“Greetings,” said Dieredon, Scoutmaster of the Quellan elves. “I come as requested, though forgive me for the delay. The Vile Wedge has gotten far wilder in the past few years.”
“I’m just glad you’re safe,” Lathaar said, bowing in return. He glanced at Azariah, noticed a hardness in the angel’s eyes that worried him.
“I must be leaving,” said Azariah. “I still have much to do. Trust your students, Lathaar, and have faith in them. Should Ashhur be kind, they will repay that faith tenfold.”
With a curt nod to Dieredon, Azariah spread his wings and then leapt into the air. Lathaar watched him go, careful to reveal nothing to his elven guest.
“Have I done something to offend?” Dieredon asked.
Lathaar shook his head.
“No, it just seems that even angels can have a long day. But let’s not think on that. I’m glad you’re here, Dieredon. I’m in need, and you’re the best person imaginable to help me.”
“Ask, and I will do what I can, my friend.”
Lathaar led him back around the Citadel, to where the students had resumed training. They passed through the various age groups, gathered together in small circles. Most wielded swords and shields, trading blows as they searched for openings in their sparring partner’s defenses. Further back they passed a few who wielded swords in each hand, and many others wielding maces like their trainer, Jerico. But at the very far end sat a young lady, her chestnut hair cut at the shoulders and then pulled into a ponytail. Unlike the others, she wore soft leather gloves, and in her lap was a bow.
“Jessilynn,” Lathaar said, drawing her attention upward. She smiled until she saw the elf, and then the smile fled her face. Immediately she leapt to her feet, fumbling through a bow. At sixteen she was one of the oldest students at the Citadel, but to Dieredon she was but a child, nothing compared to his centuries of life.
“You must be Dieredon,” Jessilynn said, her eyes staring at the dirt. “Jerico and Lathaar have told me so much about you. Consider me honored to be in your presence.”
“Well-spoken,” Dieredon said, crossing his arms. “Though I fear your teachers’ stories. Paladins may not lie, but I still believe they are prone to exaggeration.”
“Nothing of the sort,” Lathaar said, grinning. “Jessilynn, fire a few arrows at a target. Don’t be nervous, either.”
Jessilynn nodded, and without looking at either of them she grabbed her bow and turned around. Thirty yards away was a bale of hay, and leaning in front of it were several planks of wood that served as targets. For a moment Jessilynn dipped her head, closed her eyes, and began to pray.
“She was part of our inaugural class,” Lathaar whispered to Dieredon. “It was a big stink, too, our very first female paladin. Plenty of the priests were furious, but Azariah declared it good, and that ended the grumblings. Our younger classes have more now, and it isn’t the trouble or difficult matter we thought it’d be. As for Jessilynn, to be honest her skills with a sword aren’t very impressive, and neither can she wield a shield with any sort of grace. But the bow…”
Lying at her feet were a pile of arrows, and with her prayer finished Jessilynn leaned down to grab one. Pressing it against the string, she pulled it taut, then hesitated. As she did, a soft blue began to glow from the arrowhead. Then she let it fly. It arced through the air, leaving behind it a blue-white trail. The arrow missed the wooden targets, instead vanishing into the hay with a brief flicker of light.
Dieredon looked at Lathaar, an eyebrow raised. In response, Lathaar just shook his head.
“It gets crazier,” he said. “Jessilynn, another.”
She grabbed a second arrow, and this time she looked far less tight as she nocked it for flight. After another moment of hesitation she let it fly. Its aim was true, striking a thin board in the center of the hay bale. Upon contact the wood shattered as if blasted by an enormous hammer. Onward the arrow continued, vanishing into the hay. Seeing the explosion, Jessilynn hopped once in the air, her ponytail bouncing.
Now both of Dieredon’s eyebrows were raised, and his mouth dropped open a little.
Jessilynn spun around to bow, and she was unable to hold back her pleased smile. But at least she tried.
“I hope my demonstration was sufficient,” she said.
