Wrath of Lions (32 page)

He could see the uncertainty in the girl’s eyes as they reflected the torchlight. She fiddled before him, two sacks of clothing sitting by her feet. Her gaze flicked from him to the Wardens standing to his rear and back to him again.

“This should not be happening,” said Olympus, one of his fellow Wardens.

“Yet it is,” replied Ahaesarus.

“Isabel demanded that he be kept bound,” another of his group chimed in, an unusually stunted and broad Warden named Judah.

“I know what was decreed,” Ahaesarus said calmly. “This decision I make on my own. Any repercussions, I will bear. You need not let it vex you.”

“Still…”

They stood before the old well, Geris Felhorn’s prison for nearly nine months. It was past the witching hour, and the half-moon shone down on them disinterestedly. The barns and warehouses to their rear lingered like large midnight sentinels, the structures groaning in a chill breeze.

Penelope looked down at her hands, then at the tethered logs that hid the stairs beneath. Ahaesarus had visited her in the pavilion her family called home after leaving King Benjamin and Lady Isabel. He asked her what she most desired in regards to his former pupil. “To be with him always,” had been her response.

Now she was hesitating when her desire was on the verge of becoming reality. Ahaesarus understood her fear. She had been
sheltered all her life, and if she acted, she would be faced with spending untold months, perhaps years, in the wilderness with no one but a potentially insane boy for company.

“You may turn back if you wish,” he told her.

The girl bit her lip, then shook her head. “No. I want this.”

He offered her a knife of sharpened stone and gestured toward the covering. Two of his Wardens lifted it, allowing the girl to descend the hidden staircase, torch in one hand, knife in the other. He stood still and listened once her head disappearing from sight. Faint, joyous sounds filtered through the opening, followed by hushed sobs and urgent whispers. He heard sloshing, and then something snapped, a sharp
crack
that brought goose pimples to his flesh, but Penelope giggled, and his nerves calmed ever so slightly.

It seemed to take forever, but finally the two youths appeared. Penelope had tears in her eyes as she led Geris forward. The boy’s gait was hunched—all those months spent tied up in a cramped space had weakened his muscles and wreaked hell on his posture. Geris’s face was clean, the curls in his blond hair nearly bouncing. He wore a fresh tunic and breeches, though Penelope had not brought clean clothing down into the well. He cocked his head at her.

“I told you,” she said, chin jutting out with pride. “I’ve taken good care of him.”

“I suppose you have,” he replied with a chuckle.

At the sound of his voice, Geris stumbled. Ahaesarus reached down to help him stay steady, but the youth pulled away as he tried to keep his own footing. Penelope wrapped her arms around him, steadying him with a bear hug.

The boy’s blue eyes flicked up then, staring right into his own. The combined moon and torchlight gave them an even deeper resonance than usual. The corners narrowed, and Geris slowly lifted himself fully upright, with Penelope’s assistance. Ahaesarus cringed when he heard the
pop
of vertebrae slipping back into place.

For a long while they remained silent, boy staring at former master and vice versa. Expressions shifted, and those not involved in the staring match began to shuffle back and forth and murmur restlessly. Judah muttered that the boy was obviously not well and ought be returned to the pit, a statement Ahaesarus decried with a fierce look.

A pained cry escaped Geris’s throat, and he careened toward Ahaesarus at breakneck pace. His fellow Wardens rushed forward, but Ahaesarus shouted for them to back away. Geris collided with him, arms squeezing around his torso. The Warden tousled the boy’s hair as Geris pressed his cheek against his doublet and sobbed. His hands worked the fabric around Ahaesarus’s back, kneading and stretching. “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry,” he said over and over. Eventually, the Warden gripped him tight by both shoulders and gently pulled him away. He knelt down before Geris, who, despite his gauntness and pale skin, looked just like the child he’d thought would one day be king.

“I know you are sorry,” he said. “You have told me every time I have visited for the past three months.”

Geris nodded.

“And I am sorry too,” said Ahaesarus. “For what you suffered, for placing you in that well…for everything.”

The boy chewed on his bottom lip, his cheeks glistening in the moonlight.

“Son, how do you feel?” he asked.

