Half-Orcs: Book 06 - The Prison of Angels (8 page)

“Tessanna,” she said at last.

The soldier looked ready to shit himself—whether from fear or surprise, Qurrah couldn’t say. He took a fresh look at Qurrah, and his face paled, showing he knew exactly who stood before him.

“James!” he shouted. “Get the fuck over here, right now!”

The two guards at the wagon turned around. Others around the camp heard the shouting, and seeing the drawn blade they rushed over. Qurrah held his arms out at his sides, hoping to show he posed no danger. Tessanna remained perfectly still, her sly smile receding inward, becoming a calm look of apathy. Qurrah envied her.

“I only travel to meet my brother,” Qurrah said, hoping someone in charge might hear and listen. “We are no threat, no—”

“Quiet,” said an older man who pushed to the front of the gathering crowd. “You, are you the Betrayer?”

Qurrah glared at him even as a wall of swords encased him and Tess. As if they could stop him, he thought.

“I doubt I am the first, nor the last, to have ever committed that particular sin,” he said in answer. Apparently that was enough for the soldier, though, for he turned his attention to Tessanna.

“You said your name was Tessanna,” he said. “The prophet’s bride?”

“I was,” she said, her voice nearly toneless. “But that fiend lives no longer, as will you if you touch a hair on my head.”

“She was never his bride,” Qurrah said, unable to help himself. He hated the title given to her, formed by the twisted story most commonly told around hearths at night. Only once had Qurrah worked up the nerve to ask his brother what the tales said. In them, Qurrah had betrayed Veldaren, his glorious brother, and then the whole world by helping the prophet Velixar summon the war god Thulos. From then on, Qurrah was seen as the hapless puppet and Velixar the true evil. Tessanna was Velixar’s bride, his dark angel, and if the age of the audience permitted, many storytellers liked to embellish the sick, perverted love that had supposedly gone on between them.

“So she wasn’t, was she?” the soldier asked, his glare showing he was an inch away from striking the half-orc. “Let’s see what Bram has to say about that.”

Qurrah sighed. Would it matter telling them Bram knew where they lived, had known for the past five years since he himself had overseen the deeding of the land to them?

“Yes,” he said. “Let us see, but put away your swords for all our sakes. You never know when one might cut a piece of hair by accident.”

Escorted by over thirty men, they walked into the center of the camp. Neither were restrained in any way, and Qurrah sensed the men were too afraid to try such a thing. In many corners of the world Qurrah and Tessanna had become the boogeyman of campfire stories. He could only guess what some of them thought he might do if they laid a rough hand upon him. The way they held their naked blades, it seemed more like they escorted wild bears than a frail half-orc and a short, slender woman. If not for the inherent risk in it, Qurrah felt tempted to growl at them. His brother would have, he thought, and it put a wry smile on his face. He’d growl and wave his arms about like an idiot, just to show he was unafraid of their numbers.

Sometimes he wished he was more like his brother.

At one of many fires they stopped, and the men encircling them gave way. Lord Bram Henley stood waiting, arms crossed over his chest. His hair was long and black, falling down to his broad shoulders. From his right eye down to his chin was a thin straight scar, self-inflicted in the tradition of his family line. If he was surprised to see Qurrah and Tessanna, he did not show it.

“Well now,” Bram asked. “What have you two been doing to stir my camp in such a way?”

“Existing,” Tessanna said, her voice flat.

The rest of the soldiers tensed, but Bram only shook his head and chuckled.

“Of course,” he said, turning to his solders. “Leave us. They are not enemies of Ker.”

None appeared foolhardy enough to argue with their king, so away they went, leaving Qurrah and Tessanna standing before a man they hadn’t seen in several years. To Qurrah’s eyes he looked older, far older than he should have given the relatively short amount of time that had passed. Perhaps being a king aged a man faster, or maybe it was just the stress of always checking the skies for white feathers.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Bram said, sitting back down before the fire in a wooden chair. “Hardly three days ago, I sent riders to your cabin, though I didn’t expect them to return with you in time. That you come to me, well, I’d say it was fate if I believed in that sort of thing.”

