Where Serpents Strike (Children of the Falls Vol. 1) (32 page)

“Do you think we’ll come across any black
vipers?” Brayden asked.

Pick’s shoulders rose and fell. “Hopefully
not, but Khalous wants us to see how active the enemy is in some of
the southern towns, so that’s what we’re going to do.”

“Sir, do you know why Khalous wanted me to
go with you?”

“He trusts you,” Pick answered. “He believes
in you. You may not know it, but you’ve got a strong mind, Brayden,
and when you set your will on something you’re not easily deterred.
Khalous sees this in you and he admires it.”

Brayden thought the idea of an old war
veteran like Khalous Marloch admiring him sounded ludicrous.
“Khalous sees all that in me?”

“He does indeed. Says there’s the makings of
a leader in you somewhere.”

Brayden supposed Pick’s words should’ve
encouraged him, but instead they weighted him with the fear of
responsibility. He didn’t want to be a leader. For some reason the
idea carried with it images of his father lying prostrate on the
ground, his life blood fleeing from the arrow wound in his neck to
the filthy street.

They dismounted their horses just before the
sun dropped below the graceful tree covered hills. Pick led the way
off the beaten trail to a grove of softwoods. There they gathered
wood for a small fire and withdrew some food from their satchels
while the horses took water from a nearby stream.

Pick reclined on the ground with his back
against his saddle and started gnawing on a piece of days old
bread. “Khalous sees something else you, young master, if you don’t
mind my sharing.”

Brayden shrugged. “You can say it.”

“He says he sees fear.”

Brayden felt his insides twist in
embarrassment. He hated the way he always felt afraid, and had
always been afraid of others noticing it. He glanced down at his
feet as he sat in front of the fire, hoping Pick wouldn’t see the
red flush on his cheeks.

“It’s all right,” Pick said. “You’d be a
fool if you weren’t afraid of something.”

“Do you feel fear?” Brayden asked.

“All the time. And Connell, he feels fear.
We all do.”

“What about Khalous?”

Pick thought for a moment and then shrugged.
“I’m not sure the captain feels anything.” He looked at Brayden, a
joking glint in his eyes. “Honestly, when he was leading you and
your siblings out of Aberdour, there wasn’t a single step he took
that he didn’t feel fear.”

Brayden wasn’t sure he believed that.
Khalous was strong, brave, a man who could stare down a dragon and
not blink. He had fought in many battles and earned a number of
scars. He never flinched and he never complained. A man like that,
Brayden presumed, didn’t wrestle with childish issues like
fear.

“Khalous is courageous,” Brayden said. “I–I
don’t have courage like he does.”

“Wrong,” Pick said, almost cutting Brayden
off. “You don’t
choose
to have courage like him. In the same
way that fear is a choice, having courage is also a choice.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Having courage doesn’t mean you don’t have
fear. It’s doing what you know is right in spite of fear.” Pick
stuffed the last of the bread into his mouth and shifted onto his
elbow. “Let me ask you this,” he began, spitting crumbs. “Do you
think the Black King is afraid?”

“What would he possibly have to be afraid
of?”

Pick thrust a finger at him. “You.”

“The Black King fears me?”

“He fears the power in your name, fears that
you will rally the people to rise against him. Oh, yes. He
absolutely fears you.”

Brayden had never considered the power of
his name before. Thanks to his father and grandfather, the family
name of Falls was regarded quiet well throughout the realm. People
far and wide knew the Falls to be honorable, trustworthy, and
fair.

He had also never considered the power this
gave him over the Black King, a power, he had to admit, that made
him feel good.

Pick sat up and leaned toward Brayden. “You
make this decision now. If you choose to be afraid you’ll be afraid
for the rest of your life.”

Pick’s words sat at the forefront of
Brayden’s mind long into the night.

When sleep finally took him, he dreamed of
being surrounded by pale skeletons. His saw his siblings lying dead
in a field of bones, and his father’s corpse, white and cold, hung
like a piece of art in the crypts of Aberdour. He saw the Black
King, tall and powerful, covered in jagged armor as black as a
starless night. The high king pursued him through the tunnels of
Aberdour until he cornered him in the cave of bones beneath Halus
Gis. Courage sat on the edge of his soul, but fell as fear overcame
him.

