Wrath of Lions

CHAPTER 28

Avila marched her horse back and forth in front of the sixteen prisoners. They were dressed in roughspun, their faces dirty, their eyes downcast. Their unnamed village burned behind them, its protective wall shattered.

Letting out a sigh, Avila examined each and every face before her. The sixteen were all old. It had been the same in the other settlements they’d recently liberated. No young men or Wardens had stayed behind to fight. Just the old and sick. Her nerves were frayed, and her men were growing lazy and foul tempered.

Feeling a tug on her hair, Avila glanced behind her. Willa, sitting firmly on the rear of the saddle with her arms wrapped around Avila’s waist, gazed up at her with innocent blue eyes.

“Miss Avila, will they follow Karak too?” the girl asked.

“We shall see, young one.”

Her soldiers, formed into ranks behind her, shuffled on restless feet. She spied Malcolm standing at the forefront, his helm resting in the crook of his arm as his one good eye stared at her with interest. His sword hand flexed. She knew what he wished her to do: There is no mercy. There is order, or there is death. Once more Avila looked at the little girl.

I give my own mercy, she thought, her heart welling with pride. Karak has granted me that freedom.

She nudged her mare toward the awaiting prisoners. One of them, a woman with thinning white hair, fell to her knees and wept. Avila nodded, drew Integrity, and pointed it toward the ground.

“You have been liberated!” she shouted at them. “Karak has shown his compassion by allowing you to live. All who relinquish belief in the false deity of Paradise, fall to your knees like your sister has done. You will be granted a life of liberty for the rest of your days.”

The woman who had collapsed looked up at her with confusion and then raised her hands. At first Avila thought she was about to sing Karak’s praises, but the elderly men beside her took hold of her arms, lifting her up. She stood there, swaying, head down, white hair dangling in front of her face. None moved to kneel.

Another woman stepped forward, stared at Avila with sadness in her eyes, and began to sing. The rest of the sixteen joined in, one after another, until the morning air was filled with joyous song. Avila recognized the tune and the words coming from their mouths; it was one of the songs of the Wardens, taught to her when she was still a child, just a year or so removed from her mother’s breast.

The singing echoed throughout the valley. Avila gaped at the sixteen in disbelief. Not only had they turned aside the chance to live, they were actively denouncing Karak with their song. It was an audacious act, one she had not expected. Those who had been given this same offer in the previous three settlements had acquiesced immediately. Avila felt her soldiers tense behind her, felt Malcolm’s hard stare on her back. Lifting Integrity, she pointed it at the sixteen, made a quick swiping motion. It did nothing to silence them; their song only grew louder.

“Enough!” she shouted, her voice cracking so that she sounded like a pubescent girl instead of the Lord Commander of Karak’s Army. The sixteen closed their eyes, lifted their chins to the sky, and kept right on singing. Avila spotted movement behind her, and she knew exactly who it was.

“These are my prisoners, Captain,” she told Malcolm, halting his path with her sword. “Mine to do with as I choose.”

Malcolm stared up at her, head tilted to the side. Strangely enough, he did not seem angered by Avila’s show of authority; he appeared more intrigued than anything. He bowed his head and rejoined the soldiers to the rear.

Avila knew what she must do.

“You must get down now, little Willa,” she said, turning to look at Willa. “Miss Avila has duties to attend to.”

Willa glanced at her sword. Avila followed her gaze and saw the child’s reflection in the blade. “You’re going to cut them, aren’t you?” the girl asked.

“I am,” she replied.

“Why?”

“Remember your lessons? To worship Ashhur is to turn away from Karak, and to turn away from Karak is to invite chaos into your life. It is a mortal sin, and one that cannot go unpunished.”

Willa sucked in her lips, looking to be deep in concentration. “But what if they don’t know any better?” the girl finally asked. “What if they just want to sing pretty, and they need a good teacher, like you?”

“Well,” Avila began, but no reply came to her.

“I’ll talk to them, Miss Avila,” Willa said. “Can I? Please?”

She stared at the girl, uncertainty washing over her. She knew hundreds of eyes watched her this very moment, knew that her men were judging her. But in that moment, she realized she didn’t care. Sheathing Integrity, she threw her leg over the saddle and dismounted, then helped Willa down as well.

“I’ll do good,” the girl said. “I promise.”

With that, Willa toddled toward the sixteen. Almost as soon as she reached the old woman in front, the one who had sung the first note, the song faltered. The woman gawked down at the young girl, who was insistently yanking on the front of her smock.

