Where Serpents Strike (Children of the Falls Vol. 1) (26 page)

A few murmurs of relief and even joy emerged
from the girls.

Brynlee wondered what kind of work the fat
Mungo had in mind.

Six horsemen came thundering down the
street, interrupting Mungo’s speech. They skidded to a halt in
front of the prisoners. One of the horsemen, a beast of soldier,
wore black armor from neck to toe and a long black cape fringed
with a white stripe. He landed with a crash on his feet upon
dismount.

Behind him rode three guards who were
gathered around a woman in a long dark purple robe. Her bright
green eyes scanned the row of girls and came to rest upon Brynlee.
The woman’s vivid eyes were unnerving, Brynlee thought, and cold
despite their emerald glow.

The sixth rider was a man whose physique was
lean and fit. He had oily black hair brushed back snuggly over his
scalp. He dismounted and approached the green-eyed woman, took her
hand like a gentleman, and helped her down. Then the two of them
walked up to Mungo hand-in-hand.

Mungo bowed. “My Lord Ustus Rapere,” he
said. “Your presence brings me honor.” He reached for the hand of
the cloaked woman. “I do not believe I have had the pleasure, my
lady.”

“Demulier Congrave,” she said in beautiful
lilting voice.

“And I believe you know our illustrious lord
marshal,” Ustus said, motioning toward the massive man in black
armor. “Sir Komor Raven. Back from another victory for our high
king.”

Komor approached Mungo, towering over his
already short stature by a good two feet.

“Ah, yes,” Mungo said with a broad grin.
“Your reputation precedes you, lord marshal. Congratulations on
your victory.”

Komor dipped his head in thanks, but his
face remained expressionless.

“Please, accept from me a token of
appreciation on behalf of all the good citizens of Perth.” Mungo
waved his hand to the row of new slave girls. “Whichever one you
like.”

Komor looked over the row of terrified young
women. He pointed to a girl around the age of fifteen whose name
Brynlee did not know. Mungo snapped his fingers, and a nearby guard
unlocked the girl’s bonds and brought her to Komor. The towering
man stood like a mountain over the small girl. He grabbed her chin
and tilted her head from side to side, examining her.

“She’ll do,” he said.

Mungo clapped his hands. “Marvelous!”

“A worthy prize for the realm’s fiercest
warrior,” Demulier said.

Komor walked off with his heavy arm around
the small girl.

Brynlee stifled her tears when Demulier
walked toward her. The woman moved like a goddess, exquisite and
smooth, with long legs that revealed a lithe frame under her gown
with every step she took. Her eyes went back and fourth between
Brynlee and another young girl named Nessah.

“I like this one,” she said, and she pointed
toward Nessah.

Brynlee exhaled a sigh of relief.

But then the woman’s finger pivoted back
toward her. “And this one,” she added. “Bring them both just in
case.”

“Of course, madam,” Mungo said. He snapped
his fingers and a guard came forward to undo their chains.

Brynlee fought the panic rising within her
as Scarlett latched onto her shirt.

“It’s all right,” Brynlee said. “It’s all
right. It’s all right.” But her own tears exposed her lie as they
streamed down her cheeks unbidden.

The moment Brynlee had been dreading
arrived, the moment where she was torn away from the last of her
family forever. Scarlett’s mouth opened wide in a silent scream of
protest that cleaved Brynlee’s heart in two.

The guard lifted her up off the ground,
tearing her from her baby sister’s clutches.

He muscled her and Neesah over toward
Demulier. The woman gestured a hand to the open doorway of a nearby
building.

“You said this won’t take long, correct?”
Mungo said.

“It will take as long as the lady needs,”
Ustus answered. “You have been paid well enough. Conduct your
business out here until we are finished.”

Mungo closed his mouth and bowed low.

A guard nudged Brynlee in the back with a
grunted, “Move.” She stumbled ahead, casting repeated glances over
her shoulder at Scarlett.

Brynlee and Neesah were escorted through a
door into the dark, narrow hallway of a lavish home. At least,
Brynlee thought it looked like a home, though she would’ve feared
to meet the owner. A heavy pallor of perfume and alcohol hung in
the air. The red walls were adorned with paintings of nude figures
hugging and kissing each other. Ahead of the entryway, at the other
end of the hall, lounged two half-naked women in wispy strips of
clothing, perched on a sofa like lionesses awaiting their prey.

