David Dalglish - Wrath of Lions

The rumbling stopped, and so did the battle. All eyes turned to the newly formed tree, whose surface was a spiraling pattern of thick veins and tough bark. It looked to be the hugest and strongest tree in the world, and it plugged the hole that had been blown into the walls without a gap.

Patrick began to chuckle, which evolved into light laughter and finally an all-out guffaw.

“She did it, my Grace,” he managed to choke out. “Celestia…loves…you!” He could feel eyes upon him as he laughed, but didn’t care.

The only thing that stopped his bout of madness was the sound of Preston’s voice, loud and authoritative, rising above the din of whispers and the shrieks of the dying.

“It is not over!” the man said. “The enemy is within your gates! The children of Karak who have killed your brothers, your sisters, your Wardens! They are trapped here! Take them down!”

The bestial cry of a thousand voices rose up, and Patrick lent his voice to the fray. He felt lightheaded and weak, but he moved to charge anyway, hefting Winterbone in the air. Powerful hands grabbed him, halting his progress and dropping him flat on his back.

“Let me go, you son of a whore!” he screamed.

The bloodied face of Master Warden Ahaesarus loomed above him.

“Quiet,” the Warden told him. “You are badly injured.”

“But I need to help them!” he protested, thrashing wildly. “Let me help them !”

“There is no need,” said another voice, and then Azariah’s face appeared as well. “The children of Ashhur can care for themselves.”

The dark-haired Warden shifted to the side to grant him a view of the proceedings, and Patrick rose up on his elbows. He looked on as Preston and Judarius led their charges, a blend of men and women trained by Patrick, Wardens, spellcasters, and countless everyday citizens of Paradise rushing against Karak’s now fleeing soldiers. The enemy’s men ran headlong into the tree blocking their exit, trying to scale it, but their fingers could find no purchase in its bark. All of the soldiers, both those attempting to flee and those attempting to fight, were overrun by the massive swarm of angry people defending their home. Screams filled the air anew, and though it was a horrid sound, Patrick thought there was a sweet ring to it.

“We did it,” he said softly. “We lived.”

“For now,” replied Ahaesarus. “And only with the goddess’s help.”

“Thank the stars for her,” muttered Azariah.

“Does Ashhur know what happened?” asked Patrick. “Where is he?”

The two Wardens shared a look but said nothing.

“You know what? I don’t care,” said Patrick. “Just heal me already.”

He reclined on his back and felt the warmth of the Wardens’ hands as they chanted above him. He allowed that feeling, and the screams of the dying, to wash over him as he fell into an uneasy sleep.

Velixar looked on, stupefied, as a giant tree sprouted from the ground, filling the gap in the wall created by Karak’s firestorm. Those who had been standing nearby when it emerged from the earth had been knocked backward by its rapid ascension, while still others were impaled on its branches. The two stone walls groaned, rivulets of cracks spreading as the tree pushed its boundaries against their limits, sealing out even the slightest gaps. The soldiers of the third and fourth vanguards backed away from the tree, appearing uncertain. Lord Commander Gregorian rode his horse along the wall, inspecting the new obstacle, craning his neck to see the top, before turning his horse around and trotting back to join his charges.

Karak watched in silence, the glow of his eyes intensified a hundredfold.

“What happened, my Lord?” Velixar asked. The deity glanced over at him and then approached the massive new growth, veering around the liquefied bodies of the grayhorns. Karak stopped before the tree and rammed a fist into it. It was solid as stone. Not even a piece of bark crumbled beneath his blow.

Screams erupted from the other side of the wall, and Velixar knew what that meant. The soldiers who had been abandoned were being slaughtered.

“Was it Ashhur?” asked Velixar once his god returned to him.

Karak shook his head.

“That tree is thicker than steel. My brother doesn’t have enough power to create that. It seems as though Celestia has showed her hand.”

A lump formed in Velixar’s throat, but he did not say a word.

Karak’s glowing eyes lifted skyward. “You have shown your true colors,” he shouted to the heavens. “Let us see how far you wish to go.” He stepped back and lifted his hand as he had before, uttering words of magic.

“No, my Lord!” he yelled. “Not with so many so close!”

The deity continued with his spell. Velixar quickly spun his horse away from the wall, hurrying in the opposite direction. “Run, all of you!” he shouted at the other soldiers who still stood in formation, a few hundred feet away.

A second fireball formed, illuminating the dead earth in glowing reds and yellows. The air hissed around it as it soared through the sky. Velixar allowed himself a single upward glance as his horse raced away from the walls, and he noticed that this fireball was smaller than the first. He ducked his head and drove his horse to a faster pace.

His flight proved unnecessary, for a sound like someone striking an enormous drum came next, deafening him for a moment until all sound disappeared. After a brief flash of brightness, the ground beneath him went dark once more.

Velixar pulled back on his horse’s reins and turned in his saddle, looked on as Karak stared at the sky. He was about to say something, but thought better of it. The god’s shoulders slumped, and he appeared exhausted.

He swiveled his horse around and cantered back to his deity. Karak glanced over at him, a tired smile on his face. “Celestia is protecting him,” he said. “She swatted aside my magic.”

“Do you wish to try again?” asked Velixar.

Karak shook his head as he stared at his hands. “It would do no good. I am weakened, and the goddess’s magic is stronger than my own. We will have to do this another way.”

With that, Karak pivoted on his heels and began to march back toward the bulk of his force, which remained a half mile away.

“Lord Commander!” he shouted.

Velixar kept pace with Karak, while Malcolm, who had been organizing the troops who were closest to the wall when the second fireball came, rode out to greet them. Finally he reached the god’s side, and Karak addressed them both.

“Velixar, find a courier to send to Dezerea. I want Darakken here as quickly as possible. As for you, Malcolm, fit the men with axes. Fell as many trees as you can, as quickly as you can. And have those who are not swinging axes begin to build the camp.”

“What is the plan now, my Divinity?” asked Malcolm, bowing respectfully before his god.

“We build armaments. And ladders. And catapults. I will show you how.”

“Why, my Lord?” Velixar asked.

Karak grinned. There was anger in the expression, yes, but he swore he saw excitement as well.

“We begin the siege. We show no mercy. We will kill every last one of them, my brother and his harlot included.”

The courtyard of Palace Thyne was filled to near capacity. The Quellan Ekreissar were situated to the right, heads held high and fists pressed firmly over their hearts. The elves glared across the courtyard at the human soldiers, who stood tall and proud as well, their polished armor gleaming under the late afternoon sun.

There was obvious dislike between the two groups, and Ceredon couldn’t help but think that was foolish, seeing as they were the same beings wearing different skins. Both sides followed the orders of their superiors, seemingly without question; both sides would take an innocent life if it were demanded of them. All of which made the disdain they showed one another laughable.