David Dalglish - Blood Of Gods

“There’s still time to turn back,” Pulo said.

Laurel shook her head. King Eldrich had pleaded that it needn’t be her to do this, and now Pulo was doubtful as well.

“Someone needs to drive a knife into Joben’s chest,” she said, “and tonight that privilege is mine.”

They hid there in the wood, huddled at the bases of four separate trees. For a fleeting moment Laurel feared Joben Tustlewhite had become suspicious and altered his schedule, which would have wasted four days of planning. Just the night before, Karl Dogon and Ennis Coldmine had been attacked by the Judges on their way back from this very temple, with Ennis dying and Dogon almost perishing as well. What a waste of a good man it would be should the priest not arrive. But finally she heard wooden wheels rolling over the packed dirt road. Laurel inched along the hard, snowy ground on her elbows and then peered over the bank she’d built. She watched the priest exit the wagon, climb the steps of the temple, and disappear inside. The acolytes closed the door behind him. The wagon carrying the Sisters turned about and headed back the way it came.

Still they waited. The minutes ticked by, and the sky darkened even further. Again Laurel worried something had changed, but sure enough the acolytes began to sing. Peering over her mound of dirt and snow, she saw the window to the priest’s study swing open. The four conspirators then exited their cover and gradually approached the western side, where Karl had told them the wall along the roof was highest.

The land was barren around them, and a chill worked its way up each of their spines. It seemed they all shivered at once as they stepped onto the road and approached the temple stairs. It was eerie to feel so alone, even with the singing coming from the roof. It was as if the world had gone and died on them. The feeling worsened when they scaled the steps and passed between the two onyx lions. The statues’ black eyes seemed to stare at them accusingly. She glanced up at the open window of the study, and for a moment she thought for sure that Joben Tustlewhite’s pale face would emerge, staring down at them. Again a quake ran through Laurel’s body.

They reached the entrance, and Laurel took a deep breath. Behind her, the other three men tensed, hands on their swords. Laurel grasped the handle of the massive door. She had with her tools to pick a lock, yet when she twisted the handle to the side, it opened.

“Well, at least we have some measure of good luck,” whispered Roddalin.

The interior of Karak’s Temple was as vast and desolate as the land surrounding it. The antechamber was empty save a stack of cloaks off to the right and a rod resting against the far wall. As Jonn gently closed the door, Laurel glanced about. The ceiling was high, at least fifteen feet, and just ahead of them was another set of huge double doors. She assumed those were the ones Harmony had said led to the monastery. To the right of the doors was a passage lit by torches resting in elegantly carved vases. At the end of that hall was a stairwell leading up. They went that way, walking lightly and trying not to make any noise, though a glance back showed they were leaving behind wet footprints. Hopefully, no one would be seeing those until the priest was dead and they were long gone.

The stairs were steep. They passed the second floor and then stepped off on the third, hastening their steps. Though the acolytes still sang on the roof, their song seemingly coming from the polished stone walls of the temple itself, Laurel and the men had no way of knowing when the musical rejoicing would end. The last thing they needed was for the faithful boys to stumble in on them while they were doing the deed.

The third level was carpeted, thick fibers that concealed their movements even more than before. Laurel quietly exhaled. The corridor was lined with doors, fifteen of them on either side. Most of the doors were open, and she poked her head in to see a small bedchamber containing a single dresser, four skinny cots, and a shrine on which a sculpture of a lion rested. The acolytes’ rooms, obviously. She backed away from the chamber and moved on, signaling for her colleagues to follow.

The door to the priest’s study was obvious; nailed to it was a plaque on which the Laws of Karak had been carved. Laurel stopped before it. Pulo pressed his back to the wall on one side of the door and drew his shortsword; Roddalin and Jonn did the same on the other. Laurel took a moment to fluff up her wavy hair. She undid the clasp on her cloak, shrugged it off her shoulders, revealing a sheer, barely there ensemble with thigh-high boots and a firming leather bustier. She had borrowed the clothes from a girl named Famke, a whore from one of the brothels along Merchants’ Road, who sought protection in the caverns. Laurel placed her hands beneath her breasts and shoved the bustier up, making her bosom swell in an obscene way. She glanced at Pulo, who retained his air of dignity, though his cheeks were red. She didn’t want to see how Roddalin and Jonn were reacting.

Now or never. She reached out and rapped her knuckles on the door.

Nothing happened.

Laurel bit her lip and frowned. She knocked again, but still nothing. She pressed her ear to the door and listened, but not a sound could be heard on the other side. Taking a step back, she looked over at Pulo. He was scowling.

“He’ll call for the lions the moment he sees you,” Pulo whispered. “Even with you wearing. . that.”

“I only need a moment,” Laurel whispered back, glad the singing easily drowned out her whispers so that there was no way Joben could hear from the other side of his door. “Just one moment of confusion and lust.”

She grabbed the handle, pressed down the latch, and swung open the door.

There was no priest. Instead, what she saw were lions, one male and one female, each of them six feet tall while standing on all fours. Their golden fur shone in the torchlight, and their eyes glowed with intelligence. The heads of both lions swung her way, and an expression that she didn’t think possible for a feline came over their snouts: they smiled. The male then took a menacing step toward her and opened a mouth filled with giant, sharp teeth.

“Laurel,” said Kayne.

“Lawrence,” answered Lilah.

“Betrayer,” they both said at once.

Laurel shrank back in horror, her heart hammering at the inside of her ribcage.

The Final Judges slowly sauntered toward her as she backed away from them. Their heads lowered to the ground, their nostrils flared. Yet they didn’t charge. Laurel tripped as she backed out of the room, and she almost fell. Jonn was there to catch her from beside the door. His arm wrapped around her waist and seemed to suffocate her.

“Laurel, what is-”

He glanced up, and his words became nothing but a wet whistle. Jonn released Laurel, letting her fall to the floor. She landed on her elbow with a thud. Finally her throat unlocked and she yelped. Jonn quickly sidestepped in front of her, his shortsword held before him, pointing at the lions as he blocked the exit. His sword arm trembled.

“Um, Pulo. . Rod,” he said, his voice cracking and shaky. “Some help would be nice.”

The two other men joined him, forming a human shield before Laurel, though she could see their knees knocking. Laurel rose to her feet, cringing at the pain in her sore elbow. The Judges had stopped advancing and now sat on their haunches, looking like living statues as they stared at the four intruders.

“You have defiled the Divinity’s temple,” came a voice deep in the room. From beyond sight of the door stepped the priest, joining the lions. Joben Tustlewhite was gaunt and pale as a ghost. His robe hung open, revealing a skeletal chest scored over with four gigantic scars.