David Dalglish - Wrath of Lions

Tantric shrugged.

“Anything, just name it.”

“You need to beat me.”

Tantric narrowed his eyes. “Care to clarify?”

“You need to beat me. Do not hold back. Attack me mercilessly, as if I had just raped your daughter. Strike me until I lose consciousness. And then drag me out onto the path, beat me some more, and leave me there.”

“Wait…why?” The battle-hardened elf looked visibly perplexed.

“We need this ruse to be believable,” Ceredon replied. “I’ll fall under suspicion, no matter what happens, but I was the last to be seen with Aeson before his disappearance. If I survive without harm…”

Tantric sighed. “Very well. I will do this, but I won’t like it.”

“I know. Consider this my payment for all the torment my people have inflicted on yours. Just make sure you do it well.”

“I will. I happen to be an expert at this sort of thing.”

Ceredon closed his eyes, and the beating began. Tantric proved his statement true, for the pain he doled out was indeed expert, and Ceredon lost consciousness before long.

Roland felt elation for the first time since his tryst with Kaya on the rooftop of the Second Breath Inn. The survivors of Lerder had finally arrived at the Wooden Bridge, a structure as wide as ten men that stretched across the calmly flowing Corinth River. The planks lining the bottom were warped and darkened by age and weather, but when he dismounted his steed and took a few steps onto the bridge, he could feel its sturdiness beneath his feet. He smiled up at Kaya, who stood on the beaten dirt path of the Gods’ Road with her younger sister. After many frightful days of weaving through the forest, carefully trailing Karak’s forces and struggling to evade discovery-a difficult task for a group of two hundred frightened souls-they were finally on the verge of safety. Once they crossed the bridge, they could be in Mordeina in a week.

He stepped off the bridge, wrapped his arm around Kaya, and approached Azariah and Jaquiel, who stood to the side with the other nine Wardens, their elegant faces all exhausted. The humans from Lerder gathered behind them, impatiently milling about and casting furtive glances at the eastern expanse of road. At least Azariah managed a smile. It was something Roland hadn’t seen in far too long.

“We’re here,” Roland said.

“We are,” replied Jaquiel.

“How safe is it?” asked Kaya.

Azariah seemed distracted, his eyes focused on the forest around them, but he still responded. “It will be quite safe,” he said. “The bridge was Warden Boral’s first handiwork, gods rest his soul. He designed it, and Ashhur helped him build it. It was across this very bridge that the first five hundred fair-skinned children of Ashhur crossed into the northwestern lands. Jaquiel was there that day.”

Jaquiel nodded. “It has not been used often since…or at least, it had not been. It appears Ashhur has passed through here before us…and strengthened the bridge on his way.”

“What makes you say that?” Roland asked.

“Look around you,” said the Warden. “The Gods’ Road is deeply rutted, and despite the recent rain you can still see the imprints in the dirt. There are new scuffs and scratches covering the bridge too, and it appears abnormally strong considering that it has not been maintained for ninety years. Also, sniff the air if you so desire. There is dung everywhere.”

“There are also the remnants of many cookfires scattered about,” added Azariah. “A large group of people clearly crossed this bridge not long ago. You can even see the remnants of carriage tracks on the other side.”

“How can you be sure it was Ashhur?” Roland asked, feeling a bit of his elation slide way. “What if it was Karak’s Army instead?”

Jaquiel knelt down and ran a finger along the looser dirt to the side of the Gods’ Road, where there was a clear footprint.

“Most of the prints were made by bare feet, son. There were hundreds, if not thousands of people traipsing along the road wearing light moccasins. From what I saw of Karak’s Army when I spied on them, they wore heavy boots.”

“Then we’re close to Ashhur,” Kaya said, and there was no hiding the excitement in her voice. “We’ll be safe soon!”

“I pray it is so,” Azariah said, smiling at her. “Now we must get everyone across. We still have a few hours of sunlight left before nightfall. We might have steered away from Karak’s forces, but we don’t know when they will emerge from the forest. I want to be far away when they do.”

They started to cross, a relatively slow process given the unevenness of the bridge. It creaked as they piled atop it, and the hemp rope trusses that held the planks together pulled taut from the weight. The thirty thick pillars beneath the bridge, rising from the river like wayward trees, groaned as well, but the bridge itself hardly swayed.

Roland stood off to the side, tapping the handle of the sword on his hip as he watched his fellow survivors cautiously step onto the bridge, one after the other. He would nod at each as they passed him, offering words of good tidings. The fatigued people offered him the same in return, their weary eyes brightening with hope. That same hope blossoming inside him, Roland leaned over and kissed Kaya on the cheek. She blushed and nuzzled up against him, and suddenly, with safety seemingly within reach, all Roland could think about was making love to her again.

Perhaps I can give her what she desires.…Perhaps I will make her with child. We can be a family, safe with Ashhur.…

That thought disappeared the moment a strange noise reached his ears, as if a brisk wind were kicking up. He heard a thunk by his feet and looked down to see the shaft of an arrow bobbing from the ground. His mind blanked at the sight of it. He turned his head toward the forest’s distant border, and saw them.…At least twenty riders were racing toward them, their bodies covered in black and silver armor, swords and axes held high above their heads. Roland gasped, and Kaya swiveled around, screaming when she caught sight of the advancing men.

“Go!” shouted Jaquiel. Only half the people had begun crossing, and the black-haired Warden ran around the rest, pushing them, shoving them, trying to get them all onto the bridge at once. Everyone began to shout in panic, and a logjam formed at the mouth of the bridge. A few fell, trampled underfoot while others pushed their way forward in desperation.

Roland stood frozen as he watched the rushing soldiers fan out, forming a straight line. While their steeds charged onward, four of them lifted bows, nocked arrows, pulled back the strings, and released. The arrows arced toward the survivors, their steel tips gleaming in the late afternoon sun.

Only one found purchase in flesh, driving into the back of a young woman at the rear of the bridge. She fell to her knees, wailing, her hand reaching around to try and grasp the shaft as she collapsed in a heap. Roland looked at her, his mouth hanging open, then glanced back at the approaching soldiers. It was then that he noticed the one riding at center, the one with flowing brown hair and glowing red eyes.

Jacob. Two hundred yards away and closing fast.

That broke Roland’s paralysis. He rushed to the side of the bridge and tried to conduct traffic. Someone grabbed the girl with the arrow in her back and lugged her across. Kaya helped as best she could, but she was frightened and shaking.

“Go with them!” Roland shouted at her frantically.

She shook her head, crying.

He shoved her in the back. “Just go! I’ll catch up with you on the other side!”

Kaya’s father appeared and grabbed hold of her hand. He tugged his daughter away, shoving his shoulder into the mass of humanity. After they disappeared into the horde on the bridge, Roland turned, sword in hand, to face the soldiers who were fast approaching. He rushed over to Azariah, who stood with the rest of the Wardens along with ten brave yet terrified men, forming a wall of flesh in front of the bridge. More arrows sailed overhead, and more screams erupted from behind them, but Roland didn’t turn and look. If Kaya had been struck…