The Prison of Angels h-6 Page 31

  “The angels will know,” Aurelia said, wincing as the assassin holding her pressed the dagger tighter against her throat. “They’re not fools. They’ll figure out what you’ve done.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Kevin said, shaking his head. “I’ve spent years telling the people of Mordan that a time would come when the angels would make a play for power. Years and years, insisting the angels would usurp our lords and kings. This city is a hair’s breadth away from riot, as is this entire nation. What do you think would happen if I, the rightful heir to the throne after Gregory and Susan’s death, were suddenly overthrown by our guardian angels? Can you imagine it, the glorious rebellion rising up against them? Even if they kill me, I’ll be a martyr for all mankind. We must be made free. We must escape the reach of their wings.”

  Kevin gestured to his sister.

  “Do it,” he said. “Do it, or watch your wife and daughter die.”

  It all felt like a bad dream, one Harruq had no way to wake up from. Slowly he walked over to Susan, putting a hand on her face. She leaned against his touch, her eyes meeting his.

  “My life is forfeit,” she whispered to him. “So do what you think is right. I won’t condemn you for that.”

  Two of the assassins stood guard over Kevin. A third hovered by the door, holding Harruq’s two swords. The fourth kept hold of Aurelia, ensuring his wife made no move to escape. Harruq faced them all, took in a deep breath.

  “I’ll do it,” he said.

  Kevin smiled, then reached out a hand toward the assassin by the door. Instead of handing over one of his swords, the assassin gave Kevin his dagger.

  “I’m not a fool,” he said, tossing the dagger at Harruq’s feet. “The last thing I’m giving you are the swords you killed a god with.”

  Harruq grunted, and carefully he bent down and picked the dagger up by the handle. He didn’t want to make any sudden movements, for the one holding Aurelia looked ready to draw blood at a moment’s notice. The dagger felt tiny in his beefy hands. Turning to Susan, he slowly reached out, grabbing the ropes around her wrists and tugging them free.

  “She dies with dignity,” Harruq said, glaring at Kevin before he might protest. “You owe your sister that, at least.”

  The lord waved a hand to show he accepted. Harruq turned back to Susan, stepped closer.

  “Do you trust me?” he asked her.

  She nodded.

  “Good.”

  He lifted the dagger, pulled it back to thrust…and then turned and hurled it into the face of the assassin holding Aurelia. It punched through the cloth, burying into an eye. Flinging Susan to the ground, Harruq lunged for the assassin holding his swords. His foe dropped them. With one hand the assassin drew his remaining dagger, with the other he reached outward. Lighting circled around his palm, then streaked toward Harruq’s chest. But this time he was ready, and with a scream he crossed his arms and pushed onward, denying the magic, denying the pain.

  Dipping his body as if to grab for his swords, he instead flung himself forward. His body smashed into the assassin’s, and together they collided with the door. The hinges shook but held. The same could not be said for the bones in the assassin’s chest as Harruq’s fists slammed into them. A vicious elbow dislocated the vertebrae in his neck, and down he dropped. Harruq turned, surveying the battle in an instant with training long since beaten into him by Haern.

  Aurelia’s hands were still bound behind her, but instead of trying to free herself, she’d run forward, ramming her stomach into the desk Aubrienna had been drawing upon. The impact bent her over, and she vomited all across the ink scribblings. One of the remaining two assassins rushed toward her, and Harruq panicked, knowing he could not reach her in time. Her back was turned, she couldn’t escape…

  But Susan was free, and as Harruq scooped up his swords she dove between Aurelia and the assassin. She had no defense, no weapon, just her body. With brutal efficiency the assassin thrust his dagger into her throat, twisted it, and then flung her aside.

  “You bastard!” Harruq screamed, legs pumping. Aurelia rolled off the desk, and then Harruq was there, his swords blocking the downward thrust of the assassin. Their blades connected, but Harruq’s body felt more alive than it had in ages. Compared to Thulos, the man’s speed was nothing, his skill substandard, and with a single looping cut he batted aside the assassin’s defenses and then stabbed his swords deep into his chest. Roaring out his fury, he kicked the body back and then settled into a defensive stance over his wife.

