The Prison of Angels h-6 Read online

  A taut silence stretched over the thousands, and Harruq saw them glancing at one another. Judarius in particular looked ready to speak, staring eye to eye with the larger Ahaesarus. And then he turned away, spread his wings, and flew out of the forum.

  “As I thought,” Ahaesarus said. “All of you, we are to represent the glory of Ashhur and perform his will. This is the best way I know how. Now go. There will be no debate, and I have nothing else to say.”

  More rumbling, more discontent. The angels flew away in a great rustle of feathers and noise. Harruq looked across the marble and saw Kevin watching them fly away with a contemplative look on his face. Would this placate the man? Or would such capitulation only provoke him further? An angel came over, took him by the arms, and then they were gone.

  Harruq waited, feeling more and more self-conscious as the forum grew steadily quieter. A few flew over to Ahaesarus to assure him of their support, but they were not many. At last they were alone, just Harruq and Ahaesarus. The angel approached, and he looked like he carried a heavy burden on his shoulders.

  “Do you see why I wanted you here?” he asked.

  “Not quite,” Harruq said, shaking his head.

  “I wanted you to see this. I wanted you to know the changes we make, changes you must help enforce. We need more judges. We need clearer laws. I want you to tell us what to do with the guilty, and what to do with the repentant. In this, I hope we might better meet the desires of the people compared to the senseless violence we so recently spread throughout the night.”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” Harruq said, immediately thinking it was something Susan would be far better suited for. More than ever he was glad she’d stayed behind after Antonil’s departure. “Though I wouldn’t expect any miracles.”

  “I never do,” Ahaesarus said. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t pray they happen. Do you think our actions will provoke a war?”

  Harruq crossed his arms and frowned.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “If one happens, I’m determined to make sure it doesn’t start on our end. I’ve given up predicting King Henley. If he wants a war, then we’ll have a war, but until he marches into our lands I’m going to do my best to prevent any further provocation.”

  Ahaesarus reached for Harruq for the return flight. Before he could, Harruq looked away, feeling embarrassed.

  “You saved my brother’s life,” he said. “Thank you.”

  “And I think you might save the souls of my angels,” Ahaesarus said. “In that, Harruq, I think I owe you far more than you owe me.”

  Harruq laughed.

  “Well, in that case, remind me to call you on that sometime. Maybe you can listen to a few hundred petitioners. That might even things up a bit.”

  Ahaesarus grinned as they soared into the air.

  “Did you not just say to never expect any miracles?”

  24

  Loreina Henley sat on her throne, her husband’s seat empty beside her. In her lap was a letter, and though she’d read it three times already, she read it a fourth. It didn’t seem it could be true, yet the haggard man before her, plus the wax seal of King Antonil, both insisted it was.

  “How far behind you are they?” she asked the messenger.

  “We’re marching at the fastest pace we can manage with such little food,” the man said. His clothes were stained with sweat, and he looked like he hadn’t slept in days. “I’d say two weeks at most, your grace.”

  Loreina nodded.

  “My servants will find you a room and prepare you a bath,” she told him. “I’m sure you’re hungry, and if you’d like to eat before resting, tell them.”

  “Thank you, your grace,” he said, bowing low. Servants came, having heard her orders, and ushered the messenger out of the hall. Loreina sat there, tapping the letter against her leg. She read it a fifth time, still unable to contain her excitement.

  To friend and king,

  The orcs number far beyond what I ever dreamed in my darkest of nightmares. The east crawls with their kind, though that is not the real danger. Someone leads them, someone wise, someone they fear. My men whisper it a demon who survived the Gods’ War. I do not know, but only tell you so you might understand the danger you face on your eastern border. My army is crushed, my supplies ruined. We were ambushed on the way to Angelport, left with retreat as our only option. We come to you now, humbly and afraid, asking for aid and shelter when we reach your lands. My men are already starving, yet we face days of marching until we reach safety.

