The Prison of Angels h-6 Page 25

  She looked to Moonslayer, who watched her closely. Moonslayer and Manfeaster were the two responsible for the entire army, the fearsome leaders that kept the rest in check. It was fear that prevented total anarchy and breakdown, fear that would not last if the wolf-men squabbled over leadership. How much might she disrupt their plans if she took him down? She’d be forfeiting her life, but how many lives might she save in doing so? This was what she’d sworn to do, to give her life so others may go on.

  The arrow touched the string. Moonslayer was to her left, and before her were two wolf-men, who stepped aside to give her an empty space to shoot through. Her heart hammered in her chest. She refused to look at Moonslayer, to even let him guess at her thinking. Up went her bow, and she tightened her grip. When she pulled back the string, the arrowhead lit up, the metal pulsing softly with a blue glow that was far fainter than she preferred. The wolf-men around her saw it, and several let out soft growls.

  Now, she thought. Now was the time. Turn and fire, send the wolf-man leader to his grave. Save hundreds, maybe thousands.

  She released the arrow.

  It sailed through the gap, slicing through the night before striking ground. With a loud crack it hit, shattering rock. Jessilynn let out the breath she’d been holding, the weight of her inaction bringing her to tears.

  No, she couldn’t do it. She was a coward. If Jerico saw her then, she could only imagine the disappointment in his eyes.

  “It is not the same as the stories,” Moonslayer said as he took the bow from Jessilynn’s hands.

  “It is enough,” Silver-Ear insisted. “Let them all see it. She is still a champion of mankind, no matter how weak she appears.”

  Moonslayer stood, studying her with those intelligent eyes of his.

  “Very well,” he said. “I will find Manfeaster. If you want a demonstration, shaman, then you shall have one.”

  He handed the bow and quiver off to another, then lifted Jessilynn into the air, draping her over his shoulders. One giant paw held her feet, the other arms. The position jammed her armor into her stomach, but she kept the discomfort to herself. For some reason she knew if she mentioned it, the wolf-man would only make it worse. She felt like a child as he carried her, racing along the ground with his tongue hanging out one side of his mouth. The rest of the wolf-men followed, leaving Silver-Ear to lag behind.

  After an hour of running, Jessilynn felt she could take no more. She’d had nothing to eat in the past twelve hours, so when she vomited it was just air and bile. Whenever she gagged, Moonslayer pulled her further past his neck so she would not stain his fur. On and on they ran into the west, each jostling step bringing pain to her spine.

  At last they came upon the new encampment of the creatures. It was spread out along the flatlands, each race gathered separate from the others. In the center of the army they left a gap, just like they had in the ravine. It was there Moonslayer ran, dropping her on the ground and assigning two of his wolf-men to guard her. Jessilynn remained still, eyes closed, and it was not long before she drifted away into sleep.

  Consciousness returned with a claw stabbing into the side of her arm. She cried out, and when she opened her eyes she found Moonslayer standing over her.

  “The tribes are gathered,” he said. “On your feet.”

  She slowly stood, her head pounding furiously. All around the creatures massed, come to watch whatever demonstration Moonslayer had planned. From what she could tell, she’d slept for at least an hour, maybe two. It wouldn’t be long before the sun began to rise. The giant wolf-man paced before them all, letting them see him, letting them witness his size and power. And then he began his speech.

  “I told you this human is a warrior of her kind, the best they might raise against us,” Moonslayer yelled. “Yet I hear you speak when my back is turned. You call me a liar. You say she is no paladin. You say you have fought humans bigger, stronger, more dangerous than this little whelp. Then let me show you how wrong you are.”

  Her guess at Manfeaster’s location had been wrong after all. From the west he came running at full speed, as if his return just happened to coincide with his brother’s speech. Instead of running on all fours, he ran on two, for carried on his back was a human child. Jessilynn choked down a cry seeing him. The child looked hardly more than seven years old, his clothes torn and his body splashed with blood. Along with Manfeaster came several more wolf-men, and they too carried men and women on their shoulders. Most appeared dead but for two, the child Manfeaster carried and a middle-aged man.

