David Dalglish - Wrath of Lions

He was hit hard from behind, but did not fall, and when he thrust back his elbow, it crunched against the face of a man holding a dagger. The man’s jaw imploded, the severed tip of his tongue falling on Patrick’s thigh. The attacker fell away, holding his face and screaming, and Patrick turned his attention forward once more. He was mere feet from the Wooden Bridge now, with only three soldiers blocking his way. Preston’s stallion was already almost halfway across.

“With me!” Patrick shouted, baring his teeth and charging the three soldiers. He watched their eyes grow as large as saucers the closer he got, and they leaped out of the way before he reached them, allowing his mare to stampede onto the wooden slats unhindered.

“Cowards!” he shouted over his shoulder. The wind buffeted his face as he thundered across the bridge, and as the rush of battle began to wane, he glanced behind to see if the others had made it. He couldn’t tell. The horses coming up on his rear all looked the same, as did their blood-smeared riders.

Once he reached the other side, riding into the northwestern half of Paradise, Patrick kept right on racing, keeping up with Preston’s frantic pace. It wasn’t until they were a good two miles away, when the Wooden Bridge was no longer in sight, and the sky had become like a wound leaking deep crimson, that they finally stopped.

They all sat there atop panting horses, they themselves equally exhausted. There were nine of them now, each with blood staining his armor. Preston had a wicked gash in his side, the top of Little Flick’s head was a gaping maw, Edward’s left arm hung limp by his side, and Ryann’s ear had been hacked clean off. The rest had smaller wounds, and many were still bleeding. All but Brick Mullin, who was nowhere to be found.

“We lost one,” Preston said, dejected.

“We did,” answered Patrick. “But only one. And he died a good death. We’ll mourn him later. For now, we must move. We just made a mockery of Karak’s entire army, and I don’t think he’ll be too happy about it.”

Laurel made her way back to Veldaren in the daylight, just in case the mumbling priest Joben Tustlewhite hadn’t come to his senses and reigned in the frightening Judges. The last thing she wanted was another run-in with the two huge lions, never mind one of the roving bands of low men who had murder on their minds.

She had been gone from Veldaren for eight days, and the Conningtons had given her a carriage for her journey, a mode of transportation that was finer than any she’d experienced in her short life of luxury, for while her father’s wealth was indeed vast, Cornwall Lawrence was a modest, simple man. The same could not be said of the Conningtons. The sides of the coach were so expertly crafted that no seams could be felt on the glossy wood, and inside were twelve massive pillows stuffed with downy feathers. The fabric was silk, the handholds grayhorn ivory. Lady Connington had even provided her with new attire, a finely spun, ankle-length, turquoise dress bedecked with rubies. She was amazed by how comfortable it was, like wearing her nightclothes-so different from the restrictive and revealing ensembles she’d forced herself to wear over the course of her long and frustrating mission.

She had even been given servants, of all things. The Crimson Sword had given her possession of Mite and Giant, the two Sisters of the Cloth who had been his “pets.” Though Laurel hated the very notion of the Sisters and refused to consider them her possessions, she couldn’t deny how much safer the two wrapped ladies made her feel. Just looking at them as they hung close to the carriage’s windows, their gazes intent on their surroundings, calmed her nerves. She had come to think of them as her girls . Though their long journey back from Riverrun had been uneventful, it was something she did not take for granted. Now all she had to worry about was how King Eldrich would receive the Conningtons’ counteroffer. Although they had agreed to assist the realm with coin, commodities, and manpower, she was certain the king would not be very happy with what they’d demanded in return.

The carriage turned onto the eastern Road of Worship. Smooth cobbles replaced the bumpy packed earth of the Gods’ Road. Laurel peeked out of the porthole. A hot breeze and Veldaren’s unique stink struck her head-on. The driver steered the two horses onward, past the empty fields where one day even more abodes and places of commerce would be built, past the stacks of felled lumber, mossy from sitting unused in the elements for so long, past the Temple of Karak. The sight of the temple, a looming black obelisk that seemed to swell and retract in the day’s heat, as if breathing, caused her to cringe. She cast down her eyes.

“I love you, my Lord,” she whispered. She may have lost faith in her god’s teachings, just as the Conningtons claimed they had, but unlike them she refused to relinquish her love, whether she was about to betray Karak or not.

Buildings began to appear by the side of the road, a sparse few at first, then more and more, until they were packed together like fish in a barrel. Laurel breathed out a wistful sigh. The drab gray stone and weepy brown wood of the city was actually a comfort. Veldaren had become more than her home over the last four years. It was where she had bloomed into womanhood, where she had earned her independence. Protecting it from the coming strife was the main reason she had agreed to the king’s proposal in the first place.

Her eyes narrowed as she watched the city roll by her window, a stone of unease burying itself in her gut. It was closing in on noontime, yet there seemed to be fewer women on the road than usual. Those she saw had a faraway look about them; eyes glazed over, gaits hunched, as if each carried a heavy weight. There were virtually no unwatched children running through the streets, a sight that had grown common over the past months.

The cart neared the great fountain at the center of the city, where the daily market was held. The square was completely empty. There were no vendors hawking their fruits, vegetables, meats both salted and freshly butchered, textiles, trinkets, or shoes. The only soul within eyesight was a single woman sitting on the side of the road, holding her stomach. Her clothes were filthy, her body so thin she resembled a skeleton. Her head was down, her dirty hair concealing her face. Laurel sucked in a breath. She couldn’t tell if the woman was alive, and when two other women hustled past without a glance at the slouched one, she realized that no one cared.

“What’s going on here?” she asked aloud. Mite’s blue eyes and Giant’s brown ones turned toward her, but neither said a word. Not that they would. She had tried to engage them in conversation numerous times since they’d left Riverrun, but true to their order, they had remained silent. Attempting to make them speak was a fruitless task.

She returned her gaze to the road, searching for a member of the City Watch in the hopes of asking him to check on the poor, thin woman, but none were within eyesight. It was then, as they circled the roundabout and joined the South Road, that she realized she hadn’t seen a single man in a Watch uniform since they’d entered the city limits. This struck her as odd. Odder yet, she hadn’t noticed any men at all. Her stomach began to rumble with unease.

The streets remained sparsely populated as they drew closer and closer to the castle, where crowds were usually abundant. Laurel looked down at the letter she held in her hand, which had been delivered two days ago by a female courier with skittish eyes, a reply to a correspondence she had sent via bird just before leaving Riverrun. In it Guster, her kindly and elderly fellow Councilman with the neck wattle, gushed about how splendid it was that her task was nearing its close, saying that King Eldrich eagerly awaited to hear what the merchants had to say about his proposal. It also reported that a special Council session had been planned to begin on her return to Veldaren. She had scribbled her reply and handed it to the courier, who’d wheeled her horse around and rode off without another word.