  Whatever aid you offer, I will pay back tenfold. And please, prepare your men. An army of orcs is growing, and I fear their leader will not be satisfied with just the ruins of the east.

  Your friend,

  King Antonil Copernus.

  There was nothing particularly shocking about the letter. They’d long known an orc commander had risen among them, though the idea of it being a war demon was unsettling. And that Antonil had been defeated was no surprise, given his failure years ago in attempting to complete the same fool’s errand. But knowing they were out of provisions, exhausted, begging for aid? Now that was something she could use. It was an opportunity her husband musn’t squander.

  “Turn away any petitioners,” she said to her guards as she stood. “I fear I will have far too busy of a day for any more.”

  Bram was overseeing his army, as he had ever since the angels attacked in the night. Loreina had watched the battle from the window of her room, and still she had nightmares about it. The way the angels had dashed through their soldiers, slaughtering them as if they were children fighting against men…

  She shook her head to clear away such thoughts. Fear was unbecoming of her. Lifting her skirt ever so slightly so she might increase her pace, she stepped out into the courtyard. Despite the hard work of many servants, there were still signs of battle everywhere. It seemed until the next year, when the grass regrew in spring, there would be the red blood staining the green. As for the cobblestones pathways, well, it’d taken three days of scrubbing to make them their original gray, and even then she saw missed spots here and there. Bram had told her the final tally. A hundred and twenty-nine men dead, and in return, they’d killed a paltry eleven angels.

  Fear was unbecoming of her, and such failure was unbecoming of their soldiers. And so the men drilled, and plotted, and worked out ways to kill men who flew through the air on pearly wings. As she left the courtyard and entered the training grounds surrounding the barracks, the men halted what they were doing so they might pay their respects. Loreina smiled at them, knowing such small gestures did wonders for morale. In the middle of all the chaos was her husband, arguing with Sir Ian.

  “I’m telling you, archers aren’t effective against the angels,” Ian insisted. “Either they dodge them on the way down or outrace them on the way up. It’s only if we can get them on the ground that they’d take the significant casualties necessary to justify the extra training.”

  “Not if the volley is large enough that…”

  Bram stopped, noticing her presence. Loreina dipped her head in respect, then kissed her husband’s lips.

  “A letter,” she said, handing it to him as she pulled away.

  “From who?” he asked. His eyes lit up as he saw the name at the bottom. “Oh really?”

  Loreina waited as he read it, and was not surprised to see him immediately go over it a second time.

  “How long ago did you receive this?” he asked, suddenly looking up.

  “A few minutes ago. A messenger came riding in from the east, and our bridge guards escorted him here as fast as they could.”

  Bram nodded, and his face hardened into a frown that she knew meant he was deep in thought.

  “If we might speak alone?” she asked Ian, who promptly bowed.

  “Of course,” he said. “Milord, fetch me if you need me.”

  With Ian gone, they were alone despite the hundreds of men milling about, clanging swords. Their words would go unh
eard in such a din. Loreina slid beside her husband, wrapping her arms around his waist.

  “This is it,” she said. “This is everything we’ve waited for.”

  Disturbed, he looked her way, his frown deepening.

  “How so?”

  “Their numbers are weakened, and they are in no shape to fight. Meet them at the bridge. Show them you will not be taken advantage of.”

  Bram glared, and he guided her toward the exit of the barracks. It seemed even with all the noise he would not speak of such things in public.

  “Are you mad?” he asked as they stepped out. “You saw what thirty angels did to our forces. That was within our own castle, with Qurrah’s lover to aid us. Thousands fly above the skies of Mordan. Even if we crush Antonil, war will still come to our nation, and against that might we’ll be trampled.”

  “When did I speak of war?” Loreina asked, letting a hard edge into her voice. Her husband should trust her better than that, and it annoyed her when he would not fully think her ideas through. “When did I speak of crushing that fool of a king? I only ask that you exercise the rights you possess.”

  Bram shook his head.

