Harruq was stunned by the outburst. He fell silent, trying to think over his words. He’d always viewed Ahaesarus as the unquestioned ruler of the angels, but now he wasn’t so sure. In times of war, he’d been their leader, the one to decide all final tactics. Was he like so many others, left to find a new purpose now that the enemies were gone? If Ahaesarus was struggling, then surely every other angel struggled just the same.
“It wasn’t supposed to be this way,” Ahaesarus said, his voice growing soft, wistful. “Many of us watched over mankind when their race was first molded by the gods’ hands. We protected them, healed them so they might flourish. We were their wardens, trusted, respected. The land was so peaceful then, so free of strife. That was before the brother gods warred. Before that innocence was lost forever.”
The angel looked to Avlimar.
“The finest memory I have now is of us returning here. When you knelt on that battlefield, the entire heavens watched, Harruq. Even in eternity, the land rumbled from the impact of your faith. Celestia saw it, too, saw a chance to save this world from the desolation the war god would leave it in. The sky split before us, and suddenly I found myself with a chance to be a warden for mankind once more. We slew the demons, cast them down with so righteous a fury I can still feel the power coursing through me. What better way could we protect mankind? How clearer might we fight the darkness than by giving our newly granted lives to save those we loved? And when Thulos was defeated, when the war ended and peace took its place, I thought things might return to that long lost paradise. We would be wardens again, and we would bring Ashhur’s love to a land that had been aching without it for centuries.”
“You want to return us to paradise?” Harruq asked. “Tell me, how many men did you kill in paradise?”
Ahaesarus shook his head.
“It’s not that easy, Harruq. Do you know how many men committed murder during those ninety years? Not a one. It seems paradise is lost to both of us, and I don’t know what it is we create in its place.”
The shadowed angels scattered, and Harruq saw more and more flying out from the city, including a large group traveling south.
“My brother,” Harruq began.
“I know,” Ahaesarus said. “Trust me. I know.”
“I’m glad you know,” Harruq said, forcing his temper down. For once, he had to think. For once, he had to be the one with wisdom. “But knowing isn’t enough. What will you do about it, other than standing beside me and wishing for times that won’t return? The law doesn’t make this right. You know that, deep down you know that. So do something. Anything.”
He let out a deep breath.
“Because if you don’t,” he said. “I will. There’s so much you angels can do for us, but trust me, we’re quite capable of killing ourselves on our own.”
Harruq left the leader of the angels there, exiting the balcony through the single wooden door. Just within the entrance he paused, listening until he heard the sound of wings taking flight. With Ahaesarus gone, Harruq let out a sigh and prayed he’d said the right thing. His stomach felt like a rock when he thought of what the next day would bring. There’d be petitioners, of course, people demanding an explanation. What would he tell them? Was his heart calloused enough to sit there on the throne and tell them they only received what they asked for?
Turning the corner, he startled to find Kevin Maryll leaning against the wall, arms crossed. Harruq saw the smile on his face, the smugness, and knew the man had heard every word.
“What do you want?” Harruq asked.
Kevin shrugged.
“It seems unfair to say. I’ve already had so many wishes granted today.”
It was too much. Harruq snapped, grabbed the lord by the front of his shirt and slammed him against the stone wall.
“Is this what you wanted?” he asked, his face inches away from Kevin’s. “Is this what you’ve worked so hard for? I hope you’re happy, you madman.”
“I’m ecstatic,” Kevin said through clenched teeth.
“People are dying, and you’re ecstatic?” Harruq felt an intense desire to draw his sword. To stop himself, he instead struck Kevin’s cheek with his fist. Kevin didn’t even let out a cry despite the blood that dripped from his lips.
“Hit me again,” Kevin said, his voice like ice. “Act like the thug I know you are. You were born scum, Harruq, a homeless thief with a whore for a mother and a dead elf for a father. Everyone knows the story. It’s sadly a rare few of us who actually listen.”
“You have no idea what I’ve suffered through,” Harruq said.
