The Prison of Angels h-6 Page 32

  From the horse shot a blinding object. An arrow, Daniel realized, as it smashed into one of the bird-men. It was only one, and then they were gone, flying toward the Castle of the Yellow Rose. The acknowledgement made Daniel feel better, but only by a miniscule amount. At least someone else, one of the elven Ekreissar, apparently, would help spread the tale. Perhaps an army might be raised in time. Perhaps thousands of lives might be spared.

  From below he heard the shattering of wood, and he glanced down to see the tower doors had broken. His men fought bravely, using the cramped space of the doorway to their advantage, but defeat was inevitable. He had barely fifty men left. Against three thousand, what could they do?

  One last time he used the scepter, calling Ashhur’s name so the light would pierce the night. As it faded, and the starlight replaced it, he let out a sigh. Wherever the angels were, it wasn’t where they were needed. From his limp hand he let the scepter drop. Down the side of the tower it fell, smashing as it hit ground. A puff of blue smoke rose from the pieces, drifting away to nothingness as the bird-men swarmed through the gateway, killing their way ever higher.

  At last he heard movement from the hatch, which he’d left open. Drawing his sword, he turned. A single creature came climbing upward, its wings making it difficult for the thing to get a grip on the rungs. Daniel shoved his sword down its throat, then kicked in its beak. It fell, the noise alerting the rest to his presence. The monsters scrambled upward, biting at his thrusts, using their impressive strength to hurl themselves at the hatch, ignoring the ladder altogether. Daniel laughed as he fought, thinking he might be able to kill them off one at a time, brawling as the hours passed and he whittled the thousands down at the ridiculously slow pace.

  That thought didn’t last long. One of the bird-men’s beaks locked tight when he stabbed it straight through its throat and into the back of the brain. It fell, hurdling backward so violently that it yanked the sword from Daniel’s hand. Weaponless, he backed toward the edge of the tower, preparing himself. He would not be their food. A single step and off he’d go, falling, the ground to be his killer instead of the freakish leftovers of a long-forgotten war.

  The first bird-man made it to the top of tower, but it did not find the easy prey it expected. A heavy gust of air blew Daniel away from the ledge, and then a man came falling from the sky, a long blade in hand. The man, an elf, stabbed the creature through the eye upon landing, then kicked it down to join the rest of the bodies in Daniel’s room.

  “That damn girl is going to be the death of me,” the elf said, glancing over his shoulder as he settled into a stance before the hatch. “Consider yourself fortunate for the eagerness of youth.”

  Behind him, Daniel heard the winged horse let out a neigh, and when he turned he saw the creature hovering just beyond the ledge. A young woman sat atop it, reaching for him.

  “Take my hand!” she shouted, and before he lost his nerve he did just that. His step was not far enough, and as she yanked he fell with his stomach bent over the horse’s back. That appeared good enough, and into the air they shot, leaving the elf behind.

  “Don’t take us far!” the girl shouted as Daniel hung on for dear life.

  “What?” he shouted back.

  “Not you!”

  Less than a quarter-mile beyond the tower was a stretch of forest, and the horse landed at its edge. Daniel slipped off, thrilled to be on solid ground. Barely slowing, the pair hooked around and swooped back toward the tower. Daniel watched while on his knees, trying to regain his breath. He felt overwhelmed, pulled back from certain death to a sudden reprieve. At the same time he knew his men were gone, his tower overrun. He didn’t know how to feel, other than sick and exhausted. Even from the forest he could hear the sounds of the bird-men, and it filled him with shivers.

  Moments later he saw the horse, and he was glad to see both had survived. They landed with a burst of wind, both the elf and the girl hopping off.

  “Are you all right?” she asked him.

  “I am, thanks to you,” he said.

  “This isn’t good,” said the elf, a frown locked across his features. “Sonowin cannot carry the three of us.”

  “Then we run,” the girl offered.

  “Indeed.” The elf turned to him. “Except for you. Get back on. Sonowin will take you to safety, if you guide her.”

  “No,” Daniel said. “I won’t be a burden like that.”

