“All you monsters of the Wedge,” she said, turning so she might address the races. “You know why you are here. You know of the land beyond the rivers, rich with game, with green grass and clear water. It will be ours, as it was in the days of old. And it will happen, because for the first time in an age we will be united. We will be free. We will serve kings!”
“Kings of the Vile!” roared the wolf-men, and scattered among the other races were a few who took up a similar cry.
“In times past we failed, broken and alone,” Silver-Ear continued. “Our greatest could not succeed, for our enemies were strong. But behold now their strongest.”
The female was at Jessilynn’s side instantly, grabbing her arm and yanking her up so they might see her armor.
“This,” said Silver-Ear, “this weakling is all that remains of they who once defeated Redclaw. Where once they sent mighty warriors, now they send whimpering girls. Where once they wielded swords and shields of light, now only a flimsy stick of wood. Look at her. All of you, look upon the greatest mankind may throw against us! Our age has come, the age of our kings!”
Louder now the wolf-men howled, and their excitement seemed to be infectious. Jessilynn clenched her jaw, determined to stay silent. The shaman’s words insulted her, but there was nothing she could do about it. The idea of her being weaker, inferior, burned deep in her belly, playing on fears she’d carried since those earliest nights listening to Jerico’s stories.
“But that is not all,” Silver-Ear continued. “This human, this girl, knows everything. She knows of the boats. She knows of the towers. She knows where the armies move against us, and what evil magic they will try to use to keep us imprisoned in this wretched land. This broken thing will tell us everything. By the words of a single human, we will crush all humans!”
She turned to the two brothers, nodding slightly so they might know she was finished. Moonslayer stepped forward, beginning his speech with an ear-splitting howl that seemed to go on forever.
“We have no reason to be afraid!” he cried. “We have no reason to kill one another. The strong must eat the weak, but none here are weak. It is the humans who are weak. Their flesh, their hands, their will…it is weak, and we will crush it. Together, we will forge a kingdom of the Vile, and we will be your kings.”
Manfeaster jumped in, his timing flawless.
“We do not ask you to kneel,” he shouted to the other races. “We do not ask you to serve. We only ask you follow us, listen to us, so that you may join us in this conquest. Let us together crush the humans, and go to a land so fertile, so grand, that our kind will never go hungry again!”
“We are the sons of Redclaw,” Moonslayer roared. “Not just us, but all of us, and together we will finish what he began!”
Jessilynn was too tired, too delirious from the pain and blood loss, to take in the cacophony that followed. She’d listened best she could, her horror slowly fading into the background of her mind. It was all too much. The way the creatures looked at her, the goat-men with their long faces, the goblins with their strange, unblinking gaze, it was as if she were some entity from another world. Perhaps she was. All of them stared with a hunger, a sense of greed that she no longer wished to see.
“Your patience wears thin,” Manfeaster told the throng. “So know that the time to act is now. This pathetic human is the sign. Tomorrow, we march for the river! Tomorrow, let every human heart tremble with fear!”
This, more than anything, whipped them into a frenzy. The goat-men brayed, the hyena-men yipped, goblins laughed and clapped, and the bird-men squawked. Over it all howled the wolf-men, loudest and greatest of them all.
“To your feet,” Silver-Ear said as the two kings began howling to continue the excitement. “Before one loses control and tries to eat.”
The shaman’s hand took her own, and as if she were a child she was led back to the cave. Once inside she collapsed to the cold ground. The bleeding of the wounds on her face had begun to slow, but still the pain remained. Silver-Ear stared at her, then let out a soft grunt. Tied to her fur were thin strips of dried leather, holding small pouches made from skin. From within a pouch Silver-Ear pulled out a collection of leaves.
“Chew this,” she said, offering them to her. Jessilynn put the leaves into her mouth, then carefully bit down. The gashes in her face made any movement agony. The leaves were soft, yet when she chewed they were horribly bitter. Her eyes watered and her chest heaved.
“Do not vomit,” the female said. “Chew, but do not swallow.”
Jessilynn did so, striking the ground several times with her fist to help her concentrate. At last the shaman reached out her paw.
“Spit.”
She gladly did so. Silver-Ear took the disgusting mush, narrowed her eyes at it, and then grunted again.
“Lie on your back.”
Jessilynn slowly settled down, the ground feeling somehow comfortable despite its hardness. More than anything she wanted to sleep. A dim hope in her still clung to the idea that when she awoke in the morning everyone would be gone, and instead Dieredon would be there, cooking her breakfast. She closed her eyes, slowed her breathing.
Silver-Ear pressed the wet glob against her cheek. It was like salt poured into her open wounds, and Jessilynn let out a scream. The female easily held her down, growling at her.
“Stay still,” she snarled.
Jessilynn did so, even as the tears ran down the sides of her face. More of the substance pressed against her cheek. She gritted her teeth, choking down sobs. It burned like fire, but after a moment’s time, the sensation finally started to relent.
“Sleep here,” Silver-Ear said. “I will bring you food in the morning. Remember, step outside this cave, and I promise you nothing but death.”