“Jerico’s shield gives us some precedence in dealing with this,” Lathaar said. “The problem is, neither of us knows what we’re doing with longbows. I’ve only shown her the most rudimentary basics, and even those might have been wrong. Basically, she’s self-taught.”
“Of that, there is little doubt,” said Dieredon. “Her stance is too narrow. She sights down the arrow while gripping it too tightly. Her follow-through is incorrect, and I cannot believe I must say this, but she even nocks the arrow incorrectly.”
Each critique made Jessilynn wince as if she were being stabbed with a dagger, but she remained quiet, her attention undivided.
“That’s great and all, but can you train her?” Lathaar asked, stepping away from Jessilynn and dropping his voice. “We can’t help her, and you’ve seen what she’s already capable of untrained. We can’t let such a unique talent go wasted. She could take down a bull with a single shot. What she needs more than anything is a teacher. That’s why I sent for you, Dieredon. Who else is better with a bow than you?”
“Flattery won’t help you here,” Dieredon insisted. “I can’t train her. The amount of time it would take to make her even proficient would be too much of a sacrifice. The Vile Wedge stirs, Lathaar, and orc armies surround our forests at all times.”
“Take her with you, then.”
Dieredon rubbed his eyes with his fingertips.
“What of her lessons here?” he asked.
Lathaar thought of what Azariah had said, as well as his own beliefs on the matter. His students had been coddled. They were out of the darkness of the world, living in safety and comfort.
“She knows the prayers, the lessons, the verses,” he said. “Everything else she’ll learn on her own, or from you. Please, Dieredon, she’s quiet, focused, and will take to your lessons well, I promise. I’ve talked with Jerico, and we’ve both prayed about this for months. This is the right thing to do, I’m sure of it.”
The elf let out a sigh.
“Six months,” he said. “That’s all I guarantee. And she’ll learn everything I teach her, not just about the bow. She’ll wear the armor I tell her to, move silently as needed, learn to forage, to craft her own arrows, anything and everything to survive out there with me. She won’t be a paladin when she returns, not in discipline or tactics. She’ll be a ranger. Can you accept that?”
Lathaar turned to Jessilynn, knowing without a doubt she’d been listening in.
“Can you?” he asked her.
Jessilynn’s green eyes sparkled, and she clutched her bow tight.
“Will I learn to shoot like you?” she asked.
“In six months?” Dieredon laughed. “Good gods, you humans. By the end of six months, my hope is you’ll know how to hold your bow without hurting yourself. Now do you accept? Know that we will soar to many places on my horse, Sonowin, so if you fear heights you should remain here and accept a more appropriate teacher. A human teacher.”
Lathaar watched as Jessilynn’s grin spread ear to ear.
“I get to ride Sonowin?” she asked. “I accept, of course I accept!”
And then she was off, calling out to her friends while rushing around the Citadel, to where Sonowin waited patiently. Lathaar watched her go, and when he caught Dieredon glaring at him, he smiled.
“I did say she was focused,” he said, and laughed at Dieredon’s exasperation.
4
The crowd was twice the size it had been a week before, and ten times larger than the week before that. Kevin Maryll did well to hide his satisfaction. By leaving, Antonil had done more to undermine his own rule than anyone else over his five year reign. Any other human, at least.
“But what do we say to thes
e angels?” he cried, his hands shaking to convey the sheer depth of rage boiling within him. “What do we say when they declare us liars, thieves, adulterers? Do they give us proof?”
No! the crowd shouted.
“Do they give us witnesses?”
No! they cried again.
“That’s right! Nothing, they give us nothing but their word. They give us nothing, then take from us everything, our land, our possessions, our very lives. And what do we say? What can we say, when their word is the only law that matters?”
A chorus of denials washed over him, varied in wording but similar in tone. Kevin drank it all in, at last letting himself relax. These were the fruits of his labor, hard-fought and long won. For years he had spoken out against the rule of angels. When the Gods’ War first ended his cries had fallen on deaf ears. No one would listen, for surely he was mad to say they should not trust the saviors of Dezrel. But patience and time had proven him right. Now over a hundred men and women surrounded him in the streets of Mordeina, blocking off a large portion of trade just so they might hear his truth.
