Dawn of Swords (9 page)

“Karak’s justice is Karak’s justice,” Soleh called after them as they disappeared into the porthole. “It is not for you to demand retribution, but
him
.”

“The prisoner awaits sentencing,” announced Captain Gregorian once they were gone, his grip tight around Gronk’s chains.

“Very well,” replied Soleh. “By the power of this court, handed down by Karak, the Divinity of the East and father to us all, I hereby sentence you to death by beheading. Do you accept this judgment with an open heart, knowing that Afram awaits if you are repentant, or do you wish to prove your faithfulness before the Final Judges?”

“I done no wrong,” muttered Gronk Hordan. “I’ll prove my faithfulness.”

“So be it,” sighed Soleh. She wasn’t surprised, as at least one prisoner a day thought himself or herself worthy of Karak’s forgiveness. The existence of the Final Judges was no secret, but none seemed to understand what it meant to face them and how few lived to tell the tale. “Captain, escort the prisoner to the arena.”

Adeline opened her mouth again, but Soleh silenced her daughter with a glare. She glanced down at Thessaly, who stood from her minor seat and curtsied before taking her leave. The silver-haired Crestwell grabbed Adeline’s wrist, yanking the aged woman to a standing position before dragging her along the wall to the antechamber. As Mistresses, the two were not allowed to observe the decision of the Final Judges. Her daughter struggled and swayed on failing old knees, and Soleh was again pummeled with shame and guilt. It wasn’t until both women were out of sight that she rose from her throne, lifted the corners of her cloak, and descended the staircase. She strode past the prisoner, who was snatched by two guards, and crossed the courthouse floor, stopping to rinse her dry face at the washbasin, before taking the winding stairwell down. Captain Gregorian followed behind her, the prisoner with his rough escorts after him.

They did not stop when they reached the vestibule, instead continuing down into the depths below the castle. With each step they took, the air grew colder and wetter, and the rough gray walls were slick with moisture. The clanking of plated feet on stone echoed
throughout the chamber, the only sound other than the prisoner’s labored breathing.

The stairwell finally came to an end, the path branching in two directions. The left led to the dungeons, and the right was a plain door lit by a single torch.
Here Awaits the Final Judgment
was carved into the old, moldy wood. Soleh gripped the door’s brass ring and pulled. It slid open, emitting a waft of air that was pungent with refuse and rot. She had to hold her hand in front of her face to shield herself from the intense brightness on the other side.

The stairwell emptied out onto a raised platform overlooking a circular ring of tall boulders, with another set of stairs leading down to the arena’s gate. The underground hollow was lit by a thousand torches that were never extinguished, the combined flames as bright as the sun on a brutal summer day. Soleh drew back her hood for the first time in hours, approached the barrier of smooth sandstone, and placed her hands on it. The surface was warm from the heat of the torches. After a tilt of her head, the guards shoved their prisoner down the second set of stairs, tossed him unceremoniously into the middle of the ring, and then beat a hasty retreat. They tossed a key at him before slamming and locking the tall iron gate behind them. Gronk stood, spit out a glob of blood and dirt, and jangled his manacles. He picked up the key, and a few turns later the chains on his wrists and ankles fell to the ground with a heavy
clank
.

“You have requested audience with the Final Judges,” Soleh said. “We shall bear witness to their decision. If you live, you are a forgiven man. If you perish, you have been deemed unworthy, and your soul awaits eternal damnation.”

She nodded to her Captain.

Gregorian pulled a lever, raising a pair of metal gates from the walls of the arena below. Gronk faced the now opened portals, rubbing his hands together, breathing heavily. A soft, staccato-like purr filled the air, followed by an ear-splitting roar. The prisoner’s knees began to shake as he struggled to hide his fear.

The judges stalked out of their cages like deadly shadows, and Soleh watched a puddle of liquid leak from the cuff of Gronk’s filthy pants.

The two lions, Kayne and Lilah, Karak’s Final Judges, stepped fully into the lighted arena. They were massive beasts, almost the height of a man on their four legs. Their golden fur shone with streaks of white, and their pale yellow eyes glistened in the torchlight. Kayne opened his mouth, exposing his lethal fangs while letting out a low, guttural snarl. Lilah strode alongside him, her tongue flicking her nose.