“What is it, child?”

Willa beckoned her forward with her finger, and the old woman bent her arthritic back so the girl could whisper in her ear. The old woman nodded once, twice, and then gave Willa a soft smile. By that time the others had stopped singing as well, staring at Willa and the old woman. They gathered around the two of them, and Avila could hear soft murmurs from the knot of wrinkled flesh.

When finally they ceased their talk, the elders nodded at the young girl with the bouncing golden curls as she skipped away from them. A few even had the audacity to smile. The old woman who had first spoken with Willa stepped forward. She bowed her head in Avila’s direction while those behind her milled about.

Willa took her place at Avila’s side, and Avila felt a tiny hand slip into hers. The little girl was beaming, all dimples and tiny teeth as she stared up at her. Avila’s heart fluttered as she brought her attention to her captives.

“Do you renounce Ashhur?” she asked once more. “Do you reject chaos and allow Karak into your hearts?”

“No,” they all replied, one after the other. Their voices sounded weary yet strong. Beside Avila, Willa let loose a high-pitched whimper filled with anguished surprise.

Avila frowned at the young girl. “You wish to seal your fate in the eyes of Karak?” she said to the sixteen.

The old woman who had begun the song lifted her eyes.

“Our god is our god,” she said. “Ashhur is love and forgiveness, and we will not forget that, even though the sprite has begged us otherwise.”

Avila turned toward her charges, summoning Malcolm and four underlings to come forward. She then addressed the sixteen once more.

“You have been found guilty of blasphemy,” she proclaimed. “The penalty is death.” She looked to Malcolm. “Be brutal in the face of our god, captain.”

“As always, Lord Commander,” said Malcolm, smiling.

The captain nodded to his underlings and began to slide Darkfall from its sheath on his back. Willa broke down in tears, causing the sixteen to frown and shake their heads. The old woman even mouthed I’m sorry to her. The girl started to tug violently on Avila’s armor. She glanced down, saw those tiny, perfectly smooth cheeks stained with tears.

“Please no, Miss Avila,” Willa said, her lower lip quivering. The girl’s eyes kept darting toward Malcolm, who drew ever closer to the blasphemers.

“You know what must happen, Willa,” Avila reminded her. “They have decided their fates.”

“But they sang.”

“Yes…the songs of Ashhur. They turned their backs on Karak.”

Willa tugged harder on her armor. “But maybe they just don’t know better, Miss Avila!” she cried. “Couldn’t we just…capture them? You could teach them like you’ve taught me. Wouldn’t Karak like that better than killing them?”

Avila stared down at her, uncertainty washing over her. When she tore her eyes away from the girl, she saw Malcolm grab the old woman at the front of the sixteen and toss her to the ground while the four underlings prepared a large stone to place beneath her head. She looked at Willa once more, saw the tears that were now flowing in torrents.

What would Karak want? Converts or destruction?

“Captain, stop!” she called out.

Malcolm slowly turned toward her, Darkfall held out by his side. His good eye narrowed. Willa squeezed her hand, the warmth of her flesh giving Avila strength.

“These sixteen are not to be harmed,” she declared. “Bring them to the other converts. They will be shown the glory of the Divinity, whether or not they wish it.”

The captain cocked his head, a look of disappointment on his scarred face, but he did not move.

“Now, Captain Gregorian,” she said. “Get them out of my sight.”

Malcolm stepped back and sheathed Darkfall while the underlings helped the old woman back to her feet, leading the sixteen to the massive tent where the converts of Paradise were kept. The soldiers gathered around, many of them shaking their heads in apparent disgust. But they did not concern Avila. Her focus was on the sixteen; she watched the expressions on their faces, the tiny waves the women gave Willa as they passed her. Avila then looked down at the girl, whose smile stretched wide across her rosebud lips as she returned their waves. She heard Malcolm shouting for the men to return to the camp on the other side of the Gods’ Road. The repetitive clomping of their boots kicked up a massive cloud of dust, echoing the smoke that rose into the air from the smoldering village.

Only after her soldiers had disappeared over the ridge did she lift Willa into the saddle. The girl was still smiling, and she seemed reluctant to release Avila’s hand. When she finally did, Avila removed her glove and petted the child’s satiny golden locks.

“I’m sorry they didn’t say yes to Karak,” Willa said.