  “Stay back!” Kevin screamed as the lone assassin rushed to the stone dome. Fire circled around the man’s hand, just over the hole at the top. “Stay back, or they die!”

  Harruq froze, horrified by the thought of his beloved Aubby burning to death. Kevin saw that hesitation, and the victory was clear in his eyes.

  It died the moment Aurelia flung a lance of ice across the room, its sharp point ripping through the last assassin’s chest, spilling innards across the floor.

  Kevin lifted his sword in defense. Harruq stalked closer, and if not for the death around him he might have laughed. Aurelia gave him no chance to show the man how outclassed he was. Ice shot from her fingers, several bursts that wrapped around his wrists and ankles, pinning him to the wall. In vain he struggled against them, his sword clattering harmlessly to the floor.

  “That’s it,” Kevin said, face turning red from his struggling. “Bring the angels. Have them hold me trial. You want to see riots? You want to see who the people truly believe in all this?”

  “Not you,” Harruq said. “Not anymore.”

  With one single swing he let out all his fury, all his exhaustion and sorrow. Condemnation cut clean through his neck, severing Kevin’s head. It hit the ground with a sickening plop. Growling like an animal, Harruq picked it up by the hair and then flung it out the window.

  “Fucking lunatic,” he said, shaking his head.

  He heard Aurelia let out a cry, and he turned. She’d rushed to the dome, and with a wave of her hand moved aside the rock. Tears ran down her face as the two children flung themselves against her, holding on with desperate strength while they cried. Harruq wanted to relax, wanted to go to them, but they weren’t safe just yet. He checked the door, ensuring it was locked, then wondered when the remaining soldiers might come looking for Kevin. No doubt he’d wanted Susan’s death to come about in private, where no one could contradict him to the angels. Perhaps that might buy them time…

  “Harruq?” said a voice. The half-orc turned, unsure where it’d come from. He saw Ahaesarus leaning into the window, one foot on the ledge, his wings flapping to keep him balanced. He was too big to fit inside, but he could see within.

  “I saw the scepter,” the angel said as Harruq approached. “The doors are locked, and they would not allow me entrance.”

  “You’re about five minutes too late,” Harruq said. “Kevin’s dead. His men attacked the castle, hoping to usurp the throne.”

  A shadow spread across the angel’s face as he listened.

  “Are you safe where you are?”

  Harruq glanced about, shrugged.

  “Safe as anywhere in this castle.”

  “Good.” Ahaesarus pushed off from the ledge.

  “Where are you going?”

  The angel leader drew his sword.

  “To get more of my kind,” he said.

  With that, Ahaesarus flew away. Staggering toward Aurelia, Harruq passed Susan’s body. He leaned down once, put a hand on her face so he might close her eyes.

  “I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “Thank you for trusting me. I’m sorry I didn’t do better. I should have. I…”

  He let it go, instead went to his wife. He fell to his knees beside her, wrapping her in his arms.

  “I thought we’d lose her,” Aurelia said, glancing over at him. Tears ran down her face, but she’d composed herself well enough.

  “Never,” Harruq said, kissing her forehead before taking Aubrienna into his arms,
where she curled up against his chest.

  “Never again.”

  29

  Daniel stood in the top floor of the Blood Tower, feeling very old. It’d been eleven years since Sir Robert had died and control of the Wall of Towers passed over to him. Staring out the window at the river beyond, he wished anyone else had taken his place in the aftermath of the Gods’ War. Someone younger, someone with energy. Because as he watched in vain for another boat to return, knowing it would not, he felt too damn tired to do anything about it.

  “This is your fault, Antonil,” he muttered as he turned away. “For once, couldn’t you have looked to this country’s defense instead of your old home’s?”

  For years he’d requested more soldiers, and for years he’d been denied. At first it was because everyone was needed to help rebuild the land. Then came the first failed campaign to retake the east, followed by the even larger second. And through it all, good men, men he needed to man the boats and patrol the wildlands of the Vile Wedge, were instead sent to die in a foreign land. Whenever someone would whisper the title The Missing King, Daniel had always made sure his ears were deaf to it. The last thing he wanted was to punish one of his few men for saying something he actually agreed with.

