Where Serpents Strike (Children of the Falls Vol. 1) (63 page)

He looked down at the bone necklace that sat
in his clammy palm. He couldn’t imagine what significance it
contained.

“Run!” Khalous shouted again. “Return to
Edhen! Show everyone that the bastard king there is nothing but a
dickless swine!”

“Again!” Proditous ordered.

The guard hoisted his battleaxe into the air
a second time.

“And when you do,” Khalous continued, his
voice growing in strength, “tell him Khalous Marloch, son of
Darthous Marloch, is waiting to stick him again in hell!”

As the viper brought the blade down through
Khalous’ other arm, the brave captain bellowed, “No surrender! No
surrender! No surrender!” His words ended in a babbling scream.

“Again!”

Brayden flinched and squeezed his eyes shut
as the axe cut through Khalous’ leg. He wrestled down the urge to
give himself up and spare his captain from further pain.

“All the hells,” Nash muttered in wide-eyed
disbelief.

Broderick’s hand touched Brayden’s shoulder.
His voice quivered when he spoke. “We need to go.”

Lord Marshal William Rushwater continued
yelling at them as the boys slunk out from under the wagon and
retreated down the nighttime streets of Thalmia.

“Again!” came the distant shout of the
herus.

Tears rushed to Brayden’s eyes as he heard
the thump of the ax again. This time, however, Khalous was
silent.

Brayden stopped, leaning against a wall for
support. A feeling of sick hopelessness churned in his stomach as
his mind took him back to Aberdour, back to his father lying dead
in the street. He shut his eyes, seeing the pool of red expand from
under his father’s corpse. He imagined the same thing happening in
the plaza right now beneath Khalous.

He thumped his fist against the wall and
cursed under his breath.

His brother called to him, bringing him back
to the present.

Together they moved up the street alongside
Nash, quiet and swift.

Brayden spotted Preston and Ty hurrying
along a street to the north. When the five of them had rejoined
they moved down an alleyway where they hid under the shadows of a
shingled awning amidst a cache of crates and barrels.

“What do we do now?” Preston asked. “How do
we get out of here?”

“We heads east,” Ty said. “There’s being
another gate there.”

“The eastern gate leads to the desert,”
Preston said. “It’s a dangerous wasteland.”

“We have no choice,” Brayden said. “The
order to seal the city is going to roll like the wind over all of
Thalmia. The northern gate we came through is probably blocked
already. By dawn it will be impossible to get out.”

“We better move quick then,” Broderick
said.

“And must be finding some supplies,” Ty
added. “Cloaks, blankets, weapons, anything to help get gone.”

“Fan out,” Brayden said, “but keep heading
east as fast as—”

“Get off of me, you fat ducks!” came the
drunken cry of Clint. “Quack, quack, quack, says the stupid
duck.”

Brayden hurried back down the alleyway and
peered out into the darkened street. He saw a team of Efferousian
guards with torches and swords surrounding his cousin. Clint’s
beefy fist clung to a broken bottle, which he jabbed at one of the
guards. The men kept their distance from the staggering drunk,
laughing as the young man turned circles among them.

“Come and get some, little ducks. You
stupid, smelly ducks.”

“We need to help him,” Broderick said.

“With what, our charm?” Nash argued.

“There’s five of us,” Brayden said. “I count
five of them. If we—”

One of the guards fell silent when his
throat ripped open. His lifeblood showered out like rain before he
dropped to his knees, gurgling his final breath.

“What the—” shouted one of his comrades, who
clutched his chest as a sword punched through his ribs. Before he
fell, Brayden thought he saw the glimmer of a blade swiping through
the darkness, taking the life of the guard next to him.

The remaining two men reacted in fear,
spinning in circles and cursing.

“Over here!” shouted one.

“No, he’s over—” The man’s head tumbled free
from his shoulders.

“Gods be merciful. I beg of you!”

Brayden wasn’t sure if what he saw next was
man or shadow. It appeared behind the guard and sliced off the
man’s hand, causing him to drop his torch in a plume of orange ash.
The shadow, somehow, changed locations in the darkness, and the
next thing Brayden heard was the sound of armor and metal hitting
the cobblestone as the final guard was killed.