  “What you’re asking is dangerous, Loreina. If Ahaesarus meant what he said, we still might escape open warfare. I once thought we would stand a better chance, but that was before seeing what they could do. Their weapons make our chainmail look like butter.”

  “Don’t you think I know that?” she said. “I watched from my window as our men, good men with families, bled out and died because those fanatics were determined to get what they wanted. They came at night, without warning, into our very capital. What happens when they come for you? Or for me?”

  She saw the anger in his eyes and knew she had him.

  “All I ask is that you be the king I know you are,” she whispered, softly kissing him from his neck to his ear. “All I ask is that you let me sleep knowing I am safe. Can you do that?”

  He nodded.

  “We’ll have little time if we want to meet them at Ashhur’s Bridge,” he said. “Forgive me. I must give out the order.”

  She smiled and let him go.

  “Of course,” she said.

  He hurried back into the barracks, and her heart swelled with pride. This was it. This was the first step toward their freedom.

  Trying not to look in any particular hurry, she walked back to the castle. When her servants went to follow, she dismissed them, claiming she had a headache and desired solitude. It was only a half-lie. She climbed the winding stairs to the upper floors, then smiled at the man guarding her room. Slipping inside, she twisted the lock, then rushed to her private chest of things. Amid the various junk was a single scrap of paper, hardly larger than her palm. It was faded brown, and looked as if it’d been forgotten at the bottom of the chest for decades.

  Taking the scrap, she went to her husband’s desk and opened his inkwell. Taking a quill, she wrote two simple words in its center. That done, she put the quill and ink away, then walked over to their window. She pushed it open, felt the breeze blow against her. Her heart aflutter, she lifted the paper to her lips then slowly breathed across it.

  Immediately the paper snapped to life, folding over and over on itself, reshaping, becoming something else. Throwing it out the window, Loreina smiled as the paper bird took flight, rising higher and higher into the air, the words Antonil approaches safely folded into its very center. Loreina watched until it was gone, her hands clasped before her chest and her eyes alight.

  King Antonil parted the rough fabric with his hands and looked inside.

  “How does he fare?”

  Tarlak lay on a pile of blankets, in one of the few wagons they’d manage to salvage after the ambush at Kinamn. His hat was beside him, exposing the wicked bruise just above his temple. A bit of his hair was missing, shaved off by the elderly surgeon overseeing him.

  “He fares fine,” Tarlak said, lazily lifting an arm in greeting. “I dare say I’m sick to death of this bumpy wagon. I think walking would be better for my health, and my sanity.”

  “You have my pity,” said Antonil.

  “Thank you,” Tarlak replied.

  “I meant the surgeon.”

  “He sleeps more than he complains,” the surgeon said. “Though the herbal milk I give him is probably to blame. The infection is gone, praise Ashhur for that. In a week, maybe two, he’ll be back to his old flamboyant self.”

  “Nonsense,” Tarlak said. “I’m my flamboyant self right now. See this smile? That’s the smile of a happy man.”

  “The smile of a drugged man,” Antonil said, chuckling. “Cut down on the herbs. I think it’s time he regained a bit of his lucidity.”

  “I might have to take some myself then,” said the surgeon. “You cannot imagine what this man is like when ill. I’ve known children who handled toothaches better.”

  “We’ll be at Ashhur’s Bridge within the hour,” Antonil said as Tarlak stuck his tongue out at the surgeon. “Soon we’ll all get the rest we need, and even better, the food our bellies have been grumbling for. Will that make up for the wizard?”

  “It’ll do.”

  Antonil patted Tarlak on the leg.

  “Get better,” he said. “Oh, and try not to be too annoying.”

  “No promises,” came slurred speech from the wagon as Antonil hopped back down. His smile, while natural in there with Tarlak, soon became forced as he wandered through the rest of his army. Of his thirty thousand, only five remained, and very few of them walked with their heads held high. Their faces were sunken and thin, crying out for sleep and food. Antonil wished he could give it to them, and he thanked Ashhur they had finally made it to Ker.

