Wrath of Lions

by David Dalglish

  “Your back foot is in the wrong position,” Patrick said, “and your back is too hunched. Otherwise, nice form.”

  Barclay corrected what was wrong, standing even taller now. “See? I was listening,” he said.

  “You were,” Patrick said with a nod. “Though I must ask where you came by that sword.”

  The boy lowered the blade, staring at it as he did so. Though the metal was old and faded and not entirely sharp, it was solidly made. Patrick could tell as much from the grip, which did not wobble when the boy tilted it from one side to the other.

  “A Warden gave it to me.”

  “A Warden? Which one?”

  “Don’t know his name. Short black hair, bright green eyes, short for a Warden. He and a bunch of other folks came upon us while we were still on the Gods’ Road. He was really hurt, and Father helped heal him.”

  “Where did they come from?” he asked, though he already knew the answer.

  Barclay’s face twisted up in concentration; then he nodded and said, “Lerder. They said they came from Lerder.”

  “Azariah.”

  “Uh-huh. That’s his name. How did you know?”

  “Long story.” Patrick looked about him, rising up on his toes to try to see over the crowd. There were few Wardens present, and none of them matched the description of Judarius’s brother. “And where is he now, Barclay?”

  “Where is who?”

  “The Warden. Azariah.”

  “Oh. He’s in the woods with a girl. Saying good-bye to a friend. They’ve been there for a couple days now.”

  Patrick turned toward the birch forest. “In there?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  He reached out and ruffled Barclay’s hair. “Thank you, boy. We’ll chat soon.”

  “You’re leaving? But I wanted you to show me some new stances!”

  “When I come back,” said Patrick, and turned away from him.

  The birch forest felt smaller and more cramped to him than it once had, and the trees were packed so tightly together he had to turn his armored body sideways to slip between them. The sound of light sobbing guided his steps.

  Soon he reached the clearing where he had spent many afternoons alone as a child. His feet got tangled up in a thick nest of vines, and he literally fell out of the woods, landing on his knees. Someone gasped. Glancing up, he saw a very pretty young woman with hair just as black as that of the Warden who stood beside her, only hers was curly. She stared in his direction, a look of surprise on her face, signaling Azariah to do the same.

  “Who are you?” asked the young woman.

  “That would be Patrick DuTaureau,” said Azariah.

  “DuTaureau…of the First Family DuTaureau?”

  “That’s the one,” Patrick said, picking himself up off the ground and brushing dirt off his clothes.

  “I heard you were dead,” Azariah said.

  “No such luck, old friend. Still very much alive.”

  “I see. Well, that is good.”

  Patrick cocked his head, staring at the Warden in confusion. Azariah and Judarius had been two of his mother’s favorite Wardens, the personal teachers to him and his sisters. He had always felt a strong connection with Azariah, in particular, and an appreciation for the Warden’s offbeat humor and sense of adventure. However, neither trait was in evidence at the moment.

  “Az, what is wrong with you…?”

  He required no answer, for when he shifted his eyes to the right he spotted a stack of stripped kindling. Atop the pile of wood was a strange lump surrounded by flowers. Patrick shuffled forward, peered down at the wood pile, and saw the lump for what it was.

  A body.

  “Oh shit.”

  He turned to the young woman, whose eyes had exploded with fresh tears. She leaned into Azariah, sobbing against his chest, while the Warden stroked her coiled black hair.

  “That’s Roland,” Patrick said softly.

  Azariah nodded.

  He had known Roland Norsman for only a short time, having met the strapping young man in the aftermath of Ashhur and Karak’s confrontation in Haven. Though their time together had been brief—barely two months had passed on the road before Roland had chosen to stay in Lerder with Azariah—he had made quite an impression on Patrick as a strong-willed, intelligent lad who was completely dedicated to their god. He had been Jacob Eveningstar’s steward before the First Man’s betrayal of Ashhur, and Patrick had sensed that he’d held onto the pain of that betrayal, growing from it.

  And now, just like so many others in the delta and Paradise, he was gone.

