David Dalglish - Wrath of Lions

It seemed to take forever, but finally the two youths appeared. Penelope had tears in her eyes as she led Geris forward. The boy’s gait was hunched-all those months spent tied up in a cramped space had weakened his muscles and wreaked hell on his posture. Geris’s face was clean, the curls in his blond hair nearly bouncing. He wore a fresh tunic and breeches, though Penelope had not brought clean clothing down into the well. He cocked his head at her.

“I told you,” she said, chin jutting out with pride. “I’ve taken good care of him.”

“I suppose you have,” he replied with a chuckle.

At the sound of his voice, Geris stumbled. Ahaesarus reached down to help him stay steady, but the youth pulled away as he tried to keep his own footing. Penelope wrapped her arms around him, steadying him with a bear hug.

The boy’s blue eyes flicked up then, staring right into his own. The combined moon and torchlight gave them an even deeper resonance than usual. The corners narrowed, and Geris slowly lifted himself fully upright, with Penelope’s assistance. Ahaesarus cringed when he heard the pop of vertebrae slipping back into place.

For a long while they remained silent, boy staring at former master and vice versa. Expressions shifted, and those not involved in the staring match began to shuffle back and forth and murmur restlessly. Judah muttered that the boy was obviously not well and ought be returned to the pit, a statement Ahaesarus decried with a fierce look.

A pained cry escaped Geris’s throat, and he careened toward Ahaesarus at breakneck pace. His fellow Wardens rushed forward, but Ahaesarus shouted for them to back away. Geris collided with him, arms squeezing around his torso. The Warden tousled the boy’s hair as Geris pressed his cheek against his doublet and sobbed. His hands worked the fabric around Ahaesarus’s back, kneading and stretching. “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry,” he said over and over. Eventually, the Warden gripped him tight by both shoulders and gently pulled him away. He knelt down before Geris, who, despite his gauntness and pale skin, looked just like the child he’d thought would one day be king.

“I know you are sorry,” he said. “You have told me every time I have visited for the past three months.”

Geris nodded.

“And I am sorry too,” said Ahaesarus. “For what you suffered, for placing you in that well…for everything.”

The boy chewed on his bottom lip, his cheeks glistening in the moonlight.

“Son, how do you feel?” he asked.

Geris shook his head. “Better. Not perfect,” he said with a sniffle. His lips twitched between a smile and a sorrowful frown. “Please tell…please let Ben know I never wanted to hurt him.”

Ahaesarus pulled him in close once more and rubbed the back of his head. “I will. That is all in the past, son. Tonight you begin anew.”

“But what if I’m not better?” the boy asked.

“If you were not better,” said Ahaesarus, glancing at Penelope and trying to sound confident, “you would not be leaving with her.”

He stood up then, and Penelope came forth, twining her hand with his former student’s. She handed him one of the sacks and slung the other over her own shoulder. They stood there in silence, two youths looking to the Warden for guidance.

“What will we do?” the girl asked.

Ahaesarus pointed off in the distance. “You will head away from here, away from Mordeina and humanity. Find a way to cross the river just west of here. Go to the shore, or maybe the Craghills. It is a wild land, unvisited by humans. The nearest settlement is Conch, many miles north, but you are not to go there unless as a last resort. There will be war in Paradise soon, and only after that war has ended should you consider letting your presence be known.” He cleared his throat. “Remember, distrust everyone you encounter until you learn the outcome of the war.”

“What’s that mean?” asked Geris. He sounded younger than fourteen in that moment.

“It means we do not know who will win,” Ahaesarus said gravely. “Should you emerge from the wilds, the flag of the lion may fly over the place you once called home.”

There were teary good-byes as student left teacher, wandering into the pitch-black forest through the gap in the wall and disappearing as if he’d been swallowed by nothingness. Ahaesarus shivered. He was frightened for the two youths, but he knew in his heart that he had made the right choice. All of humanity deserved its chance to thrive. Geris deserved it most of all.

“What if he is not cured?” asked Olympus. “How can you be sure?”

“I trust my own eyes,” Ahaesarus said with a shrug. “For the last eleven weeks he has shown marked signs of improvement. But even if he is still ill, that girl will guide him through it.” He slapped his hands on his knees and turned to his brothers. “But let us not think of things outside our control any longer. We have a war to fight and quite a ride to get there before we can fight it.”

“And what of the boy?” Judah asked. “Isabel will not be happy when she discovers you set him free.”

Ahaesarus shrugged. “And? This journey is already my punishment, and by the time she discovers he is missing, we will all be long gone.”

Matthew stood at the base of a jetty, feet balanced on the slippery rocks, while he watched waves ripple across the bay. The night was overcast, the air muggy and filled with the scents of salt and decay. In the darkness, the gently undulating water became a shimmering black cloak, the surface hinting at peace and harmony while concealing a torrent of activity that raged beneath. Right now there were small fish being fed on by larger fish, which were then being devoured by larger fish still, a sharply climbing scale of predator and prey, all of which were eventually rendered helpless by the nets and harpoons of men.

Just as the might of the gods renders man helpless, he thought with a shiver.

He wrapped his cloak tight around himself and fidgeted. The sight before him was depressing. The docks of Port Lancaster had teemed with activity for all of Matthew’s thirty-six years, yet now they were virtually empty. A scant nine boats bobbed in the harbor, and only one was of the Brennan fleet, a mid-sized clipper named Harmony Rose . The rest of his ships were away-some with the survivors from Haven in the Isles of Gold to the west, some ferrying goods up and down the northeast coast-and his free river barges had been conscripted by Karak for purposes left unsaid. A small envoy from Veldaren, led by a few red-cloaked acolytes, had arrived in the city to demand use of them, and Matthew, needing to preserve his perceived loyalty to his deity, had no choice but to give them over. At least the visitors and their battalion of armed soldiers didn’t seem to have noticed the dearth of vessels in the bay.

“Any sign yet?” asked a familiar female voice.

Matthew pivoted on his heels to see Moira approaching, lantern in hand. Her attire, a pair of velour slacks, a shawl, and strappy sandals, was suitable for negotiating the tricky footing of the coast, yet still regal. He appreciated that she was maintaining her disguise as a noblewoman. Knowing how much she despised what she referred to as “monkey garments,” it was a great sacrifice-though it was a worthwhile one, for the acolytes had not recognized her. And though her hair had grown out some, now falling just above her shoulders, she had kept on dyeing it dark, even though the dyes had the unfortunate side effect of making each strand brittle.

“Not yet,” Matthew told her.

“Are you sure tonight is the night?”

“Yes. The last evening of spring, just as Romeo said.”