David Dalglish - Blood Of Gods

Eldrich furrowed his brow. “We will lose.”

“We may,” said Gull, running a whetstone along his saber.

“Either way, it will be exciting,” added Tabar.

The king frowned at these two men he barely knew, before turning around and facing the fifty or so gathered on the rooftop. The rest of the rebellion congregated on the empty streets below.

“Do you all wish to join the fight?” he asked, voice raised.

A raucous shout of approval answered him.

“Even if you fight for yet another god?” the puppet king asked. “Karak or Ashhur, it matters not. Whichever wins, we will still be in chains, only of a different kind.”

“We don’t fight for any gods,” said Laurel proudly. “We’ll fight for ourselves .”

“Besides,” scowled Danco, “Ashhur was swallowed by a wave of soldiers. For all we know, he’s gone for good.”

That statement drew another riotous cheer, even louder than the first. Moira lifted her sword above her head and joined them, grinning.

Eldrich appeared glum but seemed to gather himself as he shushed the crowd. “And so the choice has been made,” he said. “Any who wish to join the battle can do so of their own free will, but we will force none. It will be the people’s choice whether they sprint to their deaths.” Moira was surprised by the strength behind his voice, but that still didn’t stop her from scoffing at the man giving everyone permission to do as they chose. The man was a puppet king. He held no real power.

Another cheer began.

Laurel hushed them. “Listen, all of you. We’re behind the castle, so let’s keep it that way. When those who want this fight are collected, we’ll circle around the wall to the west, since our view of what is happening on the other side is blocked. Karak hasn’t made himself known yet, but he still might be nearby. Try to stay out of sight until you’re within fighting range. We don’t want anyone becoming lion meat.” She gave King Eldrich a smirk. “Then, my Liege, you will have the straight-on assault you wanted.”

Moira laughed, this time not bothering to hide her amusement.

“Now go, everyone,” said Laurel, “and if I never see you again, know that you were well met.”

Those on the roof began hopping down the stairwell, heading for street level. Laurel gave Pulo Jenatt, the curly-haired former captain of the Guard, a hug before he limped after the others. Moira noted the look of jealousy on King Eldrich’s face, before going to join her Movers.

“Moira, wait,” said Laurel, stilling her.

Moira turned to see Laurel arguing with the young girl with the dark, wavy hair and deep blue eyes, who was constantly at Laurel’s side. Moira walked up to them, listening to the songs of battle the people heading down the stairs sang and longing to be with them.

“What?” she asked.

Laurel’s stare was intense. “Moira, how hurt are you?”

“A bit.” She rolled her shoulders. “Still smarting, but once the blood starts flowing, it should fade away.”

“Good.” Laurel gestured to her young companion. “Lyana is adamant that she be allowed to fight. She is a girl of age now, eighteen and her own woman. However, I must ask. . can you protect her?”

“I can do my best, I suppose.”

“That’s all I can ask.” Laurel then looked deep into Lyana’s eyes. “You stay safe. Stick by Moira’s side like sap. I will see you again, do you understand? You are important, one of only two members of the First Families remaining in this horrid city. Your survival will serve as an example to the rest.”

“I’ll try, Laurel.”

“You best.”

Moira watched the conversation, the sounds of battle melting away as she gaped. She nearly slapped herself upside the head. That was why the girl looked familiar. Lyana. Lyana Mori . Rachida’s niece and last surviving family member. Though Moira hadn’t seen the girl since she was in the cradle, the resemblance to the house matriarch couldn’t be denied.

“No,” Moira said, too harshly. “She isn’t coming.”

Laurel and Lyana snapped their heads toward her.

“Why not?” asked Lyana.

“Because of who you are. Because of what you mean. If your Aunt Rachida finds out you died out there, she’d never forgive me for allowing it. I’m sorry, but absolutely not.”

With that, Moira dashed toward the stairwell, ignoring Lyana’s angry shouts. She descended the stairs three at a time, hoping that the girl was obedient enough to heed her warning and stay far, far away.

For though it was true she’d probably die in the next few minutes, she had to hedge her bets just in case. Lyana would make a splendid present for Rachida should they ever be reunited.

Her Movers awaited her just outside the tall building, and upon her arrival, they began sprinting without a word. From what Moira could tell, more than half of the eight hundred men and women fit to fight had decided to join them on the dash to their deaths. The Palace Guard and Watchmen wore their uniforms, but the commoners were dressed mostly in lighter armor, if they had any armor at all. Those that didn’t had strapped scraps of wood to their arms and wedged heavily stuffed pillows beneath their smallclothes for protection.

As a group they sprinted down the alleyways, crossing the span between them and the raging battle in mere minutes. The roar of it grew more and more deafening with every step Moira took. Then came the fear and excitement, and-just as she’d told Laurel-the pain from her wounds melted away behind a wall of electric anticipation.

They reached the rear wall of the castle, the three towers rising high above them, and ran at a measured pace along it. The fighting had spilled over to the side, as soldiers in sloppily painted white armor fought those in silver and black. Ashhur even had a few Wardens on his side, the tall beings more than holding their own against the armored hordes. The Judges were also in the mix, working their way through the melee, ripping men apart. Moira paused, looking toward the neighboring rooftops. There were elves up there; she could see them now, taking aim and launching arrows into the hordes.

“Movers, to me,” she said.

Gull, Rodin, Tabar, and Danco sidled up to her, waiting intently for their instructions. She also called over twenty others.

“Forget the fight on the ground,” she said. “See those buildings over there? Get on the roofs and kill those elves. They are likely the ones who are best with a sword, so I want our best with a sword to face them. I’m sure there are more on the other side of the square, but the less death coming down on us from above, the better. We have enough to deal with when there are Judges and soldiers and Sisters about.”

Her Movers nodded sharply, pride in their eyes, and took off without a word, leading the twenty others. “I hope to see you again,” she whispered. Moira then took a deep breath and faced forward. Pulo Jenatt was peeking around the wall. He held up three fingers and counted down. When his fist closed, mayhem sparked.

Moira ran screaming into the fray, holding both her swords out to her sides. She used one of her own men as a launching point, kicking off his back and rising into the air. As she descended she spun, hacking at a pair of soldiers’ throats. One she killed, severing his windpipe easily; the second she sliced through the cheek instead, causing his flesh to dangle, exposing his teeth. The soldier fell to the ground, clawing at his face.

She landed amid the turmoil, sprinting into motion once more. She stabbed and slashed, bounding off shoulders and helms, using her lithe frame and agility to keep from dying. Arrows flew all around her, making her spin to the side or arch her back to keep from being struck. Always she eyed the two lions, which were at least two hundred feet away, sending bodies flying into the air. It was then, as she stabbed another soldier in the back of the neck and once more leapt into the air, that she noticed something strange. There were a great many people who weren’t engaging in the battle. They simply stood there in the middle of everything, swaying, eyes blank. Some looked to have taken grave injuries, many missing limbs or with gaping wounds on their bodies that somehow did not leak blood. The momentary confusion caused Moira to falter. She missed her mark, roughly colliding with a soldier’s back and then landing in the midst of countless tramping feet.