The Prison of Angels

“That is my belief as well, though it will not be simple. Any creature with such a fearsome reputation will have earned it in blood. It seems this council meets once each night. I think whatever they’re preparing, it is about to begin. Arrivals have slowed, and the tension among the races is thick. Whoever is in charge will need to act soon, lest this entire army dissolve into chaos.”

“How do we kill their leader?” Jessilynn asked.

“I have to discover who it is first,” Dieredon said. “And that means getting close enough to overhear one of their meetings.”

Jessilynn thought of the ravine, and of how each entrance was heavily populated with the vile creatures.

“There’s no way,” she said.

To this, Dieredon smiled.

“Even the eyes and ears of wolves are nothing to me, Jessilynn. But if you’ve been wanting to be involved, don’t worry. Tomorrow night, my life will be in your hands.”

Jessilynn swallowed, felt a tightening in her chest. Suddenly, remaining behind seemed like a much better idea.

The wolf-men occupied the larger southern end of the ravine, effectively blocking in most of the races, with the hyena-men filling the smaller northern end. Jessilynn and Dieredon lay flat on their bellies at the very top of the cliff above. Below was the pile of bones, where they expected another meeting to take place. Between the two was a long, thin rope, one end securely fastened to the ground with two different hooks.

“Remember, the fires will be my greatest ally,” Dieredon whispered to her. “Their eyes are sharp, but not when so close to light. That means only wolf-men arriving from outside the ravine pose any danger of spotting me. That is when you must signal. Are you certain you have them memorized?”

“One to halt, two to retreat, three if spotted,” she said, repeating what he’d told her countless times.

“Make sure you are certain, and make sure you keep the signals clear. Give a test signal early on as well, understand?”

Jessilynn nodded. Her breathing had increased, and she felt strangely light-headed. Her ears were full of the howls and roars of the creatures below, and now the only friend she had for hundreds of miles was about to descend into that beastly den.

“If something should happen, run to Sonowin,” Dieredon said as he took hold of the rope and secured it to his belt. “She’ll fly you back to the Citadel, and from there it’ll be up to you to convince Lathaar and Jerico to act accordingly.”

She nodded again, too nervous to speak. Her bow was slung over her shoulder, along with her arrows, and she wished she had them in her hands. She obviously couldn’t take on thousands of creatures all by herself, but at least she wouldn’t feel so helpless. As Dieredon began his descent, she remained on her stomach, clutching the rope with both hands. The rope was intended solely as a safety line should the elf needed to ascend rapidly, as well as a means of communication between him and Jessilynn. The ravine cliff, while steep, was far from sheer, and with amazing strength Dieredon descended, looking like a spider as he shifted between handholds.

Jessilynn looked away from the elf and instead scanned the area below. She trusted Dieredon and his camouflage to keep himself hidden. The fires dotting the wolf-man section of the ravine were at a perfect distance, too far to cast significant light on the ravine wall, yet still close enough to affect the eyes of those at the bone pile and the surrounding area. Even when she tried to locate him, knowing he was there, she needed a moment. It was his cloak, she realized. Something about its subtle splotches of green and brown seemed to perfectly blend in with the stone.

When Dieredon was a quarter of the way down she tugged on the rope, pulling until she felt resistance like she’d been shown. The elf halted, flattening himself against the cliff face and remaining perfectly still. After counting to ten, she tugged once more. Using the same number as the previously given command cancelled the command. Dieredon resumed his descent, and Jessilynn continued scanning the area. So far, it appeared there were no patrols, which was far from surprising. What could the creatures possibly need protection from? The bigger danger to Jessilynn and Dieredon were the hunting parties, which returned both often and irregularly.

When he was halfway down she spotted a group of seven wolf-men coming in from the south. She tugged once, hoping she hadn’t noticed too late. Dieredon stopped, flattening himself again. The wolf-men loped past the great pile of bones, three of the seven carrying corpses across their shoulders. Two were of other wolf-men, she saw, while a third was that of a goblin. Runaways, perhaps? Was it punishment, feasting, or both? She received her answer swiftly enough, as the wolf-men plopped the bodies into the center of their camp and let out a howl.

