The Prison of Angels h-6

by David Dalglish

  “You were right about Mordan,” he said. “Things there are foul, and over the few days we spent in Mordeina, they turned all the fouler.”

  “How so?” Bram asked.

  “Assassins made an attempt on my brother’s family, well-paid assassins that even after death I could learn nothing from. As for the angels…”

  Qurrah sighed, not wanting to get into it but knowing he had no choice. Before he could, Tessanna interrupted.

  “This map isn’t right anymore,” she said, staring keenly at the northwestern corner.

  “My dear, this map is older than my father’s father, but I assure you we’ve kept its borders and representations very precise over the years,” Bram said.

  “It’s still wrong.”

  She slid around the side, then placed her hand atop of the carved city of Mordeina. Her eyes flared wide, and after a few words of magic, her hand began to glow. Bram tensed but remained seated. Qurrah watched, merely curious. He sensed no real anger from Tessanna, just a vague unease. When the spell enacted, he understand why. Rising from the wood was a small city glowing entirely out of light. It hovered above Mordeina, a shimmering replication of the golden city of Avlimar. Its light shone across the entirety of the west, casting long shadows.

  “Forgive me,” Bram said. “It does appear my map was incomplete.”

  “Without Avlimar, it never will be,” Tessanna said. “You can’t forget it’s there. You can’t remove it. The angels are coming, and they will not care that you are a king.”

  Bram snapped to attention.

  “Coming here? Why?” He stared at the two of them, and it seemed his mood improved despite his breathless words. “They’re coming for you, aren’t they?”

  “I don’t know,” Qurrah said, slumping in his chair and rubbing his forehead. “But I fear they will. The people of the north are demanding retribution, wanting nothing to do with penance and forgiveness for murderers and thieves. And in Mordan, there’s no better known murderer than I. You promised us protection if we needed it, and now we are here for just that. Will you give us shelter?”

  “You’d have me spill blood to protect you?” Bram asked.

  “If it must come to that,” Qurrah said.

  The king stood, walked around the table so he might put a hand on Qurrah’s shoulder.

  “You are a citizen of my nation,” he said. “I care not where you were born, but from now on, your roots are here. Your home is here. And I promise you, from the highest noble to the lowliest serf, no man of my kingdom will be subjected to the angels’ judgment. Not during my reign.”

  From below they heard the heavy rumbling of the door opening, following by it shutting. The three turned to see an older knight come noisily up the stairs. Without saying a word he grabbed a pitcher from a side table, filled a tall cup, and then plopped into a chair beside Qurrah. The half-orc recognized him but could not quite place the face.

  “No word yet from the east, your grace,” the newcomer said. “I’ve kept our soldiers on alert just in case, since there’s no telling when Antonil will be making his way back to our borders. For all we know, the first orc army he meets will whip his behind and send him crawling back to us. Might not have more than a day or two’s notice if we’re to meet him at Ashhur’s Bridge.”

  Bram chuckled, gestured to the man as he guzzled down his drink.

  “Qurrah, Tessanna, meet my most trusted knight, Sir Ian Millar.”

  “Charmed,” Ian said, tipping his cup.

  “I hope this man won’t be the one put in charge of protecting us,” Qurrah said, offering a wry smile. “Otherwise I might try to steal away his cup so there’s a chance of him remaining sober.”

  “Just try it, half-orc,” Ian said. “We’ll see just how much your reputation’s been inflated.”

  “That’s enough of that,” Bram said. “Ian, these two will be our guests for the next few weeks. They suspect angels might be coming for them, and this is something that must not be allowed.”

  “Is that so?” Ian said, raising an eyebrow. “How politely are we to tell the angels to piss off? With flowery words, or with lowborn gestures and swears?”

  “With a sword,” Bram said, darkening Ian’s mood. He finished off his cup, then set it down atop the representation of Veldaren.

  “Aye,” he said. “I can do that. If you two would follow me, I’ll show you to your rooms. Other than Bram’s own quarters, there’s no safer place in this castle.”

  “Will there be windows?” Tessanna asked as they stood.