“And I don’t care! You rule, not me, so it’s time you looked out that balcony and accepted the truth.”
Kevin grabbed Harruq’s armor, yanked him closer. His eyes filled his vision, wide with fury, hard with certainty.
“Those angels don’t care about us. They can preach mercy and love until their wings fall off, but that’s not how they see us. We’re just cattle to them! Look how easily they turned. Look how easily they butcher us, so long as they feel their priests can justify it. We wanted a greater stake in our fates, and in answer they slaughter hundreds.”
Harruq shoved him against the wall a second time, then stepped away.
“You’re wrong,” he said.
“Am I?” Kevin spat blood onto the carpet. “Angels fly to Ker for your brother, did you know that? I suspect you do. His name came up in the council during its final minutes. Do you know what they called him, your precious, reformed brother? ‘An acceptable loss.’ This is a hard lesson, Harruq, perhaps the hardest lesson of all. The nation you rule is headed for war. It’s one we’ll win, of course, but thousands will die. So accept the silver lining. The people of Dezrel will finally see the angels for what they truly are: superior savages that would lord over us all. A hard lesson, learned in blood.”
“You’re enjoying this,” Harruq said, feeling sick. “How?”
“Because I want a king, not a god. You told Ahaesarus if he didn’t stop this, you’d stop it yourself. It’s the smartest thing I’ve heard you say since taking over Antonil’s role. For all our sakes, I hope you meant it.”
Kevin fixed his shirt, then gave him a low, exaggerated bow. As he walked off, the image of plunging Condemnation through the lord’s back flashed through Harruq’s mind. He forced it away. The man’s words haunted him, and he retreated back to the balcony, wanting one more breath of fresh air. As he leaned against the railing, his hand touched the broken section Ahaesarus had struck. He stared at the stone, then looked to the slumbering city. Throughout he saw the angels flying, the faint white of their robes seemingly a lie.
“What are you to us?” Harruq whispered. “And what are we to you?”
To that, he had no answer. Not anymore.
19
In such a crowded ravine, solitude should have been a near impossibility, or at least that’s whatJessilynn initially thought. It turned out not to be true. Near the wolf-men encampment there was a deep crack in the side of the cliff, forming a thin cave. Not more than a few feet in it turned completely dark, lacking torch or fire. It was into that darkness the female took her, shoving her to the ground. Even with her age she still had impressive strength.
“Your bow,” she said. “Hand it to me.”
Jessilynn hesitated. So far they’d yet to take it from her, and it remained slung across her back along with her quiver of arrows. She debated drawing one. Surely she could kill an old wolf. But what would she do after? She thought of the creatures as they’d gathered below Dieredon, waiting for him to fall. She thought of the way they’d torn into the butchered cattle, or even other members of their own race. The fear paralyzed her.
“The bow. Hand it to me. Now.”
She did as she was told, giving over the quiver as well. The female held them to her chest, nodding.
“My name is Silver-Ear,” she said. “Though I let you live, I am not your friend. Remain here. If you leave the cave, you will die.”
&nb
sp; With that she left Jessilynn to the darkness. She sat on her rear, arms curled across her knees, and shivered. What did the beasts plan to do to her? Was there something worse than being eaten alive? The other boys at the Citadel had often joked of the crude things wolf-men did, always to innocent maidens of course, but she’d never taken them seriously. It’d been easy to dismiss back then, but now she was so afraid it made every single outlandish story contain grains of truth. They’d rape her. They’d mutilate her. They’d feast on her flesh, then let her recover so they might eat again and again, until she was nothing but a sobbing stump. They’d force her to kneel before the moon and renounce Ashhur, lest the pack have their way with her.
Stop it, she told herself. Just stop it.
Rumors, jokes, stupid things that meant nothing. She knew that. Again she prayed to Ashhur, but in that deep darkness, it seemed he was so far away. Halfway through her first prayer she broke down. What had she been thinking, accepting a role beside Dieredon? He was one of the legendary heroes, and she was just…well…
She was just an exhausted, frightened little girl in a cave surrounded by monsters.