Grim but efficient, Jessilynn thought, a way of simultaneously reinforcing discipline while keeping the army fed. She figured Dieredon would be safe due to the distraction, and she used the rope to give her signal. Immediately Dieredon continued moving. She watched him for a moment, stunned that he could maintain his grip without relying on the rope. His body was slender, but it was clear that all of it was muscle. No wonder he was so frightening in combat, not that she’d seen him fight. She only had reputation to rely upon, but that hard-won reputation was impressive, indeed.

When Dieredon was a third of the way from the bottom he paused without need of signal from Jessilynn. At first she felt an impulse of panic, thinking she’d missed something that he himself had spotted. Then she saw the size of the jutted rock he used as footholds, the deepness of the shadows there, and felt soft pressure applied on the rope. He was either resting, or settling in to listen. Whichever it was, she told herself to calm down. Dieredon was hundreds of years old, and had most likely dealt with far more dangerous situations than this. She had to trust him.

The minutes passed, each one feeling like an eternity. Another hunting party arrived, this one full of bird-men. She gave a single tug so he’d know, and she actually felt a tug back in return. For whatever reason, it made her smile, a reminder that he was aware and in control.

As the night wore on, the sounds below grew louder, more boisterous. The stress picked away at her mind, made her feel exhausted despite her training. She knew she could go at least a full day and night without sleep. They’d been forced to do so several times in the Citadel, but being out in the midst of real danger, with the fear of being eaten or seeing a friend mutilated because of her own mistakes chipping away at her, was a different beast altogether.

So great was the noise below that she almost didn’t hear the sound of beating wings. A sudden surge of fear assured her something was wrong. The beating increased, loud enough for her to pick it out among the chaos. Looking up, her mouth dropped open as she realized the implication of what she saw.

Sonowin was in flight.

“Come up, come up, come up,” Jessilynn said, tugging on the rope. She felt Ashhur scream warning in her ear after the second tug, and close behind her she heard a low growl. Despite her terror, she did not turn, did not try to flee, instead forcing herself to pull the third time, giving Dieredon the order to retreat.

Clawed hands grabbed her, lifting her into the air without the slightest bit of effort.

“What is this?” asked a gray-haired wolf-man. He held her before him like a curiosity, like a strange plaything. Behind him were twenty more wolf-men, sauntering up the hillside. The entire scene was so unreal, Jessilynn felt paralyzed. She smelled the foul breath of her captor, felt the sharp sting of his claws as they tightened around her arms. His eyes were bloodshot, and they glinted yellow from the starlight. That she understood him made it all the more surreal. She’d been taught the creatures knew the human tongue, but knowing and experiencing were two entirely different things. She knew, right then and there, that she was going to die.

“A tasty treat?” asked another of the wolf-men as he climbed up to join the gray-haired one.

“A scraggly female,” said gray-hair. “But with at least some fat on her.”

The wolf-man looked down, saw the rope. Letting out a snarl, he shifted Jessilynn so that he carried her with one arm. His muscles were like a vice, and though she struggled against him she might as well have been trying to pry open a rock with her bare hands. Gray-hair sniffed the air, then opened his mouth wide and let out a yip.

“A tricksy elf,” the beast said, reaching down for the rope. Jessilynn thought he’d cut it, but instead he took hold of the rope and yanked upward as hard as he could. Dangling over the edge in the wolf-man’s arm, Jessilynn had all too fine a view of what happened next. Dieredon was frantically climbing, and though he might have been able to support himself had rope gone slack, instead it pulled against him, dislodging him from the cliff face and sending him dangling above the ravine. The gray-hair tugged again, pulling the rope free of the spikes, and then let it drop. Already having slid down the rope, the elf fell the rest of the short way down, rolling to absorb the