The Prison of Angels h-6 Page 17

  “I checked all the flags and banners,” Sergan said. “Plenty of drawings written in blood, and most carry the same sign. It’s not Trummug’s, I know that. Instead, they all show this…”

  He picked up a rolled piece of leather beside him and unfurled it. It was a flag, half the size of a man. On its dull brown surface was a symbol drawn with blood, though faded by the sun: two triangles adjacent each other, both pointed upward.

  “What are they supposed to be?” Antonil asked. “Teeth? Eyes?”

  “Normally I’d suggest the standard lack of artistic skill in orcs,” Tarlak said. “But I saw that drawn on the walls of the city as well as many of the buildings. Whatever it is, it’s the symbol of their new warlord. Sadly, your men were so eager for a fight they didn’t leave any orcs alive for us to question. Hopefully next time you might order them to be more careful.”

  “I’ll make sure we get prisoners,” Sergan said. “My gut says we’ll be encountering raiding parties from here on out. This new commander was biding his time, waiting until the right moment to hit…and with us out of food and supplies, now is definitely the right time.”

  “Enough of this orc,” Antonil said. “We’ll find him in time, and when we meet on the battlefield, we’ll crush him. For now, we have larger problems to deal with, specifically the fate of our campaign. What are our options?”

  “Options?” Tarlak asked. “Just one. We turn back toward Ker and march as fast as our feet can carry us. We don’t have the food for a campaign. They slaughtered our livestock, torched our wagons, and then ran for the hills.”

  “The orcs fled here in a hurry,” Sergan said, shaking his head. “It’s not quite that bad, but close. We’ve discovered various stockpiles left behind, and while I doubt anyone here will enjoy the mystery meats, nor want to know what they are, at least it’s still food. No one will be starving for a few weeks, not if we tighten our belts.”

  “A few weeks?” Tarlak rolled his eyes. “Where exactly will we go in a few weeks? If Veldaren is guarded at all, we won’t be able to siege it. If we’re harassed on our way east, given even a slight delay, we’ll start leaving a trail of bodies. We can’t do this.”

  “We can,” Antonil said. “We don’t go to Veldaren. We go to Angelport instead.”

  Tarlak rubbed his eyes.

  “Really?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Antonil said, glaring. “Their boats and walls have kept them safe. We can liberate their surrounding fields, barter for food, and given time, restock with supplies from the west until we’re ready to march north.”

  Tarlak could hardly believe what he was hearing.

  “Antonil, my king, you have to understand…this campaign is lost. Those orcs hit us exactly where it hurt the most, and if you think a besieged holdout of a city will be able to support thirty thousand additional men…”

  “This campaign is not lost!”

  Antonil stood, jaw trembling. Immediately he looked away, as if embarrassed for his outburst.

  “It’s not,” he said quietly. “I won’t turn us around. I won’t retreat back to Mordan as such a colossal failure again. Thirty thousand men, outsmarted by brute thugs, and sent running with a mere thousand dead runties to our names? No, we strip Kinamn of every shred of supplies, then hurry toward the coast.”

  “And if anyone tries to stop us?” Tarlak dared ask.

  “I hope they do,” Sergan said, drumming his fingers atop the handle of his ax. “Because anyone trying to stop us will have food on them. We can make it to Angelport, I’m certain of that. Our men haven’t given up yet. To many, this was still a victory, and I have no intention of convincing them otherwise. Tarlak, you’ve summoned food before. That’s why we didn’t starve when we fled Veldaren ages ago. Can’t you do the same now?”

  Tarlak sighed, felt in one of his hidden pockets of his robes.

  “I don’t have enough topaz,” he said. “Not for thirty thousand. I can maybe feed our entire army for a day, maybe two.”

  “That’s two days more than we had before,” Antonil said. “Don’t lose faith on me, Tarlak. Without you, we’re lost.”

  Tarlak chuckled, and despite it all, he put a smile on his face and tipped his tall yellow hat.

  “I guess compared to what we’ve dealt with before, this is only a minor inconvenience,” he said. “I mean, it’s not like there’s going to be flying demons and an angry war god chasing after us.”

