Wrath of Lions (58 page)

He reached beneath his surcoat and pulled out his pendant. It felt heavy in his hands, as great a weight as a lifetime of sin on a man’s soul. He released the pendant, letting it dangle from its leather strap. For the briefest of moments he considered tearing it from his neck, tossing it to the ground and stomping on it before climbing onto his horse and galloping into the forest. If the gods were kind, he could make the Tinderlands in a week and disappear into the rocky, desolate wilderness for the rest of his endless days.

Foolish dreams,
he thought.
The gods are not kind.

“I’m sorry, my Lord,” he whispered to himself. When Captain Wellington approached him once more, offering him a sip from his waterskin, Velixar turned him away. He would seek no comfort, not in the aftermath of abject failure. He would simply await his god’s judgment.

It was an hour before the army came into view, looking like a serpent composed of thousands of bustling ants as the forces marched along the distant road. Another three hours after that, beneath the full heat of midday, they drew close enough for him to make out the roaring lion emblazoned on the banners held aloft at the lead of the procession. Velixar heard one of his soldiers shout. When he turned
his head to the left, he saw that Captain Wellington had formed his troops into a defensive horseshoe, pointing arrows and swords at the forest from which the wolf-men had appeared. The foliage shook, the trees swayed, and then men emerged from the woods. Most wore the familiar silver mail over black leather of Karak’s Army, but a few were dressed in russet pants and cured deerhide tunics dyed a deep shade of green. Their skin and hair was like dark satin, their ears pointed.
Elves.
They were Darakken’s regiment from Dezerea, arriving at the bridge as had been planned. He did not yet sense the demon’s presence. He prayed it had obeyed orders this time and remained in Dezerea. The last thing he wanted was to see that disgusting beast before he had a chance to speak with Karak.

Wellington and the rest of his men retreated to him as the soldiers marching from both directions began setting up camp. The field on the east side of the Wooden Bridge was huge, nearly a half-mile wide, but the combined force overflowed from it like fizz at the head of a mug of ale. They raised tents from the edge of the northern forest to the beginning of the southern grasses, and when Velixar craned his neck to watch the distant road, he saw countless more tents being erected. Only the Gods’ Road itself remained bereft of obstruction, allowing room for the supply wagons to make their way up the line. Food was distributed among the fighting men, and those from Darakken’s regiment, who had been traveling in rougher conditions, began singing boisterous and crude songs as they tore into the salted pork and pickled vegetables that were brought to them.

The whole while, men worked around Velixar and his crew, some offering words of greeting, most giving confused stares. One group of soldiers, their eyes bloodshot and tired, shouted at them to get off their asses and help.

“We should do as they say,” Captain Wellington said, fidgeting on his feet. His men chimed in their agreement.

“No,” Velixar replied. “We stand here, and we wait.”

“For what?”

“For Karak to call on us.”

“Why would he call on us?”

“He won’t,” Velixar admitted with a shake of his head. “He will call on
me
. But you joined me on this quest, and so our fates are tied together.”

“As you command, High Prophet.”

Wellington crossed his arms over his chest and began to gnaw on his bottom lip. Velixar turned away from him. A small part of him wanted to assure the captain that all would be fine, but he knew there was no such certainty.

Finally, when the sun burned low and red on the horizon, Karak’s colossal carriage snaked its way along the Gods’ Road. The carriage was three times the size of any of the other sixty they had brought with them on the long march west. Drawn by a team of eight massive chargers, it stood twenty feet tall and fifteen feet wide and rolled forward on twelve wheels. The weight was considerable, particularly when Karak was inside, so it moved slowly, a fact that only heightened Velixar’s tension.

When the carriage stopped at last, a mere thirty feet from where Velixar and his men waited, the rest of the camp had been set up; soldiers were relaxing outside their tents, cookfires had been lit, and the horde of smiths that traveled with both parties was collecting weapons for sharpening and armor for oiling. Just as always, the recently erected encampment was deafening. All the noise—numerous voices speaking at once, the
clink
of the smiths’ hammers, the crackle and pop of fires—mixed into a single, ear-numbing din. Still, Velixar and his company were ignored.

