Wrath of Lions (55 page)

“Then we’re close to Ashhur,” Kaya said, and there was no hiding the excitement in her voice. “We’ll be safe soon!”

“I pray it is so,” Azariah said, smiling at her. “Now we must get everyone across. We still have a few hours of sunlight left before nightfall. We might have steered away from Karak’s forces, but we don’t know when they will emerge from the forest. I want to be far away when they do.”

They started to cross, a relatively slow process given the unevenness of the bridge. It creaked as they piled atop it, and the hemp rope trusses that held the planks together pulled taut from the weight. The thirty thick pillars beneath the bridge, rising from the river like wayward trees, groaned as well, but the bridge itself hardly swayed.

Roland stood off to the side, tapping the handle of the sword on his hip as he watched his fellow survivors cautiously step onto the bridge, one after the other. He would nod at each as they passed him, offering words of good tidings. The fatigued people offered him the same in return, their weary eyes brightening with hope. That same hope blossoming inside him, Roland leaned over and kissed Kaya on the cheek. She blushed and nuzzled up against him, and suddenly, with safety seemingly within reach, all Roland could think about was making love to her again.

Perhaps I can give her what she desires.…Perhaps I will make her with child. We can be a family, safe with Ashhur.…

That thought disappeared the moment a strange noise reached his ears, as if a brisk wind were kicking up. He heard a
thunk
by his feet and looked down to see the shaft of an arrow bobbing from the ground. His mind blanked at the sight of it. He turned his head toward the forest’s distant border, and saw them.…At least twenty riders were racing toward them, their bodies covered in black and silver armor, swords and axes held high above their heads. Roland gasped, and Kaya swiveled around, screaming when she caught sight of the advancing men.

“Go!” shouted Jaquiel. Only half the people had begun crossing, and the black-haired Warden ran around the rest, pushing them, shoving them, trying to get them all onto the bridge at once. Everyone began to shout in panic, and a logjam formed at the mouth of the bridge. A few fell, trampled underfoot while others pushed their way forward in desperation.

Roland stood frozen as he watched the rushing soldiers fan out, forming a straight line. While their steeds charged onward, four of them lifted bows, nocked arrows, pulled back the strings, and released. The arrows arced toward the survivors, their steel tips gleaming in the late afternoon sun.

Only one found purchase in flesh, driving into the back of a young woman at the rear of the bridge. She fell to her knees, wailing, her hand reaching around to try and grasp the shaft as she collapsed in a heap. Roland looked at her, his mouth hanging open, then glanced back at the approaching soldiers. It was then that he noticed the one riding at center, the one with flowing brown hair and glowing red eyes.

Jacob. Two hundred yards away and closing fast.

That broke Roland’s paralysis. He rushed to the side of the bridge and tried to conduct traffic. Someone grabbed the girl with the arrow in her back and lugged her across. Kaya helped as best she could, but she was frightened and shaking.

“Go with them!” Roland shouted at her frantically.

She shook her head, crying.

He shoved her in the back. “Just go! I’ll catch up with you on the other side!”

Kaya’s father appeared and grabbed hold of her hand. He tugged his daughter away, shoving his shoulder into the mass of humanity. After they disappeared into the horde on the bridge, Roland turned, sword in hand, to face the soldiers who were fast approaching. He rushed over to Azariah, who stood with the rest of the Wardens along with ten brave yet terrified men, forming a wall of flesh in
front of the bridge. More arrows sailed overhead, and more screams erupted from behind them, but Roland didn’t turn and look. If Kaya had been struck…

“We must meet them head-on!” yelled Jaquiel.

The Warden ran forward, his long legs churning as he wielded a two-headed ax above his head. The Wardens followed his lead, and after a moment of hesitation, so did the men. Roland opened his mouth and bellowed, mimicking Jaquiel’s posture with his sword. It felt so heavy, crushing down on his shoulders. Shit, he didn’t even know how to use the thing—not really—but his heart was beating too rapidly, his lungs burning too painfully for him to worry about it much.