  “Always looking on the bright side,” Sergan said, and he laughed.

  Tarlak laughed with him, though it was entirely forced.

  16

  Jessilynn waited in the dark, hating that she’d been left behind. It reminded her of her earliest days after entering the Citadel, friendless and alone because of her sex. She’d only been eleven, unable to fully understand why the other boys looked at her like she was a different species. The days had been long, and that first year she’d cried herself to sleep more times than she could count. But through it all, she’d endured. Jerico in particular had done everything he could to make her feel welcome, accepted. In time she’d finally felt like she belonged.

  Belonging, though, still didn’t mean she was like the others. Getting dressed, keeping herself clean during her monthlies, even taking a piss meant going off on her own. It was like a sore on the roof of her mouth that refused to go away. Most of the time she could easily ignore it, pretend it didn’t bother her, but sometimes…

  Without a fire to warm her, or even provide mild entertainment, she sat huddled and did her best to pray to Ashhur. She begged for patience, for calm. Most of all, she asked her god for bravery, because no matter what Dieredon decided, she knew it would not involve running away, not from such a massive gathering of forces.

  After far too long, she heard the sound of wings, and then Sonowin softly landed in the flat yellow grass nearby. Dieredon hopped off, and though Jessilynn had stood at his arrival, he only sat down beside her. He said nothing, staring up at the stars in thought. It made Jessilynn uncomfortable, and she crossed her arms and shifted her weight from foot to foot.

  “I wish you’d bring me with you,” she said, breaking the silence.

  “Your armor is too loud. It would give us away.”

  “Weren’t you going to teach me to make new armor?”

  Dieredon finally looked her way.

  “Indeed,” he said. “But it seems we won’t have time for such lessons, will we?”

  She deserved that, she knew, but at least he was talking to her now.

  “What did you learn?” she asked, sitting back down and facing him.

  Dieredon looked to the west, where the creatures of the Wedge had gathered in the ravine.

  “There does appear to be some sort of ruling council,” he said. “The various races on the whole do not interact with one another, but I’ve seen lone members go into the wolf-men side, or at least close to it. There’s a large pile of bones nearby, and it isn’t just refuse like I first thought. They’re meeting there, discussing. Right now, it appears there is a wolf-man strong enough to frighten not only his kind, but the rest of the creatures as well.”

  “Then our task is simple,” Jessilynn said. “We kill that wolf-man, and the alliance collapses in his absence.”

  Dieredon nodded.

  “That is my belief as well, though it will not be simple. Any creature with such a fearsome reputation will have earned it in blood. It seems this council meets once each night. I think whatever they’re preparing, it is about to begin. Arrivals have slowed, and the tension among the races is thick. Whoever is in charge will need to act soon, lest this entire army dissolve into chaos.”

  “How do we kill their leader?” Jessilynn asked.

  “I have to discover who it is first,” Dieredon said. “And that means getting close enough to overhear one of their meetings.”

  Jessilynn thought of the ravine, and of how each entrance was heavily populated with the vile creatures.

  “There’s no way,” s
he said.

  To this, Dieredon smiled.

  “Even the eyes and ears of wolves are nothing to me, Jessilynn. But if you’ve been wanting to be involved, don’t worry. Tomorrow night, my life will be in your hands.”

  Jessilynn swallowed, felt a tightening in her chest. Suddenly, remaining behind seemed like a much better idea.

  The wolf-men occupied the larger southern end of the ravine, effectively blocking in most of the races, with the hyena-men filling the smaller northern end. Jessilynn and Dieredon lay flat on their bellies at the very top of the cliff above. Below was the pile of bones, where they expected another meeting to take place. Between the two was a long, thin rope, one end securely fastened to the ground with two different hooks.

  “Remember, the fires will be my greatest ally,” Dieredon whispered to her. “Their eyes are sharp, but not when so close to light. That means only wolf-men arriving from outside the ravine pose any danger of spotting me. That is when you must signal. Are you certain you have them memorized?”

