Half-Orcs: Book 06 - The Prison of Angels Read online

  The Prison of Angels

  by David Dalglish

  BOOKS BY DAVID DALGLISH

  THE HALF-ORC SERIES

  The Weight of Blood

  The Cost of Betrayal

  The Death of Promises

  The Shadows of Grace

  A Sliver of Redemption

  The Prison of Angels

  THE SHADOWDANCE TRILOGY

  A Dance of Cloaks

  A Dance of Blades

  A Dance of Death

  WATCHER’S BLADE TRILOGY

  Blood of the Underworld

  THE PALADINS

  Night of Wolves

  Clash of Faiths

  The Old Ways

  The Broken Pieces

  Prologue

  The entire town of Norstrom gathered around the rapist, yet they could do nothing. Three of the elders shouted in vain to keep the crowd calm. A fourth stood beside Colton, doing his best to console him.

  “They know what’s right,” the old man said, rubbing his crooked nose. “Locke’s too far gone. They’ll kill him, quick and painless.”

  Colton glared at the bound fiend. The man had been forced to his knees, his arms tied behind his back and a rope strung around his neck. Colton tied the rope himself, hoping no one would notice how tightly he’d been looping it until it was too late. They did notice, and Locke continued breathing, awaiting the mockery to come.

  “What’s right, sure,” Colton said. “But what about what’s best?”

  “Are they not the same?”

  Colton shook his head.

  “Right now they’re as far apart as the Abyss from the Golden Eternity.”

  The signal had been given from the golden scepter, so it would not be long now. Together, townsfolk and rapist waited for the angel to arrive.

  “I’m sorry,” Locke kept crying, his words shouted down by the hundred others in attendance, all so Colton would not hear. But he heard anyway, and the words put a knife in his gut. His poor Krista. Two years old. Two fucking years old.

  The angel and his executioner’s blade couldn’t arrive fast enough.

  “Colton!”

  He turned, saw his wife Lily pushing through the crowd to join him. She held Krista in her arms, the child’s face pressed against her bosom. Krista’s eyes were shut, and she shook as if nightmare hounds howled for her blood. Reaching him, Lily leaned in close so she might be heard without shouting.

  “Come with me,” she said. “Please, Colton, you don’t need to be here. You don’t need to watch.”

  But he did need to watch. He had to make sure justice, true justice, was served.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. He reached out for Krista, stopping when she flinched. Her innocence was gone, her trust brutalized out of her. Nothing could describe Colton’s rage, nothing, and he turned once more to where the man lay tied.

  In Colton’s pocket was a slender knife, and he clutched it tightly.

  “Here, at last,” said the elder, tugging on Colton’s sleeve while pointing to the sky.

  Flying through the blue came the angel, his white wings the same color as the clouds he soared beneath. His golden armor shone, and when he dove for the town, Colton felt his breath catch in his throat. Despite his fury, despite the sickening nature of what was to transpire, he still felt himself swept with awe. Even though they had become increasingly commonplace, it did not diminish the awesome presence of an angel of Ashhur. The angel landed just outside the town center, and the people quickly gave way so he might approach. His hair was a deep white, his eyes a sparkling bronze. From his hip swung a long blade with a golden hilt.

  “I am Ezekai, and I bring the blessings of Ashhur,” the angel said. His voice was deep, authoritative, the tone of a soldier. “I saw the signal in the sky and have come. What matter requires my aid?”

  It was tradition, newly begun, that elders would describe the crimes, but Colton would have none of that. He pushed to the front, determined to hide how much he feared the celestial being before him.

  “We have no need of your aid, just your sword,” he said. “I found this man in my barn atop my daughter, still attempting to remove his trousers. Cut his head off his shoulders, and let this be done with.”

  Ezekai’s bronze eyes glanced to the bound Locke, then over Colton’s shoulders to where his wife and daughter stood.

  “Your family?” Ezekai asked. Colton nodded. The angel approached, and his delicate features softened.