Movement from the cave entrance pulled her attention away from herself. Yellow eyes glinted, and despite her best efforts not to, she let out a gasp. It was the two identical wolf-men. She could tell just from their size. The cave was deep enough that they could stand side by side, and they loomed before her, peering down like she were an alien thing.
The one with the white around his eyes kneeled lower, then began to ask questions.
“What do you know of the towers beyond the river?” he asked.
Jessilynn felt a momentary panic as she struggled to understand what he asked of. The Wall of Towers, she realized. It did little to calm her panic.
“Nothing,” she said, forcing herself not to stammer. “I’ve never been there.”
“What of the boats, the patrols?”
Her silence was answer enough.
“The lands beyond the river, they have great armies. How many wear metal armor like you?”
Why did they think she knew these things? She thought to guess, but decided otherwise. She would not lie to them, no matter the convenience.
“I don’t know,” she said. The look the two wolf-men gave her was chilling, and it was clear their patience was nearing an end.
“Your armor. You are a paladin, yes?”
Jessilynn nodded, then realized the creatures might not fully understand such human gestures.
“Yes,” she said. “I am.”
“Where is the one they call Jerico? Does he still live?”
She did her best to hide her surprise. They knew of Jerico? Earlier they’d mentioned someone like her humiliating their father. Their father…
She let out a gasp, realizing exactly who it was that stood before her. One of her favorite stories at the Citadel had been Jerico telling of how he and Darius withstood an onslaught of wolf-men crossing the river to attack the small village of Durham. They’d been led by a vicious wolf-man named Redclaw. In the stories Jerico never told of what happened to the beast. Now, it seemed she knew. The hatred in their eyes grew all the more frightening.
“Jerico lives,” she said. “At the Citadel to the south, training more like me.”
“How many of your kind wait for us when we cross?”
Waiting? They had a few boats patrolling the Rigon, barely covering a few dozen miles of land. Ever since the Citadel fell, they’d relied on the elves to fill in the gaps, but with the orcs’ conquering of the east, even that had ceased.
“There’s no one waiting,” she said. “I promise, no one else knows of…of…all this.”
Other than Dieredon, of course, but she didn’t need to say that. They’d all seen him escape on Sonowin’s back.
“You lie,” the wolf with the white around his eyes said. His lips pulled back in a growl, exposing enormous yellow teeth.
“No,” she insisted, fear clutching her throat. “No, please, I don’t!”
“Then what good are you to us? You know nothing of man, nothing of his armies, nothing of what awaits us.”
His claws were reaching for her when Silver-Ear called for him to stop.
“Hold your temper, Moonslayer,” the female said from the slender cave entrance. The pair turned, and the white-eyed one sniffed her way.
“It is no temper, shaman,” he said. “I only seek a meal. This human is worth nothing to us.”
“You are wrong,” Silver-Ear said, shuffling closer. “She is everything. The other races lose their patience, and worse, their trust.”
“What do we need of their trust?” asked the other. “I am Manfeaster, son of Redclaw. Let them fear me instead. We have already slaughtered many to cow their spirits. Should the goblins or birds grumble, we will remind them of their fear.”
“You keep them here with fear, but even fear will not be enough when we cross the river into the land beyond. We must have something to make them listen, something to make them trust you long enough for us to secure a strip of land.”
“And that is her?” Moonslayer asked, gesturing to Jessilynn. “What does this runt know to help us? She is but a child, and lacks wisdom because of it.”
It was so terrible sitting there, listening to them describe her in such a way. These were the beasts they’d been taught about in the Citadel, led to believe they were just vicious, brutal eating machines. To be thought of as lesser by these creatures, as lacking any wisdom, was humiliating.
“She bears the weapons and armor of a man,” Silver-Ear said. “It does not matter if she is a child, for just as our own cubs still bear teeth, so too does she threaten us if we are not careful.”
