The Prison of Angels h-6

by David Dalglish

  “What does it mean?” she asked.

  “It seems the Vile Wedge is empty,” Dieredon said, standing and stretching the muscles in his back. “I can’t even find signs of recent passage.”

  “That’s impossible,” Jessilynn insisted. “You said only orcs had gone east, and our boats patrol the western river, as does the Wall of Towers. If there’d been such a massive exodus, we’d have heard of it.”

  “Perhaps,” Dieredon said, but he didn’t look convinced. “We’ll continue west for now. Tens of thousands of monsters don’t vanish without leaving a trace. They’re somewhere, and I will find them.”

  Jessilynn’s butt and back ached from such long periods of riding, but she said nothing, only gritted her teeth as she climbed atop Sonowin and wrapped her arms around Dieredon’s waist yet again. The miles passed below as the horse’s wings flapped with a steady rhythm. Occasionally she glanced down, but it was always the same rocky hills and dull grass. Part of her understood why the creatures so strongly desired to escape. Living in such a bland, infertile land must have worn on them as the years passed. Not that she regretted it. Humans living peaceably next to wolf-men and bird-men? Preposterous. She knew well the stories Jerico had told of Darius and him making their stand against the army of wolf-men that had crossed the Gihon and made their way west. She’d often imagined herself sitting atop one of the homes, her bow in hand, releasing glowing arrows into the beasts, thinning the horde and saving dozens of lives.

  “There,” Dieredon said, breaking her out of her daydream. Several hours had passed at a tedious pace. He pointed, and she followed his gaze. It took a few moments before they closed enough distance for her human eyes to see. From her vantage point it looked like a blob of darkness atop the yellow landscape. It helped none that the sun was beginning to set, obscuring it further.

  “What is it?” she had to ask as Dieredon ordered Sonowin to fly higher.

  “A group of hyena-men,” the elf said.

  “Why aren’t we following them?”

  Dieredon glanced back at her, gave her a wink.

  “Consider it a hunch, as you humans might say.”

  Once they were past the group Sonowin dipped lower. The land grew closer, and she saw more clearly the red stone jutting out from the grass, the spattered collections of trees that grew short and thin of leaf. Dieredon leaned so far off Sonowin’s side she feared he’d fall. They banked lower, lower, until the ground was frighteningly close below them. Jessilynn kept her legs clenched against the horse’s sides, begging Ashhur to calm her nerves.

  Up ahead the hills grew taller, and above them drifted a lazy column of smoke. Dieredon said something to Sonowin in elvish, and then the horse’s wings sharply changed their angle, blowing back against the air current. They soared upward, killing more of their momentum, and then with hardly a bump they landed at the foot of the hills. Jessilynn hopped off Sonowin’s back, following Dieredon. Something about the way his body tensed made her uneasy, and the mischievous grin on his face helped none, either. He seemed excited, yet all she felt was fear.

  “What’s beyond the hills?” she asked, keeping her voice a whisper. She already felt too loud because of the soft rustling of her chainmail against the studded leather backing.

  “That’s what we’re here to find out,” Dieredon said as they continued to climb.

  “Then why not fly over with Sonowin?”

  The elf shook his head, a gesture Jessilynn was becoming all too familiar with seeing.

  “The sun’s not yet set, and the sky is clear,” he said. “I don’t want them to know we’re here.”

  He hurried ahead, his excitement growing. Despite his speed, he made not a sound. Jessilynn bumbled after, more and more thinking she needed to make some adjustments to her armor. Why he hadn’t forced her to already was baffling. Perhaps he was waiting to see if she did it on her own, just as he waited to see if she would complain when he pushed her too far in her training.

  When Dieredon neared the top of the hill he lay on his stomach and crawled to its peak. When he looked beyond, she saw a jolt go through him. He held his palm open toward her, and she dropped to her belly, figuring he wanted her to show equal care. Something in the way he froze there, the way his excited grin had fled…what was beyond the hill? What could scare the Scoutmaster of the Quellan elves? Elbow over elbow she crawled across the yellow grass, until at last she joined the elf’s side and overlooked the land below.

