David Dalglish - Wrath of Lions

“We are sworn to protect and guide you, and so we shall,” he said, bowing his head. He swallowed hard, thinking about the night when Ashhur and Celestia had rescued him and his many brothers from Algrahar. There would be no such rescue should events turn sour this time. Yet that is our lot, he thought. We were given a second chance at life for a reason.

Abigail rose from her seat, taking her place beside her husband. Ahaesarus knelt before them.

“It would be a great honor for me to join your expedition, my friends,” he said. “My brothers and I are at your beck and call.”

“Oh, get up,” said Turock. “We’re not your masters.” He started chuckling, then said, “How good are you with a sword? Those stone axes you brought are pretty cumbersome, and I don’t think they’ll last long against real steel should it come to that.”

“My training with any weapon is modest at best, but why a sword?”

Abigail winked at her husband.

“Because we have swords to give you, Master Warden.”

“Ah, yes. From pilfering the dead.”

Turock laughed and smacked him on the back. “Not in the slightest.”

Ahaesarus stared at him, confused.

“Not many who try to cross the river even carry weapons,” Turock said. “I told you, I’m a driven, hardworking bastard with a brain as sharp as my looks are good. We began mining iron on the other side of the cliff a few months ago, and smelting it soon after.” His smile grew wider. “Amazing what you can accomplish when an ancient elf decides you’re a worthy student.”

Ahaesarus shook his head. “I…I am speechless.”

“I’m full of surprises, so get ready to feel that way a lot more often over the next few weeks,” Turock said. “Assuming you don’t die in the Tinderlands, of course. So! Let’s get you a sword to try to keep that from happening, and maybe refresh whatever training you had. Step one: Shove the pointy end in the fleshy bits of your opponent.”

“And step two?” Ahaesarus asked as he followed Turock to the staircase.

The spellcaster shrugged.

“That’s all I got. For me, step two is to shove a fistful of lightning into their face until the smoke escapes their ears. I figured you Wardens would have a more elegant solution.”

With that, he was gone, and Ahaesarus cast a baffled look to the man’s wife.

“You do get used to him,” she said, kissing the Warden on the cheek. “I promise, he’s really not that strange.”

“Could have fooled me,” Ahaesarus said, following her down the steps to see what other surprises Turock might have in store for him.

The guiding pyre burned brightly, casting a beam of rippling light over the dark ocean waters. Bardiya stood beside it as he did each night, watching the sea for any sign of Ki-Nan. His friend had been gone for so long now that many days he felt ready to give up hope of his return. He shook his head, banishing the thought. Ever since Bardiya’s parents had been murdered, Ki-Nan had been a reliable friend and advisor. When in his more frustrated moods, Bardiya sometimes saw him as the only real friend he had; all the rest were like children in need of nurturing or aged parents in need of protection.

A ghostly form appeared at the base of the cliff. Bardiya knew from the exaggerated swing of the man’s arms that it was Onna, the old seafarer who sometimes joined him during his vigils. Onna crested the rise, huffing as he rested his old bones on a weather-beaten stone bench beside the pyre.

“Still waiting, eh?” he asked.

“I will always wait,” Bardiya replied. “For Ki-Nan, for anyone.”

“You ask me, it’s a freeman’s farce for you to think that boy could survive out there for this long. Be more than a little bit of a miracle.”

“He is fine. I’m sure of it.”

Onna laughed. “Is that optimism or just plain stubbornness, big fella?” His eyes narrowed. “Even worse, maybe it’s a lie. Not that it matters to me. Spent enough years on the ocean to know all the dangers that wait out there when the waves start a-rollin’. A man could get lost at sea quite easily, and then…”

Bardiya looked down at him.

“Stories,” he said with a sigh. “When will you ever give me anything but stories, Onna? You, my friend, are the only man in all of Ker who would rather spend his days rocking on the waves than on solid ground, yet you love telling tales of how dangerous it is. It’s a wonder you’re alive at all, if even half of them are true.”

The older man shrugged. “I might fancy my stories up a bit, but each one of them is more than half true. Your children may not take well to the sea, but beyond Ker there are others who are more willing to risk the dangers.” He glanced up, the firelight dancing in his eyes. “Like the easterners whose corpses washed up on shore not far from here.”

Bardiya grunted and shook his head. “Ki-Nan is cautious, and better equipped than foolish sailors from the east. He will return to us, and he will be well.”

“Even if he found the lions?”

Bardiya’s mouth snapped shut without saying a word. The argument was folly, for there was no guarantee Ki-Nan would return. It was just wishful thinking at this point, something he indulged in often as of late to offset his new pain. Bringing the elf boy back from the brink of death seemed to have affected him in unexpected ways.…Each day his soreness grew more unbearable, joints grinding together, muscles pulling and stretching. The spiking headaches behind his eyes were so severe at times that he needed to lie still in the dark to keep from vomiting. His heart raced at odd intervals, as if struggling to keep pumping blood through his massive form. He wondered if he had altered the natural order of things, if by thwarting the elf’s death, he had been sentenced to a slow and painful demise. Or perhaps this was his punishment for turning aside Patrick when his friend needed him most. If that were the case, if everything he believed was wrong…

“Well, I’ll be,” Onna gasped beside him.

“What is it?” he asked, stepping in front of the pyre. He had been staring into the flames, and red and white blotches blotted his vision.

“There, coming closer,” said Onna. “A boat. I’m sure of it.”

Bardiya blinked rapidly, and slowly his eyes readjusted to the darkness. At first he saw nothing more than the reflection of the pyre and the undulating waves, but then a speck of black passed over the lighted ocean. He squinted and took another step, coming so close to the edge of the cliff that he heard pebbles clunk off the rocks below. His vision cleared, and then he saw it: a long, yet slender vessel glided atop the surface of the water. Excitement filled his gut, making him forget about his physical discomforts.

My friend is home, his mind cried. Ki-Nan has finally returned.

His exhilaration dulled as he slid down the edge of the cliff, drawing near the crude jetty to which Onna’s Kind Lady was tethered. The approaching skiff was moving too quickly and advancing at the wrong angle. Though it was dark, he could swear the figure on the boat was slumped over, his hand weakly grasping the tiller of the lone sail.

“Ki-Nan!” he shouted, cupping his hands around his mouth. “Ki-Nan, is that you?”

The figure stirred, slowly straightening and taking a firmer hold on the sail’s guiding tiller. Though he made no verbal reply, he raised a hand in greeting. The rudder was turned to the side and something dropped overboard, slowing the skiff’s approach. Bardiya jumped into the water, waves lapping at his shins and sharp rocks beneath the surface scraping his giant feet. He waded forward while stooped, his arms held out to catch the skiff if it suddenly picked up speed once more.