David Dalglish - Wrath of Lions

“I apologize, Isabel. I did not hear you approach,” he said.

“You should pay better attention,” she said coldly.

“Perhaps you are correct.”

“You didn’t answer my question, Master Warden. What is the problem here?”

Ahaesarus cleared his throat. “I am simply trying to motivate the workers. They are easily distracted.”

“They are. As well you would be too if you had only known a life of comfort.”

“I have been in this world as long as you, Isabel.”

As the woman gazed up at him, her steely gaze narrowed.

“Yet you also lived through war and hardship none here could imagine,” she said to him. Her tone wasn’t necessarily cruel, but there was an accusation there that made him feel like a child, even though he had outlived her by nearly a hundred years. “You cannot treat these people like they are your fellow Wardens. They are naïve, simple folk. They cannot wrap their heads around the concept of losing the safety they’ve always known. They don’t understand it, and I fear they won’t until Karak’s Army stands before them.”

“You have lived just as they have. How can you understand it?” he asked

Isabel offered him the chilliest smile he had ever seen.

“I may not have lived through the genocide of my people as you Wardens have done, but I have experienced my own hardships. I have never claimed to understand yours, so do not belittle mine.”

He bowed his head. “Many apologies, Isabel. I meant no disrespect.”

“Yet disrespect you did.”

Ahaesarus had no retort for that.

The tiny woman cleared her throat. “Be that as it may, you are forgiven. Your presence in our settlement has been a blessing during trying times, and for that I am thankful.”

He grabbed her hand, brought it to his lips, and kissed it.

“It is my honor, Isabel,” he said.

She pulled her hand away as if he were diseased and frowned at him.

“I am sure it is. However, my purpose for stepping out of my home at this ungodly hour was not to exchange pleasantries. Judarius has returned from the north with guests. They arrived before dawn, and are now bathing. They will join you shortly.”

A sigh of relief pierced his lips. “Thank Ashhur. Why did you feel the need to inform me yourself, Isabel? You could have sent another.”

The woman dismissed his question with a wave. “I required air. The homestead grows more crowded by the day. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a young king to instruct.”

With that, she turned from him and walked across the muddy ground, heading toward the road that led through the center of the commune, accompanied by five of her personal escorts. Ahaesarus brought his attention back to the men working on the wall, who were now fully entrenched in their labor. Though Isabel had reprimanded him, he was sorry to see her go. She hadn’t said so much as a word to them, but her mere presence had inspired the workers to new productivity.

He joined the men, helping brace loads and hoist stones. The workers were diligent at first, putting their every strength into the project and singing songs to keep their spirits high, but their exuberance faded as time passed. The complaints soon began, and Ahaesarus was once again reduced to shouting as he tried to keep his distracted subordinates on course.

Judarius arrived during a particularly venomous tirade. Ahaesarus was laying into a man for positioning one of the squared stones so that it jutted a good three feet from the wall instead of falling flush. It was yet another setback. They would have to remove the stone, reapply the mortar, and set it again-an onerous task.

He descended the ladder when he saw his fellow Warden approach. There were four men with him, rough-and-tumble sorts wearing animal hides and heavy leather boots. Each had a beard so thick it looked as though his eyes were peering out from a mountain of fur.

“My friend,” Judarius called out. “Look what I brought with me.”

Ahaesarus nodded, considering the newcomers standing before him. They didn’t look like anything special, simply mountain men with broad shoulders. He had sent Judarius north, to the village of Drake, at Isabel’s behest. She had told him of the troubles experienced in the secluded community on the banks of the Gihon River, and of the brilliance of the people who lived there, led by her son-in-law, Turock Escheton. Supposedly they had built four lofty towers to defend themselves against a renegade faction of Karak’s Army that had gathered in the Tinderlands. Ahaesarus was skeptical-it seemed dubious at best that anyone could erect so many towering edifices in a scant twelve weeks-but he had sent Judarius to seek them out regardless. If even a portion of what Isabel had crowed about these people were true, they would certainly be a help to the cause, though by the look of them, he had his doubts.

“And your names are?” he asked, trying to hide his disappointment.

Judarius answered for them. “I give you Potrel and Limmen Longshanks, Martin Cleppett, and Marsh Gingo. They’re part of the newly formed Colony of Casters from Drake.”

“Well met,” Ahaesarus said, bowing ever so slightly.

The one named Potrel smiled-he could tell because the man’s massive mustache and beard arched upward-and moved past him without a word. The rest of his troupe followed. “Alright fellows, let’s show these lugs how to build a wall!” the front man exclaimed, his voice rough and throaty.

Ahaesarus stood back, bemused, and watched as the four men ordered the other workers away from the construction site. Once the others had cleared away, they clasped hands and, staring at the giant stone that had been wrongly set, began murmuring as one in a language he couldn’t understand. He looked on in amazement as the offset stone lifted slightly from its place, freeing sticky threads of mortar in the process, and then angled backward and nestled softly in the proper position. The workers who stood off to the side, two hundred strong, broke out into a round of hoots and applause. The four casters turned as one, faced their audience, and bowed.

“Oh…” said Ahaesarus.

Judarius squeezed his shoulder. “I experienced the same reaction when they demonstrated their skills on the Gihon’s banks. I wish you could see the towers they’ve built. They are truly majestic and strong.”

The four casters began organizing the other workers, positioning them at intervals along the wall. A few climbed to the top and applied mortar to the next section while the newcomers prepared to lift another giant stone from the mountain…this time without the assistance of the ropes and pulleys.

“How did they learn this?” Ahaesarus asked, astonished.

“They had a capable teacher,” said Judarius. “Turock has spent his entire life learning the ways of magic. He had an elf for a teacher, or so he says. He began instructing others a few years back, and I think you can see how effective his methods are.”

“Why have we not heard of this before?”

The green-eyed Warden shrugged. “Why would we have? Has there been a need for such talents before now? Turock’s quest for knowledge was a curiosity, nothing more. It held no practical use in a land where people possessed all they needed and desired. Until now, Ashhur’s magic has always been enough.”

“True, I suppose. But the Warden of Drake still should have told us of these happenings.”

“There is no Warden of Drake.”

Ahaesarus glanced sidelong at his friend. “Why not?”

“The village is but ten years old, created by one man. They never requested the presence of one of our kind, so none of our kind went.”

“I see.”

“And also, you must take into account that-wait, you up there! Come down here this instant!”