Brayden awoke with a start to a clap of
thunder, feeling like he’d just been hollowed out.

Scattered raindrops filtered down through
the leaves above and pattered the dampening forest floor. Pick was
already up, swishing eggs around in a frying skillet held over an
open flame.

“Bad dreams, master Brayden?”

“You don’t have to call me that anymore,”
Brayden moaned. He rubbed his head, hoping to scrub the lingering
images of his nightmare out of his mind. “In fact, you probably
shouldn’t, especially if we come across any black vipers.”

“You’re right. Sorry. Old habits.”

They ate quickly and in silence. Then Pick
dressed the horses in their tack while Brayden disassembled their
campsite.

He threw on an old dingy cloak that had been
given to him by one of the priests of Halus Gis. The garment
clearly hadn’t been worn in many years for it rank of old wood and
dust.

They continued south on The Border Road,
following a winding river that connected many towns up and down the
northeastern edge of Advala.

Their hope of avoiding black vipers was
dashed the moment their eyes fell upon the town of Pelnon. Even
through the light rain that veiled the distant buildings Brayden
could see the soldiers of the high king on the bridge that crossed
the river into Pelnon.

Pick brought his horse to a stop on the
downward slope of a gentle hill. “Bloody bloody,” he whispered as
he surveyed the cluster of guards.

“Blood bloody?”

Pick looked at him, seemingly unaware that
he’d spoken his thoughts out loud. “It’s what the men of the King’s
Shield say to rouse themselves for battle. It’s habit, I
suppose.”

“Bloody bloody,” Brayden muttered as though
test-fitting the words on his tongue. “So what do we do now?”

“Get something to eat.” Pick looked at
Brayden. “I’m hungry. Aren’t you?”

With a click of his tongue, he urged his
horse to continue down the road. Brayden followed close behind, his
eyes nervously watching the black soldiers through the mist.

The road dipped and rose again around a bend
of forest that had previously hidden a crowd of merchants. Farmers
selling produce from two-wheeled carts had gathered around the
bridge to take advantage of passing travelers.

Brayden followed Pick’s lead and dismounted
his horse. They meandered up the line of merchants until Pick found
a fruit stand. He grabbed two apples, tossed the farmer a coin, and
handed one of the red orbs to Brayden.

“Wait here,” Pick said as he passed Brayden
the reins of his horse.

The young soldier wandered up the street,
munching on his apple and pretending to scour the hanging rugs put
on display by a local artisan. Brayden watched him draw near to the
guards that were mucking about at the bridge entrance.

“What were you doing?” Brayden asked, when
Pick finally returned.

“I needed to be close enough to hear them,”
he said. “They’re scrutinizing everyone passing into Pelnon.
They’ve got the seal of the Efferousian emperor on their cloaks,
which means they not only have the highest approval in the realm to
be doing what they’re doing, but they’re planning to be here for a
long time.” He appeared disappointed. “With this many men stationed
outside a town as small as this, it’s clear the Black King is
sending a lot of resources over here to find you and your siblings.
This isn’t good.” He took the reins of his horse back from Brayden.
“We should go. One of them seemed a little too interested in
me.”

They continued south until the rain
thickened and the road became sloppy. Veering for the shelter of
the trees, they made a small camp out of sight of any
travelers.

“I don’t think we’ll venture any further
south,” Pick said as he warmed his hands over a small campfire.
“The soldiers at the gate were talking about a contingent of black
vipers that were to be returning from Krossous. If we keep on this
road we’re likely to run into them, and I’d rather not.”

“Are they going to find us?” Brayden asked.
“I mean, what if they come to Halus Gis?”

“That’s a possibility we need to prepare
for, yes,” Pick said, which did little to comfort Brayden’s
fears.

“Maybe we should leave. We could take a ship
to—”

Pick’s hand flew up, a gesture that demanded
immediate silence. His head jerked to the side, listening.

Brayden peered around through the fog-veiled
trees in the dim evening light. He strained his ears to listen, but
he heard nothing except the soft splashing of rogue raindrops
slipping through the forest canopy.

Then, from somewhere beyond his gaze, a tree
branch snapped.

Pick shot up straight like a deer about to
sprint. His left hand went to his sword.

