David Dalglish - Wrath of Lions

“Even with the pain,” continued Azariah, “even with Roland screaming, I kept on riding. He fell silent after only a few short minutes, and I felt him slump against me. Finally I came upon the rest of our party and collapsed. It was too late to save Roland. The arrow had punctured his heart, and he was already dead.”

“How long ago was this?”

“Seven days.”

Patrick started, then leaned over the woodpile. Seven days…in this heat? On closer inspection, he saw that Roland’s body was in a late stage of putrefaction. His skin had gone black in spots, as had his fingernails. And his gums were retreating, exposing the crowns of his yellowish teeth. Had it not been for the flowers stacked around the corpse, the scent would probably have been dreadful.

“And you haven’t burned the body yet? Why in the name of Ashhur not?”

The young woman gaped at him, eyes blank.

Patrick pointed to the girl, raising his eyebrows at Azariah.

“Her name is Kaya,” the Warden said, embracing her once more. “She and Roland were…close.”

She gazed at Patrick, her eyes red, her lips quivering, her knees trembling. Despite the horrific circumstances, he almost envied her. He stepped up to her, twining one of her black curls around his finger. She recoiled slightly, but judging from the way she was looking at him, it had nothing to do with his appearance.

“You were lucky, Kaya,” he said, not unkindly. “You knew true love, and though he is gone, no one can take that away from you.”

“I don’t c-c-care,” she sobbed. “He is n-n-never coming back.”

“No, he’s not. And no amount of wailing is going to make a difference.”

“Patrick, silence,” Azariah growled. “Do not be cruel.”

“No, Az. I’m not being cruel. I am simply telling her the truth.”

Kaya buried her face in the Warden’s chest once more. Patrick groaned, then turned his gaze back to the corpse. He noticed the flies this time, just a few, buzzing over the flowers. There will be more soon, he thought. After whatever treatment Azariah placed on the body wears off, they will come in droves.

Sighing, he reached beneath his breastplate and removed the satchel that held his flint. He knelt before the woodpile as if he were about to offer his respects, and then, his wide back concealing his actions, he struck the flint together. It only took two strikes for a small flame to flicker to life, catching at the edge of the pile, gradually working its way over the dry timber. The clearing began to glow an eerie shade of red.

“No!” he heard Kaya shout.

Patrick turned, still on his knees. His hump made it hurt to lift his head to see Azariah’s face, but he withstood the pain so he could stare coldly at the Warden who had taught him to read as a child.

“What have you done?” Azariah shouted.

“What you should have done long ago,” he answered. He grunted as he rose to his feet, the fire building strength behind him, buffeting his backside in heat. Crackles and snaps filled the air as Roland’s corpse was swallowed in flames.

“You had no right…”

“Of course I did!” snapped Patrick. He stormed toward Azariah and stopped a few feet short of the Warden, pointing an accusatory finger in his face.

“You have lost someone, but so have many,” he said, his voice a menacing growl. “I feel for you both, I do, but don’t you dare linger in sadness. There is no time for that. Not now, not when Karak is nearly at our door.”

“And what would you have us do?” Azariah asked stubbornly.

“I would have you fight !” he exclaimed. “I would have everyone in this godsforsaken place wake up and do something ! And if I am the one who must force them to do so, then so be it.”

He spun around and began storming away.

“Where are you going?” Azariah called out after him.

“I am going to pay a visit to our god,” he shouted over his shoulder. “It’s about time he woke up as well.”

The giant looked greatly discouraged, even angry. He sat on the rocks beneath the cliff, his fist firmly planted on his chin, his gaze locked on the hole in the earth and the dark treasure hiding within it.

Aully looked at Kindren, her nerves bubbling over. When he squeezed her hand, she gave him a small smile, then turned her gaze toward her mother. Audrianna Meln was a picture of beauty, her long golden hair blown by the intense breeze off the ocean. Her sadness over Brienna had lessened with the prospect of returning home, and no more did the name Carskel pass her lips. It was good to see her this way-stately, strong, dignified, as she was intended to be. Those who stood alongside her, the thirty-one other elves who had made their home in this village by the sea for many long months, bowed to her in reverence. The Lady of Stonewood’s station seemed to have returned along with her strength, which made her daughter proud.

“How long have you known of this?” Bardiya asked in his deep voice.

“A few weeks,” Audrianna replied, motioning to Aully and Kindren. “My daughter and future son-in-law informed me of the existence of this cache the very morning they discovered it.”

“Why did you wait so long to tell me?”

“We had our reasons. We are not captives here, nor are we beholden to you, as you have been adamant in saying.”

“I offered you shelter,” grumbled Bardiya, his tone disapproving. “I provided you with food and water when you were lost and hungry. I saved the boy’s life when he was near death. I deserve to know of all that is discovered within our borders, especially in times like these. You owe me that.”

“Bardiya, calm yourself,” said the tall, slender, dark-skinned man beside him. “There is no need for anger.”

“Speak for yourself, Ki-Nan,” he shot back, swatting his friend’s hand away. Aully took a step backward. It was unsettling to see Bardiya so upset.

Lady Audrianna approached the giant, dropping to one knee before him. He did not respond, not even when she grabbed his massive right hand.

“Bardiya, we are eternally grateful for what you have done for us. We are. The only reason we did not tell you about the discovery was because we were unsure what it meant.”

“How so?”

She returned to standing and gestured toward the sea. “Anyone could have placed the crates here, be it our people, Karak’s, or even your own-”

“That isn’t possible.”

“Be that as it may, we could not move forward until we knew more about the situation.” Audrianna pointed to the handsome elf beside her. “My daughter led Aaromar here the very next day to take inventory. He counted two hundred and ninety-four swords of various lengths, ninety-nine daggers, twenty battle-axes, and fifteen mauls, and that is only what was inside the crate that split when my daughter attempted to open it. One sword in particular caught his eye, which was our reason for not coming to you sooner. Aaromar, bring it out.”

The elf dropped down into the hollow where the large wooden crates had been stacked, and when he reemerged, he dragged behind him a length of sharpened steel nearly as long as himself. Aully gaped at the sight of the sword, which could only be wielded by a giant. She watched as Ki-Nan’s jaw fell open as well.

Aaromar dropped the blade in front of Bardiya, the clang as it struck the rocks echoing around them like a bell. Bardiya narrowed his eyes, staring first at the sword, then at Audrianna.

“This gave you pause? Why?”

“Because it seems to have been made for you, Bardiya. Of all the beings in Dezrel, there are only three for whom such a blade would make sense. And I do not think Ashhur and Karak, being gods, would have need of a man-made sword.”