Blood Of Gods

CHAPTER 44

Laurel 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 from 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 straightforward 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?”

Laurel shrugged. “Who knows?” she said. “You wanted my advice, and I gave-”

The ground shook, cutting her off. Dust and dirt rained down from the ceiling. The candles flickered, growing dimmer before dancing upward once more.

“What in a maiden’s twat is that?” shouted Danco.

Again the ground trembled, and this time half the candles went out. Screams split the silence and feet began to pound the floor above their heads as the people in the storehouse proper began to panic. The entire structure seemed to be creaking.

“Will it collapse?” asked Pulo.

Rodin glanced up. “Let’s not stay here and find out.”

Everyone in the small room leapt to their feet. They threw open the door and dashed down the hall, keeping King Eldrich between them. The other guards in the cellar waited by the ladder, hurriedly gesturing for them to climb.

One after another, they entered the storehouse’s main room. Laurel was the second one out, and she helped the others, still in pain from their injuries, get to their feet. She then gawked at the scene before her. The people were indeed panicking, shouting and clustering even more tightly together in the center of the wide space. A few fights broke out as others sought safety within the wall of flesh. Then a trumpeting sounded, like the loudest horn in all of Dezrel. Laurel’s heart nearly pounded out of her chest.

That’s when Laurel noticed Moira’s eyes were wide with terror. The silver-haired woman slowly turned to her and then walked right past her, heading for the barred door. The Movers were right on her heels, and Laurel and Lyana followed suit, King Eldrich and Pulo behind them. Danco and Rodin lifted the heavy bar and dropped it to the ground. The horn blew again. They all walked outside.

It was dark now, the night moonless. Laurel stared east, toward the heart of the city, in wonder. For the longest time, Veldaren had been quite dark during nighttime hours, but now there was a brilliant yellow glow that lit up the black. It was like the days before war, when taverns and inns saw business throughout the evening. Despite that deafening horn and the way the ground shook, Laurel felt a sliver of hope.

Then came a booming voice that shook her teeth, and that sliver disappeared.

“MY CHILDREN, COME TO ME!”

Those who had called the storehouses home before the arrival of the rebellion began to stream out of the buildings, wandering hesitantly toward the glowing center of the city.

“Karak has returned,” said King Vaelor, looking dead already.

“Oh shit,” said Pulo.

“We have never fought a god,” said Gull. “It might be interesting.”

Moira stared over at Laurel, her eyes rimmed with purple. “So much for your plan.” There was no humor at all in the statement.

All Laurel could say was, “I know.”