“All the more reason to slash her throat,” Manfeaster argued.
Silver-Ear came up behind them, and at her beckoning Moonslayer stepped back, giving her room to kneel. Jessilynn curled her knees to her chest, watching, curious what the milky-eyed female wanted of her. What was it about her that the shaman felt was so important?
“Twice we have crossed the river in my lifetime,” Silver-Ear said. “Twice we were defeated by men with glowing weapons and silver armor. Your father was defeated. Those creatures you’ve cowed out there know this, and stay only because of fear. But if you can make them believe you, if you can make them accept you as kings…”
Silver-Ear rubbed a claw down the side of Jessilynn’s face. She flinched, but the shaman’s touch was strangely gentle.
“We hold one so similar to who defeated us before,” Silver-Ear said. “And you think she is nothing?”
She stood, turned to face the two.
“Humiliate her,” she said. “Enslave her. Parade her before all the races, and let them know we will not be stopped. And her use does not stop there.”
Jessilynn’s heart was in her throat when the female turned her cold eyes on her.
“You will deny nothing that we say,” she said. “Only nod and accept my words. Do you understand me, human? If you do not, then your mutilated body will serve our purpose just as well.”
Whatever defiant part of her that existed before that moment felt miniscule in the darkness, stared down by strange, bestial eyes.
“I’ll say nothing,” she said.
“Good.”
Silver-Ear turned to the others.
“I will begin,” she said. “I trust you two to continue when I stop.”
“One wonders who the pack leader really is,” Moonslayer said, his voice carrying a hint of a growl.
“I swore a promise to your father,” Silver-Ear said. “Do as I say, lest you insult his memory by preventing me from fulfilling his dying wish.”
She walked to the entrance of the cave, glanced back.
“The time is upon us,” she said. “Everything we’ve prepared for, it happens now. Bring her. And bring her bloodied.”
The two wolf-men turned to her. She felt the impulse to sob, but she fought it down. She would not weep before these monsters. M
oonslayer lifted a hand, and there was undeniable cruelty in his eyes.
“Bloodied?” he said. “If the shaman insists.”
With shocking speed he slashed across her face. She felt the claws tearing into her cheek, ripping flesh. The impact sent her slamming to the stone, flooding the darkness with a sudden swirl of stars and light. She felt blood dripping down her neck as well as her throat, and reflexively she coughed. Her left hand brushed her cheek, felt the flesh hanging like ribbons. Tears from the pain rolled down her face as Manfeaster grabbed her neck and lifted her off the ground.
“Come, brother,” he said, carrying her as if she and her armor weighed nothing. “Let us show the rabble our prize.”
Once outside the cave, Manfeaster slung her over his shoulder like she was one of the cattle they’d brought in the night before. Amid her delirium she saw the entrance to her cave, saw her bow and arrows lying against the stone beside it. She felt a desire to grab it, not to kill others, but to send an arrow through her lower jaw and into her skull. This was torment. This was the Abyss. Sinful or not, she couldn’t help it, not when she thought of what her face must look like. Not while it throbbed with unbearable pain, dripping blood across the fur of her tormenter.
Wolf-men gathered around them as Silver-Ear and the two brothers led the way toward the center of the ravine. They parted easily enough, only a few nipping back. All eyes were on her, and she closed her own so she would not have to see them. She was only a curiosity, not a threat. On and on they walked, until she was violently thrown to the ground. The force of her head striking the dirt jarred her eyes open, and she let out a cry. Moonslayer put his foot on her chest, holding her down.
“Stay put,” he told her.
Jessilynn nodded, glancing around. They were in the center of the ravine, in a place sectioned off from the other camps. Every race had a place to be represented, she saw, from the goat-men to the bird-men to the diminutive goblins. In the very middle of it all stood the two-wolf men, with Silver-Ear nearby. The creatures howled and cursed one another, but when Silver-Ear threw her head back and howled, they quieted enough so they might hear her words.
The Prison of Angels h-6 Page 20
