Where Serpents Strike (Children of the Falls Vol. 1) (12 page)

Once on the ground, Merek took off running
west through the wet grass toward the forest of trees that occupied
the majority of the valley.

The rest of the soldiers ran after him.

Merek vaulted over a fieldstone wall and
into the woods. A thick fog was rolling in off the lake just ahead,
washing out the distant trees. Merek veered north. The woods
thinned, and soon he saw the distinctive silvery light reflecting
from the water between shaggy boles. Descending upon the brown
shore he saw a small white boat waiting there for him on the sand,
its bow pointed toward the water. He jumped in.

Upon finding the arrows and bow that had
been placed there for him he launched a single arrow through the
fog over the water. The noisemaker on the arrow’s shaft whistled
like a bird as it soared through the air, into the mist, and out of
sight.

Merek lay down in the boat and waited.

A few moments of anxious silence followed
before he caught the voices of the soldiers drifting toward him
through the trees. He heard Aengus and Dermot and the fat one he
referred to as Snout. They were fanning out through the woods. They
would find him soon enough.

Merek fidgeted with his bowstring. He peeked
up over the rear of the small raft.

“Any time now,” he muttered.

He had one other whistling arrow in the boat
with him, but using it would surely draw the soldiers in his
direction.

“Over here!” came a shout from down the
beach. It was Dermot. “I’ve found him!”

Merek ducked down into the boat. He grabbed
the second arrow, figuring he had two options—he could send it out
over the lake as another signal, or he could use it as a
weapon.

“Come on. Come on!” he whispered.

The coil of rope tied to the front of the
boat began to race out onto the water.

“Finally!”

Merek heard the footsteps of the black viper
drawing closer. He notched the arrow, jumped up, and aimed it at
Dermot’s face. A flash of terror flashed through the soldier’s eyes
before Merek set the projectile free. The man collapsed inches from
Merek just as the rope went taut and yanked the boat out onto the
lake. Merek hunkered down in the raft, hanging on as tightly as he
could while the vessel raced across the water. He glanced back and
saw the rest of the soldiers sprouting from the forest onto the
shore, looking after him in wonderment. Then the white mist closed
in around him and he was ensconced by fog.

Merek tried to brace himself in preparation
for the inevitable impact, but there was no securing his body for
what was to come. The boat launched out of the fog and collided
with the adjacent shore, knocking Merek forward in a violent mess
of scrunched legs and battered arms.

Bruised and disoriented, he got to his feet,
relieved to be safe at last.

He stepped out of the boat onto a thick
patch of brown forest floor where angular trees hugged the water’s
edge. Nursing a bump on the side of his head, Merek lifted a hand
in greeting to the horsed rider who sauntered toward him.

“That worked well, I’d say,” said Patryk
Brennan. His smile dimpled in an “I-told-you-so” sort of way. He
untied the long wet rope from his horse’s saddle. “How was the
ride?”

“Agreeable,” Merek said. “Until it
ended.”

Patryk hopped off his horse. “Always a
pleasure doing business with you.” He held out his hand as if
waiting to receive something.

“Right,” Merek said. He fished a small
leather pouch out of his tunic that he plopped into Patryk’s
hand.

“And at this rate I like to throw in
supper.” Patryk pointed to his horse’s flanks where two dead
rabbits hung by their hind feet. “Come. I’ve got a proposition to
discuss with you.”

Merek found a horse waiting not too far
away, a grumpy brown spotted mare on loan to him from Patryk. They
mounted their steeds and rode along the length of the lake until
they were leagues away from the wizard’s tower. Descending the
gentle arch of a woodsy ridge to where the ground leveled, they
emerged from beneath the leafy canopy into an unexpected well of
foggy evening light.

Patryk had built a small camp near the
lake’s edge with two bedrolls under the cover of a curtaining
willow tree.

While Patryk started a fire with some flint
and a knife, Merek unsaddled the horses. He led them both to the
lake’s edge and let them drink while he knelt and washed his face
and hands. The coolness of the water was refreshing.