  “One to halt, two to retreat, three if spotted,” she said, repeating what he’d told her countless times.

  “Make sure you are certain, and make sure you keep the signals clear. Give a test signal early on as well, understand?”

  Jessilynn nodded. Her breathing had increased, and she felt strangely light-headed. Her ears were full of the howls and roars of the creatures below, and now the only friend she had for hundreds of miles was about to descend into that beastly den.

  “If something should happen, run to Sonowin,” Dieredon said as he took hold of the rope and secured it to his belt. “She’ll fly you back to the Citadel, and from there it’ll be up to you to convince Lathaar and Jerico to act accordingly.”

  She nodded again, too nervous to speak. Her bow was slung over her shoulder, along with her arrows, and she wished she had them in her hands. She obviously couldn’t take on thousands of creatures all by herself, but at least she wouldn’t feel so helpless. As Dieredon began his descent, she remained on her stomach, clutching the rope with both hands. The rope was intended solely as a safety line should the elf needed to ascend rapidly, as well as a means of communication between him and Jessilynn. The ravine cliff, while steep, was far from sheer, and with amazing strength Dieredon descended, looking like a spider as he shifted between handholds.

  Jessilynn looked away from the elf and instead scanned the area below. She trusted Dieredon and his camouflage to keep himself hidden. The fires dotting the wolf-man section of the ravine were at a perfect distance, too far to cast significant light on the ravine wall, yet still close enough to affect the eyes of those at the bone pile and the surrounding area. Even when she tried to locate him, knowing he was there, she needed a moment. It was his cloak, she realized. Something about its subtle splotches of green and brown seemed to perfectly blend in with the stone.

  When Dieredon was a quarter of the way down she tugged on the rope, pulling until she felt resistance like she’d been shown. The elf halted, flattening himself against the cliff face and remaining perfectly still. After counting to ten, she tugged once more. Using the same number as the previously given command cancelled the command. Dieredon resumed his descent, and Jessilynn continued scanning the area. So far, it appeared there were no patrols, which was far from surprising. What could the creatures possibly need protection from? The bigger danger to Jessilynn and Dieredon were the hunting parties, which returned both often and irregularly.

  When he was halfway down she spotted a group of seven wolf-men coming in from the south. She tugged once, hoping she hadn’t noticed too late. Dieredon stopped, flattening himself again. The wolf-men loped past the great pile of bones, three of the seven carrying corpses across their shoulders. Two were of other wolf-men, she saw, while a third was that of a goblin. Runaways, perhaps? Was it punishment, feasting, or both? She received her answer swiftly enough, as the wolf-men plopped the bodies into the center of their camp and let out a howl.

  Grim but efficient, Jessilynn thought, a way of simultaneously reinforcing discipline while keeping the army fed. She figured Dieredon would be safe due to the distraction, and she used the rope to give her signal. Immediately Dieredon continued moving. She watched him for a moment, stunned that he could maintain his grip without relying on the rope. His body was slender, but it was clear that all of it was muscle. No wonder he was so frightening in combat, not that she’d seen him fight. She only had reputation to rely upon, but that hard-won reputation was impressive, indeed.

  When Dieredon was a third of the way from the bottom he paused without need of signal from Jessilynn. At first she felt an impulse of panic, thinking she’d missed something that he himself had spotted. Then she saw the size of the jutted rock he used as footholds, the deepness of the shadows there, and felt soft pressure applied on the rope. He was either resting, or settling in to listen. Whichever it was, she told herself to calm down. Dieredon was hundreds of years old, and had most likely dealt with far more dangerous situations than this. She had to trust him.

  The minutes passed, each one feeling like an eternity. Another hunting party arrived, this one full of bird-men. She gave a single tug so he’d know, and she actually felt a tug back in return. For whatever reason, it made her smile, a reminder that he was aware and in control.

  As the night wore on, the sounds below grew louder, more boisterous. The stress picked away at her mind, made her feel exhausted despite her training. She knew she could go at least a full day and night without sleep. They’d been forced to do so several times in the Citadel, but being out in the midst of real danger, with the fear of being eaten or seeing a friend mutilated because of her own mistakes chipping away at her, was a different beast altogether.

