The Prison of Angels h-6 Page 10

  Tarlak took off his hat, reached inside, and pulled out a long-necked bottle. Popping the cork with his thumb, he took a drink of the wine within.

  “So morose today,” he said when finished. “What’s eating my glorious king?”

  “Nothing. I wished to be alone is all, something a certain wizard appears incapable of understanding.”

  “Have you ordered me to leave yet?”

  “No.”

  Tarlak lifted the bottle in a toast.

  “Then I’m staying, your highness. Have a drink if it’ll help loosen your tongue. You’re too strong to be eaten by nothing, so how about you share what is bothering you?”

  Antonil reluctantly accepted the bottle. He took a sip, then frowned at it.

  “Is there any alcohol in this?” he asked.

  “Somewhere in there. That’s the fruitier blend. I’m saving the hard stuff for after our first battle.”

  Antonil chuckled and shook his head.

  “You’re something else,” he said.

  “Well aware. Now talk.”

  After a deep drink, Antonil handed it over, wiped his face on his sleeve.

  “I’ve been thinking of the first campaign to retake Neldar from the orcs,” he said.

  “Aaah,” Tarlak said. “Dwelling on old losses. That’s not the best for morale, your highness. In my professional opinion, stop it.”

  “Duly noted, and ignored. Did I ever tell you how it happened?”

  Tarlak scratched at his goatee, trying to remember. Would have been three years ago, so he’d have been…

  “No,” he said. “I was helping Jerico and Lathaar rebuild their Citadel. The priesthood helped too, but you’d be surprised how much funding I had to beg, steal, and borrow to get that place up and running. I heard about your return. Was all anyone could talk about for a few months, not that anyone really cared about how it had happened, just that you failed.”

  “I sometimes wonder if the people wanted me to fail,” Antonil said, eyes staring off into nowhere. Snapping out of it, he reached over and yanked the bottle from Tarlak’s hand.

  “Careful with that,” Tarlak grumbled. “Drink the whole thing and you might get tipsy.”

  “Compared to Sergan’s special brew this is just water,” Antonil said. “I can handle water. What I can’t handle is watching men who trust me, who expect me to protect them, die by the thousands.”

  He fell silent, and Tarlak frowned. When it seemed he wouldn’t continue, he forced the story along, figuring it better to get Antonil talking about it instead of just brooding.

  “So what did happen to your last glorious campaign?” he asked.

  “I was too confident,” Antonil said. “After all, I was Antonil the Dragonslayer, defeater of demons, friend of angels. For eternity’s sake, we’d even retaken a city from a god. What could a couple hundred orcs do against us? I had Harruq with me, too, while his wife was away showing their daughter to her distant family in Quellassar. The two of us together, along with eight thousand men strong. What could defeat me? At least, that’s what I thought. Nearly every night was a celebration. That army wasn’t like this one. A lot of them were from Neldar, had fought with me since our days of fleeing Veldaren when Karak’s forces captured its walls. We were coming home. We were going to take our swords and shove them down those orcs’ throats, and piece by piece reclaim what was ours.”

  He shook his head.

  “So foolish. So arrogant. We didn’t clear out any outlying villages. We didn’t check with Angelport, or send scouts to ask the elves for information when we were near their forests. No, we marched straight toward Veldaren. I don’t know why. I guess I felt once we retook that city, then everything else would fall into place. Perhaps I thought it’d wash away all the blood and death that had happened since I fled, abandoning it for Karak’s prophet. Like an arrow we shot toward the city, but we never made it. Not even close.”

  Tarlak thought on what he did know about Antonil’s first campaign. It’d been cut drastically short, his return to Mordan coming months earlier than expected. There had been only a single battle, but from what everyone said it had been a crushing defeat.

  “Where did the orcs finally attack?” he asked.

