Half-Orcs: Book 06 - The Prison of Angels (38 page)

“On your knees,” she said. “Push your face to the dirt.”

Jessilynn did as she was told, folding herself into the demeaning position. Silver-Ear stood above her, and her claws traced along the flesh of her neck. She shivered, wondering if this would be the end.

“I see him,” the shaman said. “Your friend is skilled, but is he wise? Let us see how brave he is, and how much your life might mean to him.”

She didn’t know what to say. Silver-Ear leaned in close, her nose bumping against her cheek.

“I want your face in the dirt until the sun sets,” she said. “Should I see your eyes on the sky for even a moment, I will rip out your throat myself. I am old. Do not think I require the sleep of a young pup.”

Jessilynn closed her eyes, shifting her shoulders in an attempt to find a more comfortable position. Within moments her back started aching, and she thought of the long day ahead. Steeling herself, she shifted again, trying to slow her breathing, trying to remain calm. She heard Silver-Ear rustle beside her, settling in. Jessilynn dared not look to see if she remained awake.

Time passed, slow and dreadful. Her back tightened, and she moved her legs as often as she could. At last, sheer exhaustion won over, and she slept.

“W
ake, girl,” said a rough voice, punctuated by an upward blow to her stomach. Jessilynn let out a scream and rolled onto her back. Looking up, she found several wolf-men standing over her, Moonslayer among them. He grabbed her arm, yanking her to her feet.

“The night is young,” he said to her. “Why do you sleep?”

It was mockery, and he flung her onto her rear. Her stomach twisted, and she yearned for something to eat or drink. She curled her knees beneath her, wondering what it was they wanted now.

“Stand,” Moonslayer said. “Stand, or die where you sit.”

She obeyed, trying to interpret the look he gave her. There was something in his eyes, something frightening. As she crossed her arms before her, one of the wolf-men tossed her bow at her feet, along with her quiver of arrows. She made no move for them.

“My army attacks,” Moonslayer said. “The weaker creatures are committed. I have no need of you anymore, human.”

“It is a waste of time,” Manfeaster said, joining them from beyond the camp. All around the wolf-men were in a stir, wrestling with one another, preparing for the upcoming battle. “I say we eat her now, let the blood of a paladin mark our victory.”

“We will,” Moonslayer said to his brother. His eyes turned back to her. “But first we have a hunt.”

He gestured to the bow.

“Take it,” he said. “Run. Flee west, or north, or wherever you think you might hide. My wolves are anxious for the battle, but the moon has not yet risen. You will entertain us until then.”

“You risk lives needlessly,” Manfeaster said.

“And any who would die at her hand would die anyway. Besides, her teacher defeated our father. Her kind has stopped us for centuries before. Let our pack tear her apart and prove we will be beaten no longer.”

Jessilynn watched the brothers stare at each other. It was Manfeaster who relented, flattening his ears and turning away.

“Enjoy the hunt,” he said to the others.

Moonslayer gestured to the bow.

“Take it,” he said. “Run.”

She scooped the quiver up, slung it over her shoulder, and then did the same with her bow. She looked at the wolves, hardly believing it came to this. All along she’d desired escape, but now they would let her go freely?

No, not freely
, she thought as she saw the hunger in the eyes of the wolf-men around her.

“You should have listened to your brother,” she said to Moonslayer as she took a step backward.

The enormous wolf-man bared his teeth.

“We shall see.”

His howl pierced the night as she turned to run toward the river. Behind her she heard Moonslayer howling, his deep voice slowly growing fainter by the minute.

“A hunt!” he cried. “A hunt, a hunt, gather for a hunt! The heart of a paladin is our prey!”

They would find her, she knew. As she ran she looked to the sky, daring to hope. She scanned the stars, the miniscule clouds. She stared so long she stumbled from not watching where she ran. As she hit the ground she banged her knee on a rock, sending a spike of pain shooting up her leg. Struggling to a stand, she bit down her cry. With her hope turning to dread, she looked to the sky again.