  “Ashhur help us,” she whispered, unable to stop herself.

  The hill ended sharply, revealing a wide cleft. It looked like a gash rent into the world, with many surrounding hills also ending just as steep. The space between was wide and flat, much of it covered with dry red clay, the sparse grass there smashed or dead. And in that massive area, spread out below them like colonies of ants, were the creatures of the Vile Wedge.

  Nearest to her were the wolf-men, packs of them gathered around the small fires that dotted the ravine. She couldn’t even begin to count their number, but they were the most numerous of all the species as far as she could tell. Amid the cacophony of sounds rising up to them, it was their growls that were the loudest. Beside them, in the heart of the gulch, were the bird-men. They sat in circles, their feathery arms wrapped around their bodies. Their colors varied wildly, more so than any of the other beasts. Most were dark black, like a raven, but others were white, blue, red, even a few pinks and purples among their plumage.

  Beyond them were the goblins, miniature humans with grotesque heads. They were the only ones gathered that wore clothing, tattered loin cloths sewn from the yellow grass of the Wedge. Their encampment seemed the most industrious, with actual tents scattered about. Their skin varied in color, though not as much as the feathers of the bird-men. Most were an ugly green, with red the second-most common color. Also unlike the rest, they wielded crude weapons made of wood and stone. Nearest to the goblin camp were the hyena-men. They were the most hyper, yipping about and snarling at one another. The hunch in their back looked uncomfortable, almost obscene. Unlike the rest, their fur was unanimously a dirty shade of spotted orange.

  On the far end of the ravine, their forms just barely visible to her eyes, were the goat-men. She’d heard of them rarely, their numbers were few. They walked about, bare-chested, their faces long and horned. Their arms and hands were like that of a human, but their legs were covered with fur, their feet ending with hooves as large as a horse’s. She saw them talking, but the distance was too great for her to make out any sound.

  Between each race were large gaps, with what appeared to be poles or spears jutted into the ground to form the borders. Fire, ordered encampments, alliances between races…all of it was counter to what she’d believed possible. The creatures in the Wedge were mindless, brutal, devouring each other like the monsters they were. They weren’t supposed to reason. They weren’t supposed to be more intelligent than any other pack of wild animals. From them she heard yips, snarls, random curses, and amid it all were words shouted in the common tongue. That she could understand them, could listen to their words as they shouted and mocked one another…

  Most terrifying, though, was their number. It was beyond counting, almost beyond estimating, but between them she knew there had to be twenty thousand, if not more.

  “What is going on?” Jessilynn whispered. She almost felt paralyzed as she lay there. If any spotted her, or even smelled her with their animal noses, they’d swarm in an instant. Sonowin wasn’t far down the hill, and surely they could reach her before any beasts curled around the sides of the ravine, but still, that was a race she didn’t want to take part in.

  Directly below her she watched a wolf-man come in from the south entrance of the ravine, carrying what looked like the upper half of a cow. It flung the corpse before one of the fires, and with frightening speed dozens of the beasts tore into the thing, grabbing at innards and ripping flesh free with their claws. Jessilynn watched, a chill spreading through her veins.


  “A gathering of the subhuman,” Dieredon whispered, and over the sounds below he was barely audible. “Of the like I’ve never seen, never even dreamed.”

  “I don’t understand. They hate each other, don’t they?”

  He nodded.

  “It’s that hatred that has allowed us to keep them in check. But this…this isn’t normal. I’d say it impossible if I didn’t see it with my own eyes. The entirety of the Wedge has been making its way here for months, abandoning all former territorial lines. We must find out who leads them, who is capable of creating such an army. Perhaps magic is involved, maybe even priests or wizards.”

  “How?” Jessilynn asked. “How do we find out without them discovering us?”

  Dieredon stared, and the longer the silence lingered the greater her fear grew.

  “I don’t know,” he said at last.

  It was the most frightening thing he could have possibly told her.

