David Dalglish - Wrath of Lions

“Yes. In fact, he was worried you would not make it.”

“Well, I did. Ask him to let us in if you won’t.”

Judarius scrunched up his mouth.

“There is no need for that,” he said, disappearing to the side of the gate. There was a loud grinding sound as the bars slowly lifted off the ground. Once it was all the way up, Patrick led his new friends into his old home.

Looking to the side, he saw Judarius emerge from a nook between the wall and the stone barrier, where a wooden wheel resided, a heavy hemp rope wound around it and attached to the top of the gate. The Warden walked past him and leaned over the stone barricade.

“Mordecai, find Sheldon Miner and Mattrice DuReiner,” he said to someone on the other side. “They left the outer gate unbarred. Teach them that they cannot do that again.”

“Yes, Judarius,” the unseen Mordecai replied.

Judarius turned to look at them again, running a slender hand through his silky black hair. “I apologize for being less than cordial,” he said. “I have to be careful.”

“Seems you’re the only one who feels that way,” Patrick said. To prove his point, he jabbed his thumb toward the opposite barricade, where the sounds of raucous laughter could be heard.

“Yes,” said Judarius. “The people have much to learn.”

“A little late for that.”

“It is never too late to learn,” Judarius replied.

“It is if you’re dead,” Patrick muttered under his breath as he followed the Warden into the city.

The barricade was taller than Patrick, almost six feet high, and it stretched farther than he’d initially assumed. The man-made tunnel was at least two hundred feet long, and then the whole of Mordeina opened up before him. He gasped as he spun in a circle, his eight travel companions doing the same. The two walls did indeed circle the entire city, rising above the trees in either direction like a pale horizon line. Even more shocking to him was the sheer number of people he saw. The throng of humanity before him made those who had traveled with him and Ashhur look insignificant by comparison. They were everywhere, forming tightly packed groups whose crude shelters and piles of belongings took up nearly every inch of grass on every hill and valley he could see. He did not know how many souls had resided in Mordeina when he left, but there had to be at least four times that many now. Many sets of eyes turned in their direction, and whispers were passed back and forth. Patrick was momentarily confused before he remembered what his cohorts were wearing…and the fact that each of them carried swords, which was not exactly a common sight in Mordeina.

“They are from all over Paradise,” said Judarius, as if reading his thoughts. “Every village, alcove, and settlement from here to Ashhur’s Bridge, and some from as far north as Durham.”

“So many,” said Patrick.

“There are. Warden Leviticus estimates that there are more than two hundred thousand humans in Mordeina. And Leviticus is rarely wrong about these things. He has a nose for mathematics.”

Patrick whistled. “Is the whole enclosure as packed as this?”

“No,” replied Judarius, shaking his head. “Most have chosen to make their homes in the eastern quarter, close to the granaries. The forested areas are still vacant, and only a few thousand chose to settle on the other side of the hill.” He looked down at Patrick. “In fact, that is where some of those who arrived with Ashhur now reside.”

“Huh. Why there and not close to the others?”

“You will have to ask them, I think,” the Warden said.

Preston shoved his way forward, still dragging his steed along behind him. “Tell me, Warden, how were these walls built? Patrick told us they didn’t exist a year ago, but now there is not one wall but two, encircling miles of land. How did you accomplish this?”

Judarius chuckled, though there was very little humor in the sound.

“Teams of men and women, sweating from sunup to sundown, along with four spellcasters from the north.”

“Ah, my brother-in-law’s students. They have talent, I take it?” asked Patrick.

The Warden nodded. “Indeed. Escheton taught them well. With their assistance, we were able to raise three quarters of the outer wall in only eight months.”

“Three quarters? But what of the rest? And what of the inner wall?” Preston asked.

“For that, we required godly assistance,” Judarius replied. “When Ashhur arrived, he not only completed the outer wall but decided it was not enough and raised the second wall as well.” Again, the Warden chuckled. “What took us months to complete took him only three days.”

Patrick grinned. “I bet you wished you hadn’t worked so hard.”

Judarius didn’t reply to that, but he had no need. The look on his face said it all. Instead, he turned to Preston and his gang of youths and said, “Patrick has assured me that you mean to help us, and I will trust his word.” He lifted his hand and snapped, summoning five other Wardens from a nearby group of people. “However, whatever help you have to offer will need to wait. You all look exhausted, filthy, and injured. I ask you all to follow Corrineth to the bathhouse we have built in the valley where the granaries reside. Our healers will help you mend. My only regret is that with so many mouths to feed, we are a bit short on food at the moment. The most we can offer is rutabaga and beet soup and a few scraps of bacon.”

“I don’t care what we eat,” muttered Little Flick. “We’ve had nothing but roots and leaves for weeks.”

“Very well.” A human approached then, a young lad still in his teens, his hair as flaming red as Patrick’s and his face covered with freckles. A team of similar-looking youths gathered behind him. “Paddy and his brothers here will care for your horses,” Judarius said. “Please understand, however, that we will have to strip them of their decorations, as well as those adorning your armor. For obvious reasons.”

“We understand,” said Preston, with a bow, as the gang of youths began to lead their horses away.

“No need to bow.”

“My apologies.”

Patrick punched Preston in the arm, then worked his way down the line, roughhousing the rest of his new friends. “Get going,” he said. “Get tended, and get washed. You all smell like shit.”

“Well, at least we don’t look like shit,” he heard Ryann say.

Patrick gave the young man a swift boot in the rear. “Get out of here before I do worse.”

The Wardens led the eight deserters away, leaving Patrick alone with Judarius…or at least however alone anyone could be in the midst of two hundred thousand people.

“You are not leaving with them?” the Warden asked.

Patrick shook his head. “I can’t. I need to speak with Ashhur.”

“I apologize, but that is impossible,” Judarius said with a frown.

“Why?”

“Our Lord is resting now. Has been since he raised the wall. It weakened him far more than I might have expected. Ashhur requested that he not be disturbed while he revitalizes. He wishes to have as much strength as he can when Karak arrives at our gates.” Judarius gave Patrick a queer look. “The eastern god is coming, is he not?”

“He is. In fact, he was mighty close behind us. Had to fight a few of them to get across the bridge. Given how many soldiers there were, I imagine it will take them quite some time to get here. Five days, perhaps six.”

“So you had a confrontation with the God of Order. That explains your…condition.”

“Oh, you mean the fact that we’re all splattered with blood? Yes, we had a run-in…but not with Karak. I don’t think we’d be here otherwise.”