Beside him, Captain Wellington’s stomach rumbled audibly.

When the sun began to set behind the subtle rise of the western mountains, the twenty soldiers who had come in behind Karak’s carriage removed roll after roll of canvas from the storage space beneath the coach and started to assemble the god’s pavilion. Other
groups of soldiers tore down their own tents to make room. Only once the pavilion was finished, complete with Karak’s banner fluttering from the pole at the top, did the door to the carriage open and the deity himself step out. All sound, save the snorting of horses and the crackle of flames, immediately ceased.

Velixar fell to his knees, and he heard Wellington and the rest of his personal charges do the same.

Karak cast an imposing shadow in the growing darkness. His dark hair flowed above his shoulders as if alive, while his glowing golden eyes observed everything around him. Unlike three nights ago when Velixar had left camp, the god seemed pleased by what he saw. He did not face his High Prophet, however, nor did he even acknowledge his presence. Instead, he turned north, toward an approaching brigade of thirty elves, who were led by a wide-shouldered beast of a creature dressed in oily black armor that looked like the skin of a reptile. Two swords, just as black as his armor, were crisscrossed over his back.

Karak greeted them with a nod, then began to converse with their leader in the elven tongue. The other captains approached to greet the elves as well. Captain Wellington inched forward on his knees

“What are they saying?” he whispered into Velixar’s ear.

“Karak is thanking the elves for joining his righteous fight,” Velixar whispered back. In truth he could only hear every third word that came from the god’s mouth, but judging from what he
could
hear and the deity’s body language, he supposed his assumption was correct.

When the conversation ended, the elves bowed as one and made their way back to their camp site. The congregation around Karak dispersed, leaving the deity alone in the center of the Gods’ Road. Finally, Karak pivoted to face Velixar. The sudden silence seemed to stretch for miles. Karak’s hands went to his hips, and he shook his head. Velixar could see no anger in his stare, only disappointment. In a way, that worried him more.

“High Prophet,” said the deity, “you have failed me.”

Velixar lowered his eyes to the ground. “I have, my Lord. We came on the enemy from behind, ready to strike them down, but they proved resilient. Wolf-men from the forest came to their assistance, and though we killed all the beasts, we were too badly wounded and beaten to make chase.”

Karak crossed his arms, tilted his head.

“Are you not Velixar, my High Prophet, swallower of demons and betrayer of nations? You have told me your power was beyond measure. Yet a few pups and a fleeing band of Wardens managed to hold back you and your best?”

Karak was openly mocking him, drawing subdued snickers from the massive crowd of onlookers. Velixar refused to fall into the trap. Instead of reacting, he dropped even lower and stared at the ground.

“My power fled me, my Lord, and has not returned. For that, I was unprepared.”

“Are you certain, Prophet? Can you not feel the power surging through you even now?”

“I…”

Velixar closed his eyes, and sure enough, there it was, the force of the demon he’d swallowed, bubbling up within him like magma deep in a volcano. Confusion filled him, numbing any elation he might have felt. Why had it not been there when he needed it? What weakness of his had allowed it to vanish in his time of need?

“What do you have to say?” asked Karak.

He lifted his eyes to his god, rose to his knees, and held his arms out in supplication.

“I beg you to allow me to atone for my sins, my Lord,” he said, pleading, “I was weak and deserve to be punished.”

“And what should that punishment be? Your life?”

“My life is already yours to do with as you choose, my Lord.”

He closed his eyes and waited for Karak’s deathblow, but it never came.

“Rise, Prophet,” said the god. “Come to me.”

Velixar stood on rubbery legs and crossed the short expanse between them. Strangely, he felt the might inside him growing stronger with each step he took toward Karak. The deity stared down at him, a frown stretching his face.

“Disobedience of my law is the first step toward chaos,” Karak said. “I told you that if these men are to crush our opponents, they will do so at my side. That includes you, Prophet. And yet you disregarded my word and went out on your own.”

“I am sorry, my Lord.”

“Your admission of guilt means little, Prophet. You have sinned against me, and now must pay the price.”

Velixar cringed. “I accept your judgment.”