A full moon hovered over the lake, veiled a
bit by wisps of lingering rain clouds, and yet bigger and brighter
than he had seen it in some time. It made him think, for a moment,
of his home country of Edhen, which sat a half world away to the
west.

Now that he had collected the six pieces of
the regenstern, he was ready to put Efferous behind him and return
home.

Merek unbuttoned one of the pockets on his
tunic and slipped out a piece of the gem. It was about the size of
his thumb, milky white like a quartz stone, yet with the glittering
colors of a rainbow at its center. Merek had stolen a lot of gems
in his life, but he had never seen one quite like this. He
wondered, for a moment, what it was worth, and briefly entertained
the notion of getting it appraised and selling it. He could
probably live the rest of his life off whatever price a rarity like
this would fetch.

However, he couldn’t forget the matter of
the sadistic Ustus Rapere, right hand man to the Black King. Ustus
was famous for serving up the cruelest forms of punishment for
nothing more than his own enjoyment. To cross him, Merek knew,
would be sentencing himself to an excruciating fate.

Merek returned the mysterious gem to his
pocket and joined Patryk by the campfire. His friend was seated on
the ground with the two rabbits lying in front of him, freshly
skinned. He skewered them both on a long spit and hung them over
the fire on two forked sticks.

Patryk kicked his boots off and reclined
onto his elbow, the slight bulge of his belly rolling over his
belt. He hadn’t aged well since Merek had seen him last, with many
new lines and blemishes speckling a face covered with a thin blond
beard. His teeth were yellower, and his eyes dimmer.

“You speak the language of Edhen much better
now,” Merek said. Patryk’s Efferousian accent was still thick, but
his enunciation of Merek’s native tongue had improved much over the
years.

“What is the name of your language again?”
Patryk asked.

“The ancient form is known as Tangya, but
few speak it today. The common language is a more simplified
version of it.”

“Is that what it’s called? The ‘common
language?’”

“Tangmuta,” Merek said.

“Tangmuta,” Patryk repeated. “Tangya and
Tangmuta.” Patryk said the words several more times.

“Why so interested?”

A wide grin spread across his companion’s
face. “I know some local ladies who get all wet between the thighs
when they hear me talking all smart about other languages and the
like.”

“Do they speak Tangmuta?”

“Not a word.”

“Then why don’t you just make stuff up?”

“I do. All the time. They eat it up. Dumb
heifers. Say, how is your Efferousian?”

“I get by,” Merek said, which wasn’t exactly
the entire truth. Merek spoke as fluently in the common language of
Efferous as he did in Tangmuta. He also knew quite a bit of Edhen’s
ancient tongue.

Patryk shifted himself on his elbow to face
Merek more directly, and said, “I don’t know what kind of loot you
took from that wizard’s tower, and I don’t want to know, but, the
way I figure, it must be worth a lot. Those were black soldiers
guarding that tower, and don’t think I don’t know that. Don’t see
many of them around here. And as for the wizard, that was Versch
Leiern, and everybody knows he’s one sullied bastard you don’t mess
with.” He paused. “Mind if I ask if he’s still alive.”

“That depends,” Merek said.

“On what?”

“Do you believe in resurrection?”

Patryk tipped his head back into a hoarse
guffaw that made his belly jiggle. “So Versch finally got what he
deserved, eh? It’s about time, too. Anyway, where was I?”

“You were trying to ask me what I took
without asking me what I took,” Merek said.

Patryk lifted a hand. “Look, all I’m saying
is, whatever we did over there tonight it was a big steal, and I’m
guessing I didn’t earn half of what I could have if I’d known what
we were really doing.”

“We’ve known each other a long time, Patryk.
I wouldn’t cut you out like that. If you want more money just
ask.”

“Not money. A favor.”

Merek thought for a moment. He had never
liked the business of doing favors, and if it were anyone else
other than Patryk asking he would’ve stopped listening right then.
Instead, and against his instincts, he said, “Go on.”

“I…” but Patryk hesitated. “I’ve gotten
myself in trouble with some bad folks. I owe them too much
money.”

Merek sighed, disappointed. “I should’ve
known you were too stupid to quit.”