  Ian paused, scratched at his face.

  “Hrm. Perhaps I need to rethink just where the safest place is…”

  The safest place was far from what Qurrah expected, but he could not deny the logic. The accommodations, however, could have been better.

  “Now I know a dungeon’s not the finest smelling of places,” Ian said as servants rushed all around him. “But there’s no windows and only one entrance, which we’ll have guarded at all times.”

  “Tales of your king’s generosity will spread for miles,” Qurrah said as he watched two servants haul in a feathered mattress. They’d swept and cleaned the cell best they could, though nothing would ever remove the lingering, dingy feel of the place. Their only light was from a small torch on the opposite side of the hallway. Still, the sheets and bed were soft, and both Qurrah and Tess had stayed in far worse conditions.

  “It should,” Ian said. “Given all he’s risking for you two. To be honest, I’m not sure you’re worth it.”

  “Risk?” Qurrah asked. “He risks the lives of a few guards. Surely any king can risk that.”

  “Qurrah,” Tessanna said, touching his arm.

  Ian glanced at the servants, then snapped his fingers. They hustled out, the room mostly furnished. The two nearby cells had also been emptied and cleaned, the prisoners moved deeper into the dungeon, behind one of the many doors that helped separate the various blocks.

  “Your girl gets it,” Ian said once the servants were gone. He leaned against the bars and crossed his arms. “Have you thought about what will happen if angels do come demanding you, and we refuse?”

  “They’ll either leave, or you’ll kill them,” Qurrah said, as if it were obvious.

  “True,” Ian said. “But think long term for a moment. Just try.”

  “It’ll be war,” Tessanna said quietly. “Terrible, brutal war.”

  “A war I don’t see us winning,” Ian said. “At least, not as we are. Perhaps if you two lived up to your various legends we might stand a chance. But we’d be going up against the might of the angels, plus Mordeina’s far larger army. You were at the Bloodbrick. You saw their show of might.”

  “Might currently spent fighting orcs,” Qurrah argued.

  “Aye,” Ian said. “And just imagine how quickly they’d turn back around if they heard rumors of war. You two coming here puts us all in danger. I’m not one to complain. My life is on the line pretty much every day I put on this armor. But if you’re going to stay here, if you’re going to let my men die to protect you from some winged maniacs, all I’m asking for is a little appreciation.”

  Qurrah bowed his head.

  “My apologies,” he said. “I should better control my tongue. I am thankful for all you do, and pray that our time here in this dungeon will be long and uneventful.”

  Ian nodded his head, then pushed off from the bars.

  “Much better.” He tossed them an iron ring. “Here’s the keys to the cell, just in case you need to lock yourselves in. Angels might be strong, but I doubt they’ll be breaking open bars with their bare hands. Try to stay in here as much as you can, but you’re free to walk around the city at your leisure. Servants will come to see if you need anything-food, drink, whatever. Other than that, enjoy your stay. I’ve got some patrols to schedule.”

  He left, the heavy door to the dungeon slamming shut with a bang. Qurrah stood in the center of their cell, feeling as if his feet were bolted in place.r />
  “War,” he said softly as Tessanna flung herself onto the bed. “Is that really what we create by coming here?”

  “Don’t blame yourself,” Tessanna said, stretching out on her back. “If it wasn’t us, it’d be someone else. You heard Bram. He won’t let a single man or woman be judged, and over the past years I’m sure many who were spared the angels’ wrath have crossed the Corinth into Ker’s lands.”

  “Pale comfort,” Qurrah muttered.

  “But comfort nonetheless.”

  He joined her on the bed, and Tessanna curled her body into his, her face pressed against his chest and her eyes closed. Slowly he brushed her long hair, his mind far away.

  “Tess,” he whispered. “Can you sense the angels?”

  After a long pause, she nodded.

  “They’re not like men,” she said. “They burn in my mind if I let it wander.”

  Qurrah knew he should ask, but he was frightened to. Taking a deep breath, he let it out, then asked anyway.

  “Do you sense angels coming toward us?”

  Another long pause.

  “Yes.”

  “How many?”