  Daniel descended the steps of the tower and stepped out into the bright light of the full moon. His two hundred men were out and about, as per his orders. Something was amiss. He felt it in his gut, and so he’d kept them awake, not even bothering to assign shifts. The signs were too similar to before, made all the more frightening by their suddenness.

  “Has Johnson returned?” Daniel asked as he approached the docks. Several men were gathered there, and they all shook their heads.

  “Not yet,” said one of the men. Daniel was hardly surprised, but he tried not to let his frustration show.

  “Keep looking,” he said. He spun, making his way to the wall that surrounded the tower before dipping into the shallower portions of the river. He climbed the steps, then looked out across the Gihon. Patrols walked past, and he squinted against the light of their torches. Two days ago it had started. There’d been no warning. No casualties, no reports of deaths like when the wolf-men first started preying on the people of Durham, marking their eventual assault. No, one night his boats simply had not returned. He sent out two more, one north, one south. The one north had been a patrol, the one south to check with Tower Red to see if they had encountered anything unusual.

  The northern boat never returned, and so far they’d yet to receive word from the south. Glancing at the full moon, he felt the pale orb put fear into his blood. Something was definitely wrong, and no matter what it might be, he didn’t have the manpower to fight it. An hour before he’d sent out a rider to the Castle of the Yellow Rose to plead for aid from Lord Hemman. Beyond that, there was little he could do but wait and pray.

  “Sir!” one of the patrolmen shouted, rushing alongside the wall and waving his arms to get his attention.

  “Yes?” Daniel asked, turning.

  “A boat at the docks!”

  Daniel felt his tension easing. Perhaps it wasn’t as dire as he thought.

  “Is it Johnson, or someone from Red?”

  “I don’t know,” said the soldier. “I just saw it from the wall.”

  Daniel climbed down the steps to the ground, and he saw many other soldiers hurrying toward the docks as well. He couldn’t blame them, a bunch of nervous men stuck armed and ready with nothing to do but wait. The crowd parted easily enough, and when Daniel caught sight of the boat his hopes were dashed. The man from Tower Red looked pale, and he saluted Daniel upon his arrival.

  “Sir,” the man said. “I…forgive me. I don’t know how to say it. Tower Red is gone.”

  “Gone?” Daniel asked, feeling ice thickening around his spine.

  “The goat-men,” he said. “They rushed us from the Wedge, thousands of them. I managed to escape during the attack. I was ordered to, I swear. I ain’t no coward. But they smashed down the doors of the tower like they were nothing, and against that many, we couldn’t…we…”

  Daniel grabbed his shoulders and shook him to force him to calm.

  “Deep breaths, soldier,” he said. “Tell me again, how many?”

  “At least two thousand,” the man said. “Please, we have to get help. We have to go back there. They might still…”

  From beyond the river came a single, high-pitched shriek. Following it were thousands more, a sound so painful that Daniel clutched his hands to his head, his fingers jammed into his ears. He knew that sound, though never in such terrifying volume.

  “To your places!” he screamed, hoping they heard his voice above the noise. “Man the walls, and form ranks along the river!”

  He drew his own sword and rushed to the nearest staircase leading up to the wall. Before he even reached the top he saw the swarm growing on the opposite side of the river. Bird-men, a veritable legion, flapping their wings and shrieking like the wild things they were. Their feet were long, their claws sharp, and the river was a paltry defense against them.

  “Everyone along the river,” he shouted, realizing the bird-men intended no delay, no siege to prevent flight. The water roiled as the creatures dove into it, using their wide, flightless wings to push them forward. When he was back on solid ground, Daniel grabbed the nearest man and yanked him close.

  “Get to the stable,” he shouted into the man’s face, determined to be heard over the chaos.

  “Sir?” he asked. His eyes were wide, but he appeared to be in control of himself.

