Blood Of Gods (Book 3) (51 page)

Ceredon stood up, his knees shredded from being dragged across the stony earth. “Aully, Kindren,
now
!” he shouted, bringing the two young elves running. Ceredon helped them into the saddle, Kindren in front and Aully behind. “Now go. Follow the soldiers.”

“But Mother!” yelled Aully.

“I will care for your mother. Now
go
!”

He whacked the horse on its flank as hard as he could, and the beast took off, disappearing with its precious cargo into the surrounding forest. Ceredon quickly made his way back to Audrianna.

“Come now, Lady Meln,” Ceredon said to her. “Take my hand.” The dazed woman’s fingers wrapped around his palm and he lifted her. She clung to him as if her life depended on it. He began to trudge forward as fast as he could, Audrianna quivering in his arms. When he glanced behind him, he saw that Darakken had finished its treetop feast. The demon crashed down to earth, shaking the ground beneath Ceredon’s feet. Its blazing red eyes stared hungrily at the fleeing elves. Its trumpeting howl sounded once more, and the beast lurched forward.

Lady Audrianna screamed in Ceredon’s arms, her body quivering like jelly. He lugged her into the shelter of the forest, the demon closing in from behind. It batted aside trees with its tusks, its hoofed rear legs tearing through the underbrush. He could almost feel the evil creature’s rank breath on his back. All around him dashed
Dezren
elves and human soldiers, forming a bulging line as they fled from the beast.

I did not come this far for nothing!
In the seemingly endless days since Darakken had resurrected itself, he had spied on the beast as it learned to be alive once more, constantly trying to lure it away from Stonewood until finally, the day before, it had turned around and started headlong for the forest.
If I had simply come here as I’d planned, we could be far away by now.

Too late for regrets now, he knew. So he just kept putting one foot in front of the other and prayed Lady Audrianna wouldn’t stumble and fall. If that were to happen, they would end up food for the demon.

Somehow the Lady of Stonewood kept her footing as they tramped over vines and roots. Even when they slipped on a thatch of slick leaves, all it cost them was a momentary stumble. The demon continued to track them somewhere off to the right, the sound of its feet striking the forest floor like a constant, raucous drumbeat. Trees broke and splintered. Ceredon’s arms grew weary and his legs, numb. Breath was hard to come by. Lady
Audrianna
suffered the same way; she’d stopped her screaming and now
simply
wheezed.

He glanced to the side and saw Darakken’s slick, scaly hide flash between the foliage, much too close. The thing then lurched to the left, colliding with a thick elm. The roots tore free from the ground and the tree toppled over. Ceredon squeezed Lady Audrianna and forced his feet to move faster, running diagonally, knocking over a fleeing soldier in the process. The tree landed behind them with a
whoosh
, crushing the soldier and a group of unfortunate elves. His mind was awash with both fear and confusion. Darakken was acting oddly, running alongside them like a shepherd’s dog, threatening, but not attacking, as if penning them in.

When he finally exited the thick wood, running at full speed, Ceredon discovered that’s exactly what the evil thing was doing.

Darakken had forced the fleeing masses to the southwest,
where Stonewood Forest pressed up against the Corinth River. A two hundred yard stretch of flat, rocky grassland spread out before him, leading to a sheer cliff that dropped to the mouth of the river below. To the south was a line of thick trees that abutted the cliff; to the north, a slender patch of land with an upward slope. Those who fled had been hemmed in, trapped between the forest and the river. A large contingent of panicked elves attempted fleeing along the slender northern corridor, but Darakken burst through the trees, snapping a few of them up in its jaws. Other elves fell off the
cliff screaming
.

Then the demon disappeared back into the forest.

Ceredon took a deep breath, squeezed Lady Audrianna, and set his feet in motion once more. He hurried to the edge of the cliff, where at least two thousand elves and soldiers lurked, looking around as if they didn’t know what to do next. Those on horses galloped back and forth across the center of the clearing as if their options might change each time they swiveled around.

“Aully, Kindren!” he shouted as he swerved around the horsemen.

“Here!” Aully’s voice hollered back. The sprite emerged from the throng, dragging Kindren behind her. Kindren held the leads of the horse they’d ridden, struggling to make the beast match his strides. Ceredon rushed up to them and released Lady Audrianna.

“Let the horse go, Kindren. Then all of you get back,” he said. “And don’t fall.”