“I know, and so am I. But worry not, young one, they will. We will make sure of that.”

The girl kicked her legs happily. “Good.”

“I am curious, though. What did you tell them?”

Willa’s head bounced from side to side.

“I told them they could learn to love Karak just like I had. That I really, really wished they would, because I didn’t want to see them get cut.”

Avila chuckled. “Very smart of you, Willa. Very smart indeed. I am proud of you.”

“Thanks, Miss Avila.”

She patted the girl’s back. “I give praise where praise is due, little one. Now slide back onto the saddle and hold on tight. We are heading back to camp. I think Varshrom the cook is making mushroom stew this evening, and I, for one, am famished.”

Willa’s cherubic face scrunched up in a grimace. “I don’t like mushrooms.”

Avila leaned in and whispered in her ear. “I don’t either, little one. But I hear they will have lemon cakes too.”

The little girl’s eyes widened with excitement. “Yes!” she said in an urgent whisper. “I love lemon cakes!”

Avila thought her heart could melt.

She watched the girl sleep, her tiny chest rising and falling, her rosebud lips parting every so often to mutter dream-speak. Avila stroked her hair the whole time, unable to stop herself, even when Willa whimpered and rolled onto her side. There was no mistaking it; for as much as she might have once wished it weren’t the case, Avila was smitten.

Not that it was such a bad thing. Having spent countless days with the little girl, Avila had begun to give her the same sort of doting attention she’d received from her own mother at that age. It felt as if she had discovered something missing from her life. She had always felt a sort of emptiness, a hole that she’d once thought could only be filled by Karak. Now that hole was slowly disappearing. She lifted Willa’s limp hand and kissed her chubby little fingers one after another. With each kiss she promised the child that she would never leave her, that once Karak won the war she would build a homestead at the base of the mountain range that bore her family’s name, and they would settle there. She would become a mother instead of a soldier. Perhaps she would even find a mate to fill her with seed, giving Willa a sister or brother, perhaps several, a whole lot of brats who would bicker and cry and fight and call her Mother. She would get old and die, and she would be happy for it.

She thought again of her own mother, whom she had not seen for nearly a year. She missed her so, just as she did her father, although she would never have admitted it in the past, for it would have meant admitting to weakness, and Lord Commander Avila Crestwell was not weak.

Sighing, she placed Willa’s hands over her chest and rose from her lounging position. Fastening a curtain to shield the girl from the brightness, she lit the candles on her desk. The light danced off the canvas walls of the pavilion, creating shadows that became formless monsters, beasts bent on destroying the child behind the curtain. There was nothing out there, she knew, but she shivered nonetheless. That was another thing Avila had learned since she’d taken Willa in; while she felt no fear in the face of death, the thought of harm coming to the girl filled her with dread.

She sat down in her chair and moaned at the sudden onset of a backache. This was new as well; her bones constantly throbbed, her hands and feet felt hot all the time, and she was having trouble sleeping. She had often heard of the healing magic possessed by those most devout to Ashhur, and right about now she wished for a touch of it. Her hand came up to trace the scars Crian had given her.

Yes, I could use some healing magic indeed.

Something soft scraped past the entrance flap of the pavilion, making her jump. She instinctively reached for Integrity (Crian’s old sword), but it was far away, hanging from a hook beside her bedroll. Tensing, she glanced behind her, listened for Willa’s tiny breaths, and then turned toward the entrance once more. A hand snuck through the fold, pulled the flap aside. For a fleeting moment she thought it was a demon of living shadow, coiling and writhing and ready to suck the life from her little girl. But then Malcolm stepped into the pavilion, and that image faded.

“What are you doing here?” she asked harshly. Realizing she wore nothing but her smallclothes, she hastily grabbed the blanket from the back of her chair, draping it over her body. The impulse surprised her. She had never been one for modesty.

“I wish to talk,” Malcolm said, respectfully bowing his head.

“It is late, Captain, and I require sleep. Return in the morning.”

“This is important, Lord Commander.”

“Important enough to deny my orders?”

Malcolm raised the eyebrow over his good eye. “As a matter of fact, yes.”

She shook her head in resignation and kicked at the chair opposite her, knocking it back a foot. Malcolm took the hint and approached, sitting down beside her. His posture was rigid, professional, but then again, that was Malcolm. She had only seen him drop his soldier’s discipline once, and that had been the night she’d kicked him out of her bed.

