Wrath of Lions (54 page)

The moon was full, but a thick layer of clouds had rolled in, making the darkness nearly complete as a hundred Ekreissar rangers crept through the forest. The skilled rangers made nary a sound as they glided over the leaf-covered ground. The same could not be said for Aeson, who lacked the proper training. He had donned a green and brown outfit in place of his usual imperial robes and was forging a path at the head of the group, hacking away at the vines and branches that blocked his way instead of ducking beneath them
or moving aside. Every so often he would grunt and swear, which Ceredon could tell drew the ire of the other rangers. Backward glances revealed a few rangers rolling their eyes, and some made gestures implying that they’d murder Aeson if he made another sound. It was a pleasing sight. The Quellan had long regarded the Triad as Celestia’s voice, the few beyond reproach who held the Neyvar’s ear. It was good to see that trend reverse itself.

“Ceredon, halt,” Aeson said, and Ceredon felt the whole group wince at the noise. Ceredon did as he’d been asked. The other Ekreissar halted too, but Aeson motioned them onward. “Continue on to the rendezvous point. We will be there shortly.”

“Why do we stay?” Ceredon asked after the last of the rangers disappeared farther into the forest. “Clovis insisted that we lead…”

“I don’t care what that idiot insisted,” Aeson said. “I told him I had information about Tantric’s whereabouts, and he ignored me. Let the rest of the Ekreissar waste their time pursuing the rebel hideout. Tantric is close, and I will defeat him, taking the glory for my own and then shoving it right in Clovis’s face. You are confident in your ability with a khandar, are you not?”

“I am. Why?”

“There are two of us and only one of him, and we are catching him unaware. He will be easy prey. Follow me.”

Perfect,
thought Ceredon.

They maneuvered through the brush, Aeson taking greater care this time to remain silent as they slid down the rocky descent on the other side. The roar of a waterfall soon reached their ears, and the air grew thick with moisture as they continued their downward trek. Finally, they stepped through the threshold of trees, and a lagoon of shimmering black water greeted them on the other side. The gulley was deep, far below sea level, and a nearly solid sheet of water thirty feet wide dumped runoff from the river into it. It was an entirely isolated refuge, invisible from the rest of the forest.

“Why are we here?” Ceredon whispered as he crept alongside Aeson.

“Tantric likes to bathe beneath a particular waterfall while his little nymphs treat him,” Aeson said. “That waterfall resides right behind those trees, in the gulley.…”

Aeson drew his sword as he approached the water’s edge.

“There is a worn path over the stones,” he said, having to raise his voice to be heard over the roaring waterfall. He seemed charged with enthusiasm. “We will take that.”

“As you wish,” Ceredon replied.

They stepped carefully over the moss-covered boulders as mist assaulted their faces. The path led behind the waterfall, which careened so far outward they were able to pass underneath it while remaining mostly dry. They found a wide mouth cut into the substratum of the rock face hidden by the falls, leading to a pitch-black tunnel. Aeson didn’t so much as pause. He held his khandar out before him and stepped confidently into the mouth, scampering like a dancer in his excitement. Ceredon followed him in, keeping his own weapon sheathed.

The tunnel stretched steadily wider and taller. Sealed off from the outside world, there was no light to see, even with their capable eyes. Soon their steps began to echo, and they ran headlong into a solid wall.

“It is too dark,” Aeson said.

Ceredon pulled a bag of tindersticks from his rucksack and struck one. When the flame blazed, he curled up a sheet of parchment and lit the top, forming a makeshift torch. Holding it out before him, he turned in every direction. They had entered a rounded cave, fifty feet in either direction, ending in jagged walls. The ceiling was too high for the light of the torch to reach.

“No one is here,” Aeson said. He sounded disappointed.

“Perhaps the rumor was false,” Ceredon said.

“Not this one.”

“Are you so certain?”

Aeson gave him a glare.

“I heard of this place from the lips of Neretha, Tantric’s estranged wife. He was to be here. That whore must have lied to me.”

“Perhaps,” Ceredon said. “But what if this is just the wrong waterfall, and there is another nearby? We should search the hills. There could be other gullies about.”

Aeson shook his head, looking dejected. “No. This is the one. Neretha will feel my wrath when this is done. We must rejoin the Ekreissar before they get too far ahead.”

“Very well. At your command.”

Aeson turned to leave, but Ceredon remained still. His father’s cousin offered him a queer, impatient look.

“I said we leave,” he said.

Ceredon squinted, the light of the torch making the shadows around him dance. “I have one question I must ask,” he said.