  So great was the noise below that she almost didn’t hear the sound of beating wings. A sudden surge of fear assured her something was wrong. The beating increased, loud enough for her to pick it out among the chaos. Looking up, her mouth dropped open as she realized the implication of what she saw.

  Sonowin was in flight.

  “Come up, come up, come up,” Jessilynn said, tugging on the rope. She felt Ashhur scream warning in her ear after the second tug, and close behind her she heard a low growl. Despite her terror, she did not turn, did not try to flee, instead forcing herself to pull the third time, giving Dieredon the order to retreat.

  Clawed hands grabbed her, lifting her into the air without the slightest bit of effort.

  “What is this?” asked a gray-haired wolf-man. He held her before him like a curiosity, like a strange plaything. Behind him were twenty more wolf-men, sauntering up the hillside. The entire scene was so unreal, Jessilynn felt paralyzed. She smelled the foul breath of her captor, felt the sharp sting of his claws as they tightened around her arms. His eyes were bloodshot, and they glinted yellow from the starlight. That she understood him made it all the more surreal. She’d been taught the creatures knew the human tongue, but knowing and experiencing were two entirely different things. She knew, right then and there, that she was going to die.

  “A tasty treat?” asked another of the wolf-men as he climbed up to join the gray-haired one.

  “A scraggly female,” said gray-hair. “But with at least some fat on her.”

  The wolf-man looked down, saw the rope. Letting out a snarl, he shifted Jessilynn so that he carried her with one arm. His muscles were like a vice, and though she struggled against him she might as well have been trying to pry open a rock with her bare hands. Gray-hair sniffed the air, then opened his mouth wide and let out a yip.

  “A tricksy elf,” the beast said, reaching down for the rope. Jessilynn thought he’d cut it, but instead he took hold of the rope and yanked upward as hard as he could. Dangling over the edge in the wolf-man’s arm, Jessilynn had all too fine a view of what happened next. Dieredon was frantically climbing, and though he might have been able to support himself had rope gone slack, instead it pulled against him, dislodging him from the cliff face and sending him dan
gling above the ravine. The gray-hair tugged again, pulling the rope free of the spikes, and then let it drop. Already having slid down the rope, the elf fell the rest of the short way down, rolling to absorb the impact.

  Jessilynn screamed as the wolf-man let out an ear-splitting howl. The attention of the camp turned their way, and suddenly alert, it took only moments before Dieredon was spotted. A legion of howls took up the hunt as the elf sprinted toward the exit. The rest of the twenty wolf-men gathered around the cliff edge to watch the excitement. Jessilynn felt completely ignored, and for some reason that made her all the more afraid. They didn’t care about her, found her vaguely amusing at best. She was but food to them. What interest would they show, other than when it was time to rip apart her flesh?

  Staring down, Jessilynn prayed for Dieredon’s safety, even as she saw how hopeless a situation it was. He’d stashed his bow with Sonowin for the duration of the climb, which left him with only two long-bladed daggers. His speed was incredible as he ran, but the wolf-men could still overcome him. The elf was a blur of motion, and anytime a wolf-man neared, the creature fell back, clutching part of its body or falling dead on the spot. Jessilynn stared, wide-eyed, continuing to pray. Maybe he could live. Maybe he wouldn’t suffer for her failure. She should have heard them. She should have realized they were sneaking up on her. All her fault. His death, the death of a legend, would be her fault.

  “A feisty one, he is,” said one of the wolf-men.

  “All elves are,” gray-hair snarled. “Perhaps the pups are liars if they cannot kill one elf.”

  “They’ll kill him,” said another. “Where else will he go? Sad we won’t get a taste.”

  “I’ve had elf flesh before. It is sweet, like honey. You would not like it.”

  Dieredon scrambled toward one of the cliff edges as three wolf-men cut him off. They leapt in unison, and beneath them Dieredon tumbled. Fire glinted off his daggers, and only two wolf-men got up to chase after. The third lay motionless.