Dieredon was nowhere in sight.

On and on she ran, cramps tightening her sides. She’d been starved, and given little water to drink. Already her head grew light from the exertion, but there was nothing she could do but press on. On a whim she changed the angle of her path though she knew it wouldn’t matter. The wolf-men were excellent trackers, and out there in the wild her scent would stand out like a fire in the darkness. As the land passed her by, she wondered how much time they would give her.

A few minutes later she heard her answer in the communal cry of dozens of wolf-men. The sound was her death knell, yet on she ran. When she saw the Gihon floating softly before her, she let out a cry of her own. Her armor…she couldn’t swim with her armor on! Frantically she yanked off the heavier parts weighted down with chain, flinging them to the ground. When she was down to just her leather under padding she slung her bow and quiver over her shoulder and then rushed into the water. The cold was shocking. Much as she dreaded it, she plunged her head beneath the surface and began to swim.

Upon reaching the other side, Jessilynn pulled herself from the river, gasping for air. Tears ran down her face as she tried and failed to crawl beyond the shoreline. Her feet remained in the water, her hair a wet rope looped around her neck. It wasn’t far enough. It’d never be far enough. The wolf-men hunted her, and their noses would not be fooled by something as simple as a river. Within the hour, perhaps even the minute, they would find her. And this time they would not let her live. Moonslayer had made that quite clear.

“Please Ashhur,” she begged. “Please, I can’t do this. I can’t, I’m not like them. Help me, god. Help me!”

She shrieked it out until she lost breath, her mouth locked open from her crying. She’d seen what the wolf-men did to their prey, the way they tore into flesh with their claws and ripped muscle from bone with their teeth. Would she die quickly, or would they torment her? Panic twisted in her gut, stabbing her like a rusted knife. It seemed so cruel. Dieredon no doubt flew overhead, still looking to rescue her as she assumed he had been trying to do all along. Yet now she was free and unable to signal him in the night. If only he’d been watching when they released her. If only Sonowin could stay aloft longer. If only she’d never agreed to go with the elf in the first place.

The frustration gave her the strength to stand, and with eyes wide she ran, her back to the river. Hardly ten feet out her bare foot struck something hard, and down she went. The sudden jolt made her bite her tongue. Warm blood filled her mouth, and it took all her composure to keep from breaking down a second time. Turning to spit, she saw what had tripped her. It took a moment for her mind to register what it was, for it made no sense.

There, in the middle of some random forest beside the Gihon, was a greatsword nearly as tall as her. The hilt was black, finely carved, and when her fingers touched the metal it was surprisingly warm.

“I see you found my sword.”

Jessilynn started, spinning around on her rear and bracing herself with her arms. Before her stood an imposing man, his blonde hair long, his eyes a startling shade of blue. His armor, though, she recognized his armor. It matched what they wore at the Citadel. From the metal a faint hue pulsed with his movements. Too tired to understand, too tired to flee, Jessilynn dared feel a glimmer of hope.

“Who are you?” she asked, afraid of the answer.

“I’m not sure you’ve heard of me,” said the man. “My name is Darius, and I think I’m a bit before your time.”

Her mouth fell open. Was she dreaming? Was she dead?

“Jerico,” she stammered. “Jerico told us about you.”

“Did he now?”

“He said you were one of the most faithful paladins he’d ever met. He’s often used you as an example in our lessons.”

Darius smiled as if he were amused.

“I guess I shouldn’t say I’m surprised. I hope his lessons are better than they used to be in Durham. A fine man, but a dreadfully boring speaker.”

The man walked over to her side and knelt. Jessilynn flinched despite herself. What was he? A ghost? An angel? A lost spirit come to haunt the place he died?

“Do not be afraid,” he said. “I’m here only because you need me.”

“You’ll help me?” she asked. “The wolf-men, they’ll be here any minute. You could kill them, you could…”

She stopped as he shook his head, interrupting her.

“Not in that way, Jessilynn. My days of fighting are done.”

