Wrath of Lions by Dalglish David & Duperre Robert J

Author:Dalglish, David & Duperre, Robert J. [Dalglish, David & Duperre, Robert J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fantasy, ScreamQueen, Horror
ISBN: 9781477817957
Amazon: 1477817956
Goodreads: 18640743
Publisher: 47North
Published: 2014-04-20T07:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER

22

Patrick could not go back the way he’d come. Where only days before there had been flowing fields of wheat and dense thatches of maple and birch trees, all that remained was a smoldering wasteland. Flames still crackled in some places, trees and underbrush licking red and yellow, and the air was thick with smoke. He had to cover his nose and mouth with the smallclothes beneath his armor to keep from hacking. There were hidden shallots like Grassmere dotted throughout the lands bordering the Gods’ Road, and if what he saw now were any indication, they must have been razed along with the surrounding lands. He thought back to the burnt barn and the ghastly secret hidden inside. If he avoided the area, at least he would not have to see more corpses.

Hopefully.

He ended up backtracking, guiding his horse out of the destruction and entering the desert once more. The red clay cliffs were just ahead of him. He hoped the scorched earth didn’t reach that far, but then realized it was a silly fear. Sand did not burn like vegetation did. To set fire to a desert would require a god’s power.

He came to his own tracks, leading across the endless expanse of sand to the Black Spire. If he kept heading west instead of north, he would soon come on the prairie where antelope and hyena roamed. That path was fraught with danger, as the night’s predators would surely smell his presence and stalk him, but if he reached the Corinth River, he could follow it back north and hopefully reunite with Ashhur at the Wooden Bridge. Then again, given how much time had passed, it was likely the god had already crossed. It had been eight days since he’d left the mass of refugees to have his ill-fated and aggravating reunion with Bardiya. They might already be far into the west. He thought of the scorched earth he had just left behind and shuddered. Or they might all have been slaughtered.

That night he made camp beneath a jutting stone that offered scant protection from the assault of flying sand kicked up by the winds. The temperature dropped, and his feeble fire flickered and died. His horse whinnied as it gnawed on the bits of cactus he had chopped for its meal. He had stripped the cactus in the dark, so he hoped he’d succeeded in removing all the spines. The last thing he needed was for a barb to get lodged in the beast’s throat. Wandering across the desert with only his uneven legs to propel him would be a good way to get killed.

As he lay down in the sand, pulling his paltry lone blanket up to his chin to ward off the chill, his mind wandered to Bardiya once more. He cursed his friend’s stubbornness and devotion. Bardiya was willing to allow his people to perish, and for what? Some woebegone notion of belief? It seemed downright idiotic. Why Ashhur didn’t simply head down to Ker and force them to join was beyond his understanding.

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