  “Harruq told me they’d been developing siege weapons,” Antonil said, seemingly ignoring his question. “I didn’t listen. Of course I didn’t. The orcs were brutes, stupid, leaderless, or so I thought. When we were three day’s ride out from Kinamn we encountered the first of the raiding parties. They were small, quick, and knew exactly how to hit us. They never let us sleep, and they targeted our supplies whenever they could. Thinking they were based out of Kinamn, I steered us toward the city with hopes of crushing the bastards where they couldn’t flee.

  “Still the raiders hit us, always at night. They slipped in wherever fires flickered out, cutting the throats of my men while they slept. Reached a point where many refused to sleep, and I had to keep huge portions of my army on constant patrol. When the walls of Kinamn came in sight, they were so welcome. The city appeared in ruins, its walls vacant, but every one of my advisors insisted the orcs hid within. The gates were torn open, so we thought we’d have no issues entering. We should have…”

  Tarlak took the bottle of wine from Antonil, then gulped down the rest of it.

  “How many orcs were inside the city?” he asked.

  “At least five thousand,” Antonil said, not looking up. “They had archers hiding along the walls, and all at once they stood and fired. Hundreds of men crammed into the doorway, dying instantly. Worse were the catapults. They’d been aimed at the pathway leading into the city, and before the call to retreat had even left my lips they were let loose. Dozens of boulders landed amid us, rolling, breaking our lines like we were playthings. We expected unprepared cowards, hiding from us as we burned out their nest. I couldn’t have been more disastrously wrong.

  “We retreated, of course. We outnumbered them, but with the catapults, the archers on the walls…what could we do? Several thousand rushed after, swarming us as we retreated. I tried keeping order, to set up a line of defense, but the only reason any of us lived was because of Harruq. Gods, what a sight he was. While everyone else was busy running away, he was screaming and hollering for the orcs to come get him. Even the catapults didn’t scare him. When Harruq met the first wave, those around him stood their ground lest they be overwhelmed as well. Even in the chaos we could see those blood-red swords swinging. By the time I halted our retreat and sent men to aid him he’d taken down at least thirty on his own. It was around him my men rallied, and we sent the orcs running back to their city and the safety of their walls.”

  Antonil shook his head.

  “After that, we limped back to Mordeina. Of my eight thousand men, only three thousand returned. We never even stepped foot on Neldar soil. And when I returned to my castle, to my wife and child, I discovered I had a new name. The Missing King, they called me. The joke is on them, of course. I’d have preferred to be gone far longer than I was. No, I’d have even stayed in the ruins of Veldaren, never to return, if I had my way.”

  “You can’t talk like that,” Tarlak insisted. “These are Mordan soldiers. If they hear you wishing you could abandon your throne…”

  “They’ll what?” Antonil asked. “Turn on me? They already have. The whole kingdom is watching me, waiting for me to fail. I first came with eight thousand, and now I come with thirty. I will free my home, taken by the sword, and in the rubble raise my child, my family.”

  “And what of Mordan?”

  The king waved dismissively.

  “The angels can have it for all I care. They already rule it, anyway.”

  Tarlak stood from his chair and bowed low to his friend.

  “This campaign will be different,” he said. “You have me, to start with. But you are a king, and you rule lands loyal to you. If you do this to expand your kingdom, to retake what is yours, then I will be here every step of the way. But if you think th
is is your chance to escape everything that is happening in Mordan, a way to sidestep your responsibilities…then I fear I have far more relaxing ways to waste my time.”

  Antonil swallowed, rubbed his eyes with his hands.

  “Forgive me, Tar,” he said. “I don’t mean it. I do want to escape, but I could never do it. I’ve never fled my responsibilities, and I never will. That’s why I’m here. I was to protect the people of Neldar. They trusted me, and followed me across Dezrel and back again because of that trust. I will repay it. I will free their homes, their farmland, their cities and forests. I may be the Missing King, but I am still king, and will be until my last breath.”

  Tarlak reached across the fire and smacked Antonil’s shoulder.

  “Now that’s the man I know,” he said, grinning. “Let those orcs try to raid us again. Let them be all sneaky at night. They’ve got a nasty surprise waiting for them. No one out-tricks a mage. And when we reach Kinamn, we’ll see how well those catapults work once I’ve set them aflame.”

