Wrath of Lions (63 page)

At once, both lions leapt into action, bolting across the gore-splattered floor and out the door. A moment later, Laurel could hear the
clang
of metal and men screaming. Her jaw trembled. She wanted to get up, to sneak into the chamber behind the throne and scurry up to King Eldrich’s private quarters, but she was frozen in place.

Marius, who had been cowering in the corner throughout Laurel’s ordeal, stepped out into the open. He was shaking, though he tried to hide it. When he went to exit, Joben stepped in front of him.

“You, take care of her,” the former mumbling priest said as he shoved Marius back into the room. “Bring her to the dungeons, and then take out that useless sword of yours and join the fight.”

“Do you think that wise? Should we not be hiding? I feel the Sisters—”

Joben lifted the front of his cloak, revealing flesh scarred in an interlacing pattern by the lions’ claws.

“You will not question my words, Councilman. I have been marked by the Judges. I serve them, and by serving them, I serve Karak. You…are nothing. My acolytes are mere boys, and they are better than you. Should you find fault in my commands, you can face judgment as well.”

Marius closed his mouth and vehemently shook his head.

“Good. Now go.”

Joben left the throne room, and moments later Marius marched across the floor, grabbing Laurel by the arm. Her mind was reeling. None of what was happening made any sense in the slightest.

Her fellow Council member yanked her out of the horrific throne room and into the hallway beyond. Instead of heading toward the front entrance, where a battle raged, he hauled her down a side passage. Laurel had never been in this part of the tower before, and when Marius threw a door open, she understood why. A set of stairs led into total darkness. Her captor hauled her down them, into a torch-lit burrow whose ceiling was so low they had to squat, and then up an opposite stairwell. At the top was another door, and when Marius shoved it open, a double row of iron-barred gray cells was revealed.

The gates to the cages were open, and Marius threw her into one of them. She landed hard on the hay-covered ground, cracking her chin and biting her tongue in the process. Blood pooled in her mouth. She rolled over, saw that there was a corpse in there with her, and hastily crawled away from it. She kicked over the piss pot in her desperation, which spilled its contents, making the stink of the place all the more unbearable. As the gate to her cell swung shut, she drew her knees to her chin and rocked in place, her mind a whirl of terror and disbelief.

Marius lingered at the bars for a moment, staring at her, his plain features turned malevolent in the torchlight.

“I do pray the end for you is quick, Laurel,” he said softly. “But perhaps I will ask Joben if I can spend some time with you first. You have always been nice to look at.” Yet there was no power behind his words. When he left, he snuffed out the only torch brightening that level of the dungeon, leaving Laurel in complete blackness, and when her mind broke and she began to scream, she was very much conscious of how strange it was that such a primal sound could come from her little mouth.

C
HAPTER

32

R
ain fell in sheets, creating streams that flowed through gaps in the rocks where the group of humans and Wardens were hiding. Lightning flashed overhead, illuminating the camp in front of them in a brief moment of clarity. Hundreds of tents were perched on the harsh, dead earth. There were horses too, more than one could count, along with carelessly built wagons and one durable wooden structure. Soaked banners bearing the mark of Karak hung limp from their poles. It was a huge settlement, and those gathered were arguing quietly among themselves as to how many might be sleeping in the tents below. Ephraim Wendover suggested five hundred. Judah countered with ten thousand.

“Enough. They will hear us if you keep arguing.”

Ahaesarus sighed and looked at the camp through the curtain of his sodden hair. He didn’t care how many men were gathered in the valley. All that mattered was that they had found it, and quickly.

There were eight of them in the group: Ahaesarus led the Wardens Judah, Grendel, and Ludwig, while Ephraim had been placed in charge of three young men, Craxton, Enoch, and Uulon, Turock and Abigail’s son-in-law. Each carried a sword that had
been recently hammered out at Turock’s secret new smithy. They had departed via raft from Blood Tower just as sunset stretched its crimson fingers across the sky, and after making landfall on the other side of the raging Gihon, they had proceeded to follow their enemies’ embedded footprints deep into the lifeless hills and valleys of the Tinderlands.

