David Dalglish - Wrath of Lions

Aully’s face twisted in confusion. “What?”

“Your own sister !” Detrick shouted. He rose from the chair once more, this time storming across the floor toward them. “You attacked Brienna while she slept, you rotten bastard.”

“Silence, Uncle.”

“No! I will not let the same evil happen twice.” He gazed at Aully, his eyes panicked, his tone desperate. “He forced himself on your sister after the First Man defeated him in a duel. He took her, beat her, and left her bloodied. She would have been ruined for life had Cleotis not ordered his best mage to dull her memory!” Turning, he pointed an accusatory finger at Carskel. “Your brother was not exiled. He fled . The coward ran before Cleotis could get his hands on him, or else his head-”

Carskel grabbed Detrick by the font of his surcoat and yanked him close.

“Keep your mouth shut,” he said. “Or I will end you.”

“You won’t,” her uncle said, his quavering voice revealing his fear. “You need me .”

“For now,” Carskel said. “For now. However, you do not need that finger.”

Carskel’s movements were so quick that Aully could barely track them. He swung his leg behind Detrick, dropping him to the floor with a thud. He tackled him and reached into his belt, yanking out a dagger with one hand while pinning Detrick’s wrist to the floor with the other. In one swift motion he plunged the tip of the dagger into the cherrywood floor, pressing down on the handle the way one would when slicing a carrot. Aully watched in horror as her uncle’s index finger was severed. Blood sprayed from the stump as Detrick shrieked helplessly.

Carskel turned to her, grinning, hands wet with their uncle’s blood.

“ I have ruled this kingdom since our dear parents left for your betrothal,” he said. “ I ordered the execution of the giant and his parents. Our uncle is only acting as Lord until our people learn to love me once more…which they will.”

“They will fear you, as indeed, they already do…but never love you,” wheezed Detrick.

“Oh, they will. Once they learn what we have been promised, they will love me very, very much.”

“You are…a pathetic and needy child…and you always have been…no matter how long you have lived.”

Carskel stood, wiped the blood off his hands with a cloth, and tossed the soiled fabric at Detrick, who wrapped it around the still squirting stump of his finger. The exiled brother then looked down at Aully, his calm demeanor returning once more. A sly smile crossed his lips, and he dropped down to one knee before her.

“Our beloved uncle is correct in one regard,” he said softly. “I am needy. Very, very needy. I need to be adored-it is what makes me strong. The Quellan are not the most tender of races. I have not known family- true family-for a long, long time. I want it back.”

Aully cringed inwardly. “Brienna is dead,” she said.

“I know, Sister.” He reached out and brushed a stray hair from her eyes. “But Bree was not alone in her beauty. You are very similar to her. You have her hair, her eyes, her temperament. Given that our uncle is intent on insulting me, you are the only family I require.”

“You bastard,” said Detrick.

“I will never love you,” said Aully, slowly backing away. “You are no brother of mine.”

“Even if I promise not to hurt you?” asked Carskel with a frown.

“You will not lay a finger on her in that way!” her uncle shouted.

The slender elf stood swiftly and stormed across the room, planting a fist firmly in Detrick’s face. Her uncle fell flat on his back and moaned.

“Do you think me a monster?” Carskel asked, sarcasm leaking into his tone. He turned back to Aully. “A hundred years spent roaming this land with no true home has changed me, Uncle. I have no desire at all to soil my only sibling, nor injure her in any way. All I wish is for my people to reclaim what is rightfully theirs, as Father should have done long ago.”

“But what do you want from me ?” Aully asked.

He grinned. “You are well loved here. You will trumpet my return, shouting it from the treetops, and you will make the people love me as they love you.”

“I won’t,” she said, shaking her head vehemently.

“Oh, you will, sister of mine. Or I will slaughter everyone you love, starting with that little shit to whom you’re betrothed. And I will make you watch every agonizing moment, until each of them stops breathing. But not you.” He grinned, showing his teeth. “As I said, I have no desire to harm my new favorite sister.”

Aully broke down. She crumpled to the floor and rocked back and forth, sobbing. Carskel looked down at her, and something that resembled real concern washed over his features. Turning on his heels, he strode elegantly to the chamber door.

“Think it over,” her long-lost brother said. “But not too much. Events are moving quickly, and if we are to present our reunited family to all of Stonewood, we must do so soon. I will send Ethir to gather up you and our uncle in an hour.”

With that, he swept out of the room. Aully glanced at her unconscious uncle, then stared at the plain wood of the door, her fists clenching, her mind reeling. She wished she had the power to knock that door down with her mind, to burn her bastard brother to a crisp with flames from her fingers, but she knew she was not strong enough.

She felt, in a word, helpless.

Having grown up in the northwest of Paradise, Patrick recognized the sonorous bleating immediately. The only place in all of Dezrel where the great grayhorns roamed was a hundred miles or so to the north, in the area between the Craghills and the Gihon. His elder sister, Abigail, had loved the North Country, and in his youth he had often been guilted into joining her on her expeditions there. During those trips he had spent many a night lying under heavy blankets, with his hands over his ears, trying to block out the colossal tusked beasts’ constant bellows. If there were one noise he hated more than a woman’s counterfeit moaning, that was it.

Now he was hearing them during his morning walk in Mordeina for some odd reason, while he was fighting off a nasty hangover to boot. Strangely, the way the sound was muted made it even worse, like the constant hum between one’s ears after a solid thump on the head. He climbed atop a nearby rock and scanned the area. All he could see from his location, halfway up the high hill that was crowned with Manse DuTaureau, was a never ending sea of people and Ashhur, perched atop the wall, gazing east. Of course you wouldn’t see them, you dolt, he thought, shaking his head. Even if a pack of grayhorns had wandered south of their grazing area, they would never be able to make it inside the new double walls. The gate simply wasn’t big enough for them.

He sighed and hopped off the boulder, wincing when his feet hit the ground, the headache that tormented him doubling with the impact. Rubbing the heel of his hand on his temples, he promised himself he would make sure to snatch up one of the more talented Wardens before speaking with his mother.

Speaking with Mother. He cringed at the thought of it. He had been home for five days, and it had taken her that long to come calling. He did not cherish the thought of her disapproving looks or the inevitable roll of her eyes when he told her what he had been doing in the interim.

That’s not why you delayed and you know it.…

“Shut up,” he muttered.

He put his head down and continued up the hill once more. The crowds seemed larger than usual on this day, but still there was a feeling of good humor in the air that bothered him to no end. In fact, only in the somber camp on the other side of the hill, where he had spent much of his time since returning, did any of the people seem prepared for the coming attack. The corner of his lip rose slightly as he thought of the previous day, when he’d trained a group of young men and women as Corton had trained him, teaching parries, thrusts, and defensive stances. It almost felt like he was in Haven again, among friends, among people who actually cared .