David Dalglish - Wrath of Lions

Bardiya nodded. “I remember.”

“I cried for that beast,” Ki-Nan continued. “I knew what would happen when the hyenas circled it. I saw the panic in its eyes when it realized it was trapped. That’s when I tried to run after the hyenas, screaming at them to leave the poor creature be.”

Bardiya felt himself slipping into the past. The memory was a warm one despite the harshness of the lesson.

“Yes, you looked ready to take on the whole herd by yourself, armed with but a stick. I couldn’t decide whether it would teach you a better lesson if I stopped you or let you get nipped by the beasts.”

“You stopped me in the end,” he said, turning to face Bardiya, his eyes dark. “You grabbed me by the arm and told me to watch, not interfere. The hyenas tore into that poor antelope. I wailed at you to stop it, asking why the gods would allow their creations to suffer. You told me that it was the natural order of things, that nature is like a constant game of Man on the Hill. That for every creature born, there is another that perishes.”

“It was natural,” Bardiya said, remembering that conversation well.

“And I called it evil,” Ki-Nan said, running a hand through the tight curls atop his head, which had grown wiry in his absence. “You said there is no evil in survival, that the antelope’s life was a gift to the hyenas, that its sacrifice would allow their pups to live without hunger for another day. And you were right, Bardiya; I understand that now. Those hyenas were doing what they could to survive, and though I hated to see the antelope suffer, I had no right to call those cackling beasts evil.”

Ki-Nan reached out and grabbed Bardiya’s arm, his grip fierce. When he stared up into his eyes, they were bloodshot, their expression fierce.

“But you were so eager to forgive the hyenas that you forgot the plight of the antelope. It had a family of its own. And if the antelope had trampled and killed one of the hyenas to protect its life or the life of its cubs, would you have dared call it evil?”

Bardiya went to reply, but fell silent.

“Of course not,” Ki-Nan said. “That’s you, always willing to give others a chance. But Karak’s Army is not made of hyenas, my brother. They’re worse, far worse. They don’t kill out of hunger or for survival. What they do, what they will do, is evil. You think you’ll be the antelope, but you’re wrong. I remember it, Bardiya, clear as day. When the hyena pack descended on that poor beast, it didn’t lie down to die. It ran, it fought, no matter how outnumbered it was, no matter how hopeless its plight. It fought …which is more than what you would have us do.”

Bardiya tried to think of a way to explain his reasoning. Humans were different from wild dogs and deer; humans aspired to something greater than the callous cruelty of nature.

“You must hear me,” Bardiya insisted. “This principle we hold fast to… that is what needs to survive. What point is there in living if goodness cannot overcome all, if love, forgiveness, and honor are not respected and honored? This is important , my friend. The words Ashhur has taught us…they are all that matters in the world.”

Ki-Nan slowly hefted his legs off the bed and put his weight on them. He grimaced as he straightened his back, but waved aside Bardiya’s offer to help.

“No,” Ki-Nan said. “It is all that matters to you . Tell me how, in Ashhur’s name, things like goodness and love will endure when Karak has wiped our people from the face of Dezrel? We’ll all be in our graves, you damn fool. Preach all you want about how we must stay true to Ashhur’s words, but let us see how effective those words are when the Lion comes for us. Let us see how peaceful our people really are then.”

“They will not fight. I will forbid it.”

Ki-Nan shook his head.

“As you’ve said many times before, no man in Ker is better than any other. You are no god, Bardiya, no ruler-just a simple spiritual advisor. You haven’t the right or the power to forbid anything.”

With that, Ki-Nan left the cabin, the door slamming against the wall with a crack when it swung open. Bardiya stared at the empty space where his friend had stood, half wanting to call him back inside. Instead he folded his legs beneath him, steepled his fingers, closed his eyes, and prayed. For the second time since he’d confronted Ashhur in the shadow of the Black Spire, he began to doubt himself. So when he prayed, it was not to Ashhur or even the god of gods. Instead, he sent his prayers to the Golden Paradise, deep within Afram, seeking out his parents’ presence, their lexis, their knowledge, their strength.

Tell me what to do, he pleaded. Tell me the path I have chosen is righteous.

He received no answer.

Kindren and Aully walked hand in hand along the rocky shoreline. Clouds had passed over the moon, bathing the world in darkness, but to them it was no obstacle. Their keen eyes could still spot potential tripping hazards and puddles. But most importantly, they could see through the trees that bordered the shore and would be able to detect if any were watching them.

They had snuck away after the village settled down for the night, as had become their custom in the aftermath of the sandcat attack. The daylight hours were dedicated to sharing their lives with community and family, keeping spirits high, assisting with the daily chores, and making sure the small society of elves in Ang remained close-knit. Nighttime was a much more intimate affair. It was the only time Aully and Kindren could talk freely, the only time they could entwine their bodies in comfort, and the only time they could practice magic without fear of prying eyes. Their talents had grown by leaps and bounds.

Each evening they pressed a little bit farther toward the boundary of Ker, edging closer and closer to the mouth of the Corinth River and the Stonewood Forest. They stayed by the edge of the ocean at all times, where the brisk wind played with their hair and the cool sea mist beat their faces. That they drew closer and closer to Aully’s childhood home remained unspoken between them, but it was not unintentional.

The tree line began to shift, the shorter trees along the shoreline becoming larger, more menacing. Great pines rose to dizzying heights above them, their tips so high they seemed to poke at the stars. Aully shivered, and Kindren released her hand and wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close.

“You’re cold,” he said.

“No, not cold.”

“Then what is it?”

“I feel it,” she said, leaning against him.

“You feel what?”

“Home. The closer we get to Stonewood, the more I feel this weird vibration. It’s like the forest is trying to call me back where I belong.”

Kindren laughed softly. “You talk like you’re much older than you are.”

“You always say that,” she replied, nudging him. “Sometimes I can’t tell if you’re complimenting me or humoring me.”

“You decide.”

“Shut up.”

She grinned and kissed the back of his hand, which dangled over her shoulder. An easy quiet passed between them, as if their feelings were being dispatched back and forth through the simple touch of flesh on flesh.

The peaceful feeling did not last long. Aullienna glanced northeast, to the darkness of distant smoke that blotted out the dimmer stars. Bardiya had offered no explanation for the fires or what they meant, but Aully didn’t need him to spell it out for her. Whatever secret plan the Triad of the Quellan had hatched with the eastern realm was now in motion. The forces of Karak were on the move. She often thought about the strange deformed man with his mismatched armor and his enormous sword, and how he’d stared in disappointment at the giant. She was certain that soon Ang would not be safe for any of them.