Geris shook his head. “Better. Not perfect,” he said with a sniffle. His lips twitched between a smile and a sorrowful frown. “Please tell…please let Ben know I never wanted to hurt him.”

Ahaesarus pulled him in close once more and rubbed the back of his head. “I will. That is all in the past, son. Tonight you begin anew.”

“But what if I’m not better?” the boy asked.

“If you were not better,” said Ahaesarus, glancing at Penelope and trying to sound confident, “you would not be leaving with her.”

He stood up then, and Penelope came forth, twining her hand with his former student’s. She handed him one of the sacks and slung the other over her own shoulder. They stood there in silence, two youths looking to the Warden for guidance.

“What will we do?” the girl asked.

Ahaesarus pointed off in the distance. “You will head away from here, away from Mordeina and humanity. Find a way to cross the river just west of here. Go to the shore, or maybe the Craghills. It is a wild land, unvisited by humans. The nearest settlement is Conch, many miles north, but you are not to go there unless as a last resort. There will be war in Paradise soon, and only after that war has ended should you consider letting your presence be known.” He cleared his throat. “Remember, distrust everyone you encounter until you learn the outcome of the war.”

“What’s that mean?” asked Geris. He sounded younger than fourteen in that moment.

“It means we do not know who will win,” Ahaesarus said gravely. “Should you emerge from the wilds, the flag of the lion may fly over the place you once called home.”

There were teary good-byes as student left teacher, wandering into the pitch-black forest through the gap in the wall and disappearing as if he’d been swallowed by nothingness. Ahaesarus shivered. He was frightened for the two youths, but he knew in his heart that he had made the right choice. All of humanity deserved its chance to thrive. Geris deserved it most of all.

“What if he is not cured?” asked Olympus. “How can you be sure?”

“I trust my own eyes,” Ahaesarus said with a shrug. “For the last eleven weeks he has shown marked signs of improvement. But even if he is still ill, that girl will guide him through it.” He slapped his hands on his knees and turned to his brothers. “But let us not think
of things outside our control any longer. We have a war to fight and quite a ride to get there before we can fight it.”

“And what of the boy?” Judah asked. “Isabel will not be happy when she discovers you set him free.”

Ahaesarus shrugged. “And? This journey is already my punishment, and by the time she discovers he is missing, we will all be long gone.”

C
HAPTER

15

M
atthew stood at the base of a jetty, feet balanced on the slippery rocks, while he watched waves ripple across the bay. The night was overcast, the air muggy and filled with the scents of salt and decay. In the darkness, the gently undulating water became a shimmering black cloak, the surface hinting at peace and harmony while concealing a torrent of activity that raged beneath. Right now there were small fish being fed on by larger fish, which were then being devoured by larger fish still, a sharply climbing scale of predator and prey, all of which were eventually rendered helpless by the nets and harpoons of men.

Just as the might of the gods renders man helpless,
he thought with a shiver.

He wrapped his cloak tight around himself and fidgeted. The sight before him was depressing. The docks of Port Lancaster had teemed with activity for all of Matthew’s thirty-six years, yet now they were virtually empty. A scant nine boats bobbed in the harbor, and only one was of the Brennan fleet, a mid-sized clipper named
Harmony Rose
. The rest of his ships were away—some with the survivors from Haven in the Isles of Gold to the west, some ferrying
goods up and down the northeast coast—and his free river barges had been conscripted by Karak for purposes left unsaid. A small envoy from Veldaren, led by a few red-cloaked acolytes, had arrived in the city to demand use of them, and Matthew, needing to preserve his perceived loyalty to his deity, had no choice but to give them over. At least the visitors and their battalion of armed soldiers didn’t seem to have noticed the dearth of vessels in the bay.

“Any sign yet?” asked a familiar female voice.

Matthew pivoted on his heels to see Moira approaching, lantern in hand. Her attire, a pair of velour slacks, a shawl, and strappy sandals, was suitable for negotiating the tricky footing of the coast, yet still regal. He appreciated that she was maintaining her disguise as a noblewoman. Knowing how much she despised what she referred to as “monkey garments,” it was a great sacrifice—though it was a worthwhile one, for the acolytes had not recognized her. And though her hair had grown out some, now falling just above her shoulders, she had kept on dyeing it dark, even though the dyes had the unfortunate side effect of making each strand brittle.