  She curled tighter against him, kissed his neck.

  “Enough,” she whispered.

  21

  Tessanna watched her lover sleep and wished she could do the same. He lay half dressed, the result of their lovemaking. Despite all that had happened, he looked peaceful. For that, she was jealous.

  In her mind, the voices whispered.

  You turned against me. You betrayed me for a god that will never love you, never forgive you. His angels come, and they carry not a crown in their hands but a sword. You ran from me, and you now run from them. Who is left, Qurrah? Who is left?

  Tessanna balled her fists, clenching her jaw so tightly it bared her teeth.

  “You’re a dead god,” she whispered. “Your priests are scattered, your paladins in hiding. All faith in you is broken.”

  She never expected an answer, but it seemed Karak’s dim voice heard. She felt unseen eyes turn to her, felt her presence finally acknowledged. It sent a chill down her spine, she who had long existed under the watchful eyes of the goddess.

  So too were Ashhur’s followers broken, in a time not so distant. The world changes, daughter of balance. You above all should understand it can change again.

  The presence vanished, the oppressive weight on her chest lifting, only to be replaced by another presence that burned in her mind like fireflies.

  The angels had arrived.

  The sound of shouting awoke Qurrah from his slumber. His eyes snapped open, his mind immediately alert. Grabbing his clothes, he began to dress. When he saw Tessanna sitting at the foot of the bed, already awake, he was hardly surprised. No doubt she’d sensed the angels’ presence long before they actually arrived.

  “Have they landed yet?” he asked her.

  “I don’t know.”

  Her voice was calm, emotionless, but there were tears running down her face. Feeling strangely guilty for them, he kissed both her cheeks, then held her close.

  “Together we can withstand anything,” he told her. “Anything.”

  She smiled up at him, and he pulled her to her feet.

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

  Qurrah shook his head.

  “I won’t cower in here while others die for me. If there’s to be a fight, then I will be a part of it.”

  He wrapped his whip around his arm, its tightening weight a comfort to him. Done, he stepped out from the cell and climbed the stairs leading to the dungeon’s exit. To his surprise, he found it locked from the outside. He beat his fist against it, calling out to the guards on the other side.

  “Let us out!”

  “Forgive me,” a man shouted. “I have orders not to.”

  Qurrah groaned.

  “That stupid bastard.”

  “It seems he knows you better than you thought,” Tessanna said, and a smile flickered briefly on her face.

  Before Qurrah could ponder ways of smashing the door open, a voice rang out. Despite the thick walls of the dungeon he heard it clear as day, leaving him certain that it was some sort of clerical or divine magic.

  “Qurrah Tun!” cried an instantly familiar voice. “Our council has convened. We have capitulated to man’s law, recognizing mankind’s authority to rule themselves as Ashhur has granted. Come forth, and accept your fate with dignity and grace.”

  “Dignity,” Qurrah snorted. “What a damn fool.”

  His bluster was fake, and it was obvious Tess knew it as well. That voice, that powerful, intimidating voice, only belonged to one angel: Judarius, the most dangerous of all when it came to combat.

  Qurrah pressed his ear to the door, for he heard a faint shouting in response, that of Sir Ian.

  “Get your bloody-ass wings off our land, you pompous piece of duck shit. You’re not welcome here. Qurrah’s staying, you’re leaving. That clear?”

  There was a long pause.

  “This is your last chance,” Judarius shouted. “Qurrah, I beg of you, come forth. No man must die needlessly this night. Will you let others suffer and bleed for naught?”

  War, Qurrah thought. This moment will spark war. I can stop it. I can be the hero my brother has always been.

  He almost did just that, but something stopped him. The thought of kneeling before the angels and presenting his neck filled him with sickness. That wasn’t a noble sacrifice. That was just death. Pointless, meaningless death. Worse, it felt like spitting in the eye of Ashhur for all he’d been given. He couldn’t do that. He wouldn’t.

  “Open this door,” Qurrah told the guard on the other side.

  “I’m under orders to…”

  “Open it, or I destroy it.”

  The door opened, and Qurrah stepped out, Tessanna at his side.

