Where Serpents Strike (Children of the Falls Vol. 1) (73 page)

Merek was too busy shaking the bursts of
pain from his eyes to comprehend the absurdity of the question.

“Most believe he has forsaken this land, if
he ever even existed to begin with,” Ustus went on. “In either
case, the way has been paved for forces beyond either of our
comprehension to enter this world and have their day.”

“What are you blathering about?” Merek
asked.

“Lust,” Ustus answered, lifting an edifying
finger. “Greed. Pride. Violence. All the things that men and women
are so very good at. Our own wickedness has awakened something, and
there is no standing in its way. Not anymore, at least. We must
welcome it, side with it, or burn.”

“So it’s true. Ustus Rapere has lost his
mind,” Merek said. “Was it a gradual thing or did you just wake up
one morning and say, ‘I think I’m going to act insane from
now—”

Ustus whipped around and smacked him.

“Oh, what to do with you,” he whispered. “At
this point you are not worth my time.”

“Then quit toying with me and kill me.”

“True, I should just kill you, but I would
sleep so much better at night knowing you were suffering. So here
is what I am going to do.” He grabbed Merek by the throat. “I am
going to starve you, very slowly, let you waste away to nothing
over a period of years. Maybe you will die of sickness. Maybe you
will eat your own arm out of madness. Or maybe one day I will get
bored, come and fetch you from the dungeons, and throw you to the
lions.” To the whore, he said, “Sound good?”

She shrugged, indifferent.

Merek took a deep breath, cleared his throat
of as much phlegm as he could, and spit it in Ustus’ face.

With a smirk Ustus sauntered over to the
prostitute.

“Clean it off,” he said.

The whore leaned in and lapped at his
cheeks, nose, and chin. When his face was clean, she kissed him,
biting his lip until he pulled away, bleeding. He chuckled, looking
aroused. He backhanded her across the face, sending her toppling
onto the bed.

“Get him out of here,” Ustus said. He didn’t
even bother to look at Merek again. His attention was now focused
on the woman and the violent passion erupting in her eyes. He
tackled her as the guards yanked Merek from the bedroom.

They dragged him down the stairs and out of
the castle into the drizzly nighttime air where big raindrops
spattered down, hitting the mud with loud plops. His toes dug
grooves through the ground as they hauled him across the street.
Behind him the dark visage of the castle disappeared behind a
thickening black curtain of rain.

The guards brought him to torch lit stairs
that plummeted underground into a rectangle of darkness. Merek
found himself lost in the shadows as the guards muscled him down
the steps. Iron doors creaked open, cages rattled, and men moaned
in their shackles. The stench of human waste and death hit him like
a squall, and almost made him gag. In the dim light of the
underground torches held aloft in their sconces he noticed the
decay and misery and days old blood.

The guards roughed him up a bit more,
laughing as they rained blows upon his already battered body. They
ripped off his outer garments and took his boots, leaving him in
his torn undershirt and slacks.

They threw him in a small cell and locked
the door, fighting over which one of them would get his boots.

Merek rolled over onto his back, coughing
and wheezing. The cold of the stone floor seeped through his
undergarments and chilled his skin.

He had tried to keep a brave face while
Ustus tortured him, but now, alone in the dark and cold, all
pretenses fell and fear and hopeless enveloped him. He rolled onto
his side and hugged his throbbing ribs, sobbing out of pain,
regret, and worry.

“I’m sorry, Awlin,” he whispered.

With a pained grunt he pushed himself to his
knees. There was one last torment he had to endure, one last agony
that would now be made worse by his broken ribs, scarred chest, and
bruised face.

He took a few breaths, preparing himself for
what he was about to endure.

Then he shoved his fingers down his throat,
as far as he could, and forced himself to vomit on the floor of his
cell. His broken ribs shifted and pinched as his stomach convulsed.
When he was done he remained still, catching his breath, waiting
out the pain that rolled through his body in diminishing waves.
When he opened his eyes he looked on the floor, through the puddle
of spilled vomit, and saw it lying there. He picked it up, turning
it in the dim torchlight of the dungeon.

The last piece of the regenstern.

Like many independent authors word of mouth
is my primary means of marketing. So if you enjoyed this book
please tell a friend, write a review on Amazon, or drop some lines
at my blog. It gives me all sorts of good feels to hear from my
fans and know what you enjoy about the series.

And if you liked this book—even if just a
little—I strongly recommend that you read volume two. These two
books serve as an introduction to the series, thus many emotional
archs established in volume one reach their conclusion in volume
two.

But that doesn’t mean we’re almost done.
Oh-ho, no! Believe me, this party is just getting started.

—Craig

www.cwthomas-fantasy.blogspot.com

www.facebook.com/cwthomasfantasy

AVAILABLE NOW!

Children of the Falls Vol. 2

Where Evil Abides

Craig is an odd duck. He flip-flops between
enjoying the high-end signature brands of society’s upper-ups to
frequenting hole-in-the-wall pizza joints for a slice and a root
beer. He enjoys Star Trek and hamburgers, piña coladas at the Four
Seasons and scenic vistas. You can find him in Maui, HI, where he
lives with his wife Danielle and their son. He’ll be the pasty
Scottish guy getting sunburned at the beach.

Independent authors are a fun bunch. We band
together like nerds at a cafeteria table. We know we’re not with
the jock authors of our culture and their big six figure contracts,
but we don’t care. We have our niche and it’s awesome! We support
each other and promote each other.

So, in the spirit of indie togetherness, if
you liked my novel please share it in anyway you can. Like many
independent authors, word of mouth is my primary means of
marketing, so if you feel inclined to write a review on Amazon or
drop some lines at my blog, I’d greatly appreciate it.

And if you’re looking for more great
fiction, here are some awesome indie authors worth checking out—in
alphabetical order (because I’m anal like that.)

Harvey Click —
The Bad Box

Beth Kanell —
The Secret Room

John L. Monk
— Kick

Tanya Sousa —
The Starling God

J.C. Stockli —
The Nothingness