He picked up his sword. Immediately the blade vanished into pure white light, not a hint of steel remaining beneath the brightness. Darius stared at it, still smiling.

“What is truly troubling you?” he asked. “You’ve always been brave. I don’t need much help to see that. Why are you so afraid to stand against the enemies chasing you?”

She looked away as she thought. She wanted to give a true answer, not some weak, flippant excuse. Whatever was happening now, it was something special, and she wouldn’t spoil it with a pathetic lie.

“Because I can’t be like you,” she said, finally meeting his gaze.

“Like me?” he asked. “No, dying pretty quickly makes you like me.”

“That’s not what I mean! You, Jerico, Lathaar…you were heroes. Nothing was stronger than you. You didn’t run away. You didn’t kill others just to spare yourself. Every time I try to be like you, to be strong like you, I... I can’t do it. I’m nothing compared to you, and I never will be.”

Darius sat down before her and laid his sword of light across his lap.

“I once murdered an innocent family to prove my loyalty to Karak,” he said, his voice softer, quieter. “I once stood by and watched an entire village burn, and I did nothing to stop it. How you see us, the way you embrace these stories…that’s not us. We bled like you. We cried like you. Most of all, we failed just like you. We begged and pleaded for our god to save us, to protect us, as we faced enemies we never thought we’d defeat. We were far from perfect, can you not see that?”

She sniffled, then wiped her face with her sleeve.

“Then how did you do it?” she asked. “Jerico once faced an entire army of demons and didn’t falter. How could he do that if he wasn’t better? If his faith wasn’t stronger?”

Darius reached out a hand and gently pushed wet strands of hair from her face.

“The only thing that made us special was that despite our terror, despite our fear, despite our doubts and sorrow, we fought anyway. Even when we thought it hopeless. Even when we knew it would cost us our lives. That’s all you can do, Jessilynn. With every breath we try to make this world a better place, hoping in the vain that someday, in some beautiful future, our acts of faith and goodness will overshadow those who know only how to destroy.”

Gently he leaned forward and kissed her forehead.

“You’re not abandoned. Not forgotten. Not unloved. Never forget that, and never believe otherwise.”

Jessilynn broke down at his words, crying not out of sorrow, but from joy. The whole time she’d been dragged about the Wedge as a puppet for the wolf-men, she thought it had been her fault. She’d thought her faith too weak, her cowardice too great for her to deserve her god’s love. To know otherwise, to know every stupid failure had done nothing to ruin that love…

She looked up at Darius and laughed despite herself.

“Can I hug you?” she asked, still wiping away tears.

Darius grinned.

“Why not.”

She lurched to her feet and wrapped her arms around his waist. Touching him set her nerves alight, as if she hugged a bolt of lightning. Quickly she let go, stepped back, and blushed a fierce red. Darius shot her a wink, dropped his sword to the dirt, and faced the north.

“Wait,” she said as he began to walk away.

“Yes?” he asked, turning back.

“Why…why are you still here? Shouldn’t you be with Ashhur and his angels?”

Darius shrugged as if it were no big thing.

“I’m still waiting for someone,” he said. “Isn’t it obvious?”

“Who?”

He smiled.

“Jerico. Tell that bastard to hurry up and die. There’s this spot by a lake I want to show him.”

A wolf howled, and instinctively she looked to the river. When she turned back, Darius was gone, and the sword had lost its glow. The night returned to darkness, lit only by the stars dotting the clear sky.

It was like stepping out of a dream. Jessilynn stood perfectly still, yet to catch her breath. When another howl came from the river, answered by several others in the hunting party, she closed her eyes.

“I’m sorry if this is stupid,” she prayed. “But I’m not running.”

She grabbed Darius’s sword and hurried to the Gihon. At its edge she jammed the blade downward, surprised by how easily it slid into the dirt. Once certain it was secure, she pulled her quiver of arrows off her shoulder and looped it around the handle of Darius’s sword. When she stepped forward, it put her arrows within easy reach of her hand. Her fingers rustling through the feathers, she counted them.