With that, she was gone. Jessilynn breathed in, breathed out, as the din of roars and growls echoed inside the confines of the cave. Twenty thousand creatures, all ready to feed. They’d march west soon, crossing the Rigon and into the lands beyond. How many innocents would die? She couldn’t begin to guess, but the truth of it made her ache. And who would stand against them? Would Jerico be there? No, he was south in the Citadel, oblivious to the threat. Darius? Dead. The other heroes of old? All dead, all gone. The Wall of Towers was all that was left, and Jerico had made it clear what state they’d been in for years. She doubted things had improved since the Gods’ War. The towers had fallen before, retaken only with Darius’s help. But now?
Now the only paladin to stand against them was her, and she lay marred, broken, and weaponless. Worst of all, she couldn’t help but think it her fault. It didn’t make sense. It didn’t have to. Lost in her fear and pain, it seemed so blatantly obvious. Her pride, perhaps. Her desire to be better than others.
I’m sorry, she prayed as she waited for exhaustion to claim her. I’m sorry, Ashhur. Whatever I did to deserve this, I’m so, so sorry.
The only answer she received was blessed, dreamless sleep.
20
They alternated turns summoning the shadow portals to take them south. Through it all Qurrah remained silent, his nerves never calming despite the fact they crept closer to Ker’s border each passing moment. What did a border matter to men with wings?
“An acceptable loss,” he murmured as they camped that night. “Acceptable. Ashhur help us all.”
Tessanna glanced at him, and he saw the question in her eyes. He shook his head, still not wanting to talk about it. More than anything he felt such an immense betrayal at the words he had heard. When he’d expected death, when he’d deserved it, they’d denied it to him. They’d declared him forgiven. Ever since then, he’d felt changed. He’d tried, in his own meager way, to better understand the mercy and grace Ashhur’s priests had preached. Oh, he often felt he failed to live up to it, but the concept had been there, giving him hope, giving him a glimpse of a future where he could sleep without the weight of a thousand corpses on his conscience. More than anything, he carried hope that it would not
be Karak’s arms he went to upon his death. He would not spend eternity in a darkness lit only by Velixar’s glowing red eyes.
And now, when he sought only to help, only to repair, he instead found the angels ready to give him the death they’d declared him free of all those years ago.
“We’re not going to be safe,” Tessanna said, absently tossing kindling onto their fire. “Azariah knows where we live.”
“You think they will come hunting for us?”
Tess shrugged.
“I don’t know. You won’t tell me everything, so I must guess. But something’s wrong, I know that. Mordeina should have felt peaceful, but instead it felt…”
She shook her head, struggling for the right words.
“Like everyone was holding their breath,” Qurrah said.
“Yes, like that. Like everyone must keep one eye on the sky.”
Qurrah thought of the paladins who’d fought in Ashhur’s name, now secluded in their Citadel. What would Jerico think if he walked through those streets? What would he have said if he’d stood there in the middle of the angels’ council and saw them nodding as simple farmers asked for the death of their fellow man?
“If they come for us, you’re right,” he said. “Our home isn’t safe.”
“Then where is?”
Qurrah remembered King Bram’s words when they’d last spoken at the bridge, when Antonil’s army had come marching.
“We first refused to stand by Bram’s side and condemn the angels,” he said. “I think I might be changing my mind…”
Qurrah had never been to the city of Angkar, and now that he had, he wasn’t impressed. Its walls were tall, but Veldaren’s had been taller, and Mordeina had multiple walls built close together to form brutal killing lanes. There were no special defenses, no significant battlements. No, the only thing that impressed Qurrah about the seaport was that it had escaped the Gods’ War so thoroughly unscathed. When other countries and cities had fallen, it had thrived, which spoke to the careful manipulation of its ruler, King Bram Henley.
“The walls will mean nothing to men with wings,” Tessanna said, taking in the city beside him from the worn road leading to the main gates.
“It’s not the walls,” Qurrah said. “It’s who owns them. If we’re under Bram’s protection, and angels come for us, it’d mean war. Harruq won’t let that happen.”
“What if he doesn’t have a choice?”
Qurrah shook his head.
“Then all the more reason for us to be careful.”
She fell silent as they walked down the road, as if deep in thought. Qurrah held her hand, squeezed it tight.
“Must we kill them?” she suddenly asked.
“Who? The angels?”
She nodded. Qurrah sighed.
“I fear we might.”
“I don’t want to kill them. I’m scared to.”
He frowned at his lover.
“Scared? Why?”
She shook her head, and with the way she regressed into herself he knew he would receive no answer. So instead he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her fingers.
The most immediate thing they noticed when stepping through the walls was the smell. It was of salt, sea, and fish, damp wood and overgrown moss. It was vibrant, if a bit overwhelming. Tessanna seemed to love it, though, inhaling deep and smiling. It was good to see, and Qurrah grinned despite the stench.
“It’s alive here,” she said. “So unlike Mordeina.”
Qurrah shrugged.
“Mordeina smelled better.”