  Stretching out before them was a great courtyard, the dungeon located just within the castle’s outer walls. Filling the courtyard were over two hundred soldiers, with even more rushing in from the city. Hovering in the air, their bodies clad in shining golden armor, were over thirty angels. Their swords and spears were drawn, tips glistening, looking hungry in the night sky. In the center of the angels’ formation flew Judarius, his enormous mace hanging loose in his right hand. With their departure from the dungeon, the angels’ attention turned his way. He felt dozens of eyes upon him, and it made his skin crawl. Still he stepped forward, refusing to be cowed.

  “Here I am,” Qurrah said.

  “Get back inside!” Sir Ian shouted. Qurrah ignored him.

  “I’m here,” he said instead. “Right here. But I don’t accept your judgment. I don’t accept your execution. You aren’t on the side of righteousness, Judarius. None of you are. Fly away. Fly now. It’s your souls these deaths will weigh upon, not mine.”

  Judarius’s body dipped up and down as his wings beat the air. He stared at Qurrah, and behind those gold-green eyes a battle raged.

  “So be it,” the angel said, and with those soft words, the courtyard erupted in chaos. Five of the angels dove for Qurrah, with the rest attempting to cover either side of their flank, preventing the soldiers from closing in behind the assault. Feeling his whip tighten hungrily, Qurrah summoned his magic, a grim smile on his face. This was what he was best at. Not hiding. Not politics. An enemy was before him, seeking to challenge his strength. Life or death, it was now in his hands, hands which burned with purple fire as he raised them to the heavens. Violet orbs shot out, two dozen of them swarming with flames. The five angels banked and curved, avoiding death. One failed, his wing clipped by an orb. It burst in a great explosion, flames bathing over his body and sending him crashing to the ground.

  The rest were almost there, and Qurrah dove to avoid their slashes. Tessanna, however, appeared to have no intention of hiding. Taking in a deep breath, she let loose with a shriek so loud it seemed the very air roiled with it.

  “FLEE!”

  It hit the angels
like a physical force, two slamming into the ground, the other two banking upward, far away from them. Qurrah lashed a grounded angel with his whip, charring black his golden breastplate. The angel endured, and he blocked the second lash with his vambrace. Sword drawn, he rushed forward. Another lash wrapped around the angel’s foot, trying to trip him up, but a flutter of his wings kept him steady. Sword lunging for Qurrah’s chest, it seemed nothing would stop him.

  So Qurrah clapped his hands, not bothering to. His body became shadow for the briefest of moments, just long enough for the angel to pass straight through him. The being spun about, reacting well to the ploy, but Tessanna was the faster. She leapt forward, her hand touching the feathers of his wings. She said nothing, only smiled as fire spread across white feathers. The look upon her face was chilling, even to Qurrah, as a horrible scream escaped the angel’s throat. The angel slashed at Tessanna, a valiant last attempt as his body burned. Tessanna ducked underneath the sword, stepped closer, and pushed against him. His armor cracked, blasted as if struck by a great maul. The angel flew back, landed with a crash, and lay still.

  “Stand firm!” he heard Sir Ian screaming above the din. “Stand firm, hold your lines!”

  The angels had switched tactics, looping up and around to make simultaneous passes from opposite directions. As Qurrah watched, a dozen angels slashed through the gathered soldiers, their weapons easily puncturing their armor. Before the men could strike back the angels were already lifting into the air, propelled upward by a simple twist of their wings. Tens of men lay dead from the pass, and tens more died as the angels repeated the maneuver. Soldiers continued to flood in from the outer city, but it seemed they were dying as quickly as they came.

  “We have to stop them,” Qurrah said.

  “You can,” Judarius said, landing on the ground before him with a thud. His enormous mace left a small crater in the stone. “Surrender, now. No more must die.”

  “Can you handle him?” Tessanna asked, her eyes still locked on the combat beyond.

  “I can try,” Qurrah said.

  Tessanna kissed his cheek, then rushed around Judarius, to where the greater battle raged. Judarius met his eyes, and his gaze was clearly pained.