The Prison of Angels

opened her eyes and looked upon her killer.

There was not one wolf-man there, but two. Both were enormous, seemingly towering over the others. They peered at her, and the intelligence in their eyes was all the more frightening. Both were solid black but for their paws, which were a deep red. The only difference she saw was that one had two circles of white in the center of his face, highlighting his yellow eyes.

“Your armor,” the one holding her asked, lifting her higher. “What does it mean?”

The question made no sense to her. What did her armor mean? Could the wolves truly recognize the style of her armor, the meaning of the various symbols?

“A paladin,” she said, her voice trembling. “I’m a paladin.”

The two wolf-men shared a look as the rest of the pack howled for blood.

“Like him,” one said to the other. “Like the one who humiliated father.”

“And that is why she must live,” an elderly female said, stepping to the edge of the bone pile. Her back was bent low, and white hair marked her ears. “There is much she will know. That knowledge will benefit us all.”

“Take her, then,” said the wolf-man holding her. With ease he flung her to the female’s feet. “Her meat is little, and I will not taste the flesh of man until we are free.” He turned to the crowd, his voice roaring throughout the entire ravine.

“Until we are all free!”

Others of the beasts nipped at Jessilynn, but the two wolf-men on the pile bared their fangs, ushering them back. The old female knelt down before her and grabbed her arm. Her watery eyes looked her over with a wisdom that seemed far beyond what Jessilynn thought possible. When she spoke, there was no compassion in her voice.

“Follow me, before you become their meal.”

With no other choice, Jessilynn obeyed.

17

The village elders gathered, though elder was a misleading term. Many were young and fiery of temper, though the presence of the angel host did much to still their tongues. Qurrah watched them assemble into the great auditorium at the very rear of the castle, seldom used but recently cleaned to accommodate the meeting. He stayed at the door, not allowed to enter.

“Strange that I would be denied entrance,” Qurrah said to Kevin Maryll, who stood beside him, greeting the various men as they came to take their seat. More than sixty attended, each representing the village they came from. The procession had slowed to a trickle, but still Kevin waited in case more might arrive.

“Your reputation is well known,” Kevin said, glancing at him. “But tell me, which village do you represent? Oh, that is right, you live in Ker now. The angels have no sway over you.”

“Observing is not the same as speaking, or casting a vote,” Qurrah said, already disliking the man.

“Not true,” Kevin said. “Your very presence would change things. You’re a reminder of a different time, and a threat that no longer exists. We can’t be lost in the past. Now’s the future, and it’s that future I must protect.”

He fixed his tunic, which was made of some of the finest material Qurrah had ever seen, then adjusted the short cape around his neck.

“What do you hope to accomplish?” Qurrah asked him as he straightened his hair. “Do you think the angels will suddenly change their minds and bow to this rabble you’ve assembled?”

“You’re just like your brother,” Kevin said, licking his fingers and making a second attempt at his hair. “You hold these winged men in far too high regard. They’re fallible, and more importantly, they must follow laws and customs just like us. They know this. They believe themselves to represent everything good and just. They say they always know the truth when they hear it. And you know what?”

He flashed Qurrah a smile.

“I think they’re right.”

Kevin stepped into the auditorium, and from within two angels on guard pushed the iron doors shut. Qurrah shook his head, wishing he could have met Kevin many years ago, when ripping the tongue out of a living man might not have put such a weight on his conscience. Being barred from listening to the complaints of the people was ridiculous. Worse, Kevin had somehow finagled it so that Harruq was banned as well. ‘Just the people and the angels,’ Kevin had claimed, though Qurrah sensed the weaseling desires behind it.

Still, sneaking into a meeting he’d been banned from was far, far less a burden on Qurrah’s conscience than tongue mutilation. Turning about, he hurried to a nearby door, which led to a closet used by servants. Within were various stored tools, plus a great stack of clean linens. More importantly, the closet shared a wall with the auditorium. Sitting down beside that wall, he put his fingers against the stone and began to cast a spell. A thin tendril of shadow stretched out from his palm, then began to twirl. It dug through the stone with an unnatural silence. When it popped through, light poured into the dark closet. A quick check showed he could see the rows of angels, all circled around the far fewer number of representatives come to speak for the common man.

Dismissing the spell, Qurrah lowered his head, pressed his ear to the hole, and listened.

Tessanna lay in their bed, waiting for Qurrah’s return. She’d tried playing with Aubrienna, but all the while she felt Aurelia watching her. There was no malice in it, no real anger. But the mistrust was there, however faint, and it made Tessanna sick because she knew it was well-deserved. Wishing her lover could be with her, she lay there, eyes closed, feeling hours pass over her in a steady, uninterrupted flow.

When the door opened, she sat up, smiling.

“You’re back,” she said. The smile on her face immediately vanished. Qurrah looked in a hurry, and he rushed to the chest where their things were stored.

“We must leave,” he said, throwing it open. “Gather whatever you wish to bring with you, and if you have any goodbyes, go say them now.”

Tessanna’s mouth dropped open.

“What do you mean?” she asked. “What’s wrong?”

“I said hurry!” Qurrah snapped. He immediately turned back to what he was doing. Tessanna stood up from the bed, walked over to Qurrah, and then wrapped her hands around him to force him to calm down. When he looked up at her, he kissed her lips, then let out a sigh.

“Forgive me,” he said. “But time is not our friend right now.”

“Tell me first,” she said. “I will not flee the castle like a burglar, no matter what has happened. Now answer me.”

“It was the meeting,” he said. “The people, they spoke their demands to the angels, and it was all the same. They explained it in different ways, disguised their real demands with impractical ideas, but deep down they wanted the same thing.”

He looked up at her, and she saw the fear in her lover’s eyes.

“They want death,” he said. “They want death, and I think the angels are going to give it to them.”

“That’s nonsense,” Tess said as Qurrah resumed packing his things. She stood over him, watching. “The angels aren’t murderers. And what do you mean they want death?”

“Sinners punished,” Qurrah said. “Not forgiven. Not remedied. Punished. Killed. Hung. Beheaded. Am I making sense now?”

“Stop it,” she said. “Stop snapping at me.”

“I’m sorry.”

He turned around, sitting with his back against the open chest. With his left hand he rubbed his forehead, as if suffering a headache.

“It’s not that they made the demands,” he said. “I understand their frustration. That wasn’t it. That’s not why we must leave. It was the angels. They were agreeing with them. I saw them listening, nodding. They looked too eager to please, too eager to abandon what Ahaesarus kept trying to defend. It’s like there’s a sickness here, Tess. I can’t find it, but I smell the scent of disease.”