David Dalglish - Wrath of Lions

The three acolytes stopped before him, as did the soldiers, leaving ample room between them and their holy leaders. The middle acolyte lowered his hood and lifted his eyes, while his two compatriots kept theirs downcast. The one in charge was no older than sixteen, though he carried himself with poise far beyond his years.

“Master Brennan,” the acolyte said with a slight bow. “May Karak bless you on this fine day.”

Matthew nodded in return. “Yes, Noel, you are well met,” he said, hoping he remembered the name correctly.

“It is Noyle,” the acolyte said, his frown deepening. “Though I must ask you why we have gathered here in the slums rather than at your home. If I were a distrustful man, I would think you were attempting to hide something from us.”

You are no man, thought Matthew, but his lips recited the words Catherine had told him to say.

“We have nothing to hide. Holding our business here is symbolic. We are all beggars in the shadow of Karak, and I wished to demonstrate that humility to his most trusted servants.”

He bent his knee then, as did Catherine and Bren.

“Stand up, Master Brennan,” Noyle said. “Your respect is noted.”

Matthew stood once more, his knees popping in the process. Noyle stared at him, his doubt obvious in the rise of his eyebrows and the twitch of his youthful nose. In the silence that followed, it seemed the murmuring of the crowd of women climbed tenfold.

Noyle blinked first.

“You received our letter,” he said. “Have you brought all we requested with you?”

“We have,” Matthew replied. “I present to you the last eighty-six of my men, those who have guarded my estate diligently. They are yours to do with as you wish.”

“Good.” Noyle turned to address the two lines of sellswords. “You have been given a great honor, chosen to serve in the army of our Divinity and protect the ideals of the almighty Karak.”

The sellswords grumbled and shook their heads.

Noyle looked back at Matthew. “These men are to be sent up the Rigon, to join the force that has gathered in the elven city of Dezerea.”

“How will they get there?” he asked. “You conscripted our barges during your last visit.”

“At this moment, one of your barges awaits at the mouth of the Rigon. Our own representatives will escort them on their way. Now, onto the matter of our other requests…”

Matthew pointed down the crowded street. “There are fifteen wagons waiting in front of the postern gate. They contain a third of our wheat, vegetables, and salted meats, to be used in whatever way Karak requires.”

“A third is not enough. We require half of your stores.”

Matthew’s insides twisted, the dire warning of the Conningtons manifesting itself before his eyes. The part of him that wasn’t afraid, small as it was, silently applauded his decision to help them.

Catherine nudged him, and he shook himself out of his stupor.

“If half is what you require, half is what you will get,” he said.

“And what of the weapons?” asked Noyle, one eyebrow lifting.

“Weapons?” asked Matthew, a hitch in his voice.

“Yes, the weapons I requested in the letter. It is on record in Veldaren that you purchased a large cache of steel from the Connington family two years ago. We require those weapons to fight the brother god’s scourge of Paradise. The production of the northern armories has declined precipitously since most of the workers have been called into service to our Lord. Where are they?”

“We-”

“We don’t have them any longer,” said Catherine, cutting him off.

Noyle eyed her, seeming aghast that she’d had the nerve to speak.

“Where are they?” he demanded.

“They should be with our god already,” she said, sounding entirely at ease. “Just after your last visit, when you drafted our ships, my husband mulled over your dire words for a solid week. He decided to get the weapons to Karak without delay. The cache was loaded onto our last remaining galley and sent along the coast to enter the Rigon and join our barges before they traversed the shallower parts of the river.”

“Is this true?” asked Noyle, staring Matthew down. “We have received no word from our Divinity about these weapons.”

“It is possible the galley never made it to the river,” Catherine said before Matthew could reply. “The sea storms were quite harsh at the time. It is common for a ship bearing a heavy load not to survive the waves.”

“Does your wife always speak for you?” Noyle asked Matthew.

“Not always,” he mumbled in reply.

Noyle turned and walked away. The other two acolytes stepped forward to meet him, and they huddled together, speaking in hushed tones. The sellswords shuffled about uneasily, as did Bren, Penetta, and Lori. Matthew felt for them. It amazed him how unmoved Catherine appeared. She simply stared straight forward, chin lifted, eyes bright and alive.

Finally, Noyle approached him once more.

“If what you say is true, your god thanks you for your sacrifice. Rest assured, however, that this matter will be further explored.” He gestured behind him. “Kipling, my fellow acolyte, will remain behind to review your records. If there is any evidence of treachery, you will answer to our god. Is that understood, Master Brennan?”

“It is,” Matthew said, a lump in his throat.

“Unfortunately, since you do not have the weapons to give, there is something else we require in their stead. An army of fighting men has needs other than weaponry, after all.”

Matthew felt proud of how well he hid his cringe.

“What might that be?” he asked.

Noyle stepped back and gestured to the crowd of women.

“The soldiers in our Lord’s army have basic needs that have gone unmet for some time. All we ask is that you hand over three hundred of your young ladies to serve in that regard. All those who are given this honor will be greatly rewarded, both while performing their duties and when the war is finished.”

“Wait…what?” said Matthew. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Bren chuckled beside him.

“You heard me, Master Brennan,” said the acolyte.

“You…you would make prostitutes out of them?”

Noyle laughed. “I am sure many of them already were, Master Brennan. Are you that naïve to think otherwise? Now their womanly virtues will simply be serving a higher purpose.”

Matthew grabbed the young acolyte by the front of his robe, pulled him close. The soldiers in front drew their swords, looking ready to charge, but the other two acolytes held them back.

“According to Karak’s law, these women are free,” Matthew growled, spittle striking Noyle’s cheek. “What you ask is to enslave them.”

Noyle never even flinched.

“It could be worse,” he said. “We could place them on the battlefield to be slaughtered. This way, the men get to stoke their inner fire, and the women who receive their gifts might be rewarded with a child.”

“That isn’t right, you sick fuck. How can you-”

“Matthew, release him.”

He shifted his eyes to meet Catherine’s gaze as she stood there, hands on hips, glowering at him.

“Do you think it right that-”

“I said release him, Matthew.”

He opened his fists and allowed Noyle to take a step backward. Matthew stormed toward his wife. Bren took a step closer to Catherine, as if to protect her.

“You will let our people be turned into concubines?” he asked, seething.

She leaned closer to him. “Remember, Matthew. Whatever they ask for, you give them. It is the only way.”

“But-”

“But nothing, darling. Do it. Now.”

He blew out a disgusted breath and turned around. Noyle had straightened out his robe, and a pair of soldiers were at his sides, swords raised.