“I needed the money, and it was an
easy—”

Merek had heard enough already. “I’ve helped
you out of too many binds, my friend. Remember this?” Merek pulled
back his collar revealing a long scar just under his shirt. “Almost
got my throat slit once for you and your debt.”

“And a truer friend no man could ever have,”
Patryk said, “but do you remember this?” He pulled up his pant leg,
exposing a long pink scar that ran down the side of his shin from
the bottom of his kneecap to his ankle.

Merek looked away as the memories came
sparking back into his mind, images that had haunted him for years.
In an instant he saw the disappointment in his father’s eyes as his
family learned the truth of who and what he was. He saw their grief
as they took the burden of his mistakes and suffered the loss of
their daughter, Awlin. When Merek’s enemies had taken her she was
only nineteen, a quiet and beautiful girl who loved simple things
like warm bread, music in the town square, and the colors on
butterflies. Her fate was Merek’s fault, and his family rejected
him.

His only friend back then was Patryk.
Together they discovered that Awlin had not been killed, but sold
into slavery on Efferous. That was two years ago.

Patryk gazed at Merek with piercing regard.
“I stood up for you when no one else would. You never told me why
you were dishonored, why you lost your knighthood, and I never
asked. I know it has something to do with Awlin, and I know you
think that if you get her back you’re going to be able to set
things right, but, my friend, listen to me—”

“So I owe you? Is that it? I have to pay you
for all your years of friendship?”

Patryk shook his head. “That’s not what I’m
saying at all. Damn, you’ve been touchy lately. Look, I’ve been
there for you. That’s all I’m saying. And I need you to be there
for me. I’m in a tight spot right now. And…” Patryk’s voice trailed
off as his eyes drifted toward the fire in thought.

“What if I told you I know where she
is?”

Patryk’s words hit like lightning, words,
Merek knew, that his clever gambling friend had waited for just the
right moment to play. They cut through the slew of disjointed
memories still swirling around in his mind and brought his
attention into sharp focus.

“Awlin?” Merek whispered. “You know where
she is?”

“I know more than that,” Patryk said, his
eyes seeping with genuine sympathy. “I can tell you where she’ll be
four days from now. I can promise to take you there, to do
everything in my power to help you get her back.”

“Providing I help you settle your debt,”
Merek concluded.

“There you go.”

Merek took a breath, wondering why he
suddenly felt so nervous. The gems in his pocket were burning a
hole in the back of his mind. Returning them to Edhen in a timely
fashion had to be his top priority, but there was no way in all the
hells that he could pass up the chance to rescue his sister.

Returning the regenstern to Ustus, he
decided, could wait a few more days.

The gray light of dawn blurred through her
lashes as Brynlee’s eyes cracked open from a brief, but exhausted
sleep. Dripping water from high branches pattered the ground and
pinged the wagon bars. Nearby she could hear the gurgling of
freshets running melodiously through the spring trees.

She sat up on the hard wooden floor of the
wagon cage, hoping the sick feeling in her stomach wouldn’t give
way to vomiting. The metal cuffs on her wrists and ankles had
chilled during the night and bit her skin like winter frost.

The black vipers of the traveling brood were
already awake, yawning as they mucked about on the trampled grass
of their temporary camp, starting fires for breakfast and packing
up their armor and weapons. She watched them through the bars of
the cell, half hoping they would ignore her while at the same time
wishing they would bring her hot food to fill the days-old ache in
her stomach.

Next to her, Brynlee’s five-year-old sister
Scarlett roused. She sat up, rubbed her tired brown eyes, and
cuddled close to Brynlee.

The other girls in the wagon were beginning
to stir. Brynlee had counted fourteen of them in all, fourteen
frightened, cold and muddied girls ranging in age from as young as
Scarlett to a few older adolescent girls well into womanhood. She
recognized Cadha Rose, a blacksmith’s daughter who lived near the
castle in the northern part of Aberdour, and Maidie Larnach,
daughter of a castle guard who she occasionally played games with.
Maidie had just turned seven and was only six months younger than
Brynlee. The rest of the girls she had never seen before. They were
all crammed into a creaky wagon cage, shut behind black bars.