He ran as fast as he could, ignoring the line of soldiers and focusing instead on Jacob. His former master must have seen him as well, for he pushed his steed even faster. Karak’s soldiers were close now, so close that the sound of hammering hooves was deafening, so close that Roland could almost smell the acrid breath of the horses as they panted. Jacob’s image blocked out all else, and Roland watched as he swung his arm back, lifting a sword twice as long as Roland’s and twice as shiny as well. The blade began to surge forward and Roland’s heart nearly stopped.
He’s going to kill me—he really is!
A part of him had not thought it possible; he’d only disobeyed Jacob once, in the aftermath of the First Man’s betrayal of Ashhur. Could he really be blamed for that?

Roland dropped to his knees, holding his pitiable sword out defensively. Steel met steel with a raucous clank, the vibration jarring his molars and bringing roaring pain to his fingers. He fell to the side, clutching his hands and hollering, as the soldiers’ horses galloped past him.

Screams and more clashing of steel rang out all around him. Roland lifted his head, watched as the brave Wardens who had stepped to the forefront were cut down. Ribbons of blood filled the air, accompanied by agonizing moans and whimpers. Jaquiel
collapsed, bleeding, clutching at the stump of his left arm. The surviving Wardens and men turned to flee, but they too were struck down, blades tearing into their backs, hacking off limbs, severing heads. Still on his stomach, the world a dizzying array of death and horses, Roland bellowed Azariah’s name.

But his friend had not been harmed. When Jacob’s horse turned, facing him once more, Roland caught sight of Azariah, who had retreated to the bridge. The Warden knelt, hands clasped before him, head thrown back as he shouted words to the heavens. The soldiers on horseback bore down on him, but Roland could not watch, for Jacob’s black steed came charging again. He rolled out of the way just as the blade swiped over where he’d been, swinging so low that it sliced through the muddy earth, flinging clumps of it on the upswing.

Roland scampered to his feet and tried to run toward the tall grass covering the southern barrier of the Gods’ Road, but his clothes were so soaked with sweat and muck that they clung to his body, making his strides awkward. He stumbled, hearing the
ca-clomp
of Jacob’s horse wheeling about once more. He was sure Jacob would kill him this time. In his mind it became a foregone conclusion.
I will never see Azariah again, never lie with Kaya, never have a family.
Resignation made his feet slow.
It will not be so bad…only a moment, and then it will be over.…Perhaps Celestia will be kind, and I will get to see Brienna again on the other side.…

Roland fell to his knees, unable to run anymore. Head bowed, he clasped his hands, begging Ashhur for the end to be swift. But instead of experiencing pain and the flash of death, he heard the howling of wolves. Panicked shouts quickly followed. His curiosity overcoming his fear, he tilted his head back and peered over his shoulder. Terror gripped him as he laid eyes on the largest wolves he’d ever seen. They came leaping from the trees, only instead of running on all fours, they loped like the monkeys that he had seen when Jacob brought him to one of the many of the small islands
that peppered the southern coast of Paradise. There were six of them, with massive, muscle-bound arms in the place of front legs. As Roland watched, one of the beasts used those powerful arms to knock a soldier from his horse as if the man weighed as little as a paper doll. He fell to the ground, his armor clinking, and the wolf-man tore into him without delay.

Roland’s bewildered mind could hardly interpret what his eyes were seeing. Daring to feel hope, he looked over at Azariah, and his confusion only grew. Where once there had been plain earth, now a great wall of rock jutted out from the ground, at least six feet tall and fifteen feet across. The leading soldier’s horse crashed into it as Roland watched, pitching its rider into the stone. As he lay there, another wolf-man leapt atop his body, teeth tearing into flesh, until another soldier rode past, skewering the creature with a sword through its chest.

The First Man sat high atop his horse, a furious expression on his face as he watched the battle between beast and man rage before him; Roland had become an afterthought. Seizing the opportunity to act on the fiery rage that flooded him, Roland turned. The First Man, Jacob Eveningstar, his longtime friend and master, was now willing to murder him without a word spoken first? He raced toward the man.

Roland didn’t slow until he collided with the side of the black horse, shoving Jacob’s dangling foot upward as hard as his strong arms would allow. The impact knocked Roland’s breath out of him. He fell to his rump while the First Man careened sideways from his saddle, hitting the ground with a wet
thump
and a surprised shout. The steed, frightened, took off.

Quick as a cat, Jacob’s head swung around to face him. His eyes still glowed, but they were dimmer now, more of a light pink than a burning red. He scurried to his feet and picked up his sword, which was skewered in the ground beside him. Having developed no real plan, Roland searched frantically for his own blade. Not
remembering where he had dropped it, he scooted backward on his rump, feet kicking up mud as he slid.

