“Left me, took our kid with her, too. Dumb bitch. I’m better without her.”
Qurrah struggled to bite his tongue. Was this what the people really wanted? The right to cheat on spouses and dole out brutal justice? He thought of Azariah’s frustration and shook his head. Other than turning a blind eye to it all, what else was there to do? But the simmering anger he felt confirmed what Tessanna had suggested. The people were nearing rebellion against their winged enforcers. Not there yet, not quite. So far there was too much acceptance mixed with the anger. They were upset by things they felt beyond their control. But once they felt they had a choice, once they believed they had the numbers and the power to make things different…
Tessanna sat in front of him at the table, startling him.
“I thought you were unwell,” he said.
Tessanna glanced about the common room, hunched down closer.
“I didn’t want to be alone anymore,” she said, her voice so soft he could barely hear her. “I did, but then I didn’t. Is the food worthwhile?”
Qurrah pushed her portion of the bread her way.
“The butter’s fresh at least,” he said.
She ate it, nibbling like she was a squirrel. Qurrah leaned closer and kept his voice down.
“The people are resentful of the angels,” he told her. “Simply put, they’re human, and they want to be human, with all that entails. So long as Azariah enforces his higher standard through law, they’re going to resent him.”
“Perhaps your brother can do something,” Tessanna suggested. “He’s steward now. Surely the angels will listen to him.”
“That’s if I can make him agree. He might not. Perhaps he’ll only view these complaints as nothing more than growing pains.”
“Or labor pains,” Tessanna said, glancing about. “Though whether child or monster will be born, I’m not sure even the gods know.”
Gervis’s overwhelming voice roared again.
“Aye, I heard! Crossed the bridge not too long ago. No one knows why.”
“His brother’s the steward. Maybe he’s hoping to get a cushy job.”
“A job wiping his brother’s ass, maybe,” Gervis laughed, and everyone laughed with him.
Qurrah’s fist curled tight as his whip writhed around his right arm.
“Behave,” Tessanna said, meeting his eye. “They know nothing of you, nothing of me.”
“Any of you ever seen that demon girl of his?” Gervis asked. “Firm tits, an ass you could bounce coins off of? Well, a man was talking to me just this other day, told me something I could hardly believe. He lived in Veldaren, was there when them people were attacked. Now everyone knows she was sleeping with that prophet, but this friend of mine was saying it went way further than that.”
He waited until people began pressuring for greater detail.
“How much further?” Gervis continued. “Well, he said she spent the whole damn day and night fucking those demons. Kept shouting it was her calling, like it was some sort of worship. Thousands of demons, I tell you, every single one of them, each hung like horses. If you ever meet Tessanna Delone, you’re meeting the absolute biggest whore in the history of Dezrel, and that’s something you should tip your hat in respect to.”
Qurrah’s fists slammed into the table. He lurched from his seat, his weight braced against the wood as if his fury overwhelmed his ability to stand. The commotion earned him several glances his way, and when they saw the fire curling off his hands, blackening the table, many hurried up from their seats toward the door.
“No fighting!” the barkeep shouted. “No magic, no swords!”
Qurrah felt his arms shaking as he stared down Gervis. The big oaf had turned his way, and he looked dumbfounded as to the reason for Qurrah’s glare.
“Something the matter, friend?” Gervis asked. His hand had fallen to the handle of his ax, which lay by his feet.
“You’re telling tales,” Qurrah said, feeling an icy calm come over him. “Telling lies.”
“Hey now, I’m only saying what I heard. If you have a problem with-”
He stopped, for Tessanna had stood as well, her face catching the light of the fire. If there was anything more recognizable than Qurrah’s orcish features, it was those solid black eyes and that long raven hair.
“But I do have a problem,” she said, sliding around the table and walking their way. Qurrah watched, his fingers tensed. The second something went wrong, he’d be ready with fire and shadows.
“This…this is a joke, right?” Gervis said, staring at her. “A trick?”
