Wrath of Lions Read online

  Since then, she had taken to flaunting seductive outfits whenever she entered court. It shamed her more than a little, but Laurel was nothing if not practical. Should she need to use her youthful beauty to accomplish her duties, so be it.

  The doors to the throne room were opened by the guards, and Pulo led her inside. The walls of the cavernous chamber were polished stone the color of rust. Enormous tapestries and banners hung from them, with the sigil of the royal Vaelor house—two swords crossed over a shield adorned with the image of Karak’s roaring lion—dominating all others.

  Two men she knew well stood before the dais supporting the ivory throne rimmed with curved grayhorn tusks. One was the man who had sent for her, Guster Halfhorn. The senior member of the Council of Twelve, Guster was a withered old man approaching eighty, with a wattled neck and brown eyes whitened by cataracts. The other man was Dirk Coldmine, representative of the lower Neldar townships. He was burly, with a thick black beard, and he wore his natty woolen doublet as if it were a suit rimmed with gold. Both raised a hand in greeting, and Guster’s pale lips lifted into a smile. Uncertainty and nerves sent dark thoughts spiking through Laurel’s mind. She didn’t know why court had been canceled earlier that day, nor did she understand why Guster had been so adamant that she arrive just as the rest of the castle was emptying out. They know of my sympathy for the minister’s plight.…Perhaps they think me a harlot and betrayer? She wrapped her arms over her breasts self-consciously and cast a fleeting glance behind her, fearing she would see a representative of the Sisters of the Cloth.

  Captain Jenatt presented her to the two Council members, knelt to kiss her hand, and then left the throne room. The clank of his armor sounded impossibly loud to Laurel as she stood before Guster and Dirk, her arms still wrapped around herself protectively. She tried to say something, but worry formed a lump in the back of her throat that made it impossible to form words.

  “I’m sure you are wondering why I called you here at this hour,” Guster said, his tone deep, throaty, and heavy with knowledge, befitting one who had lived so long.

  Laurel cleared her throat, found her voice. “I am quite curious,” she replied.

  The old man patted her on the shoulder, his gaze never leaving hers, even as her arms dropped to her sides. The same could not be said for Dirk Coldmine, whose eyes lingered on the swell of her breasts over her emerald-green bodice.

  “There will be answers soon, my dear,” Guster said. “But first, I wish to set your mind at ease. You are safe here and always will be. Please, let us go to the Council chamber.”

  With those words, Dirk offered Guster his shoulder and helped the older man scale the four broad steps onto the dais. Laurel trailed them, taking the familiar path around the massive throne, toward the door leading to the Council chamber. The vestibule was cold as ever, a stark contrast to the warmth of the rest of the tower.

  They entered a room of rough gray stone to find Karl Dogon, the king’s bodyguard, awaiting them. He lingered off to the side of the large table at which the council held their debates, the twelve wooden chairs—now empty—dwarfed by the king’s tall mahogany one. Dogon’s deep-set eyes stared blankly from his rectangular head at the visitors. He nodded to them, inviting them to sit, which they did, taking the chairs closest to the king’s. Dogon then disappeared through the side entrance.

  The three sat in uncomfortable silence for what felt like an hour, before footfalls pounded down the stairs on the other side of the door. Dogon re-entered, and then King Eldrich Vaelor appeared behind him. Laurel hastily rose from her seat in respect, as did Guster and Dirk. She held her breath as she took in the fact that the king was dressed in a modest, white, cotton tunic and breeches, not his usual lavish royal garb. She had always known him to be a gaunt man, but without the added layers of clothing, he seemed almost sickly. He wore his thirty-eight years as if they had been a burden, his eyes rimmed with black circles above sallow cheeks. He had never been an attractive man, yet there had been something about his offbeat demeanor that Laurel had found appealing. That seemed to have disappeared, leaving a wan, despondent creature in its wake.