The cold rains had started to fall after only an hour, the downpour washing away many of the tracks. When the footing turned treacherous, Ahaesarus started to think they should turn back. But luck seemed to be with them, for only a few moments later they stumbled on an overturned carriage whose wheel had become stuck in one of the many gaping cracks in the earth, snapping its axel. From there they climbed the uneven rise where they now stood, and found the sleeping encampment spread out beneath them.

Ephraim turned to him, squeezed water from his thick beard, and scrambled to get a better position on the perch. “I assume we’re done here?” he whispered. “Turock wished to know what we were facing, and now we do.”

“No,” Ahaesarus said, shaking his head. “We already knew Karak’s men were here. What we need to know is their true numbers and whether this is their only camp. The attacks have been spread out for miles. It’s possible this is but a portion of their total force.”

Enoch crept closer. Water dripped from the tip of the young man’s large nose, drawing attention to the way one side of his mouth was twisted higher than the other in a frustrated grimace.

“We’re only eight; what else could we possibly do?”

Ahaesarus closed his eyes, listening to the camp through the constant patter of the rain.

“They are overconfident,” he said, a plan forming in his mind. Opening his eyes, he scurried along the edge of the gradient, trying to find a better vantage point.

“So?” asked Craxton. “How does that matter?”

“It means there are no guards,” Judah replied, and Ahaesarus silently thanked him. The Warden’s hair, black as night, appeared almost blue in the rain. Judah had been by his side when Ashhur and Celestia arrived in Algrahar. If any knew what he was thinking, it was he.

“Which tells us much about their camp and their defenses,” he said. “They don’t view this as a true war. It has never crossed their minds that the people of Drake might attack them or deploy scouts.” He pointed toward the camp, and seven sets of eyes followed his finger. “There should be soldiers marching the perimeter, keeping an eye on the surrounding hills. Yet I hear nothing but snores and the occasional whimper of one who fell too far into his cups and regrets it.”

“All I hear is rain,” said Enoch.

“A Warden’s ears are better,” Ahaesarus said, though not unkindly.

Ephraim shrugged. “That is all well and good, Warden, but again, what are we to do?”

“We will take from them the information we seek,” Ahaesarus said, as if it were obvious.

“How?”

He grabbed Ephraim by the front of his drenched leather surcoat and pulled him toward the edge of the gradient. “Do you see that tent down there?” he asked.

“Which one? Point all you want; there’s dozens of tents down there.”

“The largest, standing twice as high as the rest. The one with a banner on each corner post.”

Ephraim squinted. “Yeah, I see it. What of it?”

“Whoever leads this army will have the most luxurious accommodations, a way of reaffirming his position and power to the others. Their leader sleeps in that tent…a tent guarded by nothing but sleeping men.”

“You’re insane,” Ephraim said. “But by Ashhur, I think I like the craziness you’re suggesting. Let’s go grab the information we need!”

Not five minutes later, seven furtive intruders scampered down the other side of the rocky hill. Craxton stayed behind so he could flee back to Drake should they be captured. The pounding rain helped erase any noise they made, which was not inconsiderable. The hill was covered with water, and there were a slew of loose stones underfoot. Many members of the party bounced down the hill with each blind step, but no one in the sleeping camp was the wiser.

When they reached the camp, they took it slow, tiptoeing between the many tents. The four Wardens took the lead, their stronger eyesight allowing them to spot obstructions that might give them away, such as a stray cooking pot or an empty jug of wine resting against one of the tent’s support ropes. The whole while the rain kept falling, the sound the drops made when they struck the canvas tents eerie in their fleshiness. Careful as they were, it took them nearly half an hour to weave through the obstacles and reach the largest tent. They drew to a halt before it, the awning providing a needed respite from the downpour, and listened for any noise from inside. There was none to be heard, not even snores. For a moment Ahaesarus feared he would enter the massive canvas enclosure and find it empty, but he shoved that thought away and signaled to Ephraim that it was time. The bearded man’s eyes were alive with nervous energy when he nodded in reply.

