Where Serpents Strike (Children of the Falls Vol. 1) (62 page)

“Dog!” he shouted. “How dare you insult my
guests!”

Brayden looked down as the poor man lifted a
pair of sad eyes to him. He saw only a shred of humanity in the
dark orbs staring up at him, pieces of a man lost amongst a more
feral nature.

“Forgive him, master Brayden,” Proditous
said. He waved an open palm toward the exit. “Please.”

Brayden left the table. He exhaled long and
deep, releasing himself of the tension that had accumulated in the
air.

He caught up with Preston near the front
entrance of the dining hall.

“Don’t let him offend you,” Brayden said.
“Their ways are very different here.”

“The fat swine keeps a human torso as a
pet,” Preston said quietly. “Their ways aren’t different. They’re
inhumane.”

Brayden didn’t disagree.

A large number of guards had gathered to
obstruct the front entrance.

“Something’s wrong,” Preston said.

“The fall of a great empire began three and
a half years ago,” came the resounding voice of Proditous. Brayden
turned to see the herus standing at the end of the table, his hands
open to the crowd of quieting guests. “Our brothers and sisters on
Edhen were overcome by a powerful high king. The western most
kingdom of Perth was the first to fall, but the soldiers of the
city stood their ground for seven days. Ultimately, regrettably,
the invading king prevailed.” He picked up his goblet of wine.
“Tonight we drink to the men of the west, those fallen heroes who
were the first to give their lives in the resistance of High King
Orkrash Mahl.”

Brayden shivered at the mention of the high
king’s true name. Edhen’s rebels preferred the more derogatory term
“Black King,” which Orkrash himself was said to despise. Black
vipers would kill anyone they heard using the name.

Likewise, they had been known to kill those
who spoke the rallying cry of Edhen’s rebel movement, an ode to the
brave soldiers of the west.

Proditous lifted his goblet. “A drink to our
fallen friends in the west.”

“For the west!” Khalous said, in his native
tongue.

Brayden chilled. Something wasn’t right.

“For the west!” echoed Stoneman.

The hands of the servers moved toward their
concealed blades.

Broderick and the other boys at the table
with Khalous, along with many other guests, raised their glasses in
respect to Edhen’s honored dead: “For the west!”

One of the servers right in front of Brayden
reached around the neck of a wealthy old woman who had just raised
her glass in salute. Before she’d had a chance to take a single
sip, however, the server plunged the blade into her heart.

The screams of startled and horrified guests
flowed through the hall like the rush of a river; a mere trickle at
first until the ruckus surged into a tidal wave of panic.

In the back of the dining hall, the doors
flew open. Soldiers of the high king of Edhen flowed out, fully
armored in black and silver metal with weapons drawn.

Stoneman lifted one of the menservants and
tossed him into a crowd at the next table.

Khalous stole one of the servers’ curved
blades and began fighting. Brayden had never see the Old Warhorse
in such wild combat before. There was fire in his eyes, something
fierce and confident, like a warrior king of old. The power of his
presence expanded as he tore into his foes.

“He’s one of them!” came a shout to
Brayden’s left. He looked and saw two black vipers, disguised as
servers, hurrying toward him, swords at the ready.

Brayden grabbed a flagpole, swung its base
in a wide arch, and slammed one of the soldiers in the head. The
pole broke in half as the man went tumbling.

The second soldier engaged him in a series
of strikes and counterstrikes until Brayden managed to wrestle him
to the floor. He shoved the broken staff through the solder’s neck,
and then tore his sword from his grasp. Adrenaline coursed through
him, pushing him to the edge of control, making him do things that
both frightened and energized him. He brought the sword down into
the viper’s body, piercing his heart, then his lungs, then his
stomach, and a handful of other places until the soldier went still
in a widening puddle of his own blood.

A fist latched onto the back of Brayden’s
shirt and hoisted him to his feet. Hands spun him around and
showered his body with blows. Amid the pain sparking before his
eyes he glimpsed the dark skinned face of the legendary swordsman
Decorus Ferrum. The man moved like a snake, sinuous and quick, but
with the strength of an ox. His punches sent Brayden’s world
spinning out of control. He landed flat on his back, cracking his
head against the stone tile.

