David Dalglish - Blood Of Gods

“Where is the king?” Laurel asked.

Luddard turned to her, his pale brown eyes flicking farther into the darkness. “Down that way,” he said. Crillson then handed her a candle and lit it with a tinderstick. Laurel mouthed, Thank you , grabbed Lyana’s hand, and guided the girl away.

She walked slowly. The floor was earthen and damp, and the wide chamber stunk like old compost. “What is that?” Lyana asked, coughing out her words and covering her nose and mouth with the crook of her elbow.

“Just what it smells like,” answered Laurel. “Rotting plants. These large fruit cellars get like this if left unattended for too long. Most of our storehouses in Omnmount had one dug into the earth beneath them.”

“Oh.”

Murmuring voices broke through the silence of the cellar, and Laurel followed the sound. Eventually she reached a wooden barricade-most likely the part of the cellar that once stored wine and other liquors. The voices were coming from the other side, where light shone between the slats. There was a crude door, hanging cockeyed on crumbling iron shingles. Laurel wrapped her fingers around the wood and pulled.

The room was lit by eight flickering candles scented with lavender to mask the stink of the cellar. Conversation ceased. King Eldrich, sitting on a stool above the rest, smiled warmly at her. Pulo Jenatt was there as well, and his smile was just as wide. Also present were the four hard, odd men who called themselves the Movers, along with the woman who led them-Moira, the lost Crestwell. Everyone in the small, sealed-off room, save the king, still bore injuries from the Judges’ claws, though they hid their pain well.

“Darling Laurel,” King Eldrich said. “You made it.”

“I did. Thankfully.”

She walked in and sat down on the ground beside Pulo. Lyana took her place beside Laurel. Moira, who was on the king’s other side, offered her a kind, almost blissful grin. Laurel had never met the woman until their attack six nights ago, but she had seen her sister, Avila, in the castle on a few occasions. It was amazing how similar and yet different the two women were. Their facial structures were nearly identical, all the way down to their quaint, pointed noses, and both had straight, silver hair. However, where Avila’s blue eyes radiated coldness, there was warmth in Moira’s gaze, especially when she looked at Laurel. She sometimes tilted her head coyly when they talked. It was odd, but the woman’s soft, almost innocent laugh more than made up for her personality quirks.

Laurel looked away from Moira’s intent gaze. “How many did we lose today?” she asked the king.

Eldrich shook his head. “Three.”

“Three? That’s not so bad.”

“It’s still too many,” said King Eldrich. “If we are to succeed, we must have all possible manpower.”

The one who called himself Gull cut in. “I was just telling the king, we should draw from those who already called the storehouse home. They are mostly women, yes, and many are hungry and weak, but what better fodder to protect us during the assault? Force them out in front. When the Sisters respond to our threat, they will have to cut through them first. When you speak of attacking a well-guarded castle, time is of the greatest essence. They will buy us that time.”

Moira cuffed the man on the shoulder, wincing and grabbing her chest afterward. “I already told you no, Gull. We don’t sacrifice innocent life.”

King Eldrich glanced at her. “It is I who will make that decision,” he said, though not unkindly. He then looked at Gull. “But no, we will not use these poor souls as fodder. If I am to die tomorrow, then I will die with a clean conscience.”

“Men with clean consciences do not win wars,” Gull said flatly, then let the matter drop.

“Laurel,” the king said, turning to her, “you have remained silent on this issue for days. I would like your input.”

Laurel shrugged. “I’m no warrior, my Liege.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” said Lyana, playfully nudging her leg. “You’re as brave as anyone.”

“Brave, perhaps,” Laurel acknowledged, “but weak and useless with a sword. I can give a good speech, I can make people like me, but I’d be a hindrance on the battlefield.”

Moira looked at her appraisingly. “I think you may underestimate your usefulness.”

Eldrich waved her off. “I’m not asking you to fight, Laurel. I’m asking your advice . Say all you wish about your lack of skill, but the fact remains that the strike against the remaining councilmen and the Sisters that protected them was your idea, and it worked beautifully. You have a skill for planning, my dear. That is all I wish from you.”

But Marius Trufont and Lenroy Mott still live, Laurel thought with a sigh. “Alright,” she said. What the king said was true; but they had lost upwards of eighty men and women in the attack. Laurel felt her responsibility keenly. Nevertheless, if her king wanted her input, she was obliged to give it.

“I don’t like the plan,” she said.

“Why not?” asked the Mover named Rodin. “It’s straightforward and simple.”

“That’s just it,” said Laurel, inching forward on the dirt floor until she was directly in front of the seated king. She drew a circle in the dirt with her finger. “You’re talking about a full-on assault on an armed fortress. We have-what? Eight hundred people at our disposal? We will lose half of them just squeezing through the portcullis.”

King Eldrich frowned. “We must send a message. We must be swift and brutal.”

“Yes, but you can be both and not stupid at the same time.” Laurel cringed at her own boldness, but Eldrich’s expression never changed. He appeared rather intrigued, and she continued. “Instead of striking an hour after first light, as we discussed, we move on the castle at midday. And rather than a suicide run, we use the resources we have.”

“Such as?” asked Gull.

“Well, more than a third of those who now fight in the king’s name are former Sisters,” she said. “The wrappings of the order aren’t difficult to come by; many still carry them in their sacks. At midday, the Sisters are spread throughout the city. The largest force walks among the merchants who line the streets. All eyes are away from the castle, looking for threats from outside. If we were to dress our women warriors in Sister’s garb and send them through the portcullis in small groups, we could gather them at the rear stables. By Karak, we could even put some of our more slender men in the garb as well.” She offered Pulo a sly smirk, but the subsequent moans she heard told her that others were unsettled by her speaking the name of Veldaren’s god. Pulo ran a hand through his dark, curly hair.

“That gets us people inside,” he said, “but what then?”

“Then they take the courtyard from the inside. The rest, the Palace Guard, Watchmen, and former brigands, will be lurking in the abandoned shops nearby. When a signal is sent, they can rush the streets and enter the portcullis untouched. The priest, and the surviving members of the Council, will be ours to do with as we wish. When the castle is ours-and hopefully we can lock the Judges in their cages before they know what’s happening and join the fight-we have a defensible position. We’ll have a gods-damned castle .”

The ones named Tabar and Danco, who had remained silent thus far, perked up. “That could work,” Tabar said, rubbing at his shoulder.

“It’s brilliant,” said Moira. She pitched forward, silver hair dangling in her face as she grinned. “I like this one. A lot.”

Rodin leaned into the lost Crestwell and spoke softly. “Remember the letters, Moira. Remember what happened last-”