“So speak, Captain. I do not wish to be up all hours.”

Malcolm leaned forward, his elbows jabbing into his knees. His fingers traced the knobby scars that crossed over his milky left eye.

“Did I ever tell you how I got these scars?”

“Everyone knows, Captain. They were given to you by the Final Judges, when you proved your loyalty to Karak and earned your life.”

“Yes, but do you know why I was placed before the Judges in the first place?”

Avila drummed her fingers on the desk, waiting.

“I was a wild youth,” he said with a grimace. “I loved my liquor, I loved to fight, and I loved the ladies. I entered the academy, expecting a high position in the City Watch. It was the same position my father had, so I was owed it, right? That’s how I felt anyway. I was lazy, too self-confident for my own good, and I thought my future would be handed to me.

“I lagged in my training, and Vulfram Mori, who was Watch Captain at the time, sent me away. My father tossed me from the house, saying I had brought disrespect to the family, and my mother did nothing to stop him.” He smiled then, though his expression brimmed with disappointment. “That evening I went to the tavern, spent countless hours drowning in my cups. A certain girl struck my fancy, and though I cannot remember her name, I remember her face clearly. Eyes like sapphires, hair like soft wheat, skin pale and supple. I advanced on her, but she wanted none of it. Just like my father, she turned me away. For the rest of the night I watched her laugh and dance with the other maidens, even steal a kiss or two from dullards who could not hold a candle to my strength or station.”

His voice changed, growing cold, distant. Avila shivered, guessing at what came next.

“When the girl left, I followed her. I dragged her into an alley beside the tavern, and then I raped her, stabbed her, and left her to die. Afterward, I made my way to my parents’ house and killed them both as they slept.”

Avila swallowed hard, unsure of how to react. The deed was horrific, far worse than she’d anticipated, yet he spoke of it as though someone else had performed the vile crimes. She felt scared to speak, lest she break the spell and release the drunken, murderous beast from his tale.

“A member of the Watch caught me later,” Malcolm continued. “I was drunk off my heels and covered in blood. Someone had found the girl’s body by then, and it didn’t take them long to put it all together. They found my parents soon after, and by then my fate was sealed. I was arrested and brought before the court, where the Minister sentenced me to death. I called on the Judges, as was my right.”

Rocking forward in his chair, Malcolm met Avila’s gaze.

“Have you ever been in the same room as those lions?” he asked.

“Of course.”

Malcolm chuckled.

“Then you know the Judges are truly frightening creatures. I’m not one to scare easily, but the first time I saw them in that arena I knew true fear. I looked deep into their eyes as they stalked me, and I saw a world charred and broken, a world of death and desolation in which there was no law, no order. It was the underworld, of that I am certain-the embodiment of chaos. Then I saw my own reflection in their eyes. The chaos I saw in their eyes was the same chaos they saw in me. I’m not sure how I knew, but I did. I had become an agent of everything our god strives against. My life was one of slothfulness, pride, anger, drunkenness, and hate. Worthless. I felt more insignificant than the scum at the bottom of a festering wheat barrel. I fell to my knees, but I did not pray for forgiveness, for there is no such thing. Sin can only be absolved through sacrifice, as Karak has long taught. So I lifted my chin to the ceiling of that damned cold arena and offered my neck to the Judges so they could rip it out, releasing me from my sin.”

He rocked again, and he swallowed as if he’d just chewed something.

“Yet they did not kill me. Instead the male, Kayne, held me down while Lilah raked my face, taking my left eye and scarring me for life, ensuring that all who look on me know of my past sins. They then ambled back to their cages, leaving me alive and breathing. After that, Highest Crestwell took me into employ in the Palace Guard. Not once, not in all my days and nights of servitude, have I ever forgotten my sins, nor that the servants of our Lord allowed me to live.”

He stopped then, staring at her with his one good eye without moving.

“An interesting story,” Avila said, careful to keep her tone neutral. “Though I fail to see why the telling of it was worth disobeying my orders and interrupting my rest in the middle of the night.”

“I tell it so you may understand me when I say that though we bear similar scars, we are very different.” He reached out to touch the side of her face. Avila batted his hand away, and he frowned at her. “You have lost your way, Lord Commander. You have forgotten that forgiveness is foreign to us. You have turned your back on our god.”

Avila’s mouth dropped open. “How dare you enter my chambers and speak so to me? Have you forgotten your place, Captain?”