Stoneman came down upon Decorus like a small
mountain. Brayden scrambled out of the way as the two tumbled
across the floor. The agile sword master sprang to his feet.
Stoneman righted himself and rushed in to strike, but in the time
it took him to deliver one blow Decorus had landed six. Stoneman
went down like a felled oak.

Brayden managed to push through the
dizziness and climb to his feet. Preston appeared at his side, his
nose bloody. He offered Brayden a sword.

“We need to get out of here!”

“Go!” shouted Khalous as he barreled through
the throng of war. “Run!” A large flap of flayed skin hung off the
side of his jaw.

“Get to the horses!” shouted Stoneman.

“No!” Khalous barked. “There are no horses.
Just move your—”

Decorus landed in the middle of them,
kicking Khalous in the chest, striking Brayden in the throat,
knocking Preston to the ground, and spin-kicking his booted heel
into the side of Stoneman’s head. The big warrior was the only one
among them who didn’t fall. He staggered, dazed, and took another
series of debilitating blows from Decorus’ lethal hands.

Broderick and Nash tumbled out of the hot
mess of fists, knives, swords, black vipers, and confused guests.
They joined Brayden and Preston and engaged a quartet of enemies.
The black vipers were stronger, bigger, and far more experienced,
but the young men of Aberdour held their own.

“Khalous!” Stoneman croaked through grit
teeth.

When Brayden saw him, he was struggling to
break the chokehold of Decorus. His face looked like a piece of raw
meat that had just been tenderized. “Get ’em out!” he said. “Get
’em—”

Decorus jerked his arms apart, snapping
Stoneman’s neck. A hard shove from his knee threw the giant
soldier’s lifeless body to the floor.

Khalous grabbed Brayden by the back of his
shirt and yanked him toward the exit, shouting, “Run, damn
you!”

They plowed through the line of guards,
tearing off limbs and impaling torsos as they went.

Brayden hurried out the front entrance and
down the stone steps of the dining hall on the heels of Broderick
and Nash. They sprinted across the moonlit plaza, ducking arrows
and dodging bystanders.

“Move!” Khalous yelled behind them.

The captain bellowed and fell, his knees
twisting and crunching so loud that even Brayden heard them pop. He
stopped and whipped around to see an arrow sticking through
Khalous’ kneecap.

“Don’t you stop for me, boy!” Khalous
snarled, but Brayden ignored him. “Go, you fool!”

He knelt to help him up. Khalous cuffed him
on the side of the head. “Run, I said!”

“Shut up! Give me your arm.”

Khalous flopped his arm around Brayden’s
neck and the two hobbled away on three legs.

Brayden heard the impact of the second arrow
strike Khalous in the back. He went down with a crash, taking
Brayden with him.

“Get up! Get up!”

Brayden’s eyes darted toward the wave of
enemy soldiers pouring out of the dining hall as peasants in the
plaza ran screaming for safety.

Brayden gasped when Khalous grabbed him by
the collar and shook him. “Listen to me, you stupid boy! You are
the last son of Aberdour, heir to your father’s throne, now you
move your bloody ass out of this place!” He coughed, grimacing, and
dribbles of blood appeared on his lips. With a shaking fist he
grabbed Brayden’s hand and shoved something small and stringy into
his palm. “You need to take this. It belonged to your father.”

Brayden looked at his hand to see a small
bone necklace tied to a thin leather strap.

“What is—”

Khalous shoved him away. “Now go!”

Brayden’s throat seized with horror and hot
grief

“RUN!”

Arrows whispered overhead as Brayden tore
himself away from the captain. With heavy feet and a heavier heart
he sprinted across the plaza and down a dark street between a black
clapboard shop and a stone tower. He wheeled around the next corner
and saw Broderick and Nash waiting for him to catch up. Together
they huffed it north through the sprawling streets of Thalmia,
ducked down a narrow alleyway, and dropped into a recessed cellar
entrance. The boys crouched low in the darkness and waited, heaving
for control of their breath.

Brayden closed his eyes, groping for the
threads of his shredded composure.

“That sword master killed Stoneman,” Nash
blurted. “Did you see him? Decorus just broke his neck. Son of a
bitch!”

“Quiet!” Brayden said.

“Did anyone else make it?” Broderick
whispered.