  “How did it happen?” he asked.

  The girl sobbed harder.

  “We were about to cross the Wooden Bridge,” said Azariah, his eyes locked on the body, “when Jacob descended on us with twenty men.”

  “So the First Man is taking an active role in Karak’s war.”

  The Warden nodded. “And he would have killed us all had I not sensed a strange presence in the forest. These creatures bore Ashhur’s touch, and when I prayed for assistance, they barreled out from the trees—wolves turned men. They attacked the soldiers, allowing those who fled Lerder to escape across the bridge. Roland and I were the last to cross, and we were halfway to freedom, riding fast atop my horse, when an arrow pierced his back.”

  Patrick shook his head.

  “Even with the pain,” continued Azariah, “even with Roland screaming, I kept on riding. He fell silent after only a few short minutes, and I felt him slump against me. Finally I came upon the rest of our party and collapsed. It was too late to save Roland. The arrow had punctured his heart, and he was already dead.”

  “How long ago was this?”

  “Seven days.”

  Patrick started, then leaned over the woodpile. Seven days…in this heat? On closer inspection, he saw that Roland’s body was in a late stage of putrefaction. His skin had gone black in spots, as had his fingernails. And his gums were retreating, exposing the crowns of his yellowish teeth. Had it not been for the flowers stacked around the corpse, the scent would probably have been dreadful.

  “And you haven’t burned the body yet? Why in the name of Ashhur not?”

  The young woman gaped at him, eyes blank.

  Patrick pointed to the girl, raising his eyebrows at Azariah.

  “Her name is Kaya,” the Warden said, embracing her once more. “She and Roland were…close.”

  She gazed at Patrick, her eyes red, her lips quivering, her knees trembling. Despite the horrific circumstances, he almost envied her. He stepped up to her, twining one of her black curls around his finger. She recoiled slightly, but judging from the way she was looking at him, it had nothing to do with his appearance.

  “You were lucky, Kaya,” he said, not unkindly. “You knew true love, and though he is gone, no one can take that away from you.”

  “I don’t c-c-care,” she sobbed. “He is n-n-never coming back.”

  “No, he’s not. And no amount of wailing is going to make a difference.”

  “Patrick, silence,” Azariah growled. “Do not be cruel.”

  “No, Az. I’m not being cruel. I am simply telling her the truth.”

  Kaya buried her face in the Warden’s chest once more. Patrick groaned, then turned his gaze back to the corpse. He noticed the flies this time, just a few, buzzing over the flowers. There will be more soon, he thought. After whatever treatment Azariah placed on the body wears off, they will come in droves.

  Sighing, he reached beneath his breastplate and removed the satchel that held his flint. He knelt before the woodpile as if he were about to offer his respects, and then, his wide back concealing his actions, he struck the flint together. It only took two strikes for a small flame to flicker to life, catching at the edge of the pile, gradually working its way over the dry timber. The clearing began to glow an eerie shade of red.

  “No!” he heard Kaya shout.

  Patrick turned, still on his knees. His hump made it hurt to li
ft his head to see Azariah’s face, but he withstood the pain so he could stare coldly at the Warden who had taught him to read as a child.

  “What have you done?” Azariah shouted.

  “What you should have done long ago,” he answered. He grunted as he rose to his feet, the fire building strength behind him, buffeting his backside in heat. Crackles and snaps filled the air as Roland’s corpse was swallowed in flames.

  “You had no right…”

  “Of course I did!” snapped Patrick. He stormed toward Azariah and stopped a few feet short of the Warden, pointing an accusatory finger in his face.

  “You have lost someone, but so have many,” he said, his voice a menacing growl. “I feel for you both, I do, but don’t you dare linger in sadness. There is no time for that. Not now, not when Karak is nearly at our door.”

  “And what would you have us do?” Azariah asked stubbornly.

  “I would have you fight!” he exclaimed. “I would have everyone in this godsforsaken place wake up and do something! And if I am the one who must force them to do so, then so be it.”

