David Dalglish - Wrath of Lions

“What do you have in mind?”

Neyvar Ruven gestured to Aeson, who spoke next.

“We seem to have encountered some resistance during our occupation. We would like your men to assist us in seeking out these rebels and eliminating them.”

“How great are their numbers?” asked Clovis.

“A hundred, perhaps a score more.”

The human laughed, and it sounded like the utterance of a hideous creature from the ocean depths.

“I bring with me five thousand troops,” he said when his laughter died down. “And you would require their aid to defeat a mere hundred mutineers? We had always thought the Quellan to be great warriors. Perhaps we were wrong.”

“They have proved…resourceful,” countered Iolas.

“Then perhaps you should be even more so,” snapped Clovis.

Neyvar Ruven lifted his hand. “It is not only that,” he said, sounding weary. “We have a precarious hold on this city. The Dezren outnumber us greatly. Should they decide to join their rebel brethren, we would be overwhelmed. If that were to happen, there would be no safe haven for your soldiers to return to, no fields of turnips and grain for you to refill your supplies once they are exhausted. Given how your own armies are razing Ashhur’s lands, our aid will be paramount to your success.”

Clovis held up his hand. For a moment, Ceredon swore he could see a worm wriggling beneath the flesh of his palm.

“We understand this,” the man said gravely. “The razing is occurring strictly south of the Gods’ Road, to seal in those who might wish to aid their countrymen. Yet we will still help you. I can spare five hundred men, but not a soul more.”

Neyvar Ruven nodded. “Yes, that would work.”

“However, we must also balance the scales. If we are to keep these men behind, a show of good faith is required.”

“We have shown good faith,” insisted Aeson. “We let you march unimpeded through our lands and into our city. We attacked a pair of human settlements to the south to clear your way, and their loss of life was total. No man or elf should have reason to question our loyalty to the pact.”

The man laughed. “That is appreciated, yes, much appreciated. Yet I must ask, how many of your best fighters are in this city?”

“About as many as you are giving us,” said Iolas, looking despondent.

Clovis grinned. “We require a hundred of them.”

“What?” Iolas gasped. “Why?”

“Our reasons are our own.”

“We could ne-”

“Consider it done,” said the Neyvar, cutting his old cousin off. “Are there any other claims you wish to stake?”

“As a matter of fact, there are.” Clovis brought up his hand, rubbing it over his bald pate. Then he frowned, as if he’d expected to find hair. “For every show of good faith, there must be another in return. We shall place your best warrior in control of Karak’s forces, and we will remain here to assist you in regaining control of the city.”

Ceredon looked on as every elven face scrunched up in confusion at the human’s odd wording.

“Excuse us,” asked the Neyvar, “but who would ‘we’ be?”

The human cleared his throat. “Many apologies. Me. I. Clovis Crestwell, the captain of this quarter of our god’s army. I will remain behind.”

The table broke out in bickering between the two remaining members of the Triad, the Neyvar, and the four other advisors who had joined them. Ceredon remained silent, keeping an eye on his father the entire time. He noticed that Clovis was doing the same. When the argument eventually ended, it was the Neyvar who won.

“That is acceptable as well,” he said. “You shall have Aerland Shen, the greatest of our Ekreissar, to lead your god’s forces.”

Crestwell smiled wickedly. The others who were present grumbled.

“You choose wisely, Neyvar.”

“Just promise us one thing,” Ruven said.

“What is that?”

“This bargain comes with another price. Upon Karak’s victory, our lands must be increased tenfold, not fivefold as was discussed. Our sacrifices deserve that much.”

The frightening human’s grin became all the wider and more off-putting.

“You will have all that and more.”

The summit ended, and the Quellan consulate retreated deeper into the palace, with the exception of Aeson, who huddled close to the human, talking with him in a lowered voice. Eventually, they too broke company, and Clovis left for another meeting, this one with Chief Shen. Ceredon didn’t like the odd man’s expression. Clovis had sneered at the departing elves, and Ceredon was sure he’d seen hatred in his red-tinged eyes. Upon his exit, Ceredon was at last alone in the Chamber of Assembly with his father’s cousin.

“Why are you still here?” asked Aeson.

“I wish to uncover our goddess and pray for a while. I do not like this,” he whispered to Aeson in the elven tongue.

The elder elf grinned.

“There is much not to like, but we must take what benefits present themselves. Clovis wishes the dungeons below the palace to be filled to their limits with Dezren prisoners. Once they’re rounded up, we may begin exterminations as we see fit. Why rely on the cooperation of the Dezren when we can thin their numbers until they are no longer a threat? With more men at our disposal, even if they are humans, we may be able to accomplish that goal. Once Karak’s Army marches, I’ll discuss it with your father.”

Aeson winked at him and took his leave of the chamber. Ceredon watched him go, anger boiling in his veins. His job might have just gotten harder, but at least he knew whom to target next.

“Sweet dreams,” Ceredon whispered in the empty chamber.

The horse faltered, almost pitching Roland and Kaya to the ground.

“Whoa, girl,” Roland said, trying his best to keep them both firmly in the saddle. The poor horse straightened out, took a few firm steps, and then its leg crumpled once more. Roland cursed and pulled back on the reins, halting the animal. If it had pitched any lower, they would have been thrown to the rocky, root-infested ground. He and Kaya dismounted, Kaya caressing the horse’s side, while he circled around to face her head on, watching her shake her head and blow her nose as if in frustration. Roland tugged on his belt, trying to swing the uncomfortable sword that hung there into a less dangerous position.

Azariah trotted up beside him, his gold-green eyes focused on the horse. Tall trees rose up behind him like swaying sentries.

“Check the hoof,” the Warden said.

His friend sounded sullen, depressed, and fully unlike himself, a change that had come upon him since their last day in Lerder. Roland grimaced up at the Warden, then bent down and coaxed the horse into lifting her leg. The poor creature whinnied, blood dripping from her hoof. Roland immediately spotted a jagged piece of stone wedged into the soft tissue on the inside of the hoof.

“What is it?” asked Kaya from over his shoulder.

“Rock got stuck,” he said. “Comfort her as you can. I’m going to pull it out.”

He glanced at Azariah, who nodded.

Kaya did as he’d asked, her tone soothing as she spoke to the horse in words he was sure the animal couldn’t understand. Yet the horse seemed to relax nonetheless, her leg muscles going slightly limp, allowing Roland to cram his fingers beneath the stone and give it a solid tug. It came free with a thwop , the blood from the sensitive tissue running a deeper red. Azariah handed him a swath of yellow fabric, and Roland stuffed the cloth into the horse’s hoof to soak up the blood.

“It’s best we find a place to rest for a time,” the Warden said. “I will need to heal her.”