  The bodies were dumped just outside the ring, but the two living were set down not far from Jessilynn. The boy looked around with white-shocked eyes, too frightened to cry. The man fell to his knees and grabbed the boy, holding him against his chest as he kept his head down and his eyes closed. His father, thought Jessilynn, seeing their hair was the same color. Who were the rest of the bodies? Were they his family, his friends?

  “We have crossed the river!” Manfeaster roared. “We have tasted the flesh of humans. No boats stop us. No armies meet us to fight. They are weak, and we are strong.”

  Moonslayer walked over and handed Jessilynn her bow.

  “Show them,” he said to her. “Let them see what you are.”

  With a dawning horror she realized what he wanted. The father and child? That would be how she proved her abilities as a paladin of Ashhur?

  “No,” she said. “No, I can’t. I can’t do this.”

  “You will,” Moonslayer growled.

  The rest of the vile creatures hooted and howled, driven wild by the scent of fresh human blood. The wolf-men stood guard over the bodies, the feast not yet ready to begin. It was to be entertainment first. Caught in a nightmare, Jessilynn drew an arrow. She nocked it, then stared at the father and son. They were both terrified and crying. She didn’t blame them. All around were monsters.

  “I can’t,” she whispered, suddenly loosening her grip. To murder one of them, just to spare her own life? Had she lost her mind?

  “Is that so?” Moonslayer asked. He shot a look to Manfeaster, who nodded, understanding the unspoken message.

  In a single smooth motion, Manfeaster took the boy from the father’s arms, flipped him into the air, and then smashed him headfirst into the rocky ground.

  “No!” cried Jessilynn, her scream echoing along with that of the father.

  Two of the creatures beat down the man when he tried to rush Manfeaster, their claws ripping into his flesh until he crumpled to his knees. Moonslayer leaned closer, his words rumbling in Jessilynn’s ears.

  “Show them,” he whispered. “Show them, or we eat the next alive.”

  It was all too much. Legs shaking, she looked upon the grieving father. His body was covered with gashes, and blood mixed with his tears and snot. Only the wolf-men holding him kept him away from the body of his son. Jessilynn thought of him lying on his back, screaming while the wolves and the birds tore into his flesh, feasting. Her arms shook, and a shudder convulsed through her.

  As the vile creatures howled, she pulled back her arrow. What she did…was it murder? No matter what she chose, the man would suffer, the man would die. This was compassion, wasn’t it? Was it mercy? Or was it cowardice, a way to escape the guilt of watching such a horrific sight? Her eyes flicked to the boy’s corpse. Already one of the wolf-men was licking the blood off him.

  I can’t do this, thought Jessilynn. Please, Ashhur, forgive me. Take him home.

  She let loose her arrow.

  It smashed into the man, blasting him out of the wolf-men’s arms and flinging him back several feet. His chest caved in, and blood shot from his mouth. The image burned into Jessilynn’s mind, yet no matter how badly she wished to close her eyes to shut it all out, she could not. The corpse rolled along the ground, expending the last of its momentum. All around her the monsters cheered, thrilled with the sight and in awe of the demonstrated power.

  “Did I not say she was their champion?” Moonslayer roared.
“Yet she is nothing to us. She is our toy, our slave, our meal. Man’s time is at an end. All of us, we will have a land of our own, and we will take it by force!”

  “Onward to the river!” Manfeaster cried, joining his brother. “It is near. Can you not taste your freedom? Come now, and taste it in the blood of the humans!”

  The feast began, and still Jessilynn could not force herself to look away. Her mind felt frozen, her emotions in shock. Tears ran down her face, yet she was unaware she was crying. A warm hand touched her shoulder, and she shivered.

  “Come,” Silver-Ear said, gently taking the bow. “You will sleep at my side this night, but first we have many miles to walk.”

  Jessilynn had no heart to respond, no words to say. She followed the shaman into the night, and though she was surrounded, she’d never felt so alone in all her life. Tearful eyes looking up at the stars, she wanted to scream at Ashhur, demand he answer for such abandonment.

