David Dalglish - Wrath of Lions

Pulo turned away, and Laurel held her arms out to her sides as Mite began the agonizingly slow business of swathing her every square inch with thin strips of material. She worked up one leg, then the other, and Laurel was amazed at how constricting the garb actually was. It felt like her lower half was being squeezed in one of her father’s lemon juicers.

“Captain Jenatt…Pulo,” she said, trying to keep herself together despite her ordeal. Cornwall Lawrence would do the same. “Please, tell me what is happening in our city.”

Mite continued to work, now busily wrapping her midsection. Pulo took a deep breath and stared directly into her eyes. She was impressed with his self-control.

“It happened suddenly,” he said, his gaze still locked with hers. “Soon after the mumbling priest began to set the lions loose at night, the Sisters arrived. They entered the throne room as a huge mass. The king was confused, as were we all, since they’d arrived with Joben, not their merchant owners. The priest then told the king that he knew of his plan to overthrow Karak’s law and cast all of Neldar into chaos in the god’s absence, and he was guilty of blasphemy. King Eldrich was beside himself. He demanded that we remove Joben from the throne room, but before we could take hold of him, the fighting began. The Sisters attacked the Palace Guard, killing many men before they could raise their weapons in defense. Then the two damned lions came bolting through the doors, ready for blood. In a blink of an eye, they slaughtered six more of my men.”

Laurel shuddered, expecting worse to come given what she had just experienced.

“The king’s bodyguard-you know him, Karl Dogon-snatched up the screaming king and pulled him into the Council chambers behind the throne. My fellow guards and I followed, holding off the Judges and Sisters as best we could. Once inside, we barred the door and ushered the king into his quarters, where we led him to the secret exit behind his bed. Twenty of us left the castle while our pursuers broke the door down below us. From there we fled into the city. Luckily, none followed.”

Pulo paused.

“What then?” a breathless Laurel asked as Mite began the process of binding her breasts beneath the cloth.

“We headed north, toward the slums. It was there we hid, only coming out at night. We called the rest of the Watch, who were themselves being hunted, to join us. This was all two weeks ago.”

Two weeks ago. That must have been just after Mite, Giant, and the Crimson Sword saved her from the Judges. So much horror in so little time. Her shivering began to subside, and a sort of numbness took over.

“What have you done since?”

“We have called others to our cause. Thieves, miscreants, rapists-we embrace any we find who are fleeing the Judges’ wrath. We remained hidden until the day our lookout spotted you entering the city. King Eldrich demanded that we protect you from certain death-he is very fond of you, Miss Lawrence-and so we assaulted the gates. We lost thirty men before we retreated. The king fell into a deep depression, for he was certain you were dead. It wasn’t until your servants sought us out that we learned you were being held captive.”

She looked at Mite. “But they are Sisters. How did you know to trust them?”

Pulo shook his head, obviously more at ease now that her womanly features were concealed.

“They did not come to us as Sisters, Miss Lawrence. They were not wrapped. And seeing who they were…who one of them was…well, we felt inclined to trust the story they told.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, feeling baffled.

He pointed at Mite, but said nothing.

Mite was busy tying up Laurel’s hair with a piece of twine when Laurel grabbed the Sister by the wrist, stopping her.

“Please, Sister,” she said. “In the dungeon, you spoke. Would you do so again?”

The diminutive Sister dropped her head. “I will, if you command it,” she replied.

“There is no commanding here.” She placed a kind hand on Mite’s shoulder and smiled, the numb feeling slowly growing stronger. “Please, I don’t wish for you to wrap my head. I would like to do that myself. Will you show me how?”

“I…I suppose.”

“It would be most appreciated.”

Those deep blue eyes stared at her with uncertainty before her hands finally got to working, undoing a knot in her own wrappings and slowly uncoiling the fabric from the top down. The Sister’s hair was revealed first, a dark shade of brown and hacked short. Next were her feminine brow, her exotic nose, her full lips and slender jaw. It was a young girl who stood before her, no older than sixteen and dainty, her pale cheeks flushed red. Laurel traced the girl’s jaw with her fingers. There was something so very familiar about her, but she did not know what.

“Did you see, Mistress?” Mite asked.

“Did I see what?”

“How the wrappings are applied?”

She shook her head. “I apologize, I wasn’t paying attention. But forget that for now. Tell me your name, please.”

Mite bowed slightly. “Mistress, I am called Sister,” she said.

“I am not your mistress,” Laurel said kindly. “Call me Laurel, or Miss Lawrence if that pleases you. And the name I want is your true name, the one given to you before you were forced into the Order.”

The girl backed away from her slightly, her lips twitching. She glanced all around her, as if to speak such an atrocity would summon a bolt of lightning from the heavens to strike her dead.

“My name was taken from me,” she whispered. “By Karak’s law.”

“Karak’s law is shit,” said Pulo from behind her. “Just answer the question, girl.”

She took a deep breath, straightened up, and met Laurel’s eyes.

“My name was Lyana. Lyana Mori,” she said finally.

Laurel fell speechless. She took a deep breath, her numbness replaced by a burning anger that rose up in her gullet. Deep inside, she channeled her father, the strongest and most righteous man she had ever known, who hated the Sisters of the Cloth as much as she.

“You were once Lyana Mori, and now you are Lyana Mori again. As your rightful owner, I free you from your bonds, from any servitude to me.”

Lyana’s eyes widened. “But if I serve neither you nor Karak, whom do I serve?”

Laurel thought of those corpses, of Soleh and Ibis and Vulfram, the girl’s father. She thought of what her own father might have said under the same circumstances.

“You serve vengeance,” Laurel said. “Now show me again how to put these wrappings on. I want out of this damn tower.”

The weary travelers circled a bend in the road, and suddenly Mordeina loomed before them. Patrick’s jaw dropped the moment he saw the wall surrounding his place of birth. It was at least sixty feet high and stretched out in either direction for what looked like miles.

“By gods!” he said.

“Impressive,” said Preston.

“Never seen a wall like that,” added Tristan.

“Eh? The one around Port Lancaster’s just as high,” Ryann said.

Big Flick punched the smaller man in the arm. “You never even been to Port Lancaster.”

“I have so,” whined Ryann.

“Have not.”

“Enough!” shouted Preston, and all went silent. “I swear, if you didn’t look like men, I’d mistake you for babes who still suckled at your mother’s tit.”

“I’d suckle on your mother’s tit,” Patrick heard someone say. When he glanced behind him, he noticed that Preston’s two sons were smirking. A chuckle escaped his throat. That was humor he could appreciate.

Preston, apparently deaf to the jibe, rode up beside him.