  “You’re not,” said the elf. “I need you to raise an army, and send out warnings to all the nearby villages. At least three towers have fallen from what we’ve seen. It won’t be long before the rest are gone, and the entire North is being overrun.”

  Reluctantly, Daniel climbed back atop the horse, wishing there was at least a saddle. The creature swung her head side to side, neighing loudly.

  “Head southwest,” he told her. “Can you understand southwest?”

  The horse bobbed her head, snorting. Her wings flared wide, and he guessed the intelligent creature did. He looked down at his rescuers. They each stood tall, with long bows in hand.

  “What will you two do?” he asked.

  “Don’t worry,” the elf said. “Sonowin will come find us. And until then, well…”

  He glanced to the girl. Her face was haggard and scarred, and despite looking like she’d endured a nightmare, she smiled.

  “Until then, we go hunting,” she said, lifting her bow.

  Sonowin’s wings beat harder, and away into the air they went. Daniel watched the two vanish into the forest before turning his attention to where they flew. Leaning closer so the horse could hear his words and see his actions, he pointed in the direction where he thought the nearby castle waited.

  “Fly on,” he said, and the horse obeyed.

  Daniel settled back in, his arms wrapped around the creature’s neck to keep him secure. Still exhausted, he said a prayer for his dead men, as well as his saviors. It made him sad when he realized he’d never even asked them their names. Perhaps, he thought, if the world was kind, he’d get another chance.

  The old soldier shook his head. A kind world. What an insane thought.

  Onward they flew, as far behind him the bird-men emptied out from the walls of Blood Tower and continued on, heading for where the farms and villages slumbered.

  30

  Ezekai circled, staring down at the town of Norstrom as the wind blew through his hair. He should land. He knew he should land. Though no scepter had called for his aid, his fine eyes could clearly see the mob gathering below in the square. That they did not call him was unsurprising. Whenever he talked with the rest of his kind, they said the same. The use of the scepters was dwindling, and exclusively for those in need of healing. Ever since that one night they’d given the humans the justice they desired, things had changed. Deep down, Ezekai knew it’d never be the same. He saw the way the people looked at him. There was fear now, just fear. No love to match the love in his own eyes. That Ahaesarus had repealed the decision, and revoked their right as executioners of the guilty, seemed not to matter.

  Still, the mob below was growing, and he could not ignore what was happening. Ezekai dipped his wings, and down to the square he flew, landing with a gust of wind and dust. Over a hundred men and women gathered there, and they begrudgingly made room for his landing. To call the reception cold did not give the icy feeling justice. Quickly he took in his surroundings. In the center, still being built, was another pole. The nearby rope showed its eventual purpose. In the arms of two men knelt a woman, her face beaten and her clothes torn.

  “What is going on here?” Ezekai asked, trying his hardest to keep his temper in check.

  “None of your concern, angel,” said the same man that had denied him before, back when they’d hung Saul.

  “And who are you, to challenge me?”

  “Name’s David,” he said. “And we don’t want your justice. We’re capable of doing that ourselves. Bella here’s guilty as sin, and we all know it.”

&nbs
p; The crowd gave its enthusiastic support to the statement. The bound woman, however, did her best to rise to her feet, though the two men prevented her from going to him.

  “Please,” she yelled to Ezekai. “Please, help me!”

  “For what crime do you capture and beat this woman?” Ezekai asked.

  “Bella poisoned my little girl!” another woman yelled.

  She spoke neither truth nor lie, only an accusation she firmly believed. There’d be nothing useful from her, but Ezekai prodded anyway.

  “Poisoned? Why?”

  “Jealous,” David said. “We all know it, too. Jealous of Mary’s girl. Bella has no girl of her own, and she’s whored herself about this village trying to get one.”

  Bella opened her mouth to speak, but one of the men holding her wrapped his arm about her head, shoving his forearm against her mouth to muffle her words. The crowd took up shouting, demanding her life, demanding she hang. Others called out for her to suffer, and the feeling of loathing and hatred made Ezekai physically ill. His wings shook behind him, tiny vibrations he could not stop.

  “Let her speak,” he said, hoping to at least make things right. “Let me hear her words and judge the truth of the matter.”