  It was then she saw Sonowin’s wings, the winged horse like a distant bird flying through the night. Dieredon sat atop her, just a dark speck. Still watching, still waiting for a chance to rescue her. Jessilynn wept, unable to cope with such a mixture of relief and torment, knowing she’d not been abandoned.

  Knowing there was nothing he could do to save her.

  “We should prepare our army,” said one of Harruq’s advisors as he sat on Antonil’s throne, hunched over and thoroughly miserable.

  “What army?” he asked. “You mean the one that left with the king?”

  “There are more soldiers in Mordan than just them,” said Sir Wess, captain of the guard in Mordeina and the man left in charge of keeping the peace during their king’s absence. The surly man spoke slowly, as if he thought Harruq a child. “Most lords kept retainers, especially the northern lords. Retaking a distant land is one thing, but this is Ker. This is our doorstep, and we cannot risk them retaliating while we’re unprepared.”

  Harruq looked to the queen, who sat quietly beside him. Her hands were folded in her lap, and she shook her head when he caught her gaze.

  “No,” Harruq said. “We’re not going to make this worse. I’ve already sent a messenger to apologize. If Bram’s got any shred of sense in him, he’ll accept it, and we’ll all pretend like this never happened.”

  “But you don’t know what has happened,” said another of the advisors. “None of us do. Would it not be wiser to prepare?”

  Before Harruq could answer, the doors slammed open, and in walked Ahaesarus in all his regal splendor. He pointed at Harruq.

  “Come with me,” he said.

  Harruq lifted an eyebrow.

  “Uh…care to say please?”

  Ahaesarus stared at him, then let out a sigh.

  “Please,” he said. “I’ve called another gathering of the angels, and I would like you to bear witness.”

  Harruq shot a look to Susan, unsure of what to do.

  “We need to know what happened,” she said. “Go with him. I’m sure you’ll be safe.”

  Probably, Harruq thought as he stood. But he was taking his swords with him just in case. He wanted to ask outright about the incident in the south, but Ahaesarus didn’t appear to be in the talkative mood.

  “If you need anything, Susan will handle it,” Harruq told his advisors, pushing through them. “As for me, I’ll be with tall and handsome.”

  Ahaesarus led the way, out into the open courtyard, and then turned.

  “Your hands,” he said. “We fly to Avlimar.”

  “I want to know one thing before I go,” Harruq said, now that they were relatively alone. “Is my brother all right?”

  Ahaesarus hesitated, then nodded.

  “He battled Judarius for some length, but is otherwise unharmed, as is his wife. Now will you come with me?”

  “Of course,” Harruq said, offering his hands. “Just don’t drop me, please. It’d be a poor ending to an already awful day.”

  Ahaesarus grabbed him by the wrist, beat his wings, and into the air they soared. The land was a steadily shrinking blur beneath them as they approached the floating city. Harruq closed his eyes, knowing it helped with the vertigo. While he didn’t normally consider himself afraid of heights, he decided he could always make an exception when he was so high up that the castle looked like one of Aubrienna’s toys.

  He opened his eyes when they set down on one of the many outer ledges of Avlimar. It was immediately apparent something was afoot, given the thousands of angels circling about the city. Harruq wondered what it meant. Qurrah was alive, but that didn’t necessarily mean he was free. For a terrified moment he thought he was being brought to witness his own brother’s execution. His hand drifted to his swords, and he tried not to show his sudden nervousness.

  “So when do I hear exactly what happened in Ker?” he asked as nonchalantly as he could, which wasn’t very nonchalant at all.

  “I stopped the attempt to punish your brother before Judarius could finish the execution,” Ahaesarus said. “King Bram’s soldiers fought to protect him, and both men and angels died in the conflict.”

  “And so what is it we go to now?” Harruq asked as they walked down the pristine, golden streets.

  “The forum.”