  He spun around and began storming away.

  “Where are you going?” Azariah called out after him.

  “I am going to pay a visit to our god,” he shouted over his shoulder. “It’s about time he woke up as well.”

  CHAPTER

  38

  The giant looked greatly discouraged, even angry. He sat on the rocks beneath the cliff, his fist firmly planted on his chin, his gaze locked on the hole in the earth and the dark treasure hiding within it.

  Aully looked at Kindren, her nerves bubbling over. When he squeezed her hand, she gave him a small smile, then turned her gaze toward her mother. Audrianna Meln was a picture of beauty, her long golden hair blown by the intense breeze off the ocean. Her sadness over Brienna had lessened with the prospect of returning home, and no more did the name Carskel pass her lips. It was good to see her this way—stately, strong, dignified, as she was intended to be. Those who stood alongside her, the thirty-one other elves who had made their home in this village by the sea for many long months, bowed to her in reverence. The Lady of Stonewood’s station seemed to have returned along with her strength, which made her daughter proud.

  “How long have you known of this?” Bardiya asked in his deep voice.

  “A few weeks,” Audrianna replied, motioning to Aully and Kindren. “My daughter and future son-in-law informed me of the existence of this cache the very morning they discovered it.”

  “Why did you wait so long to tell me?”

  “We had our reasons. We are not captives here, nor are we beholden to you, as you have been adamant in saying.”

  “I offered you shelter,” grumbled Bardiya, his tone disapproving. “I provided you with food and water when you were lost and hungry. I saved the boy’s life when he was near death. I deserve to know of all that is discovered within our borders, especially in times like these. You owe me that.”

  “Bardiya, calm yourself,” said the tall, slender, dark-skinned man beside him. “There is no need for anger.”

  “Speak for yourself, Ki-Nan,” he shot back, swatting his friend’s hand away. Aully took a step backward. It was unsettling to see Bardiya so upset.

  Lady Audrianna approached the giant, dropping to one knee before him. He did not respond, not even when she grabbed his massive right hand.

  “Bardiya, we are eternally grateful for what you have done for us. We are. The only reason we did not tell you about the discovery was because we were unsure what it meant.”

  “How so?”

  She returned to standing and gestured toward the sea. “Anyone could have placed the crates here, be it our people, Karak’s, or even your own—”

  “That isn’t possible.”

  “Be that as it may, we could not move forward until we knew more about the situation.” Audrianna pointed to the handsome elf beside her. “My daughter led Aaromar here the very next day to take inventory. He counted two hundred and ninety-four swords of various lengths, ninety-nine daggers, twenty battle-axes, and fifteen mauls, and that is only what was inside the crate that split when my daughter attempted to open it. One sword in particular caught his eye, which was our reason for not coming to you sooner. Aaromar, bring it out.”

  The elf dropped down into the hollow where the large wooden crates had been stacked, and when he reemerged, he dragged behind him a length of sharpened steel nearly as long as himself. Aully gaped at the sight of the sword, which could only be wielded by a giant. She watched as Ki-Nan’s jaw fell open as well.

  Aaromar dropped the blade in front of Bardiya, the clang as it struck the rocks echoing around them like a bell. Bardiya narrowed his eyes, staring first at the sword, then at Audrianna.

  “This gave you pause? Why?”

  “Because it seems to have been made for you, Bardiya. Of all the beings in Dezrel, there are only three for whom such a blade would make sense. And I do not think Ashhur and Karak, being gods, would have need of a man-made sword.”

  The giant leaned forward, ran his finger over the cutting edge, then abruptly drew his hand back and shivered. He drummed his shaved scalp, which glistened with sweat and mist.

  “Of course, I did not believe you were lying to us,” said Lady Audrianna, “but you must understand my hesitancy.”

  Amazingly, Bardiya seemed to be in agreement.

  “What changed your mind?” he asked.

