The Prison of Angels

hear her words.

“All you monsters of the Wedge,” she said, turning so she might address the races. “You know why you are here. You know of the land beyond the rivers, rich with game, with green grass and clear water. It will be ours, as it was in the days of old. And it will happen, because for the first time in an age we will be united. We will be free. We will serve kings!”

“Kings of the Vile!” roared the wolf-men, and scattered among the other races were a few who took up a similar cry.

“In times past we failed, broken and alone,” Silver-Ear continued. “Our greatest could not succeed, for our enemies were strong. But behold now their strongest.”

The female was at Jessilynn’s side instantly, grabbing her arm and yanking her up so they might see her armor.

“This,” said Silver-Ear, “this weakling is all that remains of they who once defeated Redclaw. Where once they sent mighty warriors, now they send whimpering girls. Where once they wielded swords and shields of light, now only a flimsy stick of wood. Look at her. All of you, look upon the greatest mankind may throw against us! Our age has come, the age of our kings!”

Louder now the wolf-men howled, and their excitement seemed to be infectious. Jessilynn clenched her jaw, determined to stay silent. The shaman’s words insulted her, but there was nothing she could do about it. The idea of her being weaker, inferior, burned deep in her belly, playing on fears she’d carried since those earliest nights listening to Jerico’s stories.

“But that is not all,” Silver-Ear continued. “This human, this girl, knows everything. She knows of the boats. She knows of the towers. She knows where the armies move against us, and what evil magic they will try to use to keep us imprisoned in this wretched land. This broken thing will tell us everything. By the words of a single human, we will crush all humans!”

She turned to the two brothers, nodding slightly so they might know she was finished. Moonslayer stepped forward, beginning his speech with an ear-splitting howl that seemed to go on forever.

“We have no reason to be afraid!” he cried. “We have no reason to kill one another. The strong must eat the weak, but none here are weak. It is the humans who are weak. Their flesh, their hands, their will…it is weak, and we will crush it. Together, we will forge a kingdom of the Vile, and we will be your kings.”

Manfeaster jumped in, his timing flawless.

“We do not ask you to kneel,” he shouted to the other races. “We do not ask you to serve. We only ask