  12

  It wasn’t the stress the position put on her husband that upset Aurelia. She knew Harruq could withstand it, no matter how much he might complain otherwise. It wasn’t the responsibility, for she knew his decisions would be the right ones, regardless of his doubt. No, the thing that upset Aurelia most about Harruq’s role as steward was the sheer loneliness it brought about in her.

  “Mommy, look!” Aubrienna called, pulling her from her thoughts. She sat on the edge of a fountain in one of the castle’s many gardens. Aubrienna and Gregory played on the far side. They’d been chasing each other with wooden weapons, Gregory wielding a sword, Aubby a wand, but the toys now lay in the grass. It seemed a new game had piqued their interests.

  “Careful of thorns,” Aurelia told them, seeing they had begun picking flowers. Aubrienna was the one taking charge of things, as she often did. Aurelia watched as her daughter began putting the small daisies into Gregory’s hair, the little girl frowning every time they didn’t stick. Gregory mostly let her, trusting her implicitly. The sight put a smile on Aurelia’s face, and she wished Harruq could watch as Gregory finally grabbed a tulip and yanked it free so he could place it atop of Aubrienna’s head. Both giggled as it fell off, landing on the stone walkway.

  “I’ll get it!” Aubrienna said, reaching down and then handing it to Gregory.

  “Thanks,” Gregory said, beginning his second attempt to place the flower in her hair. “Now you stay still. Stay!”

  Aurelia leaned her chin on her palm. Her husband’s long hours left her alone, for being at Harruq’s side when he made his judgments risked undermining his authority. It wasn’t as if the people of Mordeina mistrusted her, she knew that. If anything, she was beloved, more so than the actual queen. Current fashions in the city had already begun to mimic the dresses she wore, becoming more elven in style. Harruq’s popularity hadn’t waned either, but things had already grown uneasy. He needed to convince everyone from lords to beggars that he was competent enough to rule as steward. Too many knew of Susan’s involvement already. If the general populace realized how much of a puppet ruler Harruq actually was, it’d render everything they’d done pointless. His public dealings with the people were therefore of the utmost importance.

  So she stayed with her daughter, letting Aubrienna’s light and happiness brighten her own dull existence in the city of humans as they passed the hours together until her husband fled the throne for their embrace.

  “That’s enough,” Aurelia said, glancing up to see over a dozen flowers now uprooted and laying about. They both looked her way, frowns on their faces, and she realized how harshly she’d reprimanded them. She let out a sigh, berating herself for taking out her frustrations on the children. It simply wasn’t fair. Aubby missed her father just as much as she did.

  “We were…we were just playing with the flowers,” Aubrienna said, as if explaining it would clear everything up.

  Aurelia stood and wandered their way, smiling to show she wasn’t upset.

  “It is all right,” she said. “But I don’t want you playing with the flowers anymore. The gardeners work very hard to make them grow so beautiful.”

  Aubrienna looked around, as if unsure if she were in trouble or not. Gregory had no such need.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, eyes to the ground. Whether necessary or not, he’d decided apologizing was a good way to head off a paddling. The castle servants were hesitant to lay a hand on the little kingling, but Aurelia had no such reservations. In her mind, the last thing Mordan needed was a brat for an heir, not that there was any real danger of that. Gregory was such a sweet child. It was Aubby who was the real troublemaker. Aurelia blamed Harruq for that, naturally.

  “It’s all right,” she said, kneeling down before them so she might look them in the eye. “How about we go get something to eat, hrm? I bet Merelda has something nice brewing in the kitchen just for you two.”

  The promise of sweets sparked their eyes alight, and Aurelia grinned. Perhaps a sweetcake might help her own mood.

  She offered them her hands, then froze. It was as if she had suddenly gone blind, but not in her eyes. The sense of magic within her, the connection with the weave of her goddess that granted her power, vanished. Replacing it was a pulsing emptiness coupled with a vague feeling of unease. Without thinking she grabbed the arms of both children and yanked them to the ground while ducking her own head.

  Two darts plinked into the stone beyond her, careened wildly before landing in the grass. Aurelia’s eyes widened as she stared at their sharpened points, the tips dripping with some sort of cloudy liquid.

