Half-Orcs: Book 06 - The Prison of Angels (4 page)

Qurrah nodded, but he did not stand for the angel’s exit. Another dip of his head in respect, and then Azariah left the cabin. With a heavy gust of air the angel soared skyward, leaving them once more alone in their cabin. The tranquility they’d had before, though, was shattered. Qurrah said nothing, only sat at the table frowning as he tried to make sense of his jumbled thoughts. Knowing his brother might be in danger brought out the strong instinct in him to go to his aid, but things were just not that simple.

When the great betrayer of Veldaren traveled somewhere, he did not go unnoticed.

“You want to go, don’t you?” Tessanna asked him as she stood from the table. “But you’re also afraid.”

“I am.”

Tessanna stood before their bed and crossed her arms over her chest. She glanced over her shoulder, let her hair fall over her face.

“Would you like to have me?” she asked. “Help clear your mind?”

He rubbed his eyes, then blinked as she tossed off her dress.

“Sure,” he said. “Why not.”

It did indeed help clear his mind. Afterward they lay naked together, the light of the cabin dwindling as the sun descended below the tree line. Tessanna’s hands traced unseen runes across his chest, her eyes staring into nowhere.

“If you want to go, we should go,” she said.

“If that oaf’s a steward, then all of Mordan balances on a precarious peace,” he said. “Our arrival might do more harm than good.”

“You don’t know that,” Tessanna said, her fingers pinching the skin of his chest. “The angels forgave you. Everyone knows you slew Karak’s prophet, and what of your stand at the Bridges? You gave your life for them, for all of them.”

“No one survived to tell the tale.”

“You and I survived.”

“All the more reason not to tell stories. They won’t believe it, and they won’t care. I’m the man who helped burn Veldaren to the ground. I helped open the portal to let the demons in. To come to Mordeina and insist on aiding Harruq would be disastrous. My very presence will contaminate him.”

“I’m the one who let in the war god,” Tessanna said. “I’m the one who pushed you to Velixar. Do I contaminate you, Qurrah? Would you go alone, leave me here to protect the cabin from the forest’s encroach?”

He fell silent, trying to decide the right words to say.

“You are my everything,” he told her. “If we go, we go together. But the angels’ forgiveness means nothing, not to the people. I know they hate me, and they have every reason to. That’s why we came here, Tess.”

“Is that why? To hide?”

“To make a new life. To start over.”

She sat up, the blanket falling away to expose her thin body, her spine faintly visible in the dying light. Her arms crossed, holding herself as if she were cold.

“If that is why we’re here, then it’s not a new life,” she said, her head dipping low, her eyes downcast. “It’s a prison. I ask you again…do you want to help Harruq?”

“Yes,” he said. “I do.”

“Then we’re going, old sins and angry peasants be damned. We’re not the enemy, not anymore.”

He took her in his arms and pulled her back down to the bed.

“If we’re not, then who is?” he asked her as he held her close.

“What if there isn’t one?”

“The people must always have a villain.”

She curled around so they lay face to face.

“If they must, then they’ll find another. And another. The orcs, the elves, the people of Ker…”

“The angels.”

Her dark eyes stared into his.

“Then Harruq needs our help all the more. I have watched him suffer enough. He won’t again, and not for that. Not for Aubrienna. Even if all the realm crumbles, she must live. She must.”

She slipped free of their bed, and naked she left the cabin. Qurrah lay there for a moment, almost giving her the privacy she wanted. But what if that wasn’t what she wanted? He didn’t know. He never knew. Tossing aside the blanket, he went to the door and peered out. The sight stole away his breath, and he was fearful of revealing his presence. Sorrow tugged at his heart, and he felt painfully helpless.

