David Dalglish - Wrath of Lions

“Roland?” someone asked.

Startled, he swung around on the stump and almost fell off. Behind him was a beautiful specter in a burlap nightshirt, playing with the kinky curls of her hair. The ghost rubbed the bridge of her nose, which she always did when she was uncertain, and the mirage broke.

“Kaya?” he asked. “What are you doing out here?”

“You left me,” she answered. “You promised you’d never leave me.”

He stood up and ran to her, wrapping his arms around her and holding her tightly. Though she was the same age as him, and more experienced in many ways, she seemed younger in that moment, like a frightened child wishing to be comforted after a nightmare. But that’s what we all are, he thought. Frightened children, hoping and praying for the best.

“You were sleeping,” he said, placing a light kiss on her forehead. “I just needed to take a walk. To think.”

“I saw you leaving,” she said softly. “I was worried.”

“Kaya, there’s nothing to worry about.”

“Yes there is. You don’t have to lie to me. Why else would you have brought the sword?”

He stroked her hair, refusing to answer. He thought of when he’d first used that sword, the night of the attack on Lerder. Moments after he and Azariah had scaled the makeshift wall around Lerder, a group of twenty assailants, those he’d watched swim across the river and scale the western bank, had come screaming around the bend. Though the townspeople had been given every armament stowed beneath Ashhur’s temple, none brought their arms up in defense. Three Wardens were cut down immediately, the rest jumping to action and herding the people into a tight group at the edge of the forest. A handful of attackers had forced their way through the wall of defending Wardens, slaying four more, one of them leaping at Kaya as she sat crying atop his horse. As if on instinct, Roland had rushed forward, driving the tip of his sword through the man’s gut. Blood gushed, screams echoed across the valley, and in a matter of moments it was all over.

“What is that?” Kaya said suddenly, jerking him from the recollection.

“What is what?”

“That light. That sound. Over there.”

He turned his head, looking toward the edge of the forest. Very humanlike noises were issuing from that direction, a grunt or two, followed by a strange jangling, like a giant chime clanging in the wind. The foliage began to quake. Roland felt himself freeze in place, Kaya clutched in his arms.

A shadowy figure stepped into the clearing, looking just as much a phantom as Kaya had. It was a large man with long, dark hair hanging in front of his face. His armor marked him as one of Karak’s soldiers. The man acted groggy, like he was recovering from a long night of wine and laughter. If he saw them, he did not react, instead turning to face a tree a few feet in front of them. There was a faint splashing as he urinated on the trunk.

Roland felt Kaya tremble, and he covered her mouth with his hand. The man finished his business and shook himself off, then ran his hands through his nappy hair and groaned. He started back the way he’d come, but then paused. Slowly he turned, as if in a dream, and gaped at Roland and Kaya.

“What the…?” the man muttered. He fumbled at his waist, grabbing the hilt of a short dagger wedged there, and then took a few staggering steps toward them, the dagger held out before him. Kaya yelped and struggled in Roland’s grasp, which made the man halt for a moment. His face was a mask of confusion and panic.

“Who’re you?” he asked, scratching his head with his off hand.

Roland stayed mum, squeezing Kaya to make her keep quiet as well.

“I said who are you ?” the man repeated, his voice panicked now. He turned, gathering air into his lungs as if he were about to shout, but a blur flashed across the clearing before he could utter another word. A gleaming shaft of steel erupted from the place where his head met his neck, and Kaya let out a small shriek. The man offered a choked protest as his body shuddered, then went limp. The blade retracted, and the man teetered backward, falling to the stony soil with a thump .

Azariah hovered over the corpse. The shortsword looked comically small in his large hands, the blade dripping with the dead man’s blood. He glanced up at Roland, his green-gold eyes narrowed, his mouth turned down in a grimace.

Roland couldn’t stop his body from shaking. He gaped at his friend, finding it difficult to form words, as Kaya sobbed in his arms.

“I always know where you are,” the Warden said, answering the unasked question. “It is my duty as your protector.”

That was all Roland could take. He broke, tears streaming down his cheeks and soaking the top of Kaya’s head as she continued to cry against his chest. Azariah stepped up to them, wrapping them both in his long arms.

“Hush now,” he said with tenderness. “You have been strong this whole time, when you could have easily given up. Both of you. You must remain strong even now.”

Roland swallowed a gulp of bile, trying to force his heart to beat slower. The feel of Kaya’s breath against his neck was even more calming than Azariah’s embrace. He imagined his first night with her on the roof, and the few times they’d explored each other’s bodies in the dark of night while the rest of their troupe was sleeping. His frayed nerves unwound, and a seemingly unnatural relaxation came over him.

“Better?” asked Azariah.

“A little,” Roland answered.

“And you, Kaya?”

“I…I think I’ll be okay,” she said timidly.

“Good.” The Warden released them and walked toward the tree line from which the now dead man had emerged. “I am going to see where he came from,” he said. “Stay here. I will be back soon.”

“No,” said Roland, shaking his head. “No, we’re coming with you.”

“We are?” asked Kaya.

Azariah fumbled through the pouch at his waist, pulling out a handful of something Roland couldn’t see.

“If you insist on accompanying me,” he said, “then this will ensure you don’t do something to give us away.” He tossed whatever was in his hand into the air. It tumbled down like bits of twinkling ash, and Azariah spoke a few incomprehensible words. The particles disappeared, and the air around the three of them stretched into a liquid sheen before retracting, as if snapping back into place. “There. We are hidden now, mostly. Only someone very close, and very attentive, will see us.”

“What was that?” asked Roland.

Azariah shrugged. “A magical barrier. It makes those within it…dim. It does nothing for sound, though, so do not stomp through the forest like a mule.”

“I didn’t know you knew magic…well, other than healing and other practical stuff.”

“A bit. Well, more than a bit, actually.” The Warden frowned. “When one spends a great amount of time with Jacob Eveningstar, one tends to learn a few tricks.”

Roland winced at the sound of Jacob’s name but said nothing.

Silently they made their way through the trees. Azariah saw quite well in the dark, as Wardens’ eyes were almost as discerning as elves’. They maneuvered over small hills and thick tangles of vines, and Roland prayed to Ashhur that the snap of branches under their feet would be drowned out by the cacophonic commotion of a million chirping insects.

Ahead was a red glow, which became more and more pronounced as they approached it. After a time, it seemed as if the forest were on fire. Azariah hushed them as the telltale noises of a military camp reached their ears. Roland obliged without question. From the idle chatter, to the crackle of fire, to the clank and clink of stone on metal, it sounded as if hundreds of people were somewhere out there.