  “Stay down,” Aurelia whispered, fear and fury overwhelming her initial surprise.

  There were two entrances to the garden, one on the east wall, one to the south. Aurelia had the children ducking behind a white marble ledge, its top decorated with dozens of potted flowers. They were on the far side, nearly equidistant from either entrance. She flexed her fingers, thinking to summon a portal to escape, but the magic didn’t come to her. It was as if she were underwater trying to gasp for breath.

  Gregory began to cry, and Aubby’s face was scrunching up and turning red, frightened tears about to release from her as well. Aurelia lunged for the first thing she could use as a weapon: Gregory’s wooden sword. In her hands it was more of a dagger, but the wood was solid, and she peered over the ledge to scan for their would-be assassins. There were three of them, one at each door plus a third rushing through the garden, two glinting daggers in hand. All three were dressed in the strangest garb, their clothes a mixture of reds and grays. Their faces were covered with a dark gray cloth, revealing only their eyes and hair.

  The one at the door to her right caught her looking and flung another dart. Aurelia ducked, her heart pounding as panic threatened to overwhelm her-not for herself, but for Gregory and Aubrienna. If only she had her magic. She had her training with Harruq from their sparring years ago, instilling moderate ability to defend herself with her staff. But against skilled assassins, wielding only a child’s toy, what chance did she have?

  Preparing herself for the end, she swept her eyes over the two children, and as she did she caught sight of a strange spherical object not far away from her, lying in the grass. Its surface was made of obsidian, and it was heavily cracked. From those cracks pulsed a rainbow of colors, almost like a heartbeat. Without thinking, without daring to fear for her safety, she lunged out into the open for it. The nearest assassin was almost upon her, and in response to her unexpected motion the man twisted, kicked off the ledge she’d hidden behind, and continued after her. Aurelia spun in air, lashing out with the wooden sword. It clipped the man’s thrust, shoving it harmlessly aside.

  When she landed she grabbed the sphere, surprised to discover how light it was. With all her strength she hurled it toward the nearest doorway, then rolled. Daggers thudded into the grass. Coming out of her roll, she let out a gasp. With the object’s removal she felt her magic returning into her like floodwaters rushing through a broken dam. Feeling more alert, more whole, she bar
ed her teeth and stretched out her hands toward the leaping assassin. Lightning shot from her fingers, crackling with energy. The hit halted him in midair, spinning his upper body backward. When he landed she struck him again, the electricity arcing about his body.

  “Close your eyes!” Aurelia screamed at the children. Gregory would see nothing, what with his fists pressed against his face, but Aubrienna had been watching even as she cried. Praying her daughter would listen, Aurelia stood, summoning an invisible energy shield to block any more darts the assassins might throw. But the two men at the doors apparently had new tricks in mind.

  A ball of fire burned through the air, aimed straight for Aurelia’s chest. It struck her shield and detonated, swirling outward in a thin line, consuming the nearby plants and blackening the vases. Aurelia managed to duck beneath the flames just in time, only to see the other assassin outstretch his hand. Twin glowing orbs arced out, veering over her cover and slamming through her shield with ease. She let out a cry as they struck her chest. The pain was intense, and she fell back to the ground. Writhing, she bit her tongue in an attempt to focus. The two orbs had caused no physical damage. They were just trying to keep her down long enough to finish her.

  The bite to her tongue didn’t work, but hearing the two children crying did. The fools wanted a sorcerer’s duel? Then so be it. She’d faced an enraged Tessanna, stood toe-to-toe against the prophet. These assassins? They had picked the wrong target.

  Shoving herself to her feet, she raised her hands and summoned the most powerful protection spells she knew. Fire and ice crashed against her shields, burning more plants and spreading frost along the ground, but nothing could penetrate. Aurelia’s fingers danced, and she allowed herself a smile.

  “You want fire?” she asked. “Then have it.”

  A great stream burst from her gathered palms, belching out as if from the belly of a dragon. It filled the doorway, easily overwhelming the man’s attempt at a magical shield. When it subsided, his body was but blackened ash. Turning to the other, she saw him fleeing.