  The half-orc couldn’t remember when he’d seen Ahaesarus so cranky. No, not that, he decided as the angel led him along. He wasn’t cranky, and he wasn’t being short-tempered…he was nervous. That realization made Harruq’s own nerves fray. What could someone as powerful and influential as Ahaesarus be nervous about? Was there something he wasn’t telling him? Just what did he plan on doing in this council? Sadly, he knew he’d get none of those answers, so he kept his mouth shut and his eyes and ears open.

  The forum turned out to be an enormous oval building, open at the top and built with a multitude of rows steadily rising higher and higher, each seat facing a central point. There were no doors, for the angels all flew in from the sky to take their place. Ahaesarus helped Harruq over the wall, but instead of finding him a seat he kept the half-orc beside him on the smooth marble flooring of the forum. Looking about, seeing the thousands of angels watching, Harruq got an inkling as to why Ahaesarus was nervous. More surprising, though, was that Harruq was not the only non-angel to be there. On the other side of the dais stood Lord Maryll, his arms crossed over his chest. He looked unbothered by the numbers, and seeing Harruq, he only offered a polite nod.

  “Harruq,” Ahaesarus said, the two of them alone in the center. He kept his voice a whisper, for it seemed even the slightest noise carried far. “When my angels flew about the nation to perform their new orders, you told me to do something. You told me it wasn’t right, and that I should know it. For that, I want to thank you. No matter what any priest, any scribe, and any king might say, I know in my heart that what you said was just. What I do now, I do because of you.”

  With that he turned, spreading his arms and wings wide so he might address the gathered thousands. Harruq stepped aside to give him room, feeling awkward standing there with nothing to do. He almost joined Kevin just so he wouldn’t have to be alone, but quickly rejected that terrible idea. Better awkward and alone than near that pompous jackass.

  “Before I begin, let us pray for wisdom, guidance, and mercy from our beloved Lord,” Ahaesarus said, and a heavy silence fell over the forum, so quiet that Harruq could hear every cough, every shift and rustle of feathers. A moment later, in eerie unison, the angels looked up, and Ahaesarus spoke his prepared words. Harruq listened, daring to hope something might be salvaged from the disaster down south.

  “Angels of Ashhur,” Ahaesarus began. “Mere days ago we met to discuss our future in the land of Dezrel. We heard the thoughts of men, their ideas of justice. Mercy and forgiveness could still be for the soul, but the body must still be punished. And so we made our decision, and with heavy hearts carried that decision out.”

  The angel shook his head, and he took a deep breath.

  “I am here to tell you all that I am revok
ing that decision. We will not carry out justice in such a manner, not anymore.”

  The following outburst was immediate and deafening. Harruq winced at the noise. Ahaesarus slammed his hands together, demanding attention, and it was granted.

  “We will not be their executioners!” he cried to them. “We will not be their murderers! From here on out, we will judge as we have, determining their innocence or guilt. But then we shall turn them over to the humans, to let them see fit the punishment for their crime. We will not spare the guilty, but neither shall we execute them. We will wash our hands of all of it, and let mankind decide the fate of those who would harm one another, steal from one another, and let darkness overcome their hearts instead of grace and love.”

  “We had a vote,” a voice cried out above the rest. Harruq spotted the source, and was not surprised to see it was Azariah. The priest stood, gesturing to the rest of those gathered in the forum.

  “Do our thoughts no longer matter?” he asked. “Will you stand against the majority?”

  “I will do more than stand against it,” Ahaesarus replied. “I will deny it to its very core. This is not what Ashhur brought us here for. This is not how we win over their hearts. Let no one fear the sight of an angel. If you think otherwise, so be it, but my word stands.”

  “Your word?” Judarius asked, emerging from the crowd to stand before Ahaesarus. Harruq noticed he carried his mace, one of the few there who wielded a weapon. “And what of our words? What of our vote? Do you deny our say in such a matter? What if we are unwilling to let such things be?”

  Ahaesarus stood to his full height. A hard edge entered his voice, and his message was chilling.

  “Let any who would slay a human come forth now, and challenge my role as leader of our kind. Come forth, any of you. Show me how great your desire for blood truly is.”