  “You have felt a darkness no woman should ever feel,” he told Krista, reaching out his hand. She flinched, but it seemed not to bother Ezekai. “Especially so young. So very young.” His hand brushed against her face. Colton felt a lump grow in his throat as he watched Krista immediately relax. Her grip on Lily’s neck loosened, and then unbelievably, she smiled.

  “No nightmares will follow you,” Ezekai said softly. “You will be happy, and you will know joy.”

  “Praise be to Ashhur,” said a man beside Lily, and many others echoed the call. Colton felt his hands shake, and he fought to keep his rage strong. He told himself it didn’t matter if she’d been purged of the awful memories. What happened next did. Ezekai dipped his head in respect to Lily, then turned his attention to Locke. The rapist groveled, on his knees, his face pushed into the ground. Snot dripped from his nose, mixing with the dirt.

  “Is it true what they say of you?” the angel asked. “Know that by your words, I will judge you, and that with my god’s blessing I will detect any lie.”

  “Yes,” Locke said. “Ashhur forgive me, yes. It is.”

  Colton’s jaw trembled. Ezekai knelt before Locke and lifted his chin so they might stare eye to eye. Locke was an older man, rail thin with a hawkish look to him. He’d never fit in well with the townsfolk, and now they all knew why.

  “Do you understand the sin you’ve committed?” Ezekai asked.

  “I do. I’m sorry, please, I’m sorry. I can’t help it. I’ve tried, I’ve tried, please…”

  The angel stood.

  “Locke, do you repent of your crime?”

  “Yes, yes, I do!”

  “Do you seek the grace and mercy of Ashhur, your god?”

  “Yes,” Locke said, sobbing now.

  Ezekai looked to the town. All eyes were upon him. Lily’s hand slipped into Colton’s, and he squeezed it.

  “He speaks with truth and sincerity,” the angel said at last, and it was like a wind blew through the town. “Locke, I forgive you of your crimes. Go and live your life without sin.”

  “No,” Colton said, pulling away from his wife and forcing his way to the front of the crowd. “That won’t work, not this time. He’s sick. He’s a danger to us, to our children! She’s only two, gods damn it, and still he tried to take her.”

  “This is the law we live under, the law of Ashhur,” Ezekai said. Colton hated the way the angel looked down at him, like he was an ant or a child. “Locke’s repentance is real, his sorrow genuine.”

  “Of course it is! A man would say anything, do anything, to save his life. He doesn’t mean it. That sorry sack of shit cries only for himself!”

  “I would know if that were true,” the angel said, shaking his head.

  Colton spun, addressing the crowd, almost daring them to look him in the eye.

  “Do all of you accept that?” he asked them. “Do you feel we’ve seen what’s right? Do you think we’ve had justice?”

  With the decree given, the men holding Locke released him for fear of the angel’s wrath. The man staggered to his feet, still tugging at the ropes around his wrists.

  “Please, Colton, I beg of you,” Locke said, reaching out his hands for Colton
’s shirt. “Forg—”

  Before any could stop him, before any could even think of what he meant to do, Colton pulled the knife from his pocket and thrust it through Locke’s right eye. It had to be quick, he knew. Had to be fast, lest the angel heal him. Deeper and deeper he shoved the blade, and all around he heard screaming. Men tackled him, but he let out a laugh, for it was far too late. Locke’s body lay in the dirt, arms and legs convulsing.

  “You damn fool,” someone whispered into Colton’s ear, but he didn’t know who. There was too much commotion, too much fear. Strong men lifted him to his feet, men he worked with in the fields and shared stories with at the tavern as they guzzled down Ugly Bett’s ale. When Colton looked up he saw the angel towering over him. His bronze eyes stared at the blood on Colton’s hand. He showed no sign of anger or frustration, only sorrow.

  “I will not ask of your guilt, for the blood on you is free for all to see,” Ezekai said. “Before I execute you, tell me, Colton, do you repent your crime? Will you kneel and ask for Ashhur’s mercy and grace?”

  A bitter smile tugged at Colton’s lips as he struggled against the men holding him.

  “Repent?” he asked. “No. Not now, not ever.”