  “You’re a good man, Tarlak,” Antonil said. “Perhaps I should have brought you with me instead of Harruq on that first campaign.”

  Tarlak laughed.

  “You kidding? I’d have teleported myself back to Mordeina the second those orc archers popped up on the walls. Good night, Antonil.”

  He raised his empty bottle, attempted a drink from it anyway, and then left the man to his thoughts.

  10

  Beside her, Qurrah stirred, his mouth opening to let out a soft whimper. Tessanna leaned in close, kissed his lips until they shut. They slept not far off the road north, and in the light of the moon Tessanna let her fingers brush her lover’s face. Her lips slowly drifted their way to his forehead, where her fingertips had softly traced an arcane, invisible shape upon his skin. And then she breathed. The nightmares, the fear, the tormented memories: they all came floating out of her lover like a black mist. Deep into her lungs she inhaled them, letting them burn within her, squirming in her belly like fire beetles.

  “Sleep well,” she whispered as Qurrah’s body visibly relaxed.

  Every night since the angels had healed his corrupted body, banishing the undead flesh and returning him whole, he had suffered those dreams. Every night Tessanna took them, carried them within herself.

  It was the stink of Velixar. The stink of Karak. It floated around him, demanding death. Tessanna’s dark eyes saw it, began to water as she bent over Qurrah’s body and braced her arms. Her thin, pale form shivered as the whispers flooded into her.

  You are mine, they hissed. Mine. The promise remains. Open your arms, Qurrah. Come back and embrace me.

  “Never,” Tessanna said through her tears. “Never again.”

  Sleep was a long time coming, and when it did come, she dreamed of fire.

  Qurrah was surprised by the amount of travelers they encountered on the road to Mordeina. Hoping to avoid suspicion, he kept his questions few and instead let his ears do the work. Most were traveling north, hoping to find work now that so many able-bodied men had left on Antonil’s war against the orcs.

  On their fourth day they came upon an inn. Qurrah’s coin was few, but the idea of him and Tess sleeping on an actual bed was too tempting.

  “Tonight we spoil ourselves,” he said, taking her hand and leading her inside.

  “We’ll have nothing left when we reach Mordeina,” Tessanna pointed out.

  “True,” Qurrah said. “But my brother is steward of the realm. I dare say we’ll be fine.”

  The inn was crowded, and for a moment Qurrah worried there would be no room.

  “There’s still a bed or two left,” a fat man on the far side of the open kitchen shouted, as if reading his mind. “Ginger, get over there and get their things.”

  A young lad with bright red hair raced through the many tables, then quickly bowed before the two.

  “I would prefer to carry them on my own,” Qurrah told him. “Just show us to our room.”

  The kid nodded, beckoning them to follow.

  The room was small, barely able to fit the bed within. At least they wouldn’t be sharing a room with any of the other travelers, Qurrah thought. He looked over the sheets and pushed against the straw as the boy watched expectantly.

  “How long until dinner will be served?” he asked as Tessanna stood in the corner, looking very tired.

  “Another hour,” Ginger said.

  “Very well. Leave us.”

  The kid nodded and shut the door. Qurrah sighed as Tessanna moved to his side.

  “Lice,” the half-orc murmured. “And fleas. Such a charming locale.”

  With a wave of his hand a soft cloud floated from his palm down to the bed, curling over it like mist upon a lake. The cloud was death, and though weak enough even a child could go unbothered, it was still far more than the parasites could withstand. Their tiny bodies would remain, but at least they wouldn’t be crawling all over him, biting his flesh.

  “Eat without me,” Tessanna said, kissing his cheek. Qurrah glanced at her, frowning.

  “Is something wrong?” he asked. “You haven’t looked well for much of our trip.”

  “No. I just want some peace. Bring me a bit of bread when you’re done, and I’ll eat it later.”

  Qurrah shrugged.

  “As you wish.”

  He left his room and returned to the commons, finding an unused table with only two chairs. He sat in one, put his feet on the other, and beckoned Ginger over.