“No tricks,” Tessanna said, her voice almost seductive. “It’s me, Tessanna Delone, lover of the great traitor, Qurrah. Shouldn’t you tip your hat?”
Gervis paused, but he had no hat to tip, and he looked like a cornered, frightened animal. At the mention of Qurrah’s name his grip on the handle of his ax tightened, and around him several of the men backed away, their hands also reaching for weaponry. They were all keenly aware of him now, and the tension in the room increased tenfold.
“Do it,” Qurrah said, his raspy voice piercing the sudden quiet. “If you have no hat, then bow in respect.”
Tessanna stepped closer, closer, her hips swaying, her head tilted to one side, a soft smile on her lips.
“I like the sound of that,” she said, her dark eyes sweeping over them. “All of you. Kneel.”
From her back shot four long tendrils. They were thin, black, and looked like a sick mockery of butterfly wings. They curled around Gervis and the three men with him, pulling on their arms and sweeping out their feet to force them to the ground. Others in the tavern started, readying for a fight, but Qurrah pointed his fingers at them, his hands consumed by fire. His look was clear. The first to interfere would die horribly.
Tessanna slowly sank to her knees before Gervis, who was struggling against the black tendril hard enough to make his face swell red.
“Such a good storyteller,” she whispered, yet in the silence Qurrah could still hear her. “Such a funny man. But what do you know of me? Nothing. In your mind I am what you claim me to be.”
She slid closer, putting her lips inches away from his ear.
“So what do you want me to be? Do you want me to be your whore? Is that what you want?”
She lovingly rubbed his face, and her touch immediately ceased his struggling. His eyes were wide, and he looked so frightened he might pass out.
“But I’m not,” Tessanna whispered. “I’m not your whore. I’m not your joke. The prophet never touched me, do you understand? Never. Nor the demons, nor anyone else since I met my love. Find your laughs elsewhere, little man. Because if you don’t…”
She shifted to the side, then kissed his cheek. Her lips blackened his flesh, making it smoke as if she were branding him with a hot iron. He screamed, but her hand covered his mouth, her fingernails digging into his skin. After only a moment she pulled back, and his screaming ceased.
“If you don’t,” she said, and her eyes swept the tavern, “then I’ll fuck you like the whore you think I am. I’m fire, and we’ll see just how many of you burn.”
The tendrils released, retreating into her back. The men scattered, Gervis leading the way. Others watched, waiting to see if anything else would happen. Nothing did. Tessanna turned to Qurrah, and he saw the anger in her eyes slowly fading. The fire vanished from his hands and he rushed to her side.
“See we’re not disturbed,” he told the innkeeper, and based on the fear he saw in everyone’s eyes he didn’t think it too difficult a request.
Back in their room, Qurrah slammed the door shut, punched it with his fist.
“My brother the hero, the Godslayer, the steward,” Qurrah muttered. “And what are we? Traitors. Cowards. The great whores.”
He turned to see Tessanna sitting on the bed, her hands in her lap. She looked ashamed.
“I lied down there,” she said softly.
Qurrah frowned.
“Lied? About w
hat?”
“About touching only you since I met you.”
Qurrah closed his eyes, told himself not do something stupid. She’d told him about Jerico and their single moment of weakness. Or had it been strength? It was something he never wanted to think about, to even remember having happened.
“You know I don’t blame you for it,” he said, putting his arms around her. “I’d put Velixar’s promises of power above you in my heart, and Jerico was there for comfort. I’m better than I was then. Right?”
She looked up at him, smiling despite her tears.
“So much better,” she said, kissing him.
He held her close.
“Don’t listen to what they say,” he said. “They’re ignorant fools.”
“But they hate us so much, and the stories they tell…they do it to make us less than what we were. Less human. More broken. We hurt them, and now they want to make us into monsters, demon-fucking monsters and heartless, slavering betrayers. But I don’t want to be that to them. I just want to be…me. But that will never happen, will it? Nothing I do will ever make them see me any other way.”