  “Take the fastest horse and ride to the Yellow Rose! They have to know. This isn’t just a single pack.”

  “Then what do I tell him it is?”

  Daniel glanced at the river, where the first of the bird-men were being hacked to death by his soldiers as they attempted to scramble out of the water.

  “Tell them it’s an army,” he said. “The whole damn Vile Wedge has come for blood. Now go!”

  He shoved the man back, then rushed to the river. They had just enough men to form a single line along the shore. With the water slowing the beasts, the advantage was theirs, at least for a short while. Daniel thrust his sword, letting a bird-man impale itself on the blade while its enormous beak snapped futilely at his neck. He twisted the handle before kicking the creature off, then he swung again and again, batting at a second bird-man that flapped free of the river with an awkward gait. His sword easily crushed its thin bones.

  All around him men screamed as beaks snapped down on their arms and long raptor claws raked against their exposed flesh. Two hundred against thousands, thought Daniel as he continued to hack and slash. But what more could they do, other than buy time for his rider? Daniel thought of the people beyond, the farmlands that waited like ripened berries for the beasts to pluck. Two towers falling in the same night? What did it mean?

  “Fall back!” he screamed. Bodies of the dead floated all throughout the river, obstacles against the remaining forces, but too many bird-men were making it clear of the water. “Fall back to the tower!”

  Daniel led the way, his old legs pumping as hard as they could. Others passed him by, younger and faster than he. From behind he heard screams, wet snapping sounds, and overwhelming it all was that continuous, mind-numbing shriek. Into the tower he ran. Several soldiers stood at the door, watching. The moment the last man entered they slammed it shut, flinging the heavy bolts in place. Immediately the door shook as bodies smashed into the other side. Digging soon followed, sharp claws scratching grooves into the thick wood.

  “Find anything you can to block the door with,” Daniel ordered before climbing the stairs. His bones ached, but he ignored the pain easily enough, for even on good days his body gave him trouble. To the very top of the tower he climbed, opening a hatch in the ceiling. He grabbed a wrapped package from his closet, then up he went, climbing onto the small flat space. Other than a few stacked stones there was nothing to keep him from falling, and on his knees he
overlooked the surrounding area. The full moon kept the land lit, and he directed his gaze to the river.

  The bird-men continued swimming across. At least three thousand, he guessed, as the creatures swarmed throughout the inner compound, looking like a horde of vermin from that height. A few failed to climb the sides of the stone, the rest taking turns scratching at the door. Daniel shook his head, knowing it would not take long before the door fell.

  Goat-men. Bird-men. Daniel’s gut told him the wolf-men were a part of it as well. A coordinated attack. He shivered to think of who could ally the beasts together. It was their constant squabbling that had kept their numbers in check for all these years, their inherent hatred of each other that had protected the people on the other side of the river from any real danger. But somehow that was gone.

  “Ashhur help us all,” he said.

  He unwrapped the package. The gold of the scepter shone in the moonlight. Daniel lifted it above him and spoke the command word. The blue pillar shot into the sky, the beacon visible for miles upon miles. He stared at it, daring to have hope. Twice more he activated it, and each time he noticed the bird-men below staring up as if mesmerized. He wondered what the creatures’ pathetic brains thought of the light. Perhaps they knew what it meant. After all, they’d coordinated an assault on multiple towers. Despite his years, not to mention his experience, he still hadn’t given enough credit to the beasts.

  “Where are you?” Daniel muttered, staring at the sky. He’d never called for the angels before, but this seemed as perfect a time as any. At least he might inform them of the attack, ensuring that the riders he sent to Lord Hemman didn’t have their warnings go unheeded. The minutes passed, interminable due to the constant squawking and screeching.

  At last he saw white wings. They were almost above him by the time he spotted them, for they came from the east. Daniel raised his arms, waving, but something was wrong. The wings were even larger than he expected, and as the creature dipped, he realized it wasn’t an angel at all, but a winged horse. Two people rode atop it, their bodies just faint silhouettes. Slowly he lowered his hands, and he felt his innards tighten. Silent, he watched as the horse circled twice, then continued west.