  “Bread and drink,” he said.

  “Dad says you need to pay for your room before you eat.”

  The half-orc sighed, pulled out a handful of coins, and settled the bill. It left him with just enough to cover the cost of his food, and he handed that over as well.

  “Bring me enough for two,” he said before the kid could leave. “I’ll be taking some to my room.”

  Finally alone, Qurrah leaned back and let his ears soak in the conversations. It was still somewhat quiet in his corner, with the bulk of the men and women gathering near the fire. They were laughing, talking, and their mirth made Qurrah feel strangely bitter. He wished Tessanna had come with him, wished he could have flirted with her awhile. Her mood had slowly soured over the past year, though not consistently. Nothing was ever consistent with Tessanna. He doubted she’d ever tell him why, either. Was it their continuing inability to have a child? Her lack of purpose since the Gods’ War? Did she just miss contact with the rest of the world? Every time he thought he knew, something else she said or did contradicted the idea.

  His meal came, and Qurrah ate it with speed but without any real appreciation. Sipping at the watery beer Ginger brought him, he once more tried to listen in. One of the louder men at the fire was telling a raunchy tale when the door to the inn burst open, and in walked a bearded man with a heavy ax on his back.

  “Gervis!” several men shouted, lifting their glasses in toast.

  Gervis grinned at them in return.

  “You’ll all be buying me a round tonight,” the big man nearly roared. “Do I have a tale to tell!”

  Qurrah leaned deeper into his seat, narrowed his eyes, and hoped it would be of something useful. The men at the fire shifted aside, making way for Gervis to plop down before the flames, his ax still on his back.

  “Trader just came in from the borderlands,” Gervis began, accepting an offered cup from one of his friends. “About a week back they had a hanging at Norstrom.”

  “Had hangings before,” a particularly drunk man shouted, and he laughed as if it were the funniest thing.

  “We have,” Gervis said, guzzling down his own drink. “But this one was done to a sick fuck who liked to diddle with little boys and girls. But that ain’t the thing that got the traders talking. No, this one was done without the angels’ permission. By the Abyss, I dare say it was even done against their permission.”

  He had their attention now, Qurrah’s included.

  “What happened?” someone asked once i
t was clear Gervis would wait for some prodding.

  “Well, an angel finally took note of it. They’d strung the guy from a pole, used his dick as a rope supposedly. No one would claim responsibility, either. Drove the angel mad is what they’re saying. Started hollering, waving his sword around.”

  The men were laughing now.

  “Wish I could have seen that.”

  “Nothing like watching them holier than shit angels squirm a little.”

  “Red-faced, I bet he was, red like a tomato!”

  Gervis gestured for a refill.

  “This is where it stops being funny,” he said. “Listen close, now. You know I tell no lies. This angel, Ezekai was his name I believe, he demanded they cut down the pervert and bury him. Well, the people of Norstrom wanted no part of that. And when they refused, the angel drew his sword and attacked them.”

  The laughing dwindled to chuckles, then to silence. All around at other tables, conversation slowed. It was as if a hot wind had blown through the place, and Gervis grinned, knowing all ears were now his.

  “No one died,” he continued. “But that don’t change matters none. He drew his sword and started swinging, knocking people out of his way just so he could cut down and bury the fucker. These were just regular people, people like you or me, and he was ready to kill every last one of them to get his way. And what were these people doing? Standing up for their rights, that’s what! The law’s supposed to be in our hands, in man’s hands. But they don’t like that none, do they?”

  Qurrah waved Ginger over and requested more to drink. The moment it arrived, Qurrah guzzled it down, his mind racing. The topic at every table was now the same, grumblings and complaints about the angels. Two men directly beside Qurrah were obnoxiously loud, and he had little choice in overhearing.

  “One told my wife I was cheating on her when he found out,” one of the men said. “Can you believe that? What place is that for him, huh? Like it matters I had a quick roll around with Jessie. None of their damn business.”

  “What’d she do?” the man’s friend asked.