Wrath of Lions (14 page)

“We have birdies in our god’s army,” Romeo said. “And those birdies have told us that the one who now holds Karak’s ear is wary of Ashhur’s dark-skinned children in Ker. They are physically superior to the rest, perhaps smarter, and certainly more capable. They have been independent of Paradise for some time now, and word has it that our Lord is bent on invading their lands last. The steel is for
them
.”

The deal was becoming more and more tempting for Matthew. Part of him tried to steer away from acceptance, but the logical part of him, the part that believed in the words of the god more than the god himself, began to sway.

“And you are willing to take this chance?” he asked. “What if Karak discovers us?”

“The way things are going, we are dead men already,” said Romeo with a shrug. “If our time is about to end, we might as well go out trying to do something to stop it.”

Matthew sat back, chin cupped in his hand. He was so deep in thought that he barely felt the tug on his blood-stained tunic. He turned to see Moira staring at him, concern in her icy blue eyes.

“A word?” she asked.

“Ah, dear Moira wishes to advise her brave Matthew!” exclaimed Cleo.

Bren rolled his eyes. “Shut it,” the burly man said. “I’m in pain, and I don’t need to listen to your squealing voice.”

“Calm yourself, Bren,” said Matthew. He stood from his chair, looked at Moira, and then gestured toward the corner. The slender woman rose to join him.

“What is it?” he asked in a whisper when they were far enough away from the table.

“I am not sure this is such a good idea,” she replied. “You brought me here to protect you, and right now, this is the best protection I can offer. Turn them down. Walk away from here.”

“I’m surprised at you, Moira.”

“Why?”

“You hate Karak more than anybody. I would think you’d be all for their plan.”

“I hate Karak, but I am not stupid,” she said. “Are you sure you can trust these two?”

He shook his head. “Of course not.”

“And yet you’re seriously considering working with them.”

“Strife makes for strange bedfellows. And besides, everything they’ve said makes sense. It’s not as if I haven’t had these very thoughts before tonight, and while I can’t trust them, I can trust their
goods
. Who am I to turn them away if they can feed this city? What is a cache of weapons worth when your people are dying in the streets from starvation?”

“You intend to accept.”

“I do.”

“Then I hope you’re not being an imbecile.”

He went to grab her shoulder, but she eluded his grasp.

“You don’t know me,” he said, anger churning in his gut. “Remember, you’re my property from now until Peytr pays me back. Disrespect me again, and I’ll have you cleaning the privy nightly.”

With that he swiveled on his heels and marched back toward the brothers. He bit his lip, half expecting a shortsword to plunge through his back and out his sternum. Peering over his shoulder, he met Moira’s cold stare and thanked the gods his harsh words hadn’t been met with a harsh reaction.

Stupid, Matthew. Stupid.

Romeo and Cleo both rose from their seats as he approached. Bren just stared at him, looking pale from blood loss. Romeo stepped around the table.

“Do we have a deal?” he asked. Amazingly enough, the fat man seemed nervous.

“We have a deal,” he answered, and stuck out his hand.

Cleo began clapping in that queer fashion of his while they shook.

“My only question,” said Matthew, “is how I am supposed to get the goods to the people they’re meant for?”

“Fear not,” Romeo said. “We have that covered. On the last night of spring, we shall send a boat to retrieve them. Until then, enjoy the goods we have given you, which is another great show of trust on our part.” He jutted his chin at Bren. “But do not betray us, Matthew, for I’m certain your brute will do little to defend you should we send our master of arms, Quester the Crimson Sword, to collect on your debt.”

“You will get what we discussed,” said Matthew. “When I make a deal, it is final.”

“I know,” Romeo said with a grin. “Which is why we came to you first.”

They released each other’s hands and stepped away. Cleo came up and patted his brother on the shoulder while Bren struggled to rise from his chair. Moira appeared by his side and helped him stand. Matthew hoped his bodyguard hadn’t lost too much blood to recover. Though an oaf, Bren really was the best protection money could buy. He nodded to both of them, and they started for the curtain.

“Oh, dear Matthew, one more thing,” Cleo sang out before they left the room.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Do you still have the monstrosity your great-grandfather crafted for Karak when the Mount Hailen armory first opened?”

