David Dalglish - Wrath of Lions

“Which tells us much about their camp and their defenses,” he said. “They don’t view this as a true war. It has never crossed their minds that the people of Drake might attack them or deploy scouts.” He pointed toward the camp, and seven sets of eyes followed his finger. “There should be soldiers marching the perimeter, keeping an eye on the surrounding hills. Yet I hear nothing but snores and the occasional whimper of one who fell too far into his cups and regrets it.”

“All I hear is rain,” said Enoch.

“A Warden’s ears are better,” Ahaesarus said, though not unkindly.

Ephraim shrugged. “That is all well and good, Warden, but again, what are we to do?”

“We will take from them the information we seek,” Ahaesarus said, as if it were obvious.

“How?”

He grabbed Ephraim by the front of his drenched leather surcoat and pulled him toward the edge of the gradient. “Do you see that tent down there?” he asked.

“Which one? Point all you want; there’s dozens of tents down there.”

“The largest, standing twice as high as the rest. The one with a banner on each corner post.”

Ephraim squinted. “Yeah, I see it. What of it?”

“Whoever leads this army will have the most luxurious accommodations, a way of reaffirming his position and power to the others. Their leader sleeps in that tent…a tent guarded by nothing but sleeping men.”

“You’re insane,” Ephraim said. “But by Ashhur, I think I like the craziness you’re suggesting. Let’s go grab the information we need!”

Not five minutes later, seven furtive intruders scampered down the other side of the rocky hill. Craxton stayed behind so he could flee back to Drake should they be captured. The pounding rain helped erase any noise they made, which was not inconsiderable. The hill was covered with water, and there were a slew of loose stones underfoot. Many members of the party bounced down the hill with each blind step, but no one in the sleeping camp was the wiser.

When they reached the camp, they took it slow, tiptoeing between the many tents. The four Wardens took the lead, their stronger eyesight allowing them to spot obstructions that might give them away, such as a stray cooking pot or an empty jug of wine resting against one of the tent’s support ropes. The whole while the rain kept falling, the sound the drops made when they struck the canvas tents eerie in their fleshiness. Careful as they were, it took them nearly half an hour to weave through the obstacles and reach the largest tent. They drew to a halt before it, the awning providing a needed respite from the downpour, and listened for any noise from inside. There was none to be heard, not even snores. For a moment Ahaesarus feared he would enter the massive canvas enclosure and find it empty, but he shoved that thought away and signaled to Ephraim that it was time. The bearded man’s eyes were alive with nervous energy when he nodded in reply.

The party slowly and carefully drew their swords, and Ludwig pulled back the tent’s entrance flap. The humans entered first, as they were able to pass through the opening while standing fully upright, whereas the Wardens needed to stoop. Ahaesarus was the last to enter. He left Ludwig outside to keep watch, touching his lips with two fingers, telling his fellow Warden that if there were trouble, he should call out to them. The flap closed quietly behind him after he squatted through the opening.

The interior of the tent was like another world. Instead of hard stone and meager tufts of yellow grass, boards had been placed down to create an actual floor. Luckily, those boards were covered in many places by plush mats, which damped the sound of the water dripping from their hair and clothes. The place was furnished with a washbasin and chamber pot on one side, and two large cabinets on the other. In the center was a large table on which burned the candles that provided scant illumination.

But it was what rested opposite them that drew the six farther inside. A bed was raised off the ground on four thick legs. Beside it was yet another cabinet, and hanging from that was a suit of armor and a massive, curved sword. On the bed was a lump whose chest rose and fell lazily.

Ahaesarus handed Grendel his sword, and Ephraim gave his to Judah, and without a word spoken between them, they inched their way across the wooden slats, approaching the bed. As they steered around the table and chairs, they caught sight of a map that had been opened atop the table, the corners held down by the burning candles. Ephraim turned and pointed at it. Uulon and Enoch sheathed their blades and removed the candles, rolling up the map.

His heart hammering in his chest, Ahaesarus and Ephraim snuck even closer, until they stood on either side of the bed. Ahaesarus looked down. The sleeper was middle aged, perhaps in the midst of his fifth decade, with straight hair cut short, graying around the temples. The side of his face was marred by a scar that ran along the side of his chin, rounded his jaw, and stopped at the vacant hole where his left ear should have been. Ahaesarus glanced around the room once more. You certainly paid for your rank, he thought.

He withdrew a burlap sack and piece of cloth from the bag tied to his belt, while Ephraim uncoiled a length of rope. Ahaesarus then leaned over, holding his hand in front of the man’s face, feeling the sleeper’s breath on his fingertips.

Ready? mouthed Ephraim. Ahaesarus nodded. In an instant, Ephraim shoved the cloth across the man’s mouth as Ahaesarus wrapped his arms around the naked man’s neck. The man immediately began to thrash and tried to cry out, but Ephraim pressed all the harder. So too did Ahaesarus tighten his arms, choking the breath out of the man. Together they kept his cries muffled as he struggled, until at last his movements slowed, and his body went limp.

Their quarry down and out, Ephraim went about binding the man’s wrists and feet while Ahaesarus stuffed the rag deeper into his mouth and threw the burlap sack over his head. Uulon and Enoch tried to lift him, but the man was too heavy for them to hold up without great effort, so Ahaesarus and Judah took over the duties of carrying his unconscious body. They left the large tent, eliciting a surprised grunt from Ludwig, and then worked their way back through the camp. The rain had slowed, making their movements noticeable this time. The fear was ever present that they might stir the sleeping soldiers to wakefulness, especially given the difficulty he and Judah had in lugging the man’s dead weight between them. They even heard a few moans and groans from the smaller tents as they passed them. Ahaesarus felt as though he were holding his breath the whole time. Right then and there he decided that should the soldiers awaken, should they emerge to find the seven of them sneaking off with their leader, they would simply throw the man’s body down and flee, their mission be damned.

It proved unnecessary, for they reached the rocky hill from whence they’d come without incident. A few moments later, after slipping and sliding and almost careening into one another, they made it over the top. Their tracks were still visible, and they followed them back through the decaying wasteland. The thought occurred to Ahaesarus that the soldiers would wake eventually to find their leader gone, and would follow their tracks. It does not matter, he thought. If luck were with them, they would be back at Blood Tower with their prize before any were the wiser.

“You did it,” said Craxton when they rejoined him on the other side of the hill, before hustling over the stones and gullies of the Tinderlands. “I thought Turock was sending us to our deaths, but you did it.”

“We did,” Ahaesarus said, though as he looked at their prisoner’s naked body as it hung between Judah and him, he had a hard time taking any pride in that fact.