David Dalglish - Wrath of Lions

The city proper disappeared behind him, replaced by fields of turned and muddy soil. There were still patches of snow and ice, sparkling beneath the glare of the descending sun. Few resided here, but he could see the progress that had been made in expanding the city, before preparations for war had taken away all the craftsmen. Incomplete stone foundations dotted the road, and a few rough shanties had been erected. He saw a group of five women huddling inside an open-faced tent, warming their hands over a quaint fire while their children wailed behind them. Their faces were dirty, their teeth rotting from their jaws. These were the downtrodden, the lazy, who accepted their lives of squalor and filth without pursuing something more, something better. When the war was over and the soldiers returned to their civilian lives, construction would continue, and these creatures would be pushed out even farther, until they were forced to leave Veldaren’s boundaries altogether.

They were agents of chaos, and Velixar felt no pity for them.

He finally arrived at Karak’s black-bricked temple and scaled the steps, passing between the twin statues of onyx lions, mirrors of the ones guarding the gates to Veldaren’s castle. He rapped on the heavy, oaken door, noting that the three dots that had always adorned it, representing the three gods, had been sanded away. The door was now smooth and black, ominous in its emptiness. When none answered his knock, he shoved the door open and stepped inside.

Just like the unused throne room of the Tower Keep, Karak’s monastery had been cleaned out. The plants that used to line the walls now resided in the courtyard behind the temple. The pews that had filled the center of the room had been disassembled and used as timber for ax handles, bows, wagons, and other such items the army required. In their place a giant map of Dezrel had been painted on the floor by the god himself, a painstakingly detailed atlas showing every hill, valley, township, and holdfast both east and west of the Rigon River.

It was there he found his towering god, bent at the waist and hovering over the map, his giant feet following a path north along the great river that split the land in two, his glowing yellow eyes narrowed in concentration. Velixar said nothing as he approached. He stood in the god’s shadow while torchlight flickered all around them. Karak was twice Velixar’s height, and his hands were large and powerful enough to crush his head by simply making a fist. Most men were awed by his mere presence, forced to their knees by the Divinity’s might. Velixar was not most men. When he bowed, he did so because he wanted to.

“My Lord,” he said, dropping to a single knee before the deity.

“Velixar, my son,” replied Karak in his booming voice. Rather than looking up, the god continued to trace lines over the huge map with his eyes. “I am glad you have come.”

“Is that so, my Lord?” he replied. He rose to his feet once more and stood by Karak’s side, where he should have been standing since his creation. Though he had been made by both brother gods, Velixar was convinced that Karak’s path of order and discipline was the better.

“It is. I have put much thought into our last discussion and have come to a decision.”

“Which is?”

The god’s finger, as big as Velixar’s forearm, pointed down at his feet. “I have near twenty thousand fighting men in my service, and my brother’s Paradise is expansive. Our men are to be divided into four separate factions. One faction will head south, pass through the delta, and fall on my brother’s Sanctuary.” His finger moved north along the river. “One will cross the river here, across from the west’s largest eastern settlement.” Again the giant finger moved north. “The third will join with our allies in Dezerea.” This time the finger traced a line to the northwest. “And the fourth shall sail along the Gihon, uniting with those Uther left behind in the northern deadlands, and face the spellcasters who live there. The three southern factions will slowly maneuver across the land, burning the areas where they find resistance, gathering as many converts as they can, and they will finally merge in Mordeina, which I am sure my brother will have fortified.”

Velixar nodded. “And you will heed my advice and leave Ashhur’s dark children alone?”

“I shall. Ker will fall after my brother has perished and his surviving creations have joined our cause, swelling our numbers. I fear you are correct about the risk they pose should their current desire for neutrality be broken. Once we have victory over Ashhur, I will leave them no choice but to bend the knee.”

“Will you spare them if they do?”

Karak nodded. “Most, yes, but there are few who are too dangerous, their thinking too stubborn. The giant Bardiya, for example. Let those who would cling to Ashhur’s simple-minded weakness find order in the life beyond instead.”

“A wise choice, my Lord.”

Karak stood to his full height, his majestic black platemail shimmering in the torchlight. He truly was an imposing figure. Velixar couldn’t understand how any man, even Bardiya Gorgoros, Ashhur’s greatest pupil, could deny him.

When the god looked down on him, his expression shifted to bemusement. “Why have you come, my son?” he asked. “I see something troubles you.”

“I bear ill news,” said Velixar. “Erznia is no more.”

“Is that so?”

“It is. The demon Darakken took control of the detachment I sent there. Instead of bringing back the Moris as I requested, it ordered the slaughter of every living being.”

Karak’s expression darkened. “All of them?”

“Every man, woman, and child, according to Captain Handrick.”

“And the captain let it happen?”

“Not only that, he relished it. He arrived at the keep this very afternoon, gloating. I taught the man the lesson he deserved, but even that will not bring back the lives lost, lives that would have been valuable to our cause.”

The air seemed to grow hot, and Karak’s arm shot out. He smashed his fist into the floor, disintegrating the painted depiction of one of Neldar’s southern townships. An angry roar left his lips, and the vibration knocked Velixar back a step.

“This will not do !” the god shouted, gazing at him with eyes that seemed capable of burning out his soul.

“I understand, my Lord,” replied Velixar, breathing deep to stay calm in face of the deity’s wrath. He dropped to both knees. “I like it no better than you, but please understand that all is not lost. As much as you love your children in Erznia, the fact remains that they have ignored your edicts for months. I sent Handrick there to force their complicity. Darakken is a simple beast, one that understands only death, destruction, and loyalty to you. It simply doled out punishment in the only way it knows how.”

Karak scowled at him, and for a moment Velixar thought the deity would strike him dead.

“You said you could control the beast,” Karak said. “This is not the first time it has acted on its own. I do not want my people killed without reason. Chaos lies that way.”

“I can control it, and I have. The spirit of Clovis Crestwell still lives and still elicits a small amount of influence on Darakken’s actions.”

“Yet it went against my decree.”

Velixar shook his head. “It did not. It was the soldiers who disobeyed, not the beast. They all knew what was expected of them, but they succumbed to their bloodlust. The demon had no part in the plan, had no knowledge of the plan. It is they who should be held accountable, not Darakken.”

Karak’s visage softened ever so slightly. “We cannot have disorder in the ranks of our fighting men.”