The lions paced a circle around the whimpering prisoner, growing ever closer with each revolution. They were toying with the man, goading him into histrionics and madness. Finally, Gronk snapped. He shot to his feet, shouting obscenities as he attempted to dart through the gap between the two lions. Kayne seemed to tilt his head and smirk as Gronk leapt onto the smooth stone that served as the arena wall. The man’s hands could find no purchase, and he slid back down until his feet touched ground.

That was when Lilah charged, letting loose a throaty bellow as her gigantic paws kicked up dirt and dust. It took mere seconds for her to close the gap and leap onto Gronk’s back. Her claws raked down to the spine, opening four gaping maws that spat crimson blood. Then the lioness’s jaws closed around the man’s skull. She pulled him down, shook him twice, and then whipped her head to the side. Gronk Hordan tumbled through the air, landing in a heap, just inches from Kayne’s enormous feet.

“You have been judged,” whispered Soleh.

The man was not dead. He lifted his head as if lost in a dream. Blood poured from the incisions where Lilah’s teeth had pierced his face and neck. He swayed and rocked, swayed and rocked, moaning, unable to get to his feet. Kayne watched him for a moment before lashing out. His right paw raked across the prisoner’s chest, opening four gashes that mirrored the ones on his back. Gronk collapsed belly-up,
his eyes staring at the ceiling. Lilah sauntered over to stand beside her brother, and the two lions exchanged a momentary glance before they began to feed. One of the guards standing on the platform doubled over as the prisoner’s screams filled the air. Coils of intestines slithered out of the man like so many eels, spraying all over the dirt-covered ground. The lions devoured Gronk where he lay, and his shrieks and wails slowly ebbed until all that could be heard was the smacking of the judges’ tongues as they lapped up every last ounce of blood.

“Leave me,” Soleh told Captain Gregorian, who ushered his two guards up the stairwell and out of the arena.

Kayne and Lilah were the only lions in all of Dezrel—and perhaps the only two that had ever existed. They’d been discovered on the doorstep of the Mori homestead sixty-seven years ago, on the day Soleh’s precious Vulfram was born. They were but cubs then, gifts from Karak, and Soleh’s family raised them as their own kin. The lions ate the food Soleh prepared for her family, slept in Vulfram’s room, and ran and played with him and the rest of the children, even when they grew so large that they dwarfed the girls. Soleh didn’t consider them pets; to her, they were another son and daughter. Unlike her flesh-and-blood children, however, Kayne and Lilah did not age. They simply grew larger with each passing year. Sometimes she wondered if they would grow to the size of horses.

It was Karak himself who had informed Soleh of their true reason for existence. Kayne and Lilah could sense a person’s faithfulness, could understand the depths of his or her beliefs and loyalty. When the Castle of the Lion was built, and the first king was named to assist in governing their burgeoning society, the lions were brought north to Veldaren to fulfill this purpose. If any accused wished to prove their loyalty to the one true god of the land, he or she could face the lions in the arena.

In all her years as Minister, of all the hundreds of men and women she had escorted down into the bowels of the castle, only one
man had passed the test. He still bore the four wicked scars running across his face to prove it. That man was Malcolm Gregorian, who now served beside her as Captain of the Palace Guard. A man who, even when the lions bore down upon him, refused to show fear.

She stood there for a long while, listening to Kayne and Lilah finish their meal. When they were done and had returned to their lavish pens, she pushed back the lever. The two gates slowly lowered, the winches squealing as thick ropes rubbed against them.

“Do you not like watching your children fulfill their duties?” asked a commanding yet familiar voice from behind her.

Soleh whirled around, eyes frantically scanning the darkness behind the torches’ powerful glare. Her heart began to beat excitedly, and she feared she might faint.

“Of course not,” she replied, her voice high and innocent, like a child’s. “But I do so because it is my duty, just as it is theirs to punish the guilty.”

The torches before her extinguished—the first time they had gone dark in more than forty years—and a pair of glowing yellow eyes stared at her from the new darkness. The eyes came closer, and a colossal figure stepped into the light of the remaining torches on the far wall. He was a picture of beauty, with hair a deep shade of earthy brown, eyes rich with wisdom, and thick and powerful arms and legs. He towered over her, wearing an outfit of woven black and a silver breastplate embellished with his sigil, the roaring lion. Soleh dropped to her knees as he offered her his hand.

“Karak, my Divinity, my Lord, my Father,” she whispered. She began to weep.