“I have not,” Malcolm said. “I am here to be your council, your advisor. And I advise you that the path you are taking is wrong.”

“I am a free women, a child of the First Family of Neldar. I will take whatever path I choose.”

“Even if that path leads away from Karak? You are being influenced by a demon in an angel’s guise.” He pointed toward the curtain hiding Willa. “You have fallen from Karak’s grace. Sacrifice is the only way to make amends. Those whose lives you spared today were unworthy of such a gift. They should have been cut down where they stood.”

“They are to be converted,” Avila answered. Inside she was shaking. “Our purpose is to bring order to the people of the west, not death. Which would Karak rather have, an army of corpses, or an army of believers?”

Malcolm shrugged. “It matters not what I think, only what I know you must do. If you do not sacrifice them, then another is required. I know you love the girl…and now you must cut her down to prove to Karak you still love him most of all.”

Avila stared him down, her two eyes to his one.

“Get…out,” she seethed, then shot up from her chair to retrieve Integrity.

“You wake up each morning sore,” Malcolm said. “You suffer from headaches, your muscles spasm, and your legs grow weaker each day. Where once your hands were smooth, now they are rough to the touch.”

On hearing his words, she stopped in her tracks and turned to him. Malcolm approached her slowly, measuring each step, until he was close enough to touch her. He lifted his hand and traced the outline of her eye with his finger.

“There are grooves here now, the creases of age. They are small at the moment, but they will grow larger, more prevalent, as time goes on. You are no longer ageless, Avila. Karak is no longer first in your heart.”

She closed her eyes as he sketched out the new lines in her flesh. He didn’t lie. She had noticed the signs herself. His hand withdrew, and he held her close, palm resting on the small of her back.

“You have lived your whole life in servitude, Avila,” he said softly. “I understand this. You have removed yourself from people, from the human pleasures all of Karak’s children seek out every day. You want to feel like a woman. Let it be me who makes you feel that way. Use my body, decimate it if you wish, wring my throat if you must. That is my sacrifice to you, so that you may find your way back to our god. But you must turn away from this lie that has enraptured you. There can be no more forgiving those that do not deserve forgiveness. This child is slowly warping you, turning you into a creature I do not know. I want the old Avila back, the woman who was the most trusted child of the Highest himself, who judged the guilty with swiftness and brutality, who would never once think of turning her back on her god. That woman, the true Lord Commander, needs to return. Do you not want the same?”

Avila let out a short gasp of air, confused by his words, his touch.

“I do,” she whispered, though there was no thought behind the words. All she felt was horror at the idea that Karak might be displeased with her.

“Then do what must be done,” Malcolm whispered. “Lay her on the altar of order and become the lioness once more.”

Her eyes snapped open. She saw Malcolm’s face before her, the candlelight washing out his features into sickly yellows and reds. She glanced at the curtain, then back at his nodding head. In her mind’s eye she saw Willa, broken and bloodied, laid out on the ground just like the girl Malcolm had raped and murdered in his life before. Karak would never demand such atrocities! she silently screamed. Rage filled her, and she shoved him away. Dashing to her bedroll, she yanked Integrity from its scabbard and pointed it at him. Despite her anger, the tip did not waver.

“Get out,” she said, her voice low and seething. “Get out and do not return to my quarters.”

Malcolm straightened himself, his soldier’s resolve restored, and bowed.

“As you wish, Lord Commander. I only desired to help.”

“To help? To help? Instructing me to slaughter an innocent child is not helping, you bastard.”

He shook his head.

“Innocence is a false principle,” he said quietly. “It saddens me you that have become so lost.”

“Leave. Now.”

The captain turned and headed for the entrance, pausing once he shoved the flap aside. He turned to her one final time.

“We will reach the Wooden Bridge in two days’ time,” he said. “The other divisions will be there, Karak with them. Do not think that the changes in you will go unnoticed by the Divinity. I will tell him myself if I must. My loyalty is to him, Avila, not you. Best you remember that.”

Malcolm slipped out the entrance, and the flap fell down behind him, fluttering like ocean waves. Panic hitting her full in the chest, Avila dashed across the pavilion, tore aside Willa’s curtain, and dropped down beside the girl, gathering her in an embrace. The child’s eyes flickered opened, and she offered a sleepy yawn.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Nothing, little one. Close your eyes. There is nothing to worry about. Nothing to fear.”

For the rest of that night Avila didn’t sleep, proving how little she believed her own words.