Wrath of Lions Read Free

Clovis Crestwell. He looked inhuman; he was much larger than before, and he no longer had his long, silver hair. The Highest grinned, and it seemed as though he had grown extra teeth. Magister Muren Wentner, the decrepit old man responsible for upholding Karak’s law within the settlement, stepped out from the crowd that had gathered behind the row of soldiers. His billowing gray robe flowed around him, making him appear to be a skeleton swathed in a mound of moldy fabric. From the look on the old man’s face, Oris could tell Wentner too was shocked by Clovis’s strange appearance and unabashed nakedness.
    “We are…grateful for your arrival, Master Crestwell,” Wentner said, falling to his knees before Clovis’s horse. “I wish I had knownof your visit sooner, however, for I would have prepared a more…appropriate greeting.”
    Clovis didn’t respond. He simply smiled that horrible, toothy smile.
    Wentner shuffled on his knees, clearly uncomfortable.
    “Er…what is the nature of your visit? Please tell me, so I can be of service.”
    Without responding, Clovis dropped the warhorn and grabbed his horse’s reins. The horse stepped to the side of the road, appearing slightly agitated, as if frightened by its rider. A heavy cart approached between the two rows of soldiers, drawn by a pair of huge chargers. The townsfolk behind the soldiers gasped, but the contents of the cart were hidden from Oris’s view. Magister Wentner rose from the ground, hastily stepping out of the way. Once it reached the end of the line, the cart pulled to a stop, exposing its ghastly contents to all.
    While Oris’s wife shrieked, lifting their children and backing away, Yenge seemed to be frozen in shock, the tight line of her lips and the twitch of her jaw the only signs of her distress. Oris was helpless to avert his eyes from the four bodies hanging from the slatted side of the cart—a woman and three young men. Even from a distance he could tell the corpses were in a terrible state, the decaying remnants covered with gashes and splashed with old blood. He recognized the tattered and bloody dress hanging from the carcass of the lone woman and the ruby-encrusted necklace Ulric had given Dimona on their wedding day.
    The ball of terror that had built up in Oris’s gut broke apart, its fragments spreading waves of vigor through his limbs. His body shook and his mind raced, but still he did not move. Instead, he clamped his hand over Caleigh’s lips before a shriek could leave her throat, giving them away. He hoped Alexander had the good sense to still his tongue as well.
    Out on the lawn, Clovis proudly marched his horse to the front of the cart.
    “The traitors have been found and punished,” Clovis said. Oris cringed at the sound of his voice, which was so unlike Clovis’s. His tone still held the same gravelly quality, but there was something
more
there—it almost sounded as if two voices were speaking at once. “They have gone to the underworld to burn for eternity because of their sins against Karak’s glory.”
    Caleigh began struggling, biting into Oris’s palm, but he refused to let go.
    “Why have you done this?” pleaded Yenge, her voice cracking.
    “Yes, why?” asked Magister Wentner. His pale gray eyes stared in disbelief, his usually cocksure manner rapidly deflating. “The wife and children of Ulric Mori did nothing to deserve this fate.”
    The bald, naked man laughed, the sound assaulting the air like a wave of roaring flame.
    “Did nothing, you say? The lady and her sons were heirs to a traitor and blasphemer, and they were set to follow in the footsteps of the one they called
husband
and
father
. They proved it when they attempted to flee west, into the arms of the bastard god who rules there.”
    “But what of us?” asked Yenge, bravely stepping forward to meet Clovis’s burning red gaze. “Is our entire family considered as such? We have not fled. We have remained loyal to Karak despite our