“That’s not true,” Qurrah said. “We could show them, we could help rebuild the world, help resolve their ire with the angels. It’s my fault for taking us away into hiding, for letting the stories grow unchecked. I’m sorry, Tess. I should have known better.”
She kissed his lips, then lay back on the bed.
“Qurrah?”
“Yes, Tess?”
She smiled sheepishly.
“I think I’m all right with using a disguise now, at least until we reach Harruq.”
Despite the exhaustion and stress of the day, Qurrah laughed.
11
Jessilynn lay before the fire, without the strength to sit up. Her arms and back ached tremendously, the result of another lengthy set of hours training while Sonowin rested from their flight. Her fingers felt raw, and the idea of pulling back her bowstring even one more time made her queasy. Staring up at the stars, she breathed in deeply, then let it out, trying to relax her sore muscles.
“I do not understand why you are so upset,” Dieredon said, sitting across from her, the lazy fire burning between them. He picked at the remains of a groundhog he’d shot and cooked sometime during the day. “I was told you were familiar with a bow. A few hours of practice should be nothing.”
“It’s not the time,” Jessilynn said, doing her best to not sound defensive. “Before it was just me. With you, it’s different. Every shot has to be…I don’t know how to explain. Every single one has to be right with you. Ten arrows with you feel like twenty on my own.”
“Patience,” she heard Dieredon say. “That is the reason. I’m teaching you patience, giving the bow a greater chance to work on you. Your body will adjust in time.”
Jessilynn closed her eyes and laughed despite herself.
“Is this one of those ‘pain is good for you’ lessons? Because I hated those whenever Jerico gave them.”
Dieredon chuckled. Silence came over them, broken occasionally by Sonowin’s nearby rustling as she grazed on the pale yellow grass of the Wedge. Slowly Jessilynn shifted so she lay on her back, close enough to feel the heat on her face as she stared into the fire. She caught Dieredon watching her, and she felt her heart quicken. She had slowly gotten used to the elf’s presence, but still there were times when she could hardly believe where she was. How long ago was it she’d been sleeping in a cramped bunk within the cold stone walls of the Citadel? Two weeks? Three?
“Why are you here?” Dieredon asked. The abruptness of the question caught Jessilynn off guard, and she looked up at him dumbfounded.
“To learn,” she said, believing that the safe answer.
“You know I ask for more than that. There is something burning in you, something driving you beyond others your age. I watched you in practice. That final hour you were clearly in pain, learning little because of your exhaustion. Yet still you continued, not once refusing my demand to loose another arrow.”
A bit of anger bubbled up Jessilynn’s stomach.
“You were testing me?” she asked.
“Of course. I am your teacher, after all. Now answer the question. What is driving you?”
She looked away, preferring to watch the flame consuming the many twigs, which Dieredon had showed her how to stack as to lengthen the life of the fire. Her neck blushed, and she bit her tongue. The answer wasn’t hard, but she felt embarrassed to admit it. Still, Dieredon’s eyes were upon her, and he seemed perfectly content to wait until she gave her answer. And if she refused, well, it wasn’t that far a flight for him to dump her off at the Citadel…
“I want to be like Jerico,” she blurted out when it seemed his patience was finally wearing thin.
The following silence was painful as she waited for his response.
“Your hair isn’t red enough,” Dieredon said.
She opened her mouth, closed it, then giggled upon realizing the elf had actually made a joke.
“Not just Jerico,” she said, feeling herself relax. “Lathaar. Darius. Tyrus the First. People revere them. I hear the stories, and all I desire is to do even better. I feel jealous, even. Jerico stood before a portal, slaughtering waves of war demons, not stopping even when a spear pierced his side. Lathaar defeated the ancient evil, Darakken. Tyrus drove the remnants of Karak’s beasts into the Wedge near on his own, surviving even though engulfed by thousands and returning a hero. Darius prevented Cyric’s madness from overtaking all of Mordan. Every night I went to bed listening to these stories, and when I look at Jerico’s shield, I think…”
She fell silent.