“The gods started this war. The gods and their followers tore this land asunder, filling its rivers with blood and its fields with corpses. Yet now the puppets of the victor, these enforcers, these so-called angels, would lord over us. Who will protect us from them? Who will stand tall when they execute an accused thief yet let a confessed murderer go free? Who will represent us, who will be our voice to the heavens to shout in a loud and clear voice that we will rule mankind, not them?”
“The king will!” a man shouted from somewhere in the back, perfectly on cue. Easily worth the three copper he’d paid him.
“The king?” Kevin asked. “The king will protect us? The king will speak for us? Aye, a good king that is, my friend, so bring him to me. Show me. Tell me his name. Where is our king? All of you, I ask, I beg, tell me where is our king?”
Missing, the crowd shouted, and the chant soon was on the lips of all hundred. The Missing King! All hail the Missing King!
“To him I go!” Kevin shouted to them. “Let the castle hear my words, let the throne be painted with the truth. I will not walk to my death across a bed of angel feathers, nor bare my neck to gilded blades whose gold hides metal long stained red with blood. My fellow man, we will have a voice, one that will be heard!”
Their cheers urged him on, and as he walked down the street dozens flanked either side of him. Just before the hill he looked up to the floating city of Avlimar. Several angels circled the clouds, watching, waiting. Protecting, they claimed.
“Do you see me?” Kevin whispered to the sky. “Do you still think you can stand in my way?”
Up the hill to the castle gates he went, knowing they would not, could not, stop him any longer.
Harruq slammed the door shut, flung his back against it, and let out the most heartfelt groan his tired body was capable of.
“How?” he said. “How does Antonil not go mad?”
Aurelia looked up from where she sat on the floor. They were in a small room adjacent to the throne room. The furnishings were few, the windows slender and tall. The floor was carpeted, though, and Harruq flung his boots off so he could feel its softness on his toes. Before he could complain further he heard his daughter call out to him, using the name he was most proud of.
“Daddy!”
She raced barefoot across the room, instinctively weaving through the mess of wood-carved toys. Without slowing she slammed into his leg, hugging his thigh.
“Hey Aubby,” Harruq said, rubbing the top of her head and making a mess of her long brown hair. “Give daddy a chance to breathe.”
She squeezed tighter, then returned to her toys. Without bothering to find a seat, Harruq slumped to the carpet, still leaning against the door. He didn’t want to say anything, do anything, just sit there.
“Things haven’t gotten easier?” Aurelia asked him as she absently made one of the toys, a cat painted blue, spin and dance through the air as if on invisible strings. Aubrienna watched, delighted. Telling her mother to wait, she grabbed another toy, that of a dog, and began having it chase after.
“Easier?” Harruq said, rubbing his temples. “Dealing with Velixar was easier. These people are insane. Six hours I listened to them grumble. They want land, they want food, they want soldiers. Bandits are here, demons are there, and each person acts as if our entire army didn’t just leave for the other side of the continent. And they were the reasonable ones! I’m beginning to think the castle guards hate me, because they didn’t turn anyone away. For Karak’s sake, I had one woman ask if I’d touch her hands to cure her arthritis. Who do they think I am?”
Aubrienna looked his way, and he could see the vague worry in her beautiful brown eyes.
“Daddy…daddy’s upset because he had to listen to people,” she said to Aurelia, who kissed her on the nose.
“That’s right,” Aurelia said. “And people can be silly sometimes.” She turned her attention back to Harruq. “How many requests did you turn down?”
Harruq rolled his eyes.
“Five…maybe six if I count the hand lady.”
His wife laughed.
“You’ll have the kingdom bankrupt within a week.”