Nash was shaking his head. “I don’t know. I
don’t know.” He clutched his head. “Just killed him, Brayden. Just
killed him. Just broke his neck.”

“Calm down,” Brayden said. He took a deep
breath. “Just… let’s just think for a moment.”

He glanced around the dark alleyway. There
were no other places to hide, and no other streets to escape to.
They could only return to the plaza, or continue heading north,
which, as far as he knew, took them no closer to safety.

“We need to get out of the city,” Broderick
said, leaning on a sword he had stolen from a black viper. Brayden
could smell the blood on the steel and it made his stomach squirm.
He tried not to imagine what the black vipers were doing to
Khalous.

“We need our weapons,” Nash said. “Our
armor, provisions. They’ve got it all.”

“There’s no going back,” Brayden said.

“Proditous took us for a bunch of fools,”
Nash said. “He disarmed us. He made us vulnerable. He was stalling
just to stab us in the back as hard as he could.”

“SONS OF EDHEN!” Proditous’ voice boomed
through the night, a much different tone from the boyish chirping
they’d heard from him before. He sounded menacing now, primal and
vicious.

The three of them quieted as they strained
to listen.

“You will come out from the shadows, or we
will hunt you down!”

“Fat pig,” Nash muttered.

The echoes of shouting and tortured screams
drifted over them.

“Khalous!” Brayden blurted.

He rushed from his hiding spot and raced
back toward the plaza. He was about to break free of the shadows
and burst into the open when Broderick grabbed him and wrestled him
behind an empty wagon cart.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Broderick
whispered. “Are you mad?”

“They’re going to kill him,” Brayden
said.

He looked across the plaza to the pillared
façade of the dining hall. A large gathering of armed Thalmian
guards and black vipers had surrounded a badly beaten Khalous
Marloch. Six of them were struggling to tie his arms and legs to a
wagon wheel that lay flat on the ground.

“I know you can hear me,” Proditous shouted.
“If you do not come forward your captain is a dead man.”

Proditous seemed to shrink as a tall viper
commander in black armor strode out from the mass of soldiers at
his back. He took a few steps out onto the plaza, a long black cape
edged with white swishing behind him. Upon his head flowed a mop of
ginger hair that hung in tangles over his stubbly face.

“Enemies of Orkrash Mahl. My name is Lord
Marshal William Rushwater. In the name of the high king I order you
to surrender yourselves peacefully. Do so and your lives will be
spared.”

“There’s a lie if I ever heard one,”
Broderick whispered.

“The lord marshal?” Nash said,
astonished.

“Do it not and your lives are forfeit,”
William continued. “No soldier of any rank will ever offer you
mercy again. You will be hunted down, arrested, and taken back to
Edhen to face your high king’s justice.” The lord marshal gestured
toward Khalous. “If not for yourselves, surrender for your beloved
captain.”

Khalous was tied spread-eagle across the
surface of the wagon wheel.

“And if he dies here tonight, so shall be
his blood!” the lord marshal concluded.

“We should leave,” Broderick said.

“Shut up you heartless dog!” Nash snapped.
“We have to do something.”

The gruff roar of Khalous overpowered Nash’s
voice: “No surrender! Don’t you dare give in to these cowardly sons
of whores!”

William looked at Proditous and nodded his
head.

The herus snapped his fingers and a Thalmian
guard emerged from the ranks carrying a mighty battleaxe. He strode
up to the wagon wheel and lowered the blade to Khalous’
outstretched arm. After a second nod from William the Thalmian
guard brought the axe down through Khalous’ right arm, lopping it
off above the elbow. The captain screamed and thrashed against the
ropes.

“See?” William yelled into the night. “His
life can still be spared if you just surrender now. Your high king
is a merciful king. He will grant you your lives if you come
forward.”

Brayden fought down his sick unease,
moistened his lips, and managed to say, “Don’t listen to him. It’s
a lie. Orkrash wants us dead!”

“But what about Khalous?” Nash asked, his
bottom lip quivering.

Brayden refocused his eyes on the scene, his
teeth clenched in frustration, confusion, and rage. He wanted
nothing more than to charge across the public square with his
friends and fight for their captain, but he knew that would mean
the death of them all.