“Stand, child,” said Karak, his voice as soothing as hot milk on a chilly evening. “Stand and do not cry.”

Soleh rose to her feet, and with a racing heart, brushed aside the large hand before her and threw herself at him. She collided with her god’s belly, just below his metal breastplate, and wrapped her arms as far around his waist as she could. She buried her face
into his clothes. He had the smell of winter about him, of snow and pines and smoke.

“You have been gone for so long,” she said into his clothing. “I feared you wouldn’t return.”

“Forty years is not long, child,” her god replied. He brushed back her hair, his touch warm and comforting. “Not to those like us.”

“It seemed like a long time to me.”

Karak laughed, and the sound filled the arena. Kayne and Lilah bellowed in their cages.

“You were always such a sweet girl, Soleh. So beautiful and innocent, so pure.” He slipped a huge knuckle beneath her chin and lifted her head. “And those eyes, still like a babe filled with wonderment. The most beautiful thing I have ever created. I could gaze into them forever.”

“So why did you leave me, my Lord?” she asked.

“I did not leave you, child. I have been near. I have heard your prayers, uttered every night by your bedside. I have watched as you dutifully fulfilled your promise to help the people learn to serve their own justice. You have helped our society grow strong, yet it cannot stand on your shoulders alone. You make me proud. You are one of the few who do.”

Soleh took a step back. Doubt began to infiltrate her pure thoughts.

“I don’t understand, my Lord,” she said. “If you have been watching, then you know of the ugliness that has been spreading across our lands. The sickness, the greed, the violence. Years ago we had riots over the price of wheat. You are the God of Order, my Lord, and yet all I see is chaos.”

Karak shook his head and smiled softly.

“You do not understand, my child. There is order in all things, eventually. I stepped away because you, my children, needed to grow up. You needed to learn to exist on your own, without me lording over you day and night. My children need to make their
own decisions, to build their own destinies, to maintain their
own
order. If that does not happen, you will never be free. You will be slaves, just as the children of my brother are. You deserve freedom. I have given all of you the framework for success, and I leave it up to you to carry those lessons forward, to improve, to
thrive
.”

Soleh gazed once more into those beautiful eyes, larger than life itself, and saw the kindness and honesty in them. She could not help but smile. She stepped back and bowed, sweeping her arms out wide so that her cloak flowed over her like the cascade of a waterfall.

“You have, my Lord, and we are trying.”

“That is all I can ask of you, sweet Soleh,” replied the god. “Now if it pleases you, I should like to visit my temple and rest. The journey home has been a long one.”

“Of course, my Lord.”

“Will you walk with me for a while?”

“I would never think to do otherwise.”

Soleh led Karak up the stairwell and out of Tower Justice. The god-made-flesh needed to stoop beneath the doorframe, even though it stood over ten feet tall. It was early evening, the half-moon low on the horizon, and yet the castle courtyard was teeming with people. All activity stopped when Karak emerged, and in an instant the crowd was dropping to their knees and singing his praises. Karak waved to his children, most of whom had never before seen him, a smile still painted across his large, handsome face. He bestowed his graces on them before guiding Soleh out of the main portcullis, leaving the people groveling and praying on the castle lawn.

All across Veldaren the same scene repeated itself over and over again. The evening crowd parted, and guards and commoners and thieves alike all chanted the name of their god. There was no violence to be seen, only reverence, and amidst this sudden outpouring of peace and togetherness, Soleh dared question Karak’s decision to be gone for so long.

But Karak talked to her and only her, as if the multitudes around them didn’t exist, and she forgot all of her doubts. He spoke of the sunset over Mount Hailen, of projecting his form from his body and soaring through the heavens. He told her of touching the constellations that lit up the northern sky, of the worlds that existed within each burning star, of lives beginning and lives coming to a close. All of these words he spoke in a velvety and intimate voice, luring her closer with each step, wrapping her body in the comforting embrace of his voice, until they reached the hub of the southern end of the city, where four roads met at a roundabout. At its center was a great fountain, on which stood a statue of the god that was taller than he was in real life, a regal work of art, created by Soleh’s husband, showing the divinity on one knee, handing a child a spear. Karak stopped there, staring at the effigy, and the heavy weight of his arm fell on Soleh’s shoulders. She leaned her head into his side, feeling the rumblings in her belly, the excitement that caused her legs to quiver.