“The sword? Yes, I have it still. Why do you ask?”

“We wish to include that huge blade in our deal. If it would please you, of course. You can pack it in the crates with the others.”

Matthew shrugged.

“Fine. It’s an eyesore anyway. But why?”

Romeo laughed. “Let us say we intend it as a gift for a giant.”

C
HAPTER

6

A
ll had been calm for hours on end. The birds in the trees tweeted; the insects chirped; the water in the stream flowed in a steady, calming rush. Bardiya’s felt connected to those birds, those insects, the fish that darted through that water. In this isolated patch of forest outside of his village of Ang, he felt completely at peace while making his morning prayers.

It was true he missed the soul tree, the oddity of nature that sprouted in the plains bordering the Gods’ Road, but the journey there and back took at least half a day. As the new spiritual leader of his people, in the wake of his parents’ death, he could not afford to be away for so long. Ang and the whole unofficial province of Ker needed him.

A tickling sensation overcame him, interrupting his prayers. He opened his eyes, his body tingling all over, and looked down at his giant hands. They were open in his lap, resting atop his bulbous knees. A brightly colored caterpillar inched across his left palm. On his right perched a butterfly, its gentle wings splayed out, displaying blocks of vibrant orange and yellow.

“Why, hello there,” he whispered. He lifted his hands to get a closer look at the two creatures. The insects were illustrations of
perfection—each part of them had a design, a purpose. They were the embodiment of the life cycle, childhood on the left, adulthood on the right. All Bardiya had to do to bring the circle to a close was curl his fingers into fists.

Instead, he blew gently across his right palm, sending the butterfly’s wings flapping as it rose into the air. The caterpillar he urged to crawl onto the bark of the spruce tree behind him. He then leaned forward, dipped his fingers into the bubbling stream, and splashed cold, refreshing water on his face.

Raised voices pulled him away from his meditations. He lifted his head, water dripping from his chin, and spotted two dark figures swiftly maneuvering down the vine-covered cliff face on the other side of the stream. The interlopers’ flesh was dark like his, and one of them held a thick walking stick to offset a pronounced limp. He knew them immediately—Gordo Hempsmen and Tuan Littlefoot. He could tell by the way they carried themselves. Bardiya prided himself on his attention to detail. There was not a man or woman among his people whom he could not identify simply by gazing at his or her feet.

Gordo and Tuan reached the bottom of the cliff face, stopping on the rocks that formed the opposite bank of the stream. Gordo leaned against a tree, his mouth set in a grimace. His hip had been badly injured in the mangold grove the day Bardiya’s parents were slaughtered by the elf, Ethir Ayers, and his henchmen. Though Bardiya had mended the man’s wound as best he could, it remained painful. “You will limp the rest of your days,” he’d told him, “but at least you will not need a cane.”

Bardiya craned his neck, staring at the shoulder wound he had incurred that same day. He touched the spot, an eight-inch lump of scar tissue, and offered a silent prayer to Ashhur.

The two men stared at him from across the stream. Bardiya braced his right hand on the ground and rose to his feet. His body was wracked with another spasm of pain as he moved. It was the
ache of growth, a sensation he’d come to both honor and deride over the many, many years of his life. Just like his faith, his form never ceased to expand. His height had reached eleven feet, dwarfing each and every one of his people and making him nearly as tall as Ashhur himself.

“How are Tulani and Keisha?” he asked Gordo as he cracked his sore back.

“They are fine,” the man replied. “Just as they were when you asked yesterday.”

“Each day carries its own burdens and joys,” said Bardiya.

Gordo shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “I’m sorry. I do appreciate the concern, my friend.”

“There is no need to apologize.”

Tuan stepped forward, kneeling before the stream.

“Bardiya, your presence is required in the village square,” he said.

“Very well. What is this about?”

“A few things, actually,” said Gordo. “A group of men returned from a hunting trip two days ago, telling wild tales. Then two girls who wandered close to the Rigon came running home with reports of soldiers marching on the other side of the river. We would have ignored both reports if Onna Lensbrough had not run up to the rocks this morning, after fishing, with a similar tale. Tuan decided we should call an assembly, if only to quell the peoples’ fears, so I did.”