“You!”
Jacob roared, stalking toward him.

“Stop!” shouted Roland. He felt so foolish now, so stupid and reckless. “Please, Jacob, no!”

Jacob stopped mere feet in front of him. He dropped the sword and brought up his opposite hand, fingers bent into claws.

“Hemorrhage,”
he said, his voice sounding like a snake’s hiss. Roland kept scooting backward, feeling a sudden, intense tightening in his gut. Quick as it came, the sensation passed. Jacob stared at him, one eyebrow raised higher than the other, lips twisted into a tiny line in the center of his face. His hair, once dark and wavy, was slicked down with muck. He thrust his hand forward.

“Crumple,”
he said, and this time Roland felt his head go dizzy, his arms and legs tingling as if they had fallen asleep and were now awakening. Again it passed in mere moments. Jacob drew back his hand, staring at his fingers as if they were broken. The confusion passed, and a disgusted look passed over his face as he lifted his sword above his head.

“You betrayed me,” he said. He offered no other words before taking a step forward, preparing to strike.

Roland squeezed his eyes shut and screamed, finding it hard to channel his earlier acceptance of death. It was so much harder now that it was here before him, in the angry grip of a man he had once called friend. Yet the fatal blow did not come. Instead, over the din of the battle between soldier and beast, he heard the sound of thumping hooves and a startled cry of pain. He opened his eyes to see Jacob sprawled out on the ground, clutching at the side of his now bleeding head. His sword lay far away, almost sunken into the muddy earth.

A horse rode into view, and down jumped Azariah, a maul held tight in his grasp.

“And you betrayed Ashhur,” he said, staring down at the prone First Man.

Jacob glared up at him, his eyes now back to their original soft blue tint.

“I betrayed no one,” he growled. “My actions were noble, you bastard! There is only one true god in this land, only one who will bring your wards to greatness, and it is not Ashhur. I did what I thought was best, what I
know
is best. Search in me, Warden. See the truth in the words I speak.”

Azariah hesitated, the maul in his hands lowering ever so slightly.

“I sense no lie in your words, Jacob, but you speak a truth shrouded in gray.” The Warden looked deeply saddened, almost beyond repair. “You speak no truth at all,” he whispered. “I wonder if you ever have.”

“You’re a fool, Azariah. Always have been. And my name is
Velixar
.”

With those words, Jacob lunged toward Azariah. Roland watched as Azariah sidestepped his former master’s swipe, swinging the maul around and slamming the handle into the back of Jacob’s skull. Jacob fell face-first into the muck, a muted gurgle leaking from his lips. The Warden then hefted the weapon high in the air, prepared to bring its spiked head down for the killing blow. He stood there for a long moment it seemed, frozen in time. He slowly lowered the maul, letting it dangle in his grasp as if it weighed more than the world itself.

The Warden hung his head, then looked at Roland in dismay.

“I cannot,” he said. Tears ran down his cheeks.

Roland forced himself off the ground. Beyond them, on the other side of the Gods’ Road, the soldiers and the remaining three wolf-men were still locked in combat. The soldiers were winning. Roland looked at his friend and opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

“Gifts from our god,” Azariah whispered. “They will not last long. Come, we must hurry.”

After one final glance at Jacob’s unmoving body, Azariah mounted his patiently waiting horse and helped Roland climb onto
the rear of the saddle. He then whipped the reins, and they moved away from the melee in a wide arc, circumventing the barricade of earth Azariah had magically summoned as they approached the Wooden Bridge. Roland eyed the nine dead Wardens and ten dead men from Lerder, and he offered a prayer to Ashhur that they would find their way safely through Afram to the Golden Forever. The horse’s hooves thumped onto the bridge, and he thanked the gods that none of the corpses they passed had Kaya’s curly black hair, even though the thought filled him with guilt.

They had almost reached the other side when Roland lurched forward, his chest feeling strangely tight. He tasted salty liquid in his mouth that he couldn’t keep down. It dribbled over his lips and down his chin. He glanced at his own chest, saw the red liquid there, and then the thin brown shaft jutting from the torn section of his filthy tunic. Roland felt his whole being go numb.