“If not fate, then coincidence,” Qurrah agreed. “But what have we come in time for?”

The half-orc looked about but saw no other chairs. Shrugging, he sat on his knees before the fire. Tessanna sat next to him, leaning her head on his shoulder. So far she appeared bored, withdrawn. It was a mood she’d fallen into less often over the past few years, but coming back into civilization seemed to have reawakened it.

“I assume you receive little news in your isolated cabin?” Bram asked.

“Little if any,” Qurrah said, neglecting to mention Azariah’s arrival.

“Then I’ll keep details at a minimum as to not overwhelm you. King Antonil marches this way with an army, intent on another foolish crusade to drive the orcs from his native kingdom. Within the hour he should arrive to ask permission to travel through my lands.”

“How does this involve us?” Qurrah dared ask.

“I’d have you at my side when I tell him no,” Bram said. “At least for now. In a few days, perhaps even a few hours, I will let him pass. I only desire to see how he reacts. Trust me, I do not desire war.”

“Forgive me,” Qurrah said, “but I fear my question was not answered.”

“You must realize you mean something,” Bram insisted. “Even with your own brother as Ashhur’s avatar, even with your body made new by the hands of angels, you still will not live under their rule. You came to me for help, for freedom. I need your defiance. I need the people to see we still have a choice.”

“You give us reasons we never had,” Tessanna said before Qurrah could speak. “You tell us our value is in refusing to be puppets, then seek to use us as puppets for your own cause. If you’d stand against Mordan, stand on your own strength.”

Her voice remained eerily calm, but Qurrah could feel the anger growing beneath it.

“I do not wish to use you at all,” Bram said. “I only thought you would agree with my efforts to hold back the angels’ encroachment.”

“Angels?” Tessanna said, the last of her apathy vanishing into a wide-eyed look of fury. “Karak took away my lover, then gave me back a monster. Ashhur took that monster and gave me back my lover. I do not hide from the angels. I do not fear their eyes. It’s men like you I hoped to avoid. Men who would use me, put me on a pedestal and ask others to bow. I’ll take my knife and bleed you all if I must to prevent the prayers.”

At last Bram was taken aback, and he lifted his hands to show he meant no insult.

“You’ll be put on no pedestal,” he said. “And I assure you, no one will bow. But Antonil’s army nears, and you will accompany me as my guests.”

“And if we refuse?” Qurrah asked.

“If you would deny me such generosity, then I will deny my generosity to you. I will revoke your land and declare you unwelcome in the nation of Ker. Only if I must, of course. Surely I do not ask for much in having you stand silent at my side?”

Qurrah looked to Tessanna, to see how she would react. Did it truly matter if they were there or not? Bram wanted them used as figureheads, and nothing more. They could do this one thing, then continue on their way. His wife, though, still appeared furious, and she gave no attempt to conceal it.

“I will have no part in this,” she said, standing. “And neither will Qurrah. I watched him be Velixar’s puppet. He won’t now be yours.”

Hearing this, Qurrah expected Bram to be furious, or to carry out his threat. Instead he sighed and shook his head.

“You’re returning to Mordeina for the first time since the war, aren’t you?” he asked. “Then you don’t understand what it is like. Go then, and see. You won’t understand until you are there. If you flee to my borders, I promise to protect you, so long as you admit your error.”

“What do you mean by that?” Qurrah asked as Bram started to leave.

Instead of explaining, the king gave him a bitter smile.

“Pleasant travels,” he said.

Tessanna stared as he left, as if driving nails into his back with her eyes. Qurrah took her hand, and she whirled on him, her look that of a crazed animal.

“He won’t use us,” she said.

“I know.”

“I won’t let him. I won’t let
anyone
.”

He kissed her forehead.

“I know. So what do we do now?”