“Good.” Karak raised his head, his voice booming across the entire camp. “Failure to abide by my law is blasphemy, and the penalty for such a sin is harsh and unyielding.” He looked down at Velixar. “Prophet, your punishment is death.”

Velixar felt his entire body freeze, his heart stop, and the air in his lungs come to a halt.

“My Lord…” he whispered.

“However,” Karak said, “you may offer me a sacrifice in your stead. Turn to those who accompanied you in your betrayal, use your power, and destroy them.”

Velixar’s head shot up and he stared at his deity with confusion.

“What? But why?”

“This is not a time for questions, Velixar, but decisions. Kill those who joined you in disobedience. Let their deaths be a lesson to all.”

Velixar hesitated a moment, then gradually turned to look at Captain Oscar Wellington, who was standing in line with the rest of the surviving men who had rode out with him. The captain’s expression was filled with shock and betrayal. His hand lowered to the hilt of his sword, but he did not have time to yank it from its scabbard.
Other soldiers encircled them, weapons drawn. The injured were hefted from the ground and thrown to the front of the line, where they cringed, begging for mercy. One of the men tried to flee, only to have the tendon on the back of his ankle sliced from behind. He too was tossed, wailing, into the place of judgment.

“Bastard,” Wellington muttered. He stepped forward, head held high. It saddened Velixar to see the strength the man portrayed, knowing what he had to do. It was either their lives or his.

In the end, it was no choice at all.

Without a word, Velixar brought his hands up. The power inside him flowed from his pores, shadows swirling around his hands as he lifted them, facing the thirteen who had survived his failed mission. The other soldiers backed away, shouting in fear at the display of dark magic. The tendrils of pulsing darkness then surged forward, pouring into the mouths, noses, and eyes of Captain Wellington and the rest of his men. Their mouths opened, but they could not scream; their eyes bulged, but they could not see. The shadows crushed them, both inside and out, snapping bones, liquefying organs. Soon their bodies were formless masses, empty shells of flesh encased in armor. Velixar dropped his hands, the shadows retreating back into him, and what remained of Captain Wellington and his men collapsed with the clank of steel and the thud of flesh on flesh.

“So be it,” said Karak. He addressed the camp once more. “It is done. Order has been served. Burn the bodies and carry on. We are done here.”

With that, the deity turned and disappeared inside his massive pavilion. Velixar stood horrified, watching as the soldiers built a large pile of wood, then stripped the armor from the corpses and tossed the remains atop it. The bonfire was lit, and the flames filled the burgeoning night sky. The soldiers stood around the fire for a few moments, their heads bowed in reverence, then went about their business. They gave Velixar a wide berth, glancing at him with fear in their eyes.

He took a deep breath, gathered his courage, and swept into Karak’s pavilion. There he found the god sitting in the center of the huge space, legs crossed, hands on his knees. While sitting, the god’s gaze was level with his own, and those divine eyes snapped open when Velixar cleared his throat.

“Leave me, Prophet. Your tent was erected by the hawk carriage. Go there and think on what you have done.”

Velixar shook his head, willing himself to be strong. “Those were good men,” he told his god. “They were the best of the lot, the most brutal and loyal. It was a useless loss of life.”

Karak sighed.

“I expected more from you, Prophet. More knowledge, more
understanding
. Humans cling to their own lives above all else, and after that show of force, they will be more inclined to resist their chaotic impulses. None will betray me if they know it will mean their death.”

“You did not have to kill them. There are other ways to teach a lesson.”

“
I
did not kill them,” said Karak, tilting his head. “
You
did.”

“I…” Velixar began, but words failed him.

“You think you understand so much, Velixar, yet your pride will be the end of you. You have lived a little more than a hundred years, while I have existed for an eternity. Do not begin to think you know as much as I do.”

What game is this,
wondered Velixar.
What trick?

“You told me to execute them,” he said.

“I did, but the choice was yours. I am not blind to your selfishness, Prophet. I gave you a choice between killing the men who loyally followed your orders and sacrificing your own life. You chose to preserve your life, your
power
, and let others suffer the consequences of your failure. Consider that a lesson.”