  He heard Lily cry out, but his heart was pumping too fast, his mind lost in a whirl of exhilaration and terror too deep to feel regret. Locke deserved to die. It was the one thing he knew, the one thing he firmly believed with every shred of his soul. Looking upon the angel, he would not lie, would not disgrace himself with such pathetic sniveling.

  “You speak your truth,” Ezekai said as he drew his sword. “And it saddens me greatly. You were a good man, Colton. Let there be no doubt.”

  The gathered crowd, which had fallen deathly silent, let out a sudden roar. Colton’s smile grew as he heard it. In his mind he heard the chant multiplying, felt the anger spreading across Mordan like a wave. Righteous men and women, fists to the air, crying out against their prison of angels. He would be the spark, he thought, the flame that set the land ablaze.

  “Stand away!” Ezekai cried, and his golden blade circled over his head. Colton saw the people step back, obeying despite their anger. Just a dream of change, thought Colton, but he clung to it anyway. He couldn’t think of Lily, couldn’t think of Krista growing up without him. What he’d done was right, was best…

  Up came the blade.

  “You’re killing the wrong man,” Colton said, his voice rising. “The wrong man, you hear me? The wrong man! The—”

  Down came the blade, and though it ended his cry, it still echoed on and on through villages miles beyond.

  1

  “Are you sure we have to do this?” Harruq asked as Aurelia looked over his armor for what felt like the hundredth time. Her fingers brushed away dust noticeable only by the sharpest of elven eyes.

  “It’d look bad,” his wife said, frowning as she adjusted the long red cloak that had been tailored just for the occasion.

  “I don’t mind looking bad. I think I prefer it.”

  “For Antonil.”

  Harruq grabbed Aurelia’s hands, and when she glared up at him he smiled. Slowly she relaxed, leaning her head against his dark leather armor.

  “You mean something to them,” she said as he held her close. “To all of them, and right now Antonil needs every bit of love from the crowds he can get.”

  Harruq let out a defeated sigh.

  “I know,” he said. “So do I pass inspection?”

  “Close enough for human eyes. What of me?”

  She twirled in her beautiful, elven-styled dress laced with gold. Her hair was looped into an intricate design, the braids across her forehead looking like a circlet. Seven emeralds hung from silver thread curled into the braids on either side of her face, and each time she twirled they sparkled with magic.

  “Why’d you marry me again?” he asked.

  “Stupidity. Now let’s go. We can’t keep them waiting forever.”

  He extended his arm, she took it, and together they stepped out from behind the curtain, then hooked left down the crimson carpet. Standing about were dozens of guards in glimmering armor. Between them stood King Antonil Copernus.

  “Large smiles,” Antonil said, and the amusement in his eyes made Harruq want to smack him, royalty or not.

  “You owe me,” Harruq muttered. The way Antonil laughed made the half-orc worry greatly.

  “That I do,” the king said. “You’ll find out how much soon enough.”

  Before Harruq could enquire further, Aurelia pulled him along, across the last of the crimson carpet, over white marble stones, and emerged into the roar of the gathered crowds beyond the doors of the great castle of Mordeina. Thousands of people lined either side of the road that led down to the twin walls of the city. Harruq felt his throat constrict, and he forced himself to breathe. So many people…

  “Walk,” Aurelia whispered into his ear, hiding the command with a pleased smile. Harruq forced one foot forward, then the other, and at last the spell brought on by the crowd broke. He grinned, feeling like a goof. With his free hand he waved to the people, guessing it the proper thing to do. Aurelia kept both her hands on his arm as they walked, looking as elegant as a princess. Down the steps they traveled, people hailing him a hero, cheering for the mighty Godslayer. The children in particular pushed hardest to the front, crawling if need be to see through the line of soldiers that held back the masses. They gawked at his armor, and he saw several making motions with their hands. Knowing what they wanted, he chuckled, drew Condemnation from its sheath, and held the black blade above his head to even greater cheers.

  “I thought you didn’t want to do this,” Aurelia said, still smiling.