Before she could answer a trumpet blew from beyond the bridge. The soldiers shot into motion, grabbing helmets and readying weapons. Tessanna’s cold hands wrapped around Qurrah’s.

“I want to see,” she said, pulling him along.

Many glared at them, but none were brave enough to stop them as they headed for the road. All along either side gathered Bram’s army, banners carried high, armor polished to a shine. Lost amid the chaos, the two lovers peered down the road, to where King Antonil’s army came riding.

6

C
alm as King Antonil seemed, Tarlak thought he surely must have ice in his blood. How else did he remain so composed when staring at the army, ten thousand strong, that guarded the Bloodbrick Bridge?

“Well Tarlak, I can see you fidgeting over there,” Antonil said as the two rode at the forefront of their army. “You’re my advisor. Care to advise me?”

“I’m not sure there’s any other way to explain it,” Tarlak said. “He doesn’t plan on letting us cross.”

“I outnumber him three to one. Trying to stop us is madness.”

“Bram hasn’t always struck me as the most rational of men.”

“Nonsense,” Antonil said. “He’s the most rational man I know. That’s why he’s so frustrating to the rest of us.”

Tarlak shrugged.

“However you want to explain it, it still worries me. Is he playing with us, or does he really think a war is best for anyone? Games or madness, neither one I’d want to be involved with.”

“Could you form a crossing for us if he refuses, perhaps farther north?”

Tarlak rubbed his chin as he stared at the river.

“Damming it wouldn’t do much,” he said. “River’s too large, too deep. Levitating thirty thousand men over the water isn’t going to happen, either. Best I could do is try to freeze the top, forming a bridge while letting the river continue to pass beneath. It’d take a lot of concentration, though, and I’d prefer we just walk across the stone bridge the idiot king is guarding.”

“Duly noted. Bring me my generals. Until we see reason otherwise, we’ll pretend Bram has every intention of letting us cross. I don’t want to show up brimming for a fight.”

“There’s thirty thousand of us wearing armor and carrying swords, not counting the angels accompanying us,” Tarlak said. “Unless we approach naked, we’ll look prepared for a fight. But yes, keeping everyone calm is probably best.”

Tarlak turned his horse about, found the nearest general, and relayed Antonil’s request for a meeting. That done, he returned to the front, putting himself at the far corner of the vanguard so he could not see or hear the discussion. So far the generals had shown significant mistrust of him and his yellow robes. Given the absolute destruction various spellcasters had rent upon the land during the Gods’ War, he didn’t blame them. Much.

As Antonil talked, Tarlak scanned King Bram’s army. Ten thousand approximately, all appearing well-armed and well-trained. They ran about like ants upon seeing their approach, but Tarlak sensed they weren’t there for war. The bridge had no defenses placed upon it, no barricades or spear walls. The same went for the men on the far side. They had built no ballista or catapults, weapons that could have devastated Antonil’s army while they struggled to cross the bridge. No, either they planned an ambush, or a show of force. If it was a show of force, it was a hollow one. Antonil hadn’t the slightest desire to invade Ker, not with his homeland still occupied by orcs. If it was an ambush…

He snapped his fingers, and fire sparked from his fingertips. If it was an ambush, they’d get to see just how much destruction a spellcaster could wreak.

“The king requests your presence,” one of the fatter generals said, disturbing Tarlak and his thoughts.

“Very well,” Tarlak said, nodding his head and then tugging on the reins of his horse. The Bloodbrick was less than a quarter mile away, and despite Antonil’s assurances, Tarlak felt unease spreading through the men. He felt unease as well, but for a different reason. Something about the distant army felt vaguely…familiar, like a thorn in his mind.

“I want you at my side when we request passage,” Antonil said as Tarlak rejoined him.

“I was thinking I presented greater tactical value elsewhere.”

“And where’s that?”

Tarlak gestured behind him.

“All the way in the back. If there’s to be a fight, I’d prefer thirty thousand men be between me and it.”