Free Wrath of Lions by David Dalglish, Robert J. Duperre

above, it was rather complex up close. There were more animal-hide tents than he’d first assumed, a hundred of them evenly spaced in an ever-widening spiral, all tilted to face the central fire pit. After the last tent in the spiral—the largest, as tall as two men; its canvas still covered with the speckled brown and white fur of the creature whose flesh had created it—there was that single wooden building. The granary, he assumed. Arranged in front of it were abundant gardens shaped in interlocking Ts, forming a geometric pattern that stretched out into the horizon. The gardens took nourishment from a series of narrow ditches that zigzagged between them, which were fed from a fresh spring that formed a shallow pool beside the granary.
    Ashhur approached the throng, and they dropped to their knees, bending so low their lips touched the dusty ground. He lifted a small child, the six-month-old infant no larger than an apple in his godly hand, and kissed the babe on the forehead. Ashhur appeared solemn as he watched his creations.
    “Rise, my children,” the god said. “Stand, and greet me well.”
    The people did as their god told them, their expressions awash with wonder and bewilderment. Just as in every other settlement, the people of this town possessed distinct characteristics—in this instance, deeply tanned flesh, lean builds, and curly, brown- and black-tinged hair. If not for their eyes, which were different shadesof deep blue and emerald green, they could have been mistaken for Kerrians, Bardiya’s people and Ashhur’s darker-skinned children.
    Then again, almost every person who lived east of the Corinth was of mixed heritage. Gazing upon the beauty of nearly every face he set eyes on, Patrick had to admit that the results were spectacular.
    A short, slender man, whose beard held patches of white, approached them. He bent his knee before Ashhur, taking hold of the god’s hand and kissing his fingers one by one. He then rose and smiled. He was missing half his teeth, but those that remained were white as the winter snow.
    “My Grace,” the man said, “your arrival is a great surprise, and a joy beyond joy. We are honored that you grace our home with your sacred presence.”
    “And it is my honor to have come, Felton Freeman. Consider yourselves blessed.”
    The elder looked up, wonder making his face shine. “You remembered,” he whispered. “I have not visited the Sanctuary in thirty years, yet you remembered.”
    “Of course, my child,” replied the deity. “I always remember.”
    Patrick chuckled. It hadn’t surprised him that Ashhur knew the names of the elders of every settlement they came across. He was a god, after all, and these were his creations. Yet none ever expected it, and it amused him greatly to see the looks of pride and awe whenever Ashhur greeted his children by name.
    Ashhur helped Felton Freeman to his feet before addressing the entirety of Grassmere’s residents. “I love you all, my children, but unfortunately the message I am here to give you is not one of spirituality. There are great terrors approaching to devastate our paradise. My arrival is a forewarning of the hardships to come.”
    “Wait for it,” Patrick whispered out the corner of his mouth. Ashhur glanced down at him, frowning, but a second later it happened. Confused murmurs erupted in the crowd, faces looking on with slack-jawed puzzlement. Felton Freeman furrowed hisbrow and turned to look at his people before facing his god once more. Then his eyes moved upward, to the ridge of the plateau above Ashhur’s head, taking in the sight of the massive gathering on the Gods’ Road. The man appeared downright stupefied…just like every other man and woman who had heard this speech over the last several months. Patrick at first couldn’t understand why his god would tantalize his people with such vague warnings, but over time he had come to understand. One could not confront a naïve people with grave