“A smart decision,” Bardiya said.

“Thank you, Bardiya,” Tuan said, bowing low.

“Please, do not bow,” Bardiya said. “Save any reverence you would show me for Ashhur himself. I am only a servant among you all.”

Tuan looked embarrassed as he rose to his feet and said, “I’m sorry.”

Bardiya laughed heartily. “Think nothing of it, Tuan. Now let us go so I may speak with our people.”

He stepped across the stream in a single stride and followed Gordo and Tuan back up the steep cliff. Once they reached the top,
they exited the thin line of trees. A seemingly endless sea of swaying prairie grasses opened up before them, concealing the way back home.

For a normal human, the trek from Ang to the secluded forest would take forty minutes. On his own, given the immense length of his legs, Bardiya could make it in half that. In this instance he took it slow, shortening his strides so he could stay with Gordo and Tuan. He would not show them disrespect by leaving them behind.

When they finally arrived at the village, hundreds of people awaited in the center square. Ang was a quaint village, dotted with simple yet durable wooden shelters sealed with a thick mixture of pine sap and clay. The few tents were used to shield the village’s reservoirs of food from insects and other predators. Bessus and Damaspia had quickly learned that any shelter they built would have to be constructed of solid wood to endure the unpredictable weather on Dezrel’s lower west coast, especially the massive storms of the late summer months.

The layout of the village followed no particular pattern; there were homes built wherever there was space for them. The whole of the village was now an immensely wide clearing given the fact that most of the trees had been felled to build those many homes. The only true property people had were the shelters in which they lived. All the other land, including the many gardens dotting the landscape, was communal. There was no trade or commerce or coin; every man and woman was a healer, a craftsman, a hunter, a fisherman, a farmer.

The center square—an ample, grassy field near the thin layer of forest bordering the coast—was the only place where construction was prohibited. That square was where the people gathered during times of celebration or mass prayer, when game or large fish were roasted over the great cookfire in the center. It was also where the populace gathered during dire times, of which there had only been three in all of Bardiya’s life. The first was when the
decision had been made to respectfully ask the Wardens to leave Ker fifty years before, the second in the aftermath of the deaths of Bessus, Damaspia, and the five others who had perished in the mangold grove, the third to announce the arrival—and acceptance as equals—of a band of refugee Dezren Elves from the Stonewood Forest. It saddened Bardiya to think of the disagreements during that last meeting.

A great many people milled about their homes as he walked through the village, and he spied the Dezren elves lingering around their huts at the far edge of the settlement. When he came to the center square, he found a large gathering of villagers murmuring loudly. They formed a massive semicircle around the firepit, gazing at the newcomers with expectant eyes. Gordo and Tuan stepped aside, allowing Bardiya to walk between them. He found his close friend Ki-Nan Renald, a tall, athletic man of thirty with skin as black as night, standing among the ranks. Bardiya regarded him with a nod. Ki-Nan was good with crowds. If things became unruly, he would help keep everyone calm.

When he reached the center, the mass of humanity shuffled to their feet, closing the circle. They looked so small to him, countless children pleading with him to quell their nightmares. In that moment a feeling of superiority came over him, a sensation he quickly quashed by falling to one knee and hunching over so he could converse with them at eye level. It was a painful position, but that was a small sacrifice to make in the name of equality.

He spoke the words of assembly—“With Ashhur in our hearts, our troubles are met”—and the meeting began.

A pair of identical young men, barely out of their teens, pressed two fingers to their lips, the Kerrian symbol of truthfulness.

“I am Allay Loros,” said one of them.

“And I am Yorn, his brother,” said the other.

“I know you well,” Bardiya told them, gesturing for them to proceed.

Allay cleared his throat. “Five days ago my brother and I were hunting an antelope through the grasslands,” he said, his tone confident yet respectful. “We were near the Gods’ Road, very close to another settlement. The antelope was acting as if it were spooked. We had lanced it with a spear earlier in the day, but still the creature ran without tiring, as if no injury had befallen it.”