He didn’t wait for a reply, instead hastening along the mass of panicked elves and humans. He spotted the familiar, beautiful woman he’d seen earlier, still sitting astride her horse, her wavy dark hair like onyx threads. She appeared supernaturally calm, her shoulders thrown back while she squinted toward the forest, tracing the demon’s movements behind the trees.

“You!” Ceredon shouted when he drew near.

The woman glanced down at him and stared. On one side of her was a young soldier with a forked blond beard, and the odd, redheaded man in the bright green robe was on the other.

Ceredon stopped running and bent over, hands on his knees, as he panted. “Do you lead the soldiers?” he asked in the human tongue.

“I do,” she replied.

“We haven’t much time. Gather your men. Horsemen on
the flanks, foot soldiers in the middle. Anyone else of use, have them line up in front of the cliff. We’ll assault the demon with all
we hav
e.”

The woman nodded. No argument, no questions. A human with a solid head on her shoulders. Ceredon opened his mouth to say more, but he was silenced by the shattering of trees on the far edge of the forest. The demon emerged howling.

Whatever meager plans they had made would have to do.

The Darakken had come to feast.

C
HAPTER

44

L
aurel hid beneath a mound of stinking hay that was heaped in the back of a wooden cart. Lyana was beside her, dressed in civilian rags this time, dagger held firmly in her hand. They waited for the soft sound of marching feet to pass them by before pushing aside a few moldy strands of hay to peek out into the city beyond. They could see nothing.

“All clear,” whispered a man’s voice. “It’s safe to come out now.”

With a sigh, Laurel pushed herself out of the heap and dropped to the cobbled road. Lyana did the same. They stood there for a few moments, brushing hay fibers from their clothes while keeping a vigilant eye on the empty streets. The sky was growing dark, and there was no sign of anyone else approaching. That meant the two women were either the last to arrive or the only ones who would.

The owner of the cart, an old farmer named Jinkin Heelswool, tipped his cap to them from atop the wagon. “Where you be day after next? Here?”

“I don’t know,” said Laurel.

“Okay,” the old man said, nodding. “If needs be, you know how to contact me.”

“We will. Thank you again, Jinkin.”

“It’s my pleasure, milady. You take care of yourselves now.”

“We’ll try,” said Lyana. “You too.”

Jinkin ushered the two wretched mares that pulled his cart onward. Laurel watched him go as she and Lyana crept toward the shadows cast by the building to her left. She hoped he made it back to his meager fields without incident. Jinkin had been a boon for them; his family had a longstanding relationship with House Vaelor, Jinkin’s own son serving as master chef at the
Castle
of the Lion before the war had come and yanked all men of fighting age away. When the Forgotten King’s Renegades, as those who fought loyally with Laurel had come to call themselves, had been forced to flee the caverns beneath the Black Bend, the king himself had called upon the old man, asking his assistance in moving around unnoticed. Jinkin had been the only planter who kept proper stores when winter hit, and when he presented that bounty to Veldaren’s new ruling class—namely the zealot priest Joben Tustlewhite—he was given uninhibited access to the city. His wagons came to deliver foodstuffs to the castle and beyond daily, guided by him and his eight daughters. Now, however, they carried with them other cargo as well—the rebellion itself. When Laurel had asked him why he would agree to so dangerous a task, his answer was inspiring. “What future is there for us if we ain’t free?” he’d said. “In the world as it is now, we’re nothin’ but slaves. I think we deserve better. By the abyss, Karak
promised
us better.”

She couldn’t have agreed more.

“Come, Lyana,” she said. “Let’s see if the others made it.”

Laurel hurried down an alley until she reached the rear entrance of a massive storehouse. It was one of three similar buildings that sat side by side on Merchants’ Road. The storehouses had become home to the destitute, those who had lived in the streets and feared the lions’ claws, in the time since Tustlewhite and the Judges took power. At least that’s what Laurel had heard.

The storehouse door entered into a space forty feet long,
sixty feet
wide, and twenty feet high. Nearly every inch of space was
occupied by people, jammed together shoulder to shoulder. Most turned to her and Lyana as they gently closed and barred the door. It was quite dark, as the building had no windows, and there were very few candles lit. Despite that and the anxious look in their eyes, Laurel smiled at them. Though there were many she didn’t recognize, she did notice quite a few familiar faces, some that she herself had saved from the streets.