  “We don’t need your truth,” David said. “We’ve got people who saw her doing it.”

  “That’s right,” another man said, stepping forward. “I saw her putting shit into the girl’s cup.”

  “Me too,” said a third, a heavyset man with a beard. “I asked her what, but she said she didn’t do nothing, but I know what I saw.”

  Ezekai’s eyes widened, and he felt pain in his chest. They were lying. Both men, lying about what they saw, all to justify the hatred in their heart. What had this woman done? Was it because she was a whore? Or did the love for Mary’s daughter demand a scapegoat for them, someone to blame?

  The man gagging Bella yelled and pulled back his arm. Blood was smeared across the woman’s face from biting him.

  “I didn’t do it!” she shrieked at the top of her lungs. “They’re liars, all of them, I didn’t do it!”

  Her words struck him like a sledge. She spoke truth. Beaten, mocked, hated…and innocent. Yet despite his arrival, men had continued building, frantically setting up the pole with a hook at the top for them to loop the rope about. The other end would be for her neck, to snap her spine and crush her throat.

  “She’s innocent,” Ezekai said, first softly, then louder. “Innocent. Don’t you all know what it is you do?”

  “Are you calling us liars?” one of the supposed witnesses demanded.

  “I am!” Ezekai roared. “I call you fools. I call you bitter and petty. Release that girl, and let those who laid a hand on her in violence step forth.”

  “You aren’t in charge here,” David said, and the cries of the crowd affirmed their agreement. “Be gone, angel. We know why the babe died, and we know who did it. Fly away.”

  Just a babe, then, not even a child. Fury continued to grow in his breast. Was it an illness? Was it something he could have prevented if only they had swallowed their pride and used their scepter to summon him? How many would die because of their hatred and mistrust?

  “Stop it,” Ezekai said as a third man wrapped the end of a rope around Bella’s neck. “I said stop it now. I will not watch an innocent die!”

  The crowd yelled louder. The men surrounding Ezekai pulled out whatever weaponry they owned, hatchets and knives and field-worn scythes. They’d been ready for him, the angel realized. They knew he might arrive. For Ashhur’s sake, they probably saw him circling above.

  “I said stop,” Ezekai insisted. “Don’t do this. All of you, you’re sick, you’re caught up in this ugliness, this hatred. I won’t allow it. I can’t allow it!”

  They flung the other end of the rope around the hook, grabbed it as it fell back down. Such insolence. Such blatant insult, to continue on before him. His law meant nothing to them, he saw it so clearly now. The men stared, weapons ready, there to defy him in saving an innocent life. Bella continued sobbing, her voice strained by the tightness of the rope.

  Slowly Ezekai drew his sword. An emotion bubbled in him, one he couldn’t quite place. He looked to these people he loved, these sinful creatures, and realized he didn’t love them anymore.

  “If this is how it must be,” he whispered.

  He flapped his wings, lunging forward as three men grabbed the rope in preparation to pull. David was the first to step in his way, but with a single, powerful cut Ezekai sliced his body in twain. A step, a spin, and his sword arced out, cutting down three more men before they could bring their weapons to bear against him. Panicked screams echoed from the crowd. Half the mob turned to flee, the other half rushing the angel. Ezekai cut again and again, keeping them at bay so they could not overwhelm him. Meanwhile the three men pulled on the rope, lifting Bella into the air. She clutched at her neck, gasping silently as her face began to turn red.

  “Damn you all!” Ezekai roared, taking to the air. His sword sliced through the rope, and before she could fall he caught her in one arm. When he landed he pulled at the noose around her neck, trying to loosen it so she might breathe. Before he could, he felt something sharp pierce his side, and he let out a cry of pain. Spinning about, he cut the head off the man who’d stabbed him, then tried to turn back to Bella. Men leapt atop him, pulling at the tender bones of his wings, wrapping their arms about his neck. He yelled for them to stop, pleaded as he flung them aside. The rope, it wasn’t loose yet, it wasn’t…

  Another stabbing pain, and he had no choice but to turn. His sword did its work, their pathetic instruments nothing compared to his blade. Still they rushed him, and still he couldn’t understand why. Why this anger? Why such hatred and loathing? Even their fear was obvious, yet they wouldn’t flee. Like dogs they died, rabid dogs, and he put them down. Words flashed in his mind, thoughts he didn’t want to think. Killer. Reaper. Demon. Was it their thoughts or his? Could he even know?