She winked at him, but did not counter. The traffic was light, and merchants called to them from both sides of the road. Qurrah meant to ignore them, but Tessanna drifted away. She looked over the food and trinkets, saying nothing, only drinking it all in with her eyes. Like a child, thought Qurrah. Despite his impatience, he let her go from booth to booth. A darkness had settled over her the past few months, he knew that. What he didn’t know was why, so anything that chased it away, anything that brought out the joy he knew was buried deep within her, was something he would encourage.
At last she returned to Qurrah, a guilty expression on her face.
“I was bad,” she said. “The man gave me a shrimp because I was pretty.”
“Hardly that bad,” Qurrah said, taking her hand so they might resume walking toward Bram’s castle.
“I might have leaned forward before asking for a taste. Very far forward.”
Qurrah rolled his eyes.
“You’re insufferable.”
“You suffer well enough.”
“You say as you lean forward.”
He laughed, and she squeezed his hand
The castle had three tall towers rising from the corners of its walls. Two of them were plain enough, though the third easily stood out from the others. From what Qurrah had learned of the city when first moving into the west years ago, that tower was known as the Eye. Its door was a deep crimson, oversized and bolted shut with a blatantly exaggerated lock. Above the door were ten skulls carved out of stone, leering down as if mocking anyone who might seek to enter. All three towers had guards stationed outside, plus the main castle gate. Figuring the direct approach to be the best, Qurrah walked up to the guards at the gate and bowed low in respect.
“I’ve come to speak with your king,” he said. “My name is Qurrah Tun.”
“Sure you are,” said one of the two, snickering at him. “And I’m a bloody angel.”
The guard looked to his comrade, as if to share a laugh, then saw the wide-eyed look he was getting. When he turned back to Qurrah, his mouth dropped open a little.
“You mean, he…he’s…”
“I am Qurrah,” he said. “Now either sprout wings, or find your king.”
“Begging your pardon,” said the other. “But he’s in the Eye. We’re never to disturb him when he’s in the Eye.”
Qurrah sighed, and without waiting for their permission he began walking alongside the castle wall toward the great red doors of the Eye. The guards hesitated, then rushed after him. Tessanna remained at his side, and she giggled.
“You scare people so easily,” she said.
“One of the few benefits of our reputation, I guess.”
“I just think it’s your glare.”
“We can’t let you go in,” the guard said, moving as if to cut in front of them yet still too frightened to do so. So instead he kept stepping in and out of their way, as bothersome as a fly.
“I’m not going in,” Qurrah said. “Calm yourself.”
This had the opposite effect.
“Then what are you going to do?”
Qurrah stared up at the Eye, noticing its various windows, all of them constructed of stained and colored glass to hide whatever happened within. Still, the glass would be thin enough for them to hear. Putting magic into his voice, he cried out, his words like that of a bellowing giant.
“King Bram, Qurrah Tun requests your presence!”
The two guards who’d been stationed before the Eye drew their weapons as the two from before clutched their ears and winced. Tessanna, meanwhile, just laughed.
“First Mordeina, now here,” she said. “I think guards everywhere will soon hate us.”
“Drop your weapons!” the first guard shouted to the others. “King Bram named him friend at the Bloodbrick!”
They looked far from convinced, but thankfully the great red doors cracked open, and out stepped the king himself. Qurrah let out a sigh of relief. How nice to be his brother, who was cheered as a hero everywhere he went. Qurrah doubted Harruq had to endure terrified guards every time he tried to visit someone.
“I expected your return months later,” Bram said. “Did you change your mind about traveling to Mordeina?”
“Sparrows dream of traveling as fast as us,” Tessanna said, and she curtseyed to the king. “But we did indeed change our minds.”
Bram’s eyes sparkled for a moment, no doubt hoping he interpreted Tess’s
speech correctly. Qurrah took her hand, then gestured to the tower.
“We would like a word with you,” he said. “In private.”
“Come inside the Eye,” Bram said. “I assure you, there is no more private place in all of Dezrel.”
Mildly curious about the interior of the over-exaggerated tower, Qurrah nodded his head, then followed Bram through the doors. Directly before them was a single staircase, looping upward through the low ceiling. They climbed the stairs, emerging onto the lone floor of the entire tower. This ceiling stretched high above them, and decorating the massive wall space were hundreds of paintings. They showed men fighting angels, demons, trolls, orcs, and even a few creatures Qurrah had never seen put to drawing. In every image, Qurrah realized it was men who fought them, never the monsters against one another. Torches burned at regular intervals, which, combined with the various stained glass windows, ensured each painting was given visibility. In the center of the room was a large wooden table, the wood well-aged. Carved in perfect detail atop it was a map of the world of Dezrel.
“Forgive the theatrical nature of the place,” Bram said as he took a seat before the enormous table. “But the walls are sheer inside and out, which leaves no place for spies. No ears at these walls, not even those of an angel, so speak your mind.”
Tessanna wandered over to the table, admiring the map. Her fingers drifted over a representation of the Elethan Mountains, her fingertips brushing their pointed tops painted a snowy white.
“They don’t need to hear us,” Tessanna said absently. “Just find us.”
“I’m not sure I understand,” Bram said.
Qurrah took a seat beside his wife. The chair felt slightly oversized, leaving him feeling like a dwarf. He frowned but ignored it.
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