People nodded to them as Laurel and Lyana snaked their way through the human maze, but none spoke. Silence was tenet now. The Judges were leaving the castle earlier and earlier, and on this day their first roars had come more than two hours before sunset. That being the case, and with the rebellion switching locations every
two days,
they were forced to move about during daylight hours. If not for the old man’s aid, they would’ve been snuffed out long ago.

The storehouse had a loft area ten feet up the wall, and she could see people lingering about up there as well. She started to walk toward the hanging ladder, only to notice that the massive gathering of people kept clear of a section of floor to her right. She went there instead, Lyana stalking silently behind her. Those gathered in the circle backed up even more. One of them, a former bandit Lyana had brought to the caverns, stepped forward. He bent over, grabbed a metal ring embedded in the floor, and pulled. A solid set of boards lifted, exposing a portal into the darkness below. Laurel silently thanked the man, then knelt down and found the ladder.

She descended into darkness, and when she reached the
bottom
, there were three men there to greet her, the one in the middle
holding
a candle. They were former members of the Palace Guard, still wearing their purple sashes with pride. They helped her off the ladder’s final rung, which hung two feet off the ground. “Jericho,
Luddard
, Crillson,” she said with a nod. The men smiled. Minister Mori had once told her that it meant a great deal to the guards for those they protected to call them by their true names, simply because so few did. It was a lesson Laurel had found true.

The three guards then stood back as Lyana effortlessly dropped from the ladder. Their smiles melted away when they nodded to the girl. Their expressions grew hard, understanding. To the guards, Lyana wasn’t a ward to be protected; rather, she was a warrior, even if she was the granddaughter of the woman they loved best. Though Laurel was revered by them, Lyana was treated like a sister, perhaps even an equal.

“Where is the king?” Laurel asked.

Luddard turned to her, his pale brown eyes flicking farther into the darkness. “Down that way,” he said. Crillson then handed her a candle and lit it with a tinderstick. Laurel mouthed,
Thank you
, grabbed Lyana’s hand, and guided the girl away.

She walked slowly. The floor was earthen and damp, and the wide chamber stunk like old compost. “What
is
that?” Lyana asked, coughing out her words and covering her nose and mouth with the crook of her elbow.

“Just what it smells like,” answered Laurel. “Rotting plants. These large fruit cellars get like this if left unattended for too long. Most of our storehouses in Omnmount had one dug into the earth beneath them.”

“Oh.”

Murmuring voices broke through the silence of the cellar, and Laurel followed the sound. Eventually she reached a wooden
barricade
—most likely the part of the cellar that once stored wine and other liquors. The voices were coming from the other side, where light shone between the slats. There was a crude door,
hanging
cockeyed on crumbling iron shingles. Laurel wrapped her fingers around the wood and pulled.

The room was lit by eight flickering candles scented with lavender to mask the stink of the cellar. Conversation ceased. King Eldrich, sitting on a stool above the rest, smiled warmly at her. Pulo Jenatt was there as well, and his smile was just as wide. Also present were the four hard, odd men who called themselves the Movers, along with the woman who led them—Moira, the lost Crestwell. Everyone in the small, sealed-off room, save the king, still bore injuries from the Judges’ claws, though they hid their pain well.

“Darling Laurel,” King Eldrich said. “You made it.”

“I did. Thankfully.”

She walked in and sat down on the ground beside Pulo. Lyana took her place beside Laurel. Moira, who was on the king’s other side, offered her a kind, almost blissful grin. Laurel had never met the woman until their attack six nights ago, but she had seen her sister, Avila, in the castle on a few occasions. It was amazing how similar and yet different the two women were. Their facial structures were nearly identical, all the way down to their quaint, pointed noses, and both had straight, silver hair. However, where Avila’s blue eyes radiated coldness, there was warmth in Moira’s gaze, especially when she looked at Laurel. She sometimes tilted her head coyly when they talked. It was odd, but the woman’s soft, almost innocent laugh more than made up for her personality quirks.

Laurel looked away from Moira’s intent gaze. “How many did we lose today?” she asked the king.

Eldrich shook his head. “Three.”

“Three? That’s not so bad.”

“It’s still too many,” said King Eldrich. “If we are to succeed, we must have all possible manpower.”

The one who called himself Gull cut in. “I was just telling the king, we should draw from those who already called the storehouse home. They are mostly women, yes, and many are hungry and weak, but what better fodder to protect us during the assault? Force them out in front. When the Sisters respond to our threat, they will have to cut through them first. When you speak of attacking a well-guarded castle, time is of the greatest essence. They will buy us that time.”