A disgruntled looking man in a long dark
robe stood apart from them. He pulled a hood down off his bald
head. Brynlee thought he looked like one of the wizards she’d seen
in her books.

The man named Ustus strode up to him and
shook his hand. “Verraten Suden? Did you not find the women of this
kingdom to your liking?” He motioned to the two prostitutes on the
sofa.

Verraten made no effort to even acknowledge
the women. He snapped his hand away from Ustus, irritation
emanating from every inch of his face. In a raspy voice he said, “I
traveled all the way from Tranent to be left waiting here all
morning? I do not wish to waste another moment more than necessary
in this filthy place.”

Ustus sighed. “You wizards sure do rile
easily enough. Follow me.”

Behind Brynlee and Neesah, the same
mirthless guard who had ushered them inside nudged them to follow
the two men. Brynlee went first, through a door in the main hallway
and down a narrow set of stairs. Ustus took a torch from its place
on the wall to light the way into a chilly dark abyss far under the
city. The stone steps seemed to descend forever down a square
shaft.

Once at the bottom, Brynlee watched Ustus
push open a thick door made of wood and metal, its aged groan
echoed into the deep dark around her. A large room appeared through
the doorway occupied by nothing except a long wooden table that
looked old and dusty. A hundred candles cast shiny reflections on
the greasy black walls that imbued the room with a sinister
energy.

Demulier snapped her fingers and pointed to
the table. Ustus and the guard removed the top exposing an iron tub
filled almost to the brim with a dark liquid.

“You, child,” Demulier said, pointing to
Neesah. “Come here.”

Trembling, the girl stepped forward.

“In the tub.”

When Neesah didn’t move, the guard took
matters into his own hands and lifted her with a quick jerk,
eliciting a sharp wail from the child’s lips. She squealed again
when she landed in the water where she started shivering.

Demulier walked up to the tub and set her
palm against the girl’s head. She uttered something in a strange
language, and after a moment the girl calmed, her eyes closed, and
she appeared to have fallen asleep. Demulier pushed her down,
submerging her.

Brynlee realized with a shudder in her heart
that Demulier was a witch.

“Verraten,” Demulier said in a breathy voice
filled with excitement and anticipation, “come here and look. The
glimpse will not last long.”

“What are you talking about?” Verraten said.
“What madness is this?”

Brynlee slunk back against the frigid black
wall of the room, shivering from cold and fright. Something evil
lingered in the air, turning the room cold and her breath white.
She wanted to shut her eyes to avoid seeing whatever she was about
to see, but she couldn’t take her gaze off the tub, or her mind off
wondering whether Neesah would be all right.

“You are about to glimpse beyond our world,”
Demulier said, “a show of power that I hope will draw you to place
of understanding.”

“What are you talking—”

From behind him the guard grabbed the
wizard’s head and thrust it down into the water. Verraten fought
and flailed against the thick arms of the guard, but he was
powerless to break free.

Demulier began muttering a strange spell
that further chilled the air until a massive explosion of fiery
light burst from the tub and illuminated the room. In that instant
Brynlee glimpsed three silhouettes projected onto the ceiling
above: she saw Neesah’s tiny body lying motionless in the water,
the head and shoulders of Verraten leaning over the tub, and,
thirdly, a dark shape with a horned head rising up toward the
surface. It’s appearance sent a terrifying wave of cold through her
body that pimpled her skin.

The light went out and the shadows
vanished.

Verraten reeled back, eyes wide as saucers,
mouth spitting and coughing tub water. He dropped to his knees
before Demulier, heaving.

“What have you done?” he managed to say.

The witch stepped away from the tub, her
face as beautiful and serene as it was the moment Brynlee had first
laid eyes on her. She stood over the wizard, eyeing him with an icy
stare that seemed to calm and frighten him.

“By the gods, you are the harbinger,” he
whispered. “The herald of the Adarc, of Ahkidibis himself.
How—”

“You dare say his name?” Demulier
snapped.

Verraten bowed. “Forgive me, great one. I do
not understand how–how is this possible?”