The alleyway went silent.

Once Brayden’s eyes adjusted to the shadows,
he saw a single hooded man picking through the pockets of the dead
soldiers.

Clint staggered in place next to the man,
rubbing his eyes and stammering. “Who… who are you, friend.
W–w–what to do you do are you thinking?”

“More are coming,” the man said. “Best come
out from the shadows. Gather what weapons you can carry and follow
me. Quickly now!” He hopped from one body to another, picking the
dead vipers clean of gold, jewelry and any other valuable loot.

“Is he talking to us?” Nash whispered behind
Brayden.

“Yes,” the man answered. “And if you want to
live you best prove to me you can move faster than that.”

Brayden stepped out of the alleyway and
approached the man. “How did you—”

“The lord of this region isn’t about to let
any of you leave,” said the man. “He will pursue you, and, if I had
to make a wager, I’d say he will catch you and kill you judging by
the way you lot bumble through the dark.”

The man was covered in close-fitting dark
fabric, his face shadowed by a tight hood, his back by a ratty
cloak. As he reached his right arm across one of the dead bodies,
Brayden saw a plethora of inky black tattoos curling up his
sleeveless arm.

“Follow me,” the man said. “And hurry.”

Without hesitating, Brayden fell in behind
him.

Broderick grabbed his arm, and whispered,
“What are you doing? We don’t know this man.”

“Didn’t you notice?” Brayden said. “He’s a
Kriegellian.”

Lia cartwheeled out of the crowd in white
slacks and a matching tunic, clutching a bright apple in her teeth.
She finished with a back flip that landed her right next to Khile,
drawing a spattering of “Ohs!” and “Ahs!” from the circle of
spectators.

“Now, get back everyone. Give Ulyssa some
space,” Khile said, pacing the inside of the crowd. “My assistant
is fearless, but she must not be disturbed for if anything goes
wrong with this next trick her very life will be in danger.”

Lia bit off a chunk of the apple and chewed
as she balanced the rest of it atop her head. She had been nervous
the first dozen times she and Khile had performed this trick, but
his aim never faltered, not even a little, and now she pulled it
off without so much as a blink of her eyes.

“No distractions,” Khile continued. “I need
space to—” he spun around and released the knife. It sailed through
the air and split the apple, plowing it off of Lia’s head, “—get my
aim.”

The people applauded.

“What are you crazy?” Lia blurted. “That’s
not how we do it!”

“Uh-oh, ladies and gentlemen. It seems I
have upset Ulyssa.”

“I wasn’t ready!”

At first, the people looked shocked at her
outburst, but then snickers of amusement began to eke from the
crowd.

“We do this all the time,” he said. “What’s
your problem?”

She withdrew her own knife from a sleeve at
her back. “How would you like it?”

Khile grabbed a small wooden plate and held
it up in front of his neck. “Now, hold on. Just calm—”

Lia hurled the knife into the dead center of
the plate.

The crowed howled with laughter.

“Whoa!” Khile said. Lia was always impressed
at how genuinely alarmed he could look.

“‘Whoa?’” she repeated. “What do you think I
am a horse?” She pulled out another dagger and threw it at him,
striking the plate again, splitting it in two.

Khile grabbed another one and blocked a
third knife that came sailing toward him. Then he blocked a fourth.
Then a fifth. Each impact met with intensifying waves of “Oh!” from
the crowd.

Khile tossed the plate at Lia. She kicked it
out of the air, shattering it with the toe of her boot. He threw
another, which she spin kicked, and a third, which she jump-kicked.
Then, for the grand finale, he tossed two plates that Lia picked
out of the air with a double jump kick. She landed on the ground
amidst a hail of laughter, applause, and shattered plates.

Khile and Lia bowed.

A few people tossed coins of silver and gold
on the ground. A few moments later the crowd had dispersed.

“How disappointing,” Lia said, as she and
Khile collected their earnings.

“What is?”

“Usually I get at least one poor fellow
wanting to buy me a drink.”

Khile laughed.

“Remember that guy who wanted to marry
me?”

“Must be losing your touch.”

