David Dalglish - Wrath of Lions

The sight of the three castle towers made her breathe a little easier. Soon she would tell the king of the Conningtons’ demands, and she would get answers about what had happened to her home. She closed her eyes, telling herself that she was acting like a frightened little girl. There must be a logical explanation, she thought. Once you hear it, you’ll realize how silly you’re being. We’re fighting a war now. Things are bound to change. Yet, given how strange everything was in the city, it was difficult to keep her fear from ruling all other thoughts.

The carriage rocked to a stop in front of the portcullis of the Castle of the Lion a few minutes later. Mite opened the door closest to the street, and out stepped Giant, who then turned to assist her new mistress. Laurel’s feet fell to the cobbled walk and she flexed her toes inside her thin, feminine shoes, appreciating the hardness after trudging on packed dirt for so long. The driver-a young woman whose family trained all the horses in the Conningtons’ stables-nodded to her before cracking the horses’ leads. The two steeds trotted off, pulling the empty carriage behind them. Unlike her new dress and Quester’s two pets, apparently the carriage was not hers to keep.

The reek of decay reached her nose, causing her sneeze, and Laurel turned toward the castle. She cringed, gazing up at the twenty-one corpses dangling there. It felt strange to see them there, as she could have sworn Guster had told her that the Council had decided to take them down. Yet they hung there still. The heat of early summer had quickened the moldering that had been stymied by the cold of winter. Her eyes skimmed past the fifteen dead soldiers before landing on Minister Mori’s sunken face. The flesh was gradually peeling off her cheeks, and Laurel felt her eyes water. She half expected Captain Jenatt to appear and join her in mourning as he always had in the past, but he was nowhere to be found. In fact, strangely enough, there was no one guarding the portcullis at all save the two onyx lions. But she was not alone in paying her respects to Soleh’s memory. Mite stood beside her, and the Sister’s formerly expressionless blue eyes brimmed with tears. Her tiny body seemed to tremble, and Laurel reached out a hand to comfort her. Giant swooped in before Laurel could make contact with Mite’s bandage-swathed arm and, giving the smaller sister a stern look, she shoved her toward the gate. Laurel grimaced and followed them, not sure what to make of the display she’d just witnessed. This day could not get any stranger, she thought.

Much to Laurel’s surprise, it did. When she passed through the unguarded portcullis and into the castle courtyard, her jaw dropped open. Among a scant few plainly dressed women were at least fifty Sisters of the Cloth, some pulling carts filled with fruit, others walking horses, and still others busily tearing down Minister Mori’s dilapidated old podium. Laurel’s head was on a swivel as she looked all about her. There weren’t quite as many Sisters here as had been present in Riverrun, but it was shocking to see this many in the city. Still, it was entirely possible the other merchants had returned to Veldaren and brought their stables of Sisters with them.

Even more shocking was the lack of purple sashes. Nowhere in the courtyard could she spot a single member of the Palace Guard. Suddenly two men appeared from the massive doorway of Tower Honor, the first males she had seen all day. They waved to her urgently as they took step after hasty step. Laurel recognized them as Walter Olleray and Zebediah Zane, two of her fellow Council members.

“Laurel…Laurel Lawrence,” Walter said as he approached. He was a balding fat man who carried his girth much less gracefully than the Conningtons. His cheeks were ruddy by the time he reached her. He panted as well, and his breath reeked of eggs, which made Laurel swallow a grimace.

“Walter,” she said. “Zebediah.”

“Laurel, you must come quickly,” Zebediah said. He beckoned her with both hands, stepping backward. He walked with a pronounced limp, the result of having a wooden left leg.

“What’s going on here?” asked Laurel. “Where are the guards? Where is the Watch? Why are there so many Sisters here?”

“Guster will explain everything,” rasped Walter.

“Yes, the Speaker will tell you all you need to know.”

The two continued to lead her forward. Laurel opened her mouth to ask another question, but then shut it and shook her head. Walter and Zebediah were the lowest members of the Council of Twelve other than herself. They had no opinions of their own; whatever Marius Trufont said, they reaffirmed like obedient puppies. Marius was the Council’s second senior member, from a rich family descended from the Mudrakers. If these two were present, Marius would not be far behind.

She nodded to Mite and Giant, and then fell in step behind the two men. Her Sisters stayed to each side of her, not seeming to register anything but her and the path ahead. They seemed blind even to the others of their order. Laurel wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.

Tower Honor’s tall doors were opened by another pair of Sisters. Laurel entered to find the foyer and the grand hall in complete disarray. There were scattered bits of parchment everywhere, tables which used to hold finely crafted pots and vases filled with flower arrangements had been knocked over, and the carpet underfoot, which used to be thick and soft, was matted and sodden with a pinkish liquid, squishing with each step she took. Even here, the Palace Guard was absent. Fear began to clench in Laurel’s belly as she watched Walter and Zebediah proceed through the mess. She had the sudden desire to turn around, walk out of the tower, the courtyard, and then the city, never to return. Taking a deep breath, she balled her hands into fists, dug her fingernails into her palms, and forced herself to move onward.

Sure enough, Marius was waiting for them at the top of the steps leading to the double doors of the throne room. Marius was fifty and average in every way, from attractiveness to height, to style of dress. It was only his wealth and aggressive cockiness that made other members of the Council fear or respect him.

Those traits were not currently on display, for Marius was fidgety. He was chomping on his lip and whispering to Lenroy Mott, the councilman from Gronswik, who stood beside him. Neither man looked up until Zebediah cleared his throat. Laurel cocked her head; she heard a faint buzzing, as though water were trapped in her ears. She yawned, trying to release the pressure in her head, but the buzzing persisted.

“Ah, Laurel,” Marius said. Normally, he was the first one to make a lewd comment about her appearance, but not today. His eyes didn’t rake her figure, nor did he utter a word about her dress. His voice sounded as if he had recently been crying, though his cheeks were dry. “They are waiting,” he said, grabbing the handle of one of the doors.

“Wait,” Laurel said. Mite and Giant squirmed uneasily beside her, as if their wrappings had suddenly tightened uncomfortably. Perhaps they’d heard the noise as well. “Where is Guster?” she asked. “Guster is supposed to be here.”

“He’s inside, with the rest,” said Lenroy as he fiddled with his long white hair. “Waiting for us.”

“Is that so?”

“Well, yes,” insisted Marius.

“Please, Laurel, don’t be difficult,” pleaded Walter. His jowls waggled when he spoke.

“Yes,” added Zebediah. “Don’t make this any harder than it has to be.”

“Wait…what’s going on here?” she asked. This time she did back away, only to be stopped by a monster of a Sister who made Giant look small by comparison. The enormous woman grabbed Laurel’s arms so tightly she thought her bones might snap. Walter pulled a dagger from beneath his shawl, handling it nervously. Laurel’s head spun as she frantically sought out her two protectors, but her girls had disappeared. Her heart thumped out of control.