“Speak your mind,” Dieredon insisted. “You will receive no judgment from me, and no mockery.”
Jessilynn slowly forced herself into a sitting position. Her hand fell to the bow that lay beside her in the grass.
“I see the glow on my arrows and believe there has to be a reason,” she said. “Jerico’s shield was unlike all others, and look at everything he’s accomplished. Now I bear a similar gift, a blessing no one in my order has ever received before. What will I do with it? The demons are gone, the ancient evils defeated. What can I do to have my name belong next to theirs, to allow me to stand beside the heroes of my order and not feel ashamed?”
She bowed her head, felt her voice tremble.
“I have such a gift,” she said. “I’m just scared that I’ll waste it.”
For a long minute she endured Dieredon’s silence.
“This world is not safe, Jessilynn,” he told her, rising to his feet. “Your angels have done great things, but I fear the illusion of safety they have created has been more damaging than they can possibly understand. The east has gone wild, and within the Wedge the beasts are on the move. Every day my kind patrols the borders of our forests, always in fear of orcish fire. The ancient evils may be gone, but new ones have replaced them.”
He scattered the fire with his foot so they might safely sleep in darkness.
“I do not know what you will accomplish with your life,” he said, his eyes glowing in the starlight. “If you desire to be a hero, you have the necessary strength inside you. I can see it, clear as the stars in the sky. But your heroes didn’t become who they were by accident. They bled for it. They died for it. Not for themselves, but for others. Before you yearn for glory, think of the costs.”
And then he left her so she might sleep.
They spent much of the next two days in flight, landing only to let Sonowin rest. During those respites, Dieredon showed her how to light a fire with twigs, to hunt game, and forage for edible roots and berries. He barely let her touch her bow, telling her she should let her body rest and instead learn something new. Moving silently across the grass was the hardest for her, and more and more she saw her teacher growing frustrated with the clumsiness of her armor.
“It’s made for battle, not scouting,” he muttered one late afternoon.
“My arrows glow
a bright blue,” she responded. “How stealthy do you expect me to be?”
He only shook his head.
“When the fighting begins, they’ll know your presence. It’s beforehand that matters. Sometimes you may not want to fight at all. It is a hard skill to learn, knowing when you are outmatched.”
“So you want me to learn to be a coward?”
“It’s not cowardice to adjust the battle more to your favor,” Dieredon said. “There’s a difference between them ten leagues wide.”
“What about all the times Jerico and Lathaar stood their ground when victory was hopeless, yet still won? Haven’t you done the same?”
She thought she had him, but instead he only looked more disappointed with her.
“I dare say they were left with no choice,” he said. “That’s either bravery, or poor forethought, depending on who you ask. Neither is something you should run foolhardily into.”
They took to the air on Sonowin’s back, and for the next hour Jessilynn sulked, upset at her inability to answer a simple question correctly. If Dieredon noticed, he didn’t mention it. The land passed below them, until at last the elf guided them back to the ground.
“Landing already?” Jessilynn asked, trying to pull herself out of her funk. She was being immature, and she knew it. “There’s nothing here.”
“That’s exactly the point.”
The elf crouched low to the ground as he walked, eyes scanning his surroundings. For what, she couldn’t begin to guess. The more time she spent with him, the more she realized she would never possess a fraction of his skills. The wilderness spoke to him in a way it never would to her. The arrows in his quiver were as familiar to him as his own fingers. Even the weather couldn’t surprise him, and twice when it rained he’d informed her a good twelve hours beforehand, showing her how to build a rudimentary shelter with just sticks and dirt. Jessilynn waited, feeling useless, following after when he strayed farther and farther away.
“Nothing,” he said, shaking his head after ten minutes had passed and they’d covered a large swathe of area. “Everywhere we go, nothing.”
The Prison of Angels h-6 Page 11