“So ask and let us get on with it.”

“In the courtyard, Clovis mentioned something about betrayed trust. What was that about?”

Aeson shook his head and laughed.

“
That
is your question? Come—let us go. I have no time for this.”

“I wish to know.”

“It is none of your business.”

“Humor me, Aeson. Humor the elf who will one day be your Neyvar. I would remember it fondly.”

Aeson looked at him cockeyed. “Very well. Humans approached the Triad a year past, asking for a partnership. We were told the eastern deity would soon war with his brother and that we would be handed lands west of the Rigon if we assisted them. One of their conditions was that the delegation from Stonewood remain unharmed.”

“Yet they
were
harmed,” Ceredon said. “Cleotis Meln was killed, as were many others who had arrived for the betrothal.”

“Yes. The Triad decided that while we would help the humans to rebuild the might of our people, we would not follow such specific demands, especially when they put the entire coup at risk. The Quellan are not slaves to a lesser race.”

“Did my father know?”

Aeson laughed.

“You have much to learn if you are to be Neyvar one day, pup. Your father may be the face of our people, but we of the Triad pull the strings.”

“So the executions…the random selection of prisoners to hang in the galleys outside the palace…that was the Triad’s decision?”

Aeson offered him a wicked grin, raising his khandar in the process.

“No, that decision was mine. What better way to teach a lesson to dogs than by showing those dogs the price of disloyalty to their betters?”

“I can think of ways,” Ceredon said, and that was when the cave filled with the light of many torches lit from above. Ropes descended to the ground and a multitude of forms slid down them. Aeson shrieked and backed away, whipping his khandar about, eyes wide with terror. Those who’d descended the ropes formed a circle around the two Quellan. They were tall, their flesh pale, their hair golden and light brown. One of the Dezren rebels stepped away from the others, a brusque sort, missing the pointed tip of one ear and with burn scars winding from the corner of his mouth down his neck. He held a maul in his hand.

Ceredon lifted his head in pride.

“Aeson, I introduce you to Tantric Thane, leader of the insurgency.”

“You lit—” Aeson began.

Ceredon struck him across the cheek. Blood dribbled over Aeson’s lips.

“No speaking,” Ceredon said in a growl. “Did you know that Tantric’s aunt lived in Stonewood, and that one of her daughters was serving as Audrianna Meln’s handmaiden?”

Aeson stared at him, mouth agape, and said nothing.

Tantric swung downward with his maul, connecting with Aeson’s hand. Bone shattered, the elf screamed, and the khandar he was holding clanked on the ground.

“Zoe Shendara was my niece,” Tantric said, his voice dripping with hatred. “You remember her?”

“Get away from me!” screamed Aeson, gripping his pulverized hand with his good one.

“You had her murdered, you bastard. You ordered the death of a
child
. Celestia will never forgive you for that.”

The circle of Dezren rebels closed, pinning Aeson down. One stretched out his left arm, holding it against the ground, and Tantric came down with the maul again. The
crunch
that followed echoed through the cave as Aeson’s shrieks intensified in their urgency.

The rebel leader then tossed down his weapon, approached Ceredon, and threw his arm around him. He started leading him down the tunnel, away from Aeson’s screams.

“Thank you for this,” said Tantric. “We would not have survived this long without your assistance.”

“Nor I without yours,” Ceredon replied. He smiled, a bit sadly. “Neretha performed her part beautifully, but I fear what might happen to her should the humans discover her involvement.”

Tantric laughed.

“I know,” he said. “Don’t worry about my wife. She is strong, and vicious as a wolf when cornered. She will keep our secrets safe, no matter who may attempt to pry them from her lips.”

They paused in the middle of the tunnel, staring at the blue-black sheet of water that cascaded over the opening.

“Tell me, Tantric,” said Ceredon, “what will happen to the Ekreissar?”

“A few will die, but not as many as I’d like. We’ve moved inland now, to a series of grottos near Lake Cor, but we set up a few traps beforehand. Spiked vines, swinging logs, that sort of thing. Though
it is bothersome that the human knew about our old hideaway.…Perhaps I should press further to learn who has betrayed us.”

Ceredon glanced into the darkness behind him. He could still hear Aeson screaming.

“And what about
him
?” he asked.

“The bastard will live through the night, perhaps even until tomorrow night. But the pain will be epic. He will
wish
he died much sooner, you can trust me on that.”

“Good. However, you must do one thing for me now.”

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.

C
HAPTER

27

R
oland 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.”