  The loss of so many made him sick to the stomach whenever he thought about it. He’d been at the front, trying to reach the catapults shattering their ranks. When they finally broke through the orc line, their commander had issued a retreat. From atop the hill, Antonil watched the orcs pull away, and he denied his men a chance to chase after. There was no point. He guessed the orcs had two thousand left, maybe three. Perhaps they would have overrun them, but he didn’t want to risk it, not with a broken army. They’d left the dead where they were upon the hillside, gathered up every shred of supplies into their few remaining wagons, and then traveled west. From then on, the orcs had left them alone, as if knowing they’d accomplished what they needed to keep their land safe.

  Retaking Veldaren was now but a dream. Antonil did his best to accept it, to push that sting aside while there was nothing he could do about it. Securing aid from King Bram was all that mattered now. Whatever promises he had to make, he’d make, and whatever humiliation he must endure, he’d endure. If he had to kiss Bram’s ass cheeks he’d do it, so long as it got food in his soldiers’ bellies.

  At the head of the army were their few horses, and Antonil mounted one. Despite everything, he had to appear lordly, especially before a fellow king.

  “Are we ready?” he asked Sergan, who had been waiting for him.

  “We’ve given out the last of our water,” he said. “Our food will last maybe three more days, but I kept it rationed. No sense being wasteful until we know how badly Bram’s going to gouge us for his aid.”

  “You’re a good man, Sergan,” Antonil said. “What would I do without you?”

  “Go hungry and thirsty, I’d say,” Sergan said with a tired smile. “At your word, we’ll march.”

  “Consider that word given. Let’s go home.”

  The army moved out, and it didn’t take long before they caught sight of civilization. The smoke of campfires drifted lazily into the air from the direction of the bridge. At first Antonil was heartened by the sight, but then, as the river neared, he felt worry growing in his empty stomach. The number of fires, the amount of smoke, was far beyond any normal garrison. They’d received no response from the messenger he’d sent out, but that wasn’t surprising. His orders had been to forgo sleep and rest as much as possible on the way to Angka
r. Most likely he was recovering from the trip, hopefully in far nicer conditions than Antonil and his marching army found themselves in.

  “That’s a lot of smoke,” Sergan said as he sidled alongside Antonil, showing he’d noticed the same.

  “If Bram’s there, it’d make sense for him to have an escort.”

  Sergan shrugged and stared at the sky.

  “Big escort then.”

  Despite their apprehension, there wasn’t much else for them to do but continue on. When the bridge came in sight, the army gathered there did little to improve their mood. Just as when they entered Ker through the Bloodbrick, Bram had gathered his ten thousand men and set up camp before the bridge. Antonil was too exhausted to feel anything more than mild irritation.

  Must we go through this again? he wondered, thinking of the tireless back and forth squabbling, the vague threats and posturing. Of course he would. These were his men. They’d risked their lives for him, for a land many had never been to before, and most likely would never see again in their lifetimes.

  “Keep the men calm,” Antonil said, glancing back at the rest of his army. “I don’t want anyone trying to rush across. Bram will want some sort of payment, I’m sure of it, and I want to know what that payment is before we cross.”

  “Yes, milord.”

  His five thousand slowed, then came to a shuffling stop before the entrance to the bridge. Antonil rode ahead, not bothering with an escort. He saw Bram dismounting from his own horse and walking out to meet him.

  “Friend!” Antonil cried, widening his smile. “It is good to see you.”

  Bram stopped just outside the bridge, and he slowly shook his head.

  “I dare not say the same,” he called out. “What is it you come here for?”

  Antonil hid his frown as he gestured to his army.

  “Did I not say as much in my letter?” he asked. “My men are hungry and thirsty. An orc army ambushed us, their numbers greater than we ever thought possible. I…we…all of us require aid as we travel toward Mordan, and I will gladly pay you back a hundred times if need be.”