  The king motioned for his guests to sit. Laurel’s heart beat so fast and loud, she feared the others would hear it in the insufferable silence.

  King Eldrich sighed, and then leaned back in his chair, propping his elbow on the armrest so he could cup his bony chin in his palm. “First, the lesser business,” he said. The thin man’s eyes darted to his bodyguard, who stood sentry at the side of the table, and Dogon produced a folded piece of parchment from the sack hanging on his hip.

  “What is this about, your Grace?” Guster asked when Dogon handed him the paper.

  “Just read the letter,” replied King Eldrich. “Out loud, if you’d please.”

  Laurel sank back into herself, feeling just as lost as ever. Here she was, privy to some sort of strange, private meeting, and she had yet to be acknowledged by the king. And it was so damn cold. She wished she were home in bed, her blankets piled high atop her.

  Guster’s eyes scanned the words on the page, and once he reached the bottom, he glanced across the table at Dirk.

  “I’m sorry,” the old man said. “Dirk, your brother, Deacon, has passed away.”

  Dirk grunted, his expression unchanging. “Figured as much, though it took them long enough to tell me. How did he die?”

  The old man scanned the letter again, then shrugged. “It doesn’t say.”

  “No matter,” replied Dirk.

  “Do you wish to retrieve the body?” asked the king wearily.

  Dirk shook his head.

  “Deacon made his own bed when he took a secret family. I’ve made sure his true wife and children are cared for. Honestly, Deacon’s been dead to me for some time.”

  “You shouldn’t be so harsh,” said Guster. “Your brother paid his penance to Karak with his life.”

  “He did? And how did he do that?”

  Guster shrugged. “The letter doesn’t say, but we have both heard Clovis Crestwell say those words.”

  “Nevertheless, his actions allowed countless innocents to die,” Dirk muttered under his breath. He glanced up at King Eldrich and asked, “Any word on his whore and bastards?”

  The king frowned. “No. It seems they have…disappeared, along with most everyone else in the delta. According to Lord Commander Avila, his body was found in front of the destroyed temple. The citizens of Haven seemed to have left it behind when they fled their home.” He held his arms out wide, his voice dripping with derision. “But then again, I am but a puppet king. We’re lucky I received word of Deacon’s demise at all, even if it was six months late.”

  Laurel scratched at her temple, utterly baffled by the conversation. She cleared her throat to gather her courage, and all eyes turned to her.

  “I apologize for being rude, your Grace,” she said sheepishly, “but I don’t understand. Why am I here?”

  The king smiled at her, a spark of life returning to his eyes. “Ah, Councilwoman Lawrence. You are here at my behest.”

  “Why?”

  King Eldrich peered at each person in the room, then back at her. “Because you are young. Because you are nice to look at. And because Halfhorn has told me you’re a bright young woman, and I often find myself surrounded by cravens and fools.” He chuckled. “By that bastard Karak, some have called me both on more than one occasion.”

  “You aren’t either, your Grace,” she replied, trying to ignore his blasphemy.

  He waved his hand at her. “We shall find out soon enough.”

  Laurel frowned. Guster’s wrinkled hand fell atop hers, and the old man leaned forward, speaking kindly.

  “These are trying times, Laurel, and there are few to be trusted. I have vouched that you are one of those few.”

  “I…I’m honored.”

  “And now that Crestwell has been replaced by the First Man as the Highest, the need for secrecy is paramount, which is why I cancelled court today
and asked you to come here in secret,” the king said. He lowered his head and shook it. “Clovis was an uppity fuck to be sure, but I trust the one who now whispers in Karak’s ear even less.”

  Laurel swallowed hard. Clovis had become a rarity around the castle over the last few months, and the last time she’d seen him, he had looked…wrong. His head of platinum hair had been shaved clean off, his body had been hunched at odd angles, and his eyes had developed an unhealthy red hue. She thought of her father, dying in his bed back in Omnmount, and wondered if perhaps the Highest were succumbing to the Wasting as well. The thought of one of Karak’s first creations, a supposed immortal developing such a sickness, gave her the shivers. The First Families were all but dying out. What would become of Neldar if none were left to guide them?