Tessanna stood in the glimmer of the rising moon. Her arms were raised heavenward, her head tilted back as if she might drink in the light of the stars. A soft wind encircled her, coming from nowhere and everywhere. Words of magic flowed from her lips, gathering shadows. For the briefest moment she lifted up, the grass touching just the tips of her toes. And then she fell, so softly, so gently, back down to the ground. No tears ran from her eyes, but the sorrow was there, as easy to see as her stark black hair. Qurrah turned away, feeling like an intruder. Into the cabin he went, shutting the door behind him. His lower lip trembled. In his head he kept seeing it, the image of her rising. Rising, as if she were still the goddess.

Rising, as if she still had her wings.

3

L
athaar was in his study when someone knocked twice on the door before pushing it open.

“Is he here?” he asked as Jerico, platemail armor finely polished and shield slung over his back, stepped inside.

“Well, it’s a flying visitor,” Jerico said. “But not Dieredon. Hurry. I’d hate to keep an angel waiting.”

Lathaar let out a sigh. Grabbing his swords, he followed Jerico down a single flight of stairs, into the main foyer, and then out the large wooden double doors of the rebuilt Citadel. In the building’s shadow the two paladins stood and looked to the western sky. Far away, looking barely bigger than a bird, Lathaar saw the angel.

“Where are the students?” he asked.

“I’ve got them around back, sparring. Figured the distraction would do them good in case any noticed the angel’s arrival. I’d like to hold a conversation without fifteen hundred questions interrupting it.”

“Discipline, Jerico, we need to teach them discipline. That you fear them acting unruly is a poor sign.”

Jerico laughed.

“It’s because they
are
an unruly bunch. Take heart, though. I don’t think we were so much better back when
we
were in the Citadel.”

Lathaar grinned.

“Speak for yourself. I was a model pupil.”

“No wonder you’re so bland.”

The angel neared, and now those white wings were greater than any bird that had ever lived. He wore no armor, just a robe tightly cinched due to the constant force of the wind. After a quick loop above the Citadel he banked downward, coming to a gentle stop before the two paladins. They both bowed low, humbled by a visit from the high priest of the angels.

“It has been too long, Azariah,” Lathaar said. “You haven’t graced us with your presence since the day the last brick was put into the Citadel.”

Azariah smiled at him.

“Indeed, and I was hardly needed then. You two had the energy of children, you were so excited.”

“Good thing, too,” Jerico said. “Because the children we took in had far more energy than us.”

Lathaar ran a hand through his brown hair, trying to hide his nervousness. Something about Azariah felt unsettling, as if the angel were terribly uncomfortable. But why?

“Do you come bearing news?” he asked, hoping to pry out the reason. “The best we receive here are rumors from traders, and they’re as consistent as the direction of the wind.”

“No news that would concern you,” Azariah said as he began walking toward the back of the Citadel, where the young paladins-to-be sparred. The two followed, and a glance showed Lathaar that his friend also felt similarly confused by the visit. “Just the usual politics in the capitol. Antonil has launched another campaign to retake the east, but I’m sure you already know of that.”

“Just that it was being planned,” Jerico said. “I was hoping he’d delay for a few more years. I’d love some of our students to be old enough to accompany the campaign.”

“Paladins would do well to lead the troops on the battlefield, but it seems Antonil could not be persuaded otherwise. Hrm, are these your students?”

Before them were thirty children, all fairly close in age. The youngest were twelve, the oldest sixteen. Jerico had grouped them by age, and they sparred with a variety of wooden swords and daggers. A few also held thin sheets of tin to use as shields. At sight of the angel many stopped and turned, several wise enough to also bow. Jerico clapped his hands at them, ushering them back to their practice.

“I should get to instructing,” Jerico said, tipping his head to Azariah. “If there is nothing else?”

“No, go. The infants in Ashhur are most precious to our future, as is their need for discipline.”

Jerico shot Lathaar a look, then went to the circle with the youngest children, pointing out the flaws in their stance as they ran their drills. Lathaar watched him for a moment, then noticed Azariah surveying the students.

“Have you come to inspect our recruits?” Lathaar asked him.