They picked up the rest of the coins from
the street, a meager amount, which was odd, Lia thought,
considering Thalmia was rumored to be a place of great wealth.

“I wonder what went on over there last
night?” Khile said.

Lia looked up at him and followed his gaze
to a massive stone Law House. Workers mulled about the cobbled
streets in front of the banquet hall scrubbing a wide swath of
blood off the stone.

Lia dumped her handful of coins into a
leather pouch, which she held open for Khile to do the same.

They finished packing up their props—a mixed
bag of assorted weapons including razor sharp knives, broadhead
arrows, swords, and spears, all of which Lia had obsessively
polished to glimmering perfection. They secured their saddlebags,
then loaded up their two horses and pack mule, an old stubborn
beast that Khile had named Dumbass.

“I still think we should’ve gone to Konia,”
Lia said as she mounted her horse. “Konia is where the gamblers
are, and the coliseum. People play freely with money there. We
could make a fortune.”

“You don’t make a fortune doing what we do,”
Khile said.

They left the plaza and started down one of
Thalmia’s numerous winding streets, tightly enclosed by tall beige
stone buildings. People mucked about on the sides of the road
carrying baskets of goods and jugs of water, weaving around vendors
selling fabrics and soaps. Lines of laundry crossed the street high
above, blocking out the bright midday sun in broken shadows.

“It’s not entirely unheard of,” Lia
said.

“What is?”

“Making a fortune entertaining. The mimes
and musicians of Konia’s coliseum get good money to perform
onstage.”

“Right. That’s onstage. Not on a
street.”

“I say we give Konia a try.”

Khile shook his head just as he had done at
least six other times before. “I’ve already told you, Konia is too
dangerous.”

“Which is just another reason to go
there.”

“You’re determined to get yourself killed
aren’t you?”

“Ulyssa needs some real practice.”

Khile pulled his horse to a stop, and held
out his hand for Lia to do the same. “Whoa.”

She looked ahead down the narrow road
crowded with pedestrians to a tall watchtower and the brood of
black vipers swarming around its base.

“Checkpoint,” said Khile.

“Looks like something has stirred them up,”
Lia remarked.

“Maybe we should find a way around.”

“I’m not afraid of them,” Lia said, and,
deep down, she wasn’t. Her years on Efferous had trained her how to
blend in. The sun had tanned her pale skin and her Efferousian
accent was flawless. Though her brown eyes still gave away her true
heritage, her tongue had become so adept at lying that she’d fooled
many folk, from farmers to high-ranking officials, into believing
that she was native to the country.

The vipers at the checkpoint seemed
agitated, Lia noted, even angry about something. She remembered the
bloody street in front of the Law House back in the plaza and
wondered if it was the cause of all the hubbub.

At the checkpoint, Lia didn’t have to say a
word. Khile, a good performer in his own right, put on his best
showman’s voice and had the guards laughing before they’d even
noticed Lia. One of them even recognized Khile from a show they had
done in Velia eleven months prior. Knowing they were performers, he
waved them on ahead without bothering to question or search
them.

They found a shoddy inn on the outskirts of
the city that had large stables for cheap nightly rent. They put
away their two horses for the night, along with Dumbass, stored
their belongings, and changed out of their performance attire.

Khile always let Lia use the room first. She
donned a black, high-collared tunic with caramel edging on the
fitted cuffs, black leather pants, and a pair of scuffed brown
boots. Then she trotted downstairs and waited for Khile.

He always looked good, she thought, when he
dressed down. Tonight he wore a knee length gray tunic over black
pants and high leather boots of dingy brown. Locks of his dirty
blond hair were held back by a leather strap, exposing the
rough-shaven sides of his strong jaw.

Lia followed Khile into a wood and stone
tavern across the street from the inn. The place was almost full.
The crowd of ratty commoners chattered in groups of twos and
threes, some playing games at tables teeming with spectators,
others drinking themselves into a stupor.

As Lia wove her way to the bar she picked up
on bits and pieces of some of the conversations, most of which
centered around the execution of an Edhenite soldier in the central
plaza the night before.

“Some soldier or captain or something,” one
of the patrons said. “Man had been on the run for a long time.”