“I’m not made for this,” Harruq insisted, not seeing the humor in the situation that his wife did. “Some old woman comes up saying she needs money to feed her grandbabies, but the money lenders won’t help. Now what do I say to that? I’m not a big enough bastard for this job, Aurry. They should have picked Qurrah instead. He’d know a clever way to tell these people to go home and leave him be. Not me, oh no. I just…I just couldn’t sit out there anymore. I couldn’t listen to another word.”
“Are any still waiting?”
Harruq felt his neck flush.
“I may have left a few standing out there,” he muttered.
Aurelia shook her head.
“Get over here,” she said.
He got up with a groan, then sat down beside his wife. As she cuddled against him she lifted her free hand, sending more of the toys dancing. Aubrienna frowned, for they were moving too fast for her to catch.
“Mommy, slow down,” she said, holding up her toy. “My puppy can’t reach them.”
The whirlwind of cats, trees, horses and soldiers settled, and one by one Aubrienna began knocking them from the air with her toy.
“Ruling isn’t easy,” Aurelia said, watching their daughter play. “You need to stay calm, and know when you’re reaching your limits. When it comes to your decisions, remember, everything is a balancing act. Help those who need it, and encourage those who would falter, but not so much that they depend on you when they should instead depend on themselves.”
“Figures an elf would mention something about balance,” Harruq said.
“Are you saying I’m wrong?”
He turned and kissed her.
“I’m saying I’m tired and can’t think straight. Just ignore me.”
The door cracked open. Harruq felt a surge of panic. They wouldn’t follow him in there, would they? A paranoid delusion of beggars, petitioners, and politicians trailing around his bed day and night filled him, and if it had been anyone else than Queen Susan who stepped through the doorway he’d have screamed.
“Am I interrupting?” she asked.
When he shook his head she opened the door wider, and in rushed little Gregory Copernus, heir to the throne of Mordan. He was six months younger than Aubrienna and a good three inches shorter. His hair was short and blonde, neatly trimmed like the little lord he was. Every time Harruq saw Gregory and Aubby together he kept thinking how tall his little girl would grow up to be. Orcish blood, he thought. At least it had some benefits.
“I thought the two might play for a time,” Susan said.
Gregory was immediately at Aubrienna’s side.
“Here,” she said, handing over the blue dog after an intense period of mental debate. “You can have this. I’ll play with the kitty.”
She grabbed a purple kitten from the floor, meowing with it. Gregory began barking, and in no time they had chased each other into a corner. Harruq watched with a smile on his face, but the smile couldn’t last. Susan remained standing, and he sensed she’d not come just so their children could play.
“How are things out there?” he asked, glancing up at her.
Susan carefully shut the door, then crossed her arms. Her skin wasn’t nearly so pale as during the parade, and with her straight hair falling free about her face she looked far more pleasant than when dolled up with jewels and dresses. Antonil was a lucky man, he thought. Shame he didn’t have the brains to stay home instead of constantly fighting wars against orcs.
“I listened to a few more, then sent the rest away,” she said. “As you can do at any time. Harruq, if you feel overwhelmed please call for me, or send the petitioners home. You’re the steward. They will wait for you. Even coming into your presence is a gift they have no right to demand.”
“I know,” he said. “But I should be able to handle this. I’m sitting on a stuffed chair, half-drunk, making arbitrary decisions. This isn’t hard. I can do it.”
“You’re wrong, Harruq,” Susan said, her voice firm. “It is hard. And the more you convince yourself otherwise the more frustrated you’ll become. You didn’t grow up with this, didn’t train for this. You’re more at home with a sword than a scepter.”
“There were several I did want to hit with a sword,” he admitted. “Safe assumption that’s not an acceptable diplomatic response?”
Susan laughed.
“When it is, I will let you know,” she promised.
A knocking came from the other side of the door. Susan cracked it back open and leaned out. Harruq heard muffled talking, then saw the queen’s shoulders visibly sink.
“Harruq,” she said, pulling back inside. “There’s one more guest that refuses to leave.”
His left eyebrow lifted.
“Hit him with a sword?”
Susan’s smile didn’t reach her eyes.
“It’s my brother,” she said.
The Prison of Angels h-6 Page 4