“Not yet,” Matthew told her.

“Are you sure tonight is the night?”

“Yes. The last evening of spring, just as Romeo said.”

“Perhaps they were held up.”

“Perhaps. Or perhaps they won’t come at all.”

He returned his eyes to the sea as Moira fell in beside him. Her lantern added a needed touch of brightness to the black, making him feel less alone. He could hear her breathing: short, pointed bursts of air that left her lips as if she were preparing to give birth. Having been around Moira for some time now, he knew it meant she was preparing for the worst, readying herself to snatch the two swords hidden beneath her overcoat and leap into action.

“Are you not frightened to be out here alone?” she asked.

“Not alone,” he said, jabbing his thumb behind him at the great wooden structure that loomed over the rocky shore a few
hundred yards back. “Twenty crossbowmen are on top of the warehouse, and Bren has another twenty swordsmen with the merchandise.” His hand swooped from beneath his cloak, clutching a glossy black tube of sulfur and a metal striker. “Should something go wrong, all I need do is light the warning flare. We’ll be fine.”

“What if they arrive with a hundred men bent on doing you harm?”

He shrugged. “Then we run and pray we’re faster. No use dwelling on it, though. I put my trust in the Connington brothers. I must believe they will not betray me.”

“Faith ill placed, I think,” she said with a chuckle.

“Shush, you. I’m trying to ignore that detail.”

Moira laughed. It felt good to hear it.

“Poke fun all you want,” he said with a smirk. “Truth is, if anything
should
go wrong, who do you think will face death sooner, you or I?”

She laughed again. “You, of course. I’m not in one of those horrid dresses this night. Any hope you have of outrunning me is long gone.”

Matthew chuckled, but the sound was hollow. He stared off into the ocean, letting his mind wander.

“Why so quiet?” asked Moira. Her velvety fingers brushed his cheek.

He glanced her way and blushed, his insides rumbling. Spending so much time with Moira had caused his feelings toward her to shift. She was no longer simply collateral; she was a beautiful woman who proved her loyalty and aptitude each day she spent at his side. If he thought, for even a moment, that she felt the same way…

“Just thinking,” he said. “It’s been months, and we still have no further information on who made that attack against us. There’s no record of those men entering the city, and no one was willing to admit to knowing them. It’s as if they were ghosts paid by shadows, neither one leaving a damn clue.”

Moira took a step back and joined him in staring out across the water.

“Is there someone who wishes you ill?”

He laughed.

“Many someones: Tod Garland, the Mudrakers, the Blackbards, the Conningtons even. They all hate me equally, though I’d cross Romeo and Cleo from the list because of our deal. Still, those sneaky bastards are far too loathsome and clever for me to make even that assumption.”

Matthew shoved his hands in his pockets and once more watched the undulating waves as they lapped the rocks.

“Tell me,” Moira said, breaking the silence. “Why the distrust between you and the Conningtons? I would think that the services you both render would make you…allies. Working together would make more sense than squabbling. It would be more profitable.”

“There is no profit to be made now,” he said. “There is no trade, no industry to speak of. Not until the war ends.” He thought of two gods locked in combat, two equal halves that might never gain an advantage over each other. “If it ever does.”

She shook her head. “No. I’m speaking of before. This discord isn’t new. You told me so yourself.”

“True,” he said with a sigh. “I guess we’re all ambitious men, and ambitious men don’t tend to be willing to share. It doesn’t help that I believe them responsible for the rumors claiming I was using Karak’s long absence to usurp power from the king.”

“Were you?” Moira asked.

“Ambition is not treachery,” Matthew said. “I do still love my god in my own way—don’t give me that look, Moira, I know how you feel—and the throne has been nothing but good to my family since the crowning of the Vaelor line. These rumors were spread to discredit me and lessen my family’s hold on the realm’s markets. The Conningtons were supposedly grooming a man to take over Port Lancaster in the event of my death, and building boats in an
attempt to wrest away my loyal customers. They might have succeeded, had I not a supporter in Veldaren to put these rumors to rest three years ago.”