  “What bothers you, girl?” asked the king.

  “Nothing,” she replied. She knew she must be strong before these men. It was a great honor to have been asked to this meeting, and she would not ruin it by exposing her weakness. Lifting her shoulders back, she took a deep breath and said, “However, I do not understand the need for secrecy, even if Clovis Crestwell is no longer the Highest. This is still Karak’s kingdom, is it not? Does our Divinity not walk among us? What do we have to fear?”

  All four men—Dogon included—burst into laughter. Laurel forced herself not to blush.

  “There is much you do not know,” said Dirk when the laughing died down. “For example, what do you know of Haven?”

  She shrugged. “The truth. The delta was filled with thieves, murderers, and godless heathens who built a blasphemous temple. Karak and the Highest ordered them to tear it down, and when they refused, they were bathed in fire.”

  “True enough,” said King Vaelor. “And then Ashhur appeared, and the brother gods came to blows. A formerly peaceful union was broken, paving the path to war.”

  Laurel nodded.

  “And that, my dear girl, is the problem,” said Guster. “Karak neglects his city. He locks himself in the temple beyond the walls, preparing for war with his brother, when he should be here, helping keep the peace. Our children receive no blessings; our frightened populace is granted no assurances. Instead, Jacob Eveningstar has appeared and grasped Clovis’s mantle, taking a new name and foreswearing his loyalty to Ashhur.” He offered a disgusted gesture. “Our men march in armies now, leaving our streets teeming with cowards and thieves. And that doesn’t take into account those damn corpses hanging on the wall. The blasphemers I could perhaps understand, but Crian and the western deserter? It makes no sense. If Karak cared about his people in the slightest, he wouldn’t have allowed the First Man to create such a display.”

  Laurel shivered. The First Man had long black hair and a haunting stare, and he carried himself with such confidence that the mere sight of him was intimidating. However, besides his command to hang the bodies of the treasonous outside the castle, the man who now called himself Highest Velixar had done nothing but linger in the background during Council meetings. Sightings of him were rare.

  “I know little of the new Highest,” she said. “But beyond a grisly reminder to the disloyal, what has he done that warrants such secrecy and blasphemous talk? And as for the coming war, it was Ashhur who broke his promise by interfering with Karak’s punishment of his own creations. What would you have our Divinity do? Paradise must be taught a lesson, just like those in Haven.”

  “There is a time for war, and there is a time for diplomacy,” said Guster softly. “I fear the latter would be more appropriate now.”

  “Are you doubting our god?” asked Laurel, aghast.

  “We are,” replied King Vaelor. The king leaned forward, his stubble-covered cheeks flushing red. “After all, we are free men, are we not? That was supposed to be Karak’s promise—every man was to live freely so long as he pledged his loyalty to his creator. Let us ignore the paradox of that statement and deal with the facts as we know them. Karak’s law says we are to honor him, but does it say anywhere that we are never to question his decisions?”

  “Not explicitly,” said Laurel.

  “Exactly. Yet I fear that, should I march to his temple and pose these questions to him, you would wake up tomorrow with your old king hanging from a chain alongside the bodies of the First Families while a new king sat on the throne. Would you like that, girl?”

  Laurel averted her eyes from the king’s angry gaze. She felt like a minnow circled by sharks.

  It was Dirk’s turn to comfort her.

  “Don’t feel ashamed, Laurel,” he said. “I love Karak as much as anyone. You know this. And I understand how shocking it can be to realize that life is not as simple as it once seemed. Even I can see the flaw in what is happening to our realm. The purpose of this meeting is not to decry our creator, but to come up with a plan.”

  “A plan for what?” she muttered.

  Karl Dogon spoke for the first time that evening.

