David Dalglish - Wrath of Lions

The Sisters said nothing, as the members of their order were required to keep silent for all their lives, but Quester seemed chatty enough for the all of them.

“Oh, you know how it is,” he said as he strutted across the rooftop. “Just a lad with his nursemaids, wandering around in the darkness, looking for the famous Laurel Lawrence while trying to avoid the Judges’ claws.”

“The judges?” Laurel shook her head. “What judges? What are you speaking of?”

“The Final Judges, who sniff out sinners like yesterday’s spoiled meat.”

“Wait…you mean the Moris’ lions? They’re out of the castle?”

Quester jutted his chin toward the edge of the roof.

“I take it you weren’t in a proper state to watch while you were up close?” he said. “Here. Come look and see for yourself, milady.”

She knew she shouldn’t trust this strange man, yet she did just as he’d asked, stepping around an unconscious Little Mo to lean over the short wall. Quester was by her side a moment later, holding one of the flaming clay buckets. Before she could protest, he tossed it over the side. The bucket shattered when it struck the ground, spraying burning pitch in every direction.

Laurel gasped. By the light of the pitch, she could see a pair of lions down below. They were the largest beasts she had ever encountered, easily the size of two men, perhaps three. They sat devouring the remains of the six brigands. If startled or annoyed by the shattering clay and sudden light, they did not show it. No, they were too intent on their meal, ripping out intestines, cracking bones between their enormous teeth, and lapping blood off the gravel-strewn ground.

“You’ve been gone for a while,” Quester said quietly beside her, “so you weren’t here when the priest Joben decided the Watch wasn’t doing its job well enough. Can’t blame them, really, given how few they number. So Joben let the beasts out of their cages and loosed them on the city.” He nodded down at them. “They do their jobs well… too well. If not for the ruffians, Kayne and Lilah might have attacked you instead, and they’d be sucking the marrow out of your bones. The Judges don’t discriminate intention, only sin. I know of thirty they’ve killed before tonight, and now you can add six more.”

“They’re so…big,” Laurel whispered.

“They are,” said Quester.

She shook her head. “I must have been dreaming. I thought I heard them talk.”

“What did they say?”

“ ‘Sinners,’ I think.”

The man laughed, his bells jingling, his horned beard flapping.

“I wouldn’t be surprised. Even those of us in Riverrun have long known they hold a piece of Karak in them. Our beloved Divinity gave them a portion of the gift he gave us humans. That’s why they’re so big and smart. And now, apparently, they also talk.”

He turned away, as if the two giant lions were of no more interest to him. He pointed to the shorter of the two Sisters, who stooped down and lifted Little Mo from where he lay on the roof. A second later she disappeared over the side of the building. The rope nearest her rapidly unfurled until it was pulled taut.

“Wait!” Laurel shouted. She went to rush toward the rope, but the taller Sister stepped in her way, staring her down with those cold, expressionless eyes. Laurel turned toward the Crimson Sword. “Where did she go? Where is she taking him?”

Quester dismissed her with a wave. “Don’t worry about the boy. Mite is bringing him to his mother, since she’s obviously all he has now.”

“And what do we do?”

“We wait here until Mite returns. You’re in no shape to travel, so we’ll wait until morning, when the Judges go back to the castle to sleep.”

Laurel spun, looked below, where the lions were finishing their meal, and then at the strange man with the bells and horned beard.

“Who are you?” she asked, totally bewildered. “What do you want with me? And how could you possibly know who that boy is?”

Quester pulled a coin from his pocket and began flipping it between his fingers.

“As I said, I’m the Crimson Sword, sworn protector of House Connington.” He bowed low to her. “My employers require your audience, and I was instructed to bring you to Riverrun to meet them. It took a bit of bribery and alcohol to find out where you’d gone and when you’d be returning, but we’ve found you at last.” He smirked, and even that sidelong look was stunning. “Milady, when it’s safe to travel, I’d like you to accompany me and my pets to Riverrun, where Romeo and Cleo are waiting. It seems the three of you have oh so very much to talk about.”

Patrick’s legs ached, but still he put one foot in front of the other. He followed at his god’s heels as Ashhur marched north, leading their wandering nation into an unnamed settlement, the last before they rounded back south. Their destination was a hamlet that resided just outside the border of the Forest of Dezerea, nestled in the surrounding hills. There were grazing deer everywhere, and the trees were the tallest Patrick had ever seen. The place was idyllic, especially given that spring now had a firm grip on the land. The air had warmed and the flowers awakened, as had the leaves of the coniferous trees. Summer was still a few weeks away, but its scents filled the air.

They set up camp in a vast gulley, countless people pounding stakes into the ground and erecting their temporary shelters. They had been traveling for weeks since leaving Grassmere, moving away from the Gods’ Road, and Patrick was nearing the end of his rope. The going was rough and painfully slow, and the procession of lost souls that followed him and Ashhur had started swelling immensely now that the deity had stopped leaving anyone behind. The entirety of the many villages and settlements they came across were added to the growing mass of human flesh. Patrick had to guess there were at least a thousand score traversing the land, maybe twice that, flattening the grasses of eastern Paradise and devouring all the sustenance they could find as they went. The mere sound of all these people performing the duties to keep themselves alive and comfortable was deafening. Patrick’s head was throbbing. All he wanted was to lie down and rest his weary bones, but a giant hand grabbed his shoulder as he drove a tent stake into the ground, and he knew his desire would go unmet.

He turned around and saw Ashhur standing there, towering over him. There was a strange look on the god’s face.

“Come, Patrick,” he said.

“Where?”

“To the settlement.”

“Now? How far is it?”

Ashhur pointed toward a steep, moss-covered hill. “Over that rise.”

“Great,” he said with a sigh.

Ashhur and Patrick left the rest of the flock, climbing the nearby hill atop which the deity assured him more of his children lived. When they arrived, they found a land that had come under recent strife. The trees were scorched, and the tents and crude huts that had served as shelters were trampled and torn. The commune was small, less than a mile wide, but there were no living souls to be seen. The only sign of human presence was a plume of smoke rising from behind a copse of giant evergreens.

They pushed into the forest and discovered a clearing. Patrick’s heart beat more quickly in anticipation. The brightness seemed to fade as they moved forward, partly due to the vast amount of lingering smoke. In the center of the clearing was a huge, smoldering structure. The walls and roof were still standing, though blackened and flaking, and the iron nails that held the building together were hot to the touch. Something inside still burned, sizzling and popping.