David Dalglish - Wrath of Lions

Silence followed for a few moments, Abigail staring at her hands, Turock gazing through the western windows at the sprawling camp behind the hill.

“What then?” asked Ahaesarus.

“Then…nothing,” replied Abigail. “All we knew was that if Karak’s soldiers were willing to cross the river and attack our people, it was time to begin fortifying our homeland for the war that was sure to come. We scouted along the river, both north and south, seeking out where the crossing is narrowest, and then we built more of our towers.”

“You’ve built four from what I was told, yes?” asked Ahaesarus.

“Five now,” Turock said, and there was no hiding the pride in his voice. “Tower Green went up just last week.”

“Five towers in six months?” Ahaesarus shook his head, stunned. “Are your students that talented in the art of magic?”

“They are, relatively speaking.” The spellcaster frowned. “Magic in Dezrel is strange. Plentos told me stories of how powerful the Dezren once were, able to summon fireballs the size of houses and form bolts of lightning that could rip across an entire countryside. When drunk, he even claimed that the most powerful elven spellcasters could alter miles upon miles of land, bending the rock and stone to their whim. I’ve tried to calculate the power required to do such a thing, and it seems beyond possible.” He stood and walked over to the central western window. “Here, come look.”

The man chanted a few words, hands held out before him. A ball of fire formed from nothing, two feet wide and spinning inches from his open palms. Pushing his arms forward, the fireball whooshed across the sky, arcing down until it struck the soil on the other side of the river. A puff of smoke rose up in its wake, and the meager shrubbery began to burn. Turock’s cheeks paled.

“That is the largest I can create,” he said, sounding disappointed. “If I try to summon anything beyond that, the spell just…dissolves on me. It’s like trying to lift a weight that’s too heavy for your arms. Yet that’s not quite right, because deep down I know I’m strong enough. It’s like…lifting a small stone that’s somehow been invisibly nailed to the ground. But even with these limitations, I still have hope we can accomplish something special. I have fifty-two novice spellcasters under my tutelage, including those we sent to Mordeina to help Abby’s mother. If we can grow our power and work together, we can build enough towers to man the Gihon all the way down to the fork in no time at all!”

He sighed and shook his head.

It was almost too much for Ahaesarus to absorb. “Tell me more about the other towers,” he said.

“Well, they each have names. This one we call Blood Tower because it was built over the very spot where our people bled. The others are color-coded. Tower Gold, Tower Red, Tower Silver, and Tower Green. Green is ten miles east of Durham, which is the closest settlement.” He lifted his sleeve. “We’re actually starting to run out of colors. I suggested the idea for Tower Violet, as I’m partial to the color, but my students decided it was too feminine. So the next tower we build will be named just that. Each tower is manned by five of my best students, along with twenty men of suitable fighting age. I’m aiming to expand our operation, but our resources are running low. Our little town was home to less than two thousand, and there is only so much labor I can demand of the people. These are common folk, not warriors…though defending your life can make anyone quite adept at doing just that.”

“Very true. When did Karak’s Army begin its attack?” Ahaesarus asked.

Abigail glanced up. “Two months ago. After the long winter ended and summer returned. Arrows began flying from the dark one night, and they haven’t stopped since. Every few nights it begins again. They fire arrows; we fire back.”

“Besides that first night,” said Turock, “when eighteen of our men and women died, we have lost very few. But it’s still harrowing. The attacks seem to happen at random, though always after the sun sets. Sometimes all five towers are assaulted at once; sometimes they are individually targeted. We kill any who try to cross the river. Yet those who cross are small, stunted…runts, I guess you could say. I feel like we’re being toyed with, and I do not like being toyed with.”

“From what I’ve heard, it sounds like your wall of towers is in no danger,” said Ahaesarus, scratching at his temple and staring at Abigail. “Yet Lady DuTaureau told me you feared that the line would break and the soldiers would pour across the river. I see no evidence of this, so why request our presence if you have everything under control? How can we help defend the line if there is no real line to defend?”

Abigail looked to her husband.

“We don’t need you to defend the line, and we certainly didn’t need this many of you,” Turock said. “We wanted a few of your kind for…other reasons.”

“I spelled it out clearly in my letter,” Abigail said, looking frustrated. “Leave it to Mother to get the message wrong.”

Ahaesarus waved his hand at them. “Enough. Just tell me: What is it you wish us to do?”

“I want the Wardens to take a small group of our men into the Tinderlands,” Turock said, rubbing his fingers together. Faint sparks of electricity danced between them. “The majority of the attacks have occurred here, at Blood Tower. Which means that wherever this army has gathered, it is nearby.”

“You want us to strike at them?” asked Ahaesarus. “That is suicide!”

“No, not strike,” replied the spellcaster, holding up his hands in a calming gesture. “I simply wish to discover the size of the force assembled there. That information would go a long way toward planning our defense tactics, especially if the letter sent by my wonderful and perfect mother-in-law told the truth and Karak is invading from the east as well.”

“She does not lie,” Ahaesarus said. “Karak’s Army has crossed into Paradise, and even now they set the northern fields of Ker aflame. We Wardens are needed in many places, so why summon us for a simple scouting party?”

“Look at you,” said Turock, holding his palms out as if what he was about to say were plainly obvious. “You’re bigger than us, more agile, more capable in almost every way. You taught us nearly everything we know, helped grow this civilization from infancy. The entirety of what I know of the Tinderlands I could write onto the back of a dung beetle. Whatever dangers are out there, I trust you to handle them. More importantly, I trust you to safeguard the lives of my men.”

Turock reached out and squeezed Ahaesarus’s shoulder.

“I cannot afford to lose many more men,” he said. “Should even a single tower fall, the village beyond will certainly fall next. I can’t stand the thought, so I must assess the strength of my enemy. I am sending a party of four into the Tinderlands to do just that. If the same number of Wardens accompanied them, it would greatly reduce the risk. A full-out assault is building-I can feel it. I just don’t know when, and I don’t know where.”

“Only four?” asked Ahaesarus.

“More than that would be too noisy to go sneaking around in the darkness. The rest will stay with me and help form the first line of defense should another attack come.”

Ahaesarus bowed his head. The odd man made sense. Just as Isabel had implied, the Wardens were expendable. If their skills could ensure the people of Drake endured, then so be it. It was a risk he would gladly take. Besides, he couldn’t stand the thought of dodging arrows from an unseen foe for even one more night. Better if he could at least be on the move.