Khalous had told him
once to make a stand against Clint, which he had done to the praise
and admiration of his peers, but he had regretted it ever since.
Dealing with Clint was going to require a bit more tact.

Though it went against every impulse
coursing through him, Brayden turned his back on him. “No, Clint,
I’m not going to fight you again because I know that’s what you
want.” He walked over to Nairnah and sat back down, careful of the
wounds on his side. “You like feeling like you’re in control. Or
maybe you just like to fight. I don’t know. But I’m not going to
have any part in it. You want to be a prick, be a prick. The rest
of us have better things to do than listen to you bray like an
ass.” He put his arm across Nairnah’s shoulders and gave her a
squeeze.

Clint looked confused, lost, and unsure of
what to do with himself. His ire seemed to have calmed though. He
sulked back to his seat and sat down.

After a moment the campfire chatter
returned.

Nairnah gestured with her chin to Brayden
and he followed her out of the campsite. She led him away from the
fire until they were out of earshot, tucked under an opening in the
forest canopy where the moon painted several nearby rocks in light
gray.

She sat down on a flat stone, patting the
spot next to her. When he sat, she nuzzled into him, careful not to
squeeze him too tightly.

“I’m sorry. I’ve messed everything all up.”
She sounded on the verge of tears.

“No you haven’t,” he said. He put his arm
around her and teased the fraying sleeve of her shoulder with his
fingers. “A mountain troll messed everything up. Khalous and Clint
are just frustrated, and they’re directing their anger at you.” He
looked down at her, her tiny brown head bowed to her feet.
“Honestly, I’m glad you hid in the wagon.”

She looked up at him. “Really?”

“I looked for you when we left. I just
wanted to say goodbye, but I couldn’t find you. I thought… I
thought you didn’t want to see me.”

“I did want to see you. I wanted to be with
you. That’s why I hid in the wagon. I knew Khalous would be angry
when he found out, but I thought once we got on the journey he
would have no choice but to let me come along.”

“Just how long were you planning to hide in
there?”

She shrugged. “Until we reached our
destination I supposed, but I got so hungry.”

Brayden smiled as much as he could with his
injured face. Imagining Nairnah trying to remain hidden for so long
without food or water or a secluded place to pee, was amusing.