“More out of curiosity than anything,” Azariah said. “You drill them strongly in marshal matters, though I wonder if their faith is given the same testing of mettle.”

Lathaar let out a sigh. It’d been something he’d discussed repeatedly with Jerico, and over the years they’d not come to any sort of satisfactory answer.

“We try,” he said, figuring if there was anyone who might help them in this, it was Azariah. “We teach them the prayers, the lessons, beat into their heads the ferocious need for prayer. But this world we live in…it’s not the same, is it? How do I teach them matters of faith when Ashhur’s angels soar through the clouds? How do I teach them to remain on guard against enemies when Karak has been defeated and his followers scattered to the wind? How do I convince them they are beacons of light amid the darkness when there is no darkness?”

“But there
is
darkness,” Azariah assured him. “The world has not ended. It still moves on, filled with sickness, death, and despair.”

“I tell them,” Lathaar said, shaking his head. “I tell them, and I don’t think they believe me. Their faith is hollow, Azariah. I know it. I feel it in my gut. So few of them carry any true love for Ashhur. When they hold their weapons, only the slightest hint of blue shines. And if they were to be tested, truly tested? Ashhur save us if someone like Velixar should get their hands on them. When Jerico and I were in the Citadel, we were outnumbered. We were seen as a dying order, soon to be overwhelmed by Karak’s forces. In every prayer, every day of training, we knew deep down in our hearts that we were the last hope for a troubled world, the last stand against an encroaching evil. But we aren’t anymore.”

He looked to Azariah.

“You are.”

This took the angel back, and he paused.

“You give us a role we cannot have,” Azariah said after a moment of watching the students train. “Your paladins are what men must aspire to be. They are to be the light of our god manifested in mortal men, to show humanity’s full potential by embracing Ashhur’s commands. We angels cannot be that. We are not men, and mankind will never believe us, never understand us, until they themselves enter the Golden Eternity. A sickness runs through this land, and it must be cured. Convince them, Lathaar. Convince them their need is not yet over.”

Lathaar nodded, and he felt a little better hearing those words. Perhaps he’d been looking at things the wrong way. Rebuilding the Citadel had been a mark of honor for him and Jerico. They’d begged for every scrap of coin. With their close relationship to Harruq, the king’s advisor Tarlak, and the angels, it should have been easy getting aid. But all of Mordan had been devastated, and the first year in particular had been one of frantic rebuilding and political upheaval. Through it all they’d fought, determined to have their home rebuilt in defiance to Karak’s past evil.

But they’d rebuilt the Citadel simply to rebuild it, and now pressed with the functions, the responsibility, he and Jerico were struggling. Had their own aimlessness poisoned their students?

“You’ve given me much to think over,” he said. “Thank you.”

“I am glad I could be of some help. And do not be too difficult on yourself. I sense the faith of those here, and there are many who are stronger than you believe. To help ease your mind, I will show you.”

Azariah stepped into the training arena and lifted his hands. Immediately all eyes were upon him. Lathaar watched, arms crossed, curious as to what the angel planned. His robe shimmered white, and from his mouth issued words of a prayer too soft for Lathaar to hear.

“Come to me, children,” Azariah said afterward. “Come to me, faithful. I would see your hearts naked before the eyes of your god.”

From the tips of his fingers flared a sudden brightness, coalescing into a shining ball of white, like a miniature sun hovering above his palms. It pulsed, and with each pulse a wave of light washed over the paladins and students. The force of it knocked them to their knees. Even Jerico fell to one knee, and Lathaar did the same. In his mind he felt a sudden closeness to Ashhur, a presence he’d not known since the last days of the Gods’ War. Before it he felt naked and afraid. The light grew brighter, and he opened his mouth to speak, to cry out. All around the world had vanished, so that he saw only darkness where the grass and the rivers should have been. Piercing that darkness was Azariah, a being so unearthly that it filled Lathaar with awe.