  The bodies around him grew in number, until at last none stood to face him, the rest fleeing back to their homes or the fields beyond. Bleeding from a multitude of wounds, Ezekai turned around. He still had healing magic in him, knew there was always hope if the woman lived, but kneeling before Bella he found her an empty shell. Her soul had moved on, and he prayed it went to a far better place than this miserable world.

  “Innocent,” he whispered, touching her cooling face with his bloodied palm. “An innocent, murdered…and why?”

  He stood, flared his wings and lifted his sword as he cast his judging eyes upon the village.

  “Why!” he screamed.

  He took to the air, flying faster than an arrow. Like a ram he blasted into the nearest home. Sword drawn, he looked upon the family within. People who had shouted out their anger. People who had done nothing to stop the bloodshed. He judged them, as he did to those the next home, and the people who fled down the streets. Looping into the sky, he found those in the fields, those who knelt begging and pleading as if it might mean something anymore. He judged them all, until his armor was soaked with blood and his sword felt heavy with the weight of a hundred souls.

  Judged until there were none left to judge.

  Outside their village he landed, nearly crashing to the ground in delirium. He crawled to a nearby stone, pulled himself atop it, and sobbed. He slammed his sword into the dirt, he beat his chest, and he let his tears flow. Why had they done it? What monstrosity filled their souls that they would let such a thing happen? He was supposed to protect them. Was that not why Ashhur had sent him to this world? To chase off the demons and safeguard the populace before it was all lost to darkness? But the darkness was already there. It’d already won, long before he and his ilk had arrived. In every heart he’d felt their sin, felt their anger, jealousy, lust, and fear.

  He didn’t know how long he knelt there. It might have been minutes, might have been hours. Slowly he felt himself returning to some shred of sanity. There, before that
forest, he realized that it was quiet. He no longer felt their presence like a thorn in his mind. He no longer heard their cries of anger. There were none left to sin. None left to spit in the face of their god and deny the gifts freely given to them. There was nothing. No weight on his shoulders. Just…emptiness. Absolute, blessed emptiness.

  A shadow crossed over Ezekai, marking someone’s arrival. He looked up, the blood fresh on him, his actions clearly revealed. The words of the newcomer broke the silence, and they were so sincere, so seductive.

  “I understand.”

  31

  “I’m sorry for the long flight,” Ahaesarus told him, shouting to be heard over the whipping wind.

  “My arms hurt,” Harruq shouted back. He hung beneath the angel as they flew over the land, his life literally in the angel’s hands. Should Ahaesarus let go of his wrists, he’d fall, and no matter how strong he was, Harruq knew he’d splatter upon hitting the ground below.

  “It is not far now.”

  Not far still meant another ten minutes, and Harruq endured best he could. His shoulders ached, feeling like they were about to be yanked from their sockets. To get his mind off the pain he watched the land below, the hills slowly flattening as they traveled farther south. The grass grew taller, wilder, and soon he saw clusters of trees that grew thicker and thicker until they were full-blown forests. Idly he wondered what would happen if he were to be dropped onto those trees. Would the limbs spear him dead, or perhaps the leaves slow his fall?

  He really, really didn’t want to find out.

  “How far again?” he asked.

  “You have the patience of a child.”

  “The temper, too.”

  Ahaesarus’s wings spread wide and tilted downward.

  “Then for both our sakes I am glad we are here.”

  ‘Here’ was a village bordering the northern edge of the forest. Other than being on the smaller side, Harruq could tell little as to why the angel had been so insistent to fly him here. Ahaesarus circled once, then finished their descent. With an unceremonious plop Harruq dropped to the ground, rolled once, then stood. He brushed the dirt from his armor as he glanced around. It was midday, so most of the men were gone, working in the fields, he assumed. Women gave him curious looks from their windows, and Harruq felt thankful none appeared afraid. One or two even waved.