Brayden saw the first black viper creep
toward them through the trees behind Pick. The man’s sword was
visible, a shiny line of silver cutting a sharp edge against the
backdrop of dark forest.

Pick turned around to face the man as two
others drifted out of the fog to the north, then a third to the
south. Six in all surrounded their camp, swords and cudgels at the
ready, rain pinging off the angles of their sharp black armor.

“Greetings gentlemen,” Pick said. He lifted
his hands in a sign of peace. “Gave us a fright, you did.”

“Might we have the pleasure of your name,
stranger?” said one of the vipers. He was a thickset man with a
long tear on the outer hem of his dark cloak. He had a broad
forehead, a thick jaw, and massive fists that clutched the hilt of
a long sword.

“My name is Moreland Fields. This is my son,
Nab.”

“Your son, is he? Where you from?”

“The Thanadousi Mountains. We’ve grown tired
of the wind and cold and we’ve come seeking work. We mean no
harm.”

The viper considered his response. “Your
words have the taint of an Edhenite.”

“So do yours.”

“You’re going to have to come with us.”

“Is it a crime for a traveler to rest on the
side of the road?” Pick asked, gesturing toward the campfire. “We
were merely trying to keep warm.”

“We have orders to detain and question
everyone from Edhen. You’re coming with us.”

Pick frowned, exhaling a long breath as he
cast his gaze to the ground in thought. “No. No, I don’t think we
are. You see, I’m under orders too.”

Brayden caught a glimmer of the knife as it
slipped from Pick’s sleeve, spiraled through the air, and impaled
the eye socket of the nearest soldier. By the time he had refocused
his gaze back on Pick, the young warrior had already sliced his
sword through the throat of the viper at his back. He plunged his
blade into the belly of the large leader, yanked it up and to the
side, ripping a massive hole in the man’s gut that emptied his
bowels onto the forest floor.

“Run!” Pick barked.

Brayden ran for cover, his eyes as round as
dinner plates and his chest heaving in panic. He cowered behind a
tree stump, shivered, and watched.

Pick flipped a second sword up with the toe
of his boot and caught it in his right hand. Brandishing two blades
he dispatched two of the three remaining soldiers in a bloody
display of severed limbs and cut throats.

The final black viper rushed at Pick with
teeth bared. He was a huge man. He grabbed the young soldier from
behind with arms as thick as tree boughs. The two wrestled on their
feet before falling to the damp ground and tussling through the
underbrush.

When they rolled back toward the campfire,
Brayden could tell that the fight was not going in Pick’s favor.
The big man had a death grip on his throat and Pick’s face was
turning purple.

He managed to turn his eyes to Brayden and
choke out, “Run!”

Brayden backed away in shock, unwilling to
believe that Pick was about to die. He turned and started sprinting
through the trees. Fear washed over him like a dark cloud. He
wondered how he would get away, if he would be able to escape the
clutches of the high king’s men. He wondered how he would survive,
how he would stay warm, how he would find food, and if he would
ever make it back to Halus Gis.

He tripped and crashed to the ground. His
mind spun. He scrambled to his feet, panic rising. Pressing himself
against the trunk of a large tree he felt his chest tightening, his
thoughts clouding over with fear.

He heard the shouts of combat, heard Pick
scream in pain.

Brayden clutched his head and shook it back
and fourth.

“No,” he said. “No, no, no.”

He felt like he was swirling around the lip
of a dark pit, falling deeper and deeper into a void of
debilitating fear.

“No,” he said, trying to shut it out. “No.
No more!”

He was tired of feeling fear. He was tired
of being a coward.

Pick shouted again.

Lurching to his feet Brayden tore through
the woods. His adrenaline surged, drowning his fear. He wasn’t sure
if he was acting of his own accord or if instinct had taken
over.

He sprinted back to the campsite.

When he saw Pick still struggling with the
massive soldier he reacted instinctively. Brayden grabbed a
blackened branch from among the red-hot embers of the campfire.
When the big viper turned at the sound Brayden shoved it into his
face. Sparks erupted from the impact, searing one of the man’s
eyes. He reeled back, screaming. Pick jumped to his feet, sword in
hand. With one wild horizontal swing he cut halfway through the
viper’s neck. After a moment the corpse toppled to the ground.