  “I don’t,” Harruq said. “But I might as well enjoy it.”

  “If you must,” Aurelia said. “But control your eyes. Some of the younger girls seem to have problems keeping their blouses on.”

  To this Harruq sheathed his sword, kissed Aurelia on the mouth, and then hurried on. A second roar began, and he glanced back to see King Antonil exiting the castle, flanked by his handpicked guard. At first he felt pride knowing his cheer had been louder, but worry quickly washed away that feeling. It hadn’t been just a little louder…the cheer for Antonil was weak and fading fast.

  “You weren’t kidding,” Harruq muttered. “I didn’t think it was this bad.”

  The farther from the castle they went, the rowdier the crowd became, and the people’s shouts weren’t always so joyful. Catcalls mixed with the cheers, and as Antonil neared, Harruq heard them grow stronger.

  “Traitor!” someone shouted.

  “Coward! Murderer!”

  “Foreigner!”

  The worst, though, the one that echoed throughout the crowd, was the title that had haunted Antonil’s reign since his second year.

  “All hail the Missing King!”

  At the very bottom of the hill, where the road met the first wall, Mordan’s army gathered. Thirty thousand men, all enlisted to retake the east from the horde of orcs that had gone unchecked since the end of the Gods’ War. The parade was for their departure, the launching of Antonil’s second campaign to retake his homeland. Much of the celebration was bittersweet, but still the underlying anger surprised him. Was it because of how terrible Antonil’s first attempt at freeing the east from the orcs had gone? Or was there something more?

  When Harruq and Aurelia arrived, the soldiers drew their swords and raised them high. He passed below them, a roof of steel above. At Antonil’s arrival the blades lifted higher, and they let out their cry.

  “Long live the King!”

  Echoed by the voices of thirty thousand, the words gave Harruq chills. He felt Aurelia squeeze his arm, showing she felt it too.

  In the center of the soldiers, a wooden platform had been hastily constructed. On it were two seats. One was empty, waiting for Antonil to take his place. In the other sat Susan Copernus, his wife of five years. She was young and slender, her milky skin powdered into a
n almost ghostly white. Her brown hair was looped similarly to Aurelia’s, only with less intricacy and more jewels. Up the stairs of the platform they stepped, the two taking their designated spot beside the queen.

  “Were you lonely waiting for us?” Harruq asked her as Antonil climbed the steps.

  “I daily count the hours until you grace my presence,” she said. Her voice was deathly serious, but he could see the laugh shimmering in her eyes.

  “It’s all right,” said Tarlak Eschaton, standing on the other side of the thrones. “I kept her entertained until your arrival.”

  Harruq grinned at the yellow-robed wizard. His red hair and beard were neatly trimmed, but age lines had started to show across his cheeks and beneath his eyes. Still, his smile was youthful, and his hat pointy as ever.

  “You got roped into this as well?” Harruq asked.

  “Roped? Nonsense, you brute. I volunteered to spare the queen the indignity of begging for my presence.”

  “Come now,” Susan said. “I love you both equally, though I fear I do not love you as much as the commoners do.”

  “A shame you had to land the killing blow on the war god,” Antonil said to Harruq, having heard them. He reached out his hand, and his wife stood to accept it. “My life would be much easier had it been me.”

  “You slew a dragon,” Harruq said.

  “What’s a dragon compared to a god?”

  “Enough,” Susan said, kissing Antonil’s cheek. “Do not belittle your accomplishments.”

  “I’m not the one belittling them,” Antonil said, and the king’s words were tinged with frustration. Despite it, he turned to the crowd, lifted his arms, and smiled his best smile. The crowd cheered, but not long. The procession was not quite complete. Directly above the wooden platform, high amid the clouds, floated the golden city of Avlimar. From its tall arches, its silver buildings, and its thin, lengthy bridges descended hundreds of angels, their white wings filling the sky. They flung petals of flowers as they crisscrossed about, which fell upon the crowds like rain. As the pinks and violets landed atop his hair and shoulders, Harruq held out a hand.