David Dalglish - Wrath of Lions

“How so?”

“They built a wall, and now everyone’s playing hide-and-find-me.”

“That so?”

Will nodded.

Avila took a deep breath. She’d never related well to children, but if there were one thing she did know about young ones, it was that they were honest.

“So tell me Will,” she said, “whom do you worship?”

He gave her a queer look.

“Whom do you worship?” she repeated. “Who created you?”

“Ashhur,” the boy said, matter-of-factly.

“And would you die for your god?”

He looked like he didn’t understand the question. “Um…yes?” he replied.

“And what of Karak?” she said. “What do you feel for the God of Order?” At the mention of that name, the little girl backed up a step, but Will remained right where he was.

“Karak’s stupid,” the boy said.

“He is?”

“Yeah. He’s stupid and Ashhur’s gonna send him back to the heavens.”

“Fateful words, boy.”

That was when Will squinted, gazing up at her as if truly seeing her for the first time. Avila held her arms back, revealing the painted symbol of the roaring lion that adorned her black breastplate. His smile slowly faded, his eyes widened, and his opposite hand began to move toward his staff.

Avila slashed Integrity in a tight circle. The sword passed through the staff, severing it in half, then crossed Will’s neck effortlessly. A contrail of red followed the tip as it looped back up. The boy tottered where he stood, blood oozing down the front of his roughspun, and then fell over, landing flat on his face. The crunch of his nose breaking echoed in Avila’s ears. She looked on solemnly as the boy’s blood mixed with the red clay of the earth, deepening its color. Her heart grew heavy, a weakness she knew she had to quash if she were to fulfill her duty. They are not children, she told herself. If they do not bend knee to Karak, they are merely wild dogs.

The little girl stared down at the unmoving boy, then up at Avila. Her eyes filled with tears, but she did not openly cry. She appeared more confused than anything, nudging Will with her foot, watching as his body rocked and then fell still once more. She gaped up at Avila.

“Why won’t he move?” she said. “What did you do to my brother?”

Avila lowered Integrity, and this time the girl reacted to its presence, her eyes focusing on its still dripping blade as she backed away.

“He insulted the one true god,” Avila said.

“Will he get up?”

“No. He will lie there forever, rotting until he becomes one with the soil.” She cleared her throat. “What is your name, girl?”

“Willa,” the girl replied, sniffling now.

“How old are you?”

“Seven.”

Avila took in the sight of the girl’s blond curls and supple, dirt-streaked flesh. She had not been this girl’s age in sixty-seven years, even though she still looked the same as she had on her eighteenth birthday. She wondered how she would have reacted if her brother had been killed before her eyes. And then she realized it had happened just seven months earlier, on that damned soggy soil of Haven.

Stop it, she thought. Do your duty. Forget the rest.

“I will ask you the same thing I asked your brother,” she told Willa. “Do you love Ashhur? What do you feel for Karak?”

Willa shuffled on her feet, still staring at her brother’s corpse. Tears cascaded down her plump red cheeks. She looked ready to run, yet too terrified to do so.

“I await your answer.”

“I don’t know,” said Willa, her voice small. “Ashhur’s our god. That’s what Mother and Father say.”

“But what do you feel? What has Ashhur done for you?”

The little girl’s perplexed eyes rose to meet hers. “Gave me life?” It was said with uncertainty.

“No,” replied Avila. “Ashhur might have created your ancestors, but your parents gave you life. Now tell me, what has Ashhur done for you?”

The girl shrugged. “Told us stories?”

“Is that all?”

Willa nodded.

The little girl looked so lost. Avila sheathed Integrity and swung her leg over the saddle, leaping to the ground. Little Willa winced but did not retreat. The girl was an ignorant simpleton to be sure, unable to comprehend death, the most basic of life’s tenets. Even so, Avila felt a shard of pity. This girl was remaining remarkably strong given what she’d just witnessed.

Kneeling before the girl, Avila placed a hand on her shoulder and said, “Ashhur is a false god, child. He has raised his people in chains. And he broke his oath with his brother when he tried to destroy holy Karak on a battlefield where he had no place. Our Divinity then swore to cross the great river to free Ashhur’s people from the chains with which they’ve been shackled. And what does Ashhur do? He leaves you, a mere child, alone to face the coming army. My army. Is this the kind of god to whom you wish to dedicate yourself? A god who would allow your brother to perish in his name?”

“Um…no?” replied Willa.

Avila ruffled her hair. “That is a better answer.” She then grabbed the child’s head and forced her to look down at her brother’s body. She shoved the corpse over, exposing the gaping second mouth that still leaked blood below his chin. “Karak will give you the freedom to live your life as you wish. So long as you stay true to Karak’s law, your life will be yours to live. Does that sound appealing to you?”

Willa stared at her dumbly and shrugged.

“Idiot,” Avila muttered, and then, “Child, would you like to join me and see what befalls those who insult the true god of Dezrel?”

“I don’t know…”

Avila grabbed dead Will by his ratty shirt collar and lifted him. Torrents of red poured over her hand, dripping on Willa’s feet. The child shrieked and leaped backward.

“Or you could end up like your brother,” Avila said.

The girl nodded her head up and down as she sobbed.

“Good,” said Avila. “Now tell me where your village is. Just point girl, point!”

She did so, her sobs growing louder with each moment. When she outstretched her arm to the southwest, Avila nodded in approval. She rode to the supply carts and deposited the girl on the back of one of them before rejoining her company. The fighting men fidgeted, sweat drenching their smallclothes and leaking through the heavy leather and mail they wore. Malcolm frowned at her, but she ignored him. She knew what he was thinking, had known since he’d treated her like some craven weakling earlier. But Avila knew better, she knew herself . Malcolm might be stringent in his loyalty to Karak, but so was she. The girl would prove useful down the road, and when her usefulness ended, she would either bow before the deity or perish.

The convoy followed Willa’s occasional directions, marching down a slender pathway cut through the fields of grain. Far behind, at the rear of the five thousand men, soldiers used buckets to spread a sticky concoction across the fields. Torches were touched to ground, and the fire spread rapidly, swallowing the land and the vegetation that grew on it. When the first crackle reached her ears, Avila glanced behind her, and all she saw was a thick wall of billowing black smoke that blotted out the sky.

The village of Nor came into view after an hour of riding. A makeshift wall surrounded it, constructed from jagged stone and twisted, unnatural-looking trees. It was almost as if the wall had sprouted from the very land beneath them. Avila held out her hands, halting the progress of her troops. Best she could tell, the wall was only ten to fifteen feet high. It was a laughable defense against the might she had at her disposal.