David Dalglish - Blood Of Gods

Yet what awaited her there was not relief, but horror. The gate was smashed, and half the elegant cottages inside Erznia’s fifteen-foot-tall wall of pine and steel had been put to the torch. The causeway through the center of the hidden township was torn up, marred with the impressions of boot heels. The lavish gardens that had been a staple of each family’s land were wilted and dead, crushed by the now melted winter snows.

But worst of all were the bodies. They were everywhere, some lining the side of the road, most strung up upside down from trees and the roof overhangs of the homes that weren’t reduced to ashes. The corpses were stiff, their flesh parchment thin. Many of their stomachs had been opened, and the animals of the wild, let in through the smashed front gate, had picked through the remains. The upper torsos of those dangling were reduced to bone and sinew; many of their heads and arms had been chewed off altogether. It was a dreadful sight, and for a long moment Moira just sat there atop her horse while her Movers set out to investigate the scene, staring in disbelief at the carnage.

It wasn’t until Rodin persuaded her to ride toward the northwest corner of the settlement, where the estate of House Mori resided, that she broke from her stupor. Whereas other parts of the village featured a sort of macabre order, here was disarray. It looked like the cadavers remained as they were when they died, numerous arrow shafts jutting from their long-dead hides. Moira dismounted and examined the one closest to the estate’s entrance. It was female, with a faded yellow dress and a head of dark, curly hair gone pale from exposure to the elements. Her flesh was ravaged, half her face gnawed away by both time and beast, but it was clear who the woman had been. It was Yenge, Vulfram Mori’s widow, now joined with her husband in Afram, if such a place existed at all. Moira leaned closer, examining the arrows protruding from the dead woman’s hide: one in the neck, two in the flank, three jutting from the lower abdomen, one in the eye. The rest of the deceased had been pelted in much the same way, with just as great an abundance of arrows. Karak’s Army had come here, and for whatever reason had killed everyone .

Women and children, young and old-none were spared, not even the village’s Magister. It was a thousand times worse than the scene she had run across in Omnmount. Moira had thrown her head back to the heavens and screamed.

Suddenly, the need to find the last surviving Lawrence became all the more vital.

And now here she was, back in Veldaren, the city where she had spent much of her youth, looking for a single woman in a city of presumably thousands of females. She rode and rode, hoping to run across one of Karak’s representatives, no matter who he or she might be, she wanted to watch blood cascade from the wounds of one of the god’s faithful.

“Whoa, Moira, slow down!” shouted Danco from behind her. “We must gather ourselves!”

Reluctantly she pulled back on the reins and swiveled her steed around. The Movers had stopped riding and were now sitting atop their horses and gazing with apparent wonder at their surroundings. Although Port Lancaster was a sprawling city in and of itself, most of the buildings erected were humble wooden constructions that had ample space between them. Not so in Veldaren, a city designed by a god. It was the most densely populated location in all of Neldar, housing twice the residents Port Lancaster did, necessitating tightly packed buildings of gray stone that loomed over the road like ancient guardians in formation. And more had been added since Moira had last seen the place, which made simply riding down the road a study in claustrophobia.

Moira trotted up to her men, examining their expressions. Rodin was awestruck, looking around as if he felt small and didn’t like that feeling one bit. Tabar scowled, fingers restlessly tapping the hilt of his sword, and Danco laughed nervously. Gull, as usual, was expressionless. Even the fading sunlight reflecting in his gray-brown eyes did nothing to enliven him.

Rodin shook his head as Moira approached. “This is strange.”

“What is?” asked Moira.

“This city. So large and intimidating. . so empty.”

“Empty, indeed,” said Tabar. “Where are the people?”

Moira turned about and glanced down the length of the South Road. There wasn’t even a hint of movement. She looked to the buildings abutting her-a mason’s shop on one side, a silversmith on the other-and saw that their shutters were open, the windows dark. It was only in the apartments above the shops that she caught sight of what might have been a pair of eyes, staring out from the blackness within. But those eyes quickly disappeared. Then she noticed that no smoke came from the many chimneys, even though it was cold. Again she thought of Omnmount, of the people hiding within the cabins in the border settlements.

“It’s the same as before,” she said. “They’re locked away. Afraid.”

“Of what?” asked Danco, his voice rising slightly.

Moira thought of the scene in Erznia.

“Of Karak’s faithful, I’d wager.” She cocked her head and grinned. “Have any of you seen the castle before?”

“No,” said Gull flatly.

Of course not. Stupid question. She pointed up the road, where the major artery split, one continuing farther north, the other veering to the right. “Well, the Castle of the Lion is right down there. You can see the towers over the buildings. What do you say we pay the honorable King Eldrich a visit? Perhaps he can tell us what we don’t know.”

“Perhaps,” Rodin said. “However, I hope this goes better than the last time we went to meet with a man of great importance.”

Moira sighed. “Me too.”

“I also think proceeding with caution instead of riding flat out would be best,” added Tabar.

They all agreed, clomping down the road in formation, with Moira and Rodin in front, Tabar and Danco in the rear, and Gull between them. Tabar expressed regret that Willer had died, but only because the energetic young Mover had always acted as their forward scout. Moira couldn’t help but shiver at how detached they were when it came to the loss of their friend.

The curve in the road neared, and Moira’s heart began to race. She didn’t know what to expect once they reached the castle, and that lack of knowing played evil games with her mind. She tensed, feeling the weight of her twin swords as they bounced against her hips. Her hands flexed inadvertently around her horse’s reins. She could barely feel the cold wind that blew against her face. A bird cawed overhead.

“Halt,” said Gull. They were mere feet from the bend in the road.

“What is it?” asked Rodin.

“We’re close,” Moira said. “Let’s just get to the castle and out of the open. It’s making me nervous.”

Gull put up a finger, his head cocked to the side. “Do you hear that?”

At first Moira heard nothing, but then she noticed a faint undercurrent beneath the wind and creaking stone-a barely noticeable tink, tink, tink , followed by another bird’s caw.

“Conflict,” Danco said. He didn’t seem so uneasy any longer, and he actually smiled.

“But where?” asked Rodin, looking about.

Gull stretched out his arm in an exaggerated manner and pointed. “To the north. Come, we must ride.”

“We should go to the castle,” said Moira firmly.

“We will,” Gull replied. “However, if you are correct and the people are hiding within their homes, it means oppression is occurring here just as it did in Omnmount. If that’s the case, it’s possible the skirmish we hear is an act of rebellion. Would you, Moira, the woman who gave heaps of Karak’s liberated food to the starving, turn away from those in need?”