  “For a week I had the crates watched from the top of the cliff. Not once did anyone pass by this place. The tide came in, concealing the hollow, and then rolled out, exposing it once more. The only thing that seemed to care for the hidden treasure was the seaweed.” She smiled. “But your reaction not a minute ago is what truly proved it to me. The revulsion you displayed on touching the sword could not be feigned.”

  Bardiya nodded to her, then glanced again at the giant sword.

  “If you would please remove this…thing…from my sight, it would be greatly appreciated.”

  “Of course.”

  Aully watched Aaromar retrieve the massive blade, straining as he lugged it behind him before dumping it into the hollow. With the sword gone from sight, Bardiya seemed to relax. He leaned back on the slippery rock, grimacing each time his joints audibly popped. His friend Ki-Nan wandered over to the hole, dropped down on his hands and knees, peered inside, and whistled.

  Bardiya shook his head, turning his attention to Lady Audrianna.

  “I apologize for my outburst,” he said. “As I have told you many times, my people have decried violence, just as Ashhur has taught. The sight of such things as these within our borders is worrisome. Do you have any idea how they came to arrive here?”

  “I think the Prince of Dezerea has theory on that,” she said.

  Kindren winced, squeezed Aully’s hand once more, and stepped forward.

  “I think they were a gift,” he said.

  “A gift?” asked Bardiya. “From whom?”

  “From Celestia,” Aully said, refusing to shrink away when all eyes turned to her.

  Bardiya chuckled. “Why would the goddess give me that which I do not want?” he asked.

  “Because Celestia is the goddess of balance,” Audrianna said before her daughter could answer. “There has always been equality between our people and the Quellan, an equality that no longer exists. The same can be said for Paradise and Neldar. So the goddess sent these gifts to allow us to fight for ourselves, to retake what we have lost, to even the scales.”

  “Why would the goddess not do so openly?” asked Ki-Nan, lifting his head from within the hollow.

  “Because that is not Celestia’s way,” said another voice. From the rear of the group of elves, an ancient female approached. She hobbled on unsteady legs, her cane shaking as the tip sought gaps in the wet stone. “You know this, son of Gorgoros, for you have studied her as well as Ashhur.”

  “Noni, be careful!” Aully shouted. She ran up to her nursemaid and wrapped
her arm around Noni’s slender waist, helping the ancient elf draw close to Bardiya. The giant slipped off his perch and dropped to one knee, hunching over so that his gaze was level with hers. Aully studied his face, the twitch of his lips, the furrowing of his brow. It seemed to take extraordinary effort for him to complete such a seemingly simple task.

  “Nonallee Clanshaw,” he said, and Noni bobbed her head in greeting. It was the first time Aully ever remembered hearing her nursemaid’s full name come from lips other than her own.

  Noni placed a withered hand on the giant’s cheek. “You have always been a fine lad, Bardiya. I was there on the day of your birth and helped bring you into the world alongside your Wardens.”

  “Mother told me as much,” Bardiya answered. He seemed to melt beneath the compassion of her touch.

  “And I was the first one to speak with you about Celestia’s glory when you were but a tot. Do you remember that as well?”

  He nodded. “I was six. The stories you told…they implanted me with wonder, taught me that all gods were to be respected, not just my creator.”

  “Then you know the way the goddess works.” Noni tilted her head, the side of her mouth lifting into a smile. “You know she would only interfere with our lives as a last resort, when the signs show that the balance she created might shatter.”

  “And that is now?”

  She nodded. “That is now.”

  “So you are saying Celestia put these weapons here to force us into a war?”

  “Not at all, Bardiya,” Noni said with a sigh. “She would never force anyone to do anything. Rather, she wished for you to have the choice. To have the opportunity to defend your life and land should the renegade god attempt to conquer all.”

  Aully turned at the sound of a chuckle and noticed that Ki-Nan was standing behind the rest, laughing softly into his fist as he shook his head. She couldn’t decide if he thought her nursemaid’s reasoning absurd or if this was a nervous tic of his in unfamiliar situations. She liked Bardiya’s friend; he had been very kind to her and her people. So she chose to believe that latter.