The party slowly and carefully drew their swords, and Ludwig pulled back the tent’s entrance flap. The humans entered first, as they were able to pass through the opening while standing fully upright, whereas the Wardens needed to stoop. Ahaesarus was the last to enter. He left Ludwig outside to keep watch, touching his lips with two fingers, telling his fellow Warden that if there were trouble, he should call out to them. The flap closed quietly behind him after he squatted through the opening.

The interior of the tent was like another world. Instead of hard stone and meager tufts of yellow grass, boards had been placed
down to create an actual floor. Luckily, those boards were covered in many places by plush mats, which damped the sound of the water dripping from their hair and clothes. The place was furnished with a washbasin and chamber pot on one side, and two large cabinets on the other. In the center was a large table on which burned the candles that provided scant illumination.

But it was what rested opposite them that drew the six farther inside. A bed was raised off the ground on four thick legs. Beside it was yet another cabinet, and hanging from that was a suit of armor and a massive, curved sword. On the bed was a lump whose chest rose and fell lazily.

Ahaesarus handed Grendel his sword, and Ephraim gave his to Judah, and without a word spoken between them, they inched their way across the wooden slats, approaching the bed. As they steered around the table and chairs, they caught sight of a map that had been opened atop the table, the corners held down by the burning candles. Ephraim turned and pointed at it. Uulon and Enoch sheathed their blades and removed the candles, rolling up the map.

His heart hammering in his chest, Ahaesarus and Ephraim snuck even closer, until they stood on either side of the bed. Ahaesarus looked down. The sleeper was middle aged, perhaps in the midst of his fifth decade, with straight hair cut short, graying around the temples. The side of his face was marred by a scar that ran along the side of his chin, rounded his jaw, and stopped at the vacant hole where his left ear should have been. Ahaesarus glanced around the room once more.
You certainly paid for your rank,
he thought.

He withdrew a burlap sack and piece of cloth from the bag tied to his belt, while Ephraim uncoiled a length of rope. Ahaesarus then leaned over, holding his hand in front of the man’s face, feeling the sleeper’s breath on his fingertips.

Ready?
mouthed Ephraim. Ahaesarus nodded. In an instant, Ephraim shoved the cloth across the man’s mouth as Ahaesarus
wrapped his arms around the naked man’s neck. The man immediately began to thrash and tried to cry out, but Ephraim pressed all the harder. So too did Ahaesarus tighten his arms, choking the breath out of the man. Together they kept his cries muffled as he struggled, until at last his movements slowed, and his body went limp.

Their quarry down and out, Ephraim went about binding the man’s wrists and feet while Ahaesarus stuffed the rag deeper into his mouth and threw the burlap sack over his head. Uulon and Enoch tried to lift him, but the man was too heavy for them to hold up without great effort, so Ahaesarus and Judah took over the duties of carrying his unconscious body. They left the large tent, eliciting a surprised grunt from Ludwig, and then worked their way back through the camp. The rain had slowed, making their movements noticeable this time. The fear was ever present that they might stir the sleeping soldiers to wakefulness, especially given the difficulty he and Judah had in lugging the man’s dead weight between them. They even heard a few moans and groans from the smaller tents as they passed them. Ahaesarus felt as though he were holding his breath the whole time. Right then and there he decided that should the soldiers awaken, should they emerge to find the seven of them sneaking off with their leader, they would simply throw the man’s body down and flee, their mission be damned.

It proved unnecessary, for they reached the rocky hill from whence they’d come without incident. A few moments later, after slipping and sliding and almost careening into one another, they made it over the top. Their tracks were still visible, and they followed them back through the decaying wasteland. The thought occurred to Ahaesarus that the soldiers would wake eventually to find their leader gone, and would follow their tracks.
It does not matter,
he thought. If luck were with them, they would be back at Blood Tower with their prize before any were the wiser.

“You did it,” said Craxton when they rejoined him on the other side of the hill, before hustling over the stones and gullies of the Tinderlands. “I thought Turock was sending us to our deaths, but you did it.”

“We did,” Ahaesarus said, though as he looked at their prisoner’s naked body as it hung between Judah and him, he had a hard time taking any pride in that fact.