Moira cuffed the man on the shoulder, wincing and grabbing her chest afterward. “I already told you no, Gull. We don’t sacrifice innocent life.”

King Eldrich glanced at her. “It is I who will make that decision,” he said, though not unkindly. He then looked at Gull. “But no, we will not use these poor souls as fodder. If I am to die tomorrow, then I will die with a clean conscience.”

“Men with clean consciences do not win wars,” Gull said flatly, then let the matter drop.

“Laurel,” the king said, turning to her, “you have remained silent on this issue for days. I would like your input.”

Laurel shrugged. “I’m no warrior, my Liege.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” said Lyana, playfully nudging her leg. “You’re as brave as anyone.”

“Brave, perhaps,” Laurel acknowledged, “but weak and useless with a sword. I can give a good speech, I can make people like me, but I’d be a hindrance on the battlefield.”

Moira looked at her appraisingly. “I think you may underestimate your usefulness.”

Eldrich waved her off. “I’m not asking you to fight, Laurel. I’m asking your
advice
. Say all you wish about your lack of skill, but the fact remains that the strike against the remaining councilmen and the Sisters that protected them was
your
idea, and it worked beautifully. You have a skill for planning, my dear. That is all I wish f
rom you.
”

But Marius Trufont and Lenroy Mott still live,
Laurel thought with a sigh. “Alright,” she said. What the king said was true; but they had lost upwards of eighty men and women in the attack.
Laurel
felt her responsibility keenly. Nevertheless, if her king wanted her input, she was obliged to give it.

“I don’t like the plan,” she said.

“Why not?” asked the Mover named Rodin. “It’s straight
forward and simple.”

“That’s just it,” said Laurel, inching forward on the dirt floor until she was directly in front of the seated king. She drew a circle in the dirt with her finger. “You’re talking about a full-on assault on an armed fortress. We have—what? Eight hundred people at our disposal? We will lose half of them just squeezing through the portcullis.”

King Eldrich frowned. “We must send a message. We must be swift and brutal.”

“Yes, but you can be both and not stupid at the same time.” Laurel cringed at her own boldness, but Eldrich’s expression never changed. He appeared rather intrigued, and she continued. “Instead of striking an hour after first light, as we discussed, we move on the castle at midday. And rather than a suicide run, we use the resources we have.”

“Such as?” asked Gull.

“Well, more than a third of those who now fight in the king’s name are former Sisters,” she said. “The wrappings of the order aren’t difficult to come by; many still carry them in their sacks. At midday, the Sisters are spread throughout the city. The largest force walks among the merchants who line the streets. All eyes are
away
from the castle, looking for threats from outside. If we were to dress our women warriors in Sister’s garb and send them through the portcullis in small groups, we could gather them at the rear stables. By Karak, we could even put some of our more slender men in the garb as well.” She offered Pulo a sly smirk, but the subsequent moans she heard told her that others were unsettled by her speaking the name of Veldaren’s god. Pulo ran a hand through his dark, curly hair.

“That gets us people inside,” he said, “but what then?”

“Then they take the courtyard from the inside. The rest, the Palace Guard, Watchmen, and former brigands, will be lurking in the abandoned shops nearby. When a signal is sent, they can rush the streets and enter the portcullis untouched. The priest, and the
surviving
members of the Council, will be ours to do with as we wish. When the castle is ours—and hopefully we can lock the Judges in their cages before they know what’s happening and join the fight—we have a defensible position. We’ll have a gods-damned
castle
.”

The ones named Tabar and Danco, who had remained silent thus far, perked up. “That could work,” Tabar said, rubbing at his shoulder.

“It’s brilliant,” said Moira. She pitched forward, silver hair dangling in her face as she grinned. “I like this one. A lot.”

Rodin leaned into the lost Crestwell and spoke softly. “Remember the letters, Moira. Remember what happened last—”

“Shut it,” Moira snapped, elbowing the man in the chest. “It’s not like that.”

Gull fingered his sword. “It is a logical strategy.”

“So what say you, my Liege?” asked Pulo as he threw his arm around Laurel. Laurel in turn rested her head on his shoulder, enjoying the smell of sweat on the man’s clothes.

King Eldrich gave them a disapproving look. “It could indeed work. But I worry about how long it would take to organize such an assault. Say what you will about our peoples’ ability with swords and spears, and their willingness to die for our cause, but none of us have truly fought a war, only skirmishes. Will they listen? Will they follow instructions? Will they even
understand
them?”