  “For what will happen if Karak loses this war.”

  Everyone seemed shocked to hear his voice—all but the king, who looked relaxed as he reclined in his chair.

  “Exactly,” said King Eldrich. “The men who have trained all their lives to become blacksmiths, farmers, apothecaries, healers, horsemen, potters, craftsmen, stonemasons, shoemakers, and bakers have been taken from us. The women of the realm have been forced to take their place, and though you and I might argue about the merits of the fairer sex, you cannot argue with the fact that they have spent their lives as mothers, knitters, and nursemaids. Most have not been trained in the art of firing a kiln or fashioning iron, yet these skills are necessary for the success of our society. Our city is overrun by thieves and vagrants that our meager Watch is helpless to stop. Production of goods has come to a standstill, and those who are not in the military are slowly starving. After such a brutal winter, food is in short supply, and it would take all of Neldar working together to replenish our dwindling resources. But the men who march in our fields now wield swords instead of plowshares. Pleas for food come from every corner of our land…pleas I have no choice but to ignore since we have none to give.”

  Laurel thought of the battalions of armored soldiers she’d watched march down the streets of the city one month before. There had been hundreds of them, all Veldaren natives, their armor, swords, axes, and maces clattering as they worked their way through the crowds of women who cheered and shouted prayers for their safe return. They had appeared well fed, and the combined skills of Neldar had been showcased in every finely made piece of armor and sharpened blade.

  “This war strains us greatly, but it will not last long,” she said. “My mother told me of the people of Paradise. They are lazy and ignorant, and they expect their god Ashhur to grant them their desires so they may live in childish servitude. Weak and defenseless, what will they do when our soldiers march against them? When Karak leads our brothers into Paradise, the people there will have no choice but to bow before him.”

  Or else their bodies will be hung from a wall like Minister Mori’s, she thought.

  “I dream of such an easy war,” said King Vaelor. “Ashhur has had six months to prepare. Do you think he has spent that time idly? Do you think he will allow his creations to be slaughtered without a fight? Yes, I have heard stories about Haven and the great fire from the sky that destroyed the blasphemers.…But I have also heard of how the very ground shook when the brother gods battled, of how in his rage Ashhur cut down our soldiers with his sword as if they were stalks of wheat. No, I fear Karak will cross the river to find that a once frightened sheep has become a braying wolf. Six months is not time enough to train an entire populace in the art of war—an art that we have not yet mastered, mind you—but they will fight for the lives they’ve been given. And none of this takes into account the crisis of numbers we’re facing.”

  “What do you mean?”

  The king motioned toward Guster. The old man straightened in his chair and looked Laurel’s way.

  “Our society is
strong, Laurel, and hearty, but compared to Paradise we are woefully outnumbered. Our years of incessant breeding have granted us a population of more than eighty thousand. However, of that eighty thousand, the force our god has gathered amounts to barely a quarter of that number. The rest of our society is comprised of women, children, and the elderly. Here in the east at least one in three children do not reach adulthood, but in Paradise there is no sickness; no mothers die on the birthing bed and no children perish. Health is in such abundance that we hear tales that a hundred from the first generation still endure, albeit old as sin. And believe me when I say that those in Paradise have bred just as feverishly as we have. Their people outnumber ours three to one, and that is a conservative estimate.”

  Laurel leaned back in her chair, stunned. She had never thought of that; the sheer numbers were staggering. It made her head spin.

  “I didn’t realize,” she said, head bowed. She felt lost and afraid, her entire reality crashing down before her. It only made matters worse that she did not know what was expected of her.

  “Do you understand now why we must prepare for the worst?” asked the king.

  “I do,” she said, her voice weak. “But why me? Why am I trustworthy when others are not? What do I have to offer?”

  At those words, Dirk sat back in his seat and cupped his hands just below his chest. A charge of anger rushed through Laurel, making her dig her fingernails into her palms below the table, but she held her tongue.