“I was reborn many years ago with the help
of your high king,” Demulier said. “In exchange I promised to help
him begin his conquest of Edhen, but he is little more than a
puppet to me. The armies of the nine hells are ready. We need only
pave the way. I brought you here to show you a glimpse, to convince
you that the time was near. Are you with us?”

“Of course. Yes. Yes! Of course I am.”

Ustus strode toward the kneeling wizard with
slow, careful steps, his hands clasped behind his back. “Have you
ever heard of a regenstern?” he asked.

“Of course.”

“We sent a man to steal one from a wizard on
Efferous. Word has reached us that the wizard is dead, and the
stone is missing, along with our thief.”

“I want a bounty put on the head of this
man,” Demulier said, looking to Ustus. “Merek Viator. Get the word
out as soon as you can.”

“Merek Viator?” Verraten said.

“You know his name?”

“There once was a Merek Viator of
Turnberry,” Verraten answered, “but he left after he dishonored his
family’s name. He was supposed to take the blood march, but he
refused. He left and was never seen again.”

“Turnberrians and their foolish notions of
honor,” Demulier moaned.

“You will keep your ears open,” Ustus said,
“and if you hear anything about this gem, or Merek Viator, you will
promptly send word.”

“Yes. Yes. Anything. But, please, tell me,
is the time near?”

Demulier frowned. “Not near enough, but
soon.”

“We must have the gem,” Ustus said.

Brynlee understood little of what they were
talking about, but their words terrified her almost as much as the
image of the haunting horned shadow on the ceiling.

Her thoughts returned to Neesah and she
looked back at the tub. Brynlee wondered if the girl had
drowned.

Demulier dismissed Verraten and then, as if
for the first time, noticed Brynlee cowering in the corner.

“A second sacrifice won’t be necessary,” she
said, waving her hand. “Get her out of here. Let the dimwitted bawd
do what he wishes with her.”

The guard huffed over, picked Brynlee up off
the floor, and hoisted her over his shoulder. From her vantage
point high above the floor she looked down into the tub of still,
clear water as the guard carried her from the room. Other than
water, the tub was empty. Neesah, it seemed, had disappeared.

The light outside blinded Brynlee as the
guard dropped her back in place among the row of shackled girls.
They were all soaking wet now, having been christened with buckets
upon buckets of cold bath water.

As Brynlee’s feet were being locked back in
place to the stone pillar, Scarlett jumped up and wrapped her in a
tight hug. Relief washed through Brynlee like sunshine and she
returned the embrace.

Mungo was talking with a trio of handsome
men adorned in fancy attire. The men were youthful, with polished
leather jerkins and regal-looking white capes. She recognized the
gold leopard crest on their sleeves. They were men from the kingdom
of Tay, a province known throughout Edhen as immoral and
quarrelsome.

They were pointing to Scarlett as they
talked.

“What’s happening?” Brynlee asked. “What are
they talking about?”

Sitting to her right was Maidie. The girl
had gotten sick twice since leaving Aberdour and even now looked
pallid and emaciated. “He’s a prince, that man in the middle there.
He wants to buy her.”

Brynlee looked at Scarlett, horrified.
“What? No. She’s not for sale.”

“We’re all for sale,” Maidie said, “and we
don’t have much choice.”

Scarlett started crying into Brynlee’s
dress.

The man in the middle shook hands with
Mungo, finishing their deal. He turned and started walking toward
the girls. He looked at Scarlett, smiling a mouth full of gorgeous
white teeth.

Brynlee’s grip on her sister tightened.
“No,” she whispered, and then louder, “No. No!”

The prince grabbed Scarlett by the chin,
forcing her face to look up to his. His eyes examined her with a
wide-eyed amazement that Brynlee found perplexing.

“The resemblance is uncanny,” he said.

“Indeed,” said one of his companions.

A guard unlocked Scarlett from the post.

“No,” Brynlee said. “She’s not for sale.
What are you—”

The prince tugged the five-year-old girl
away, ignoring Brynlee’s protests.

“No, no, no!” she said in a rising
scream.

Mungo swatted her in the face, a moderate
slap, but one she didn’t see coming. The shock of it knocked her to
the ground and out of reach of Scarlett. The prince hoisted the
little girl up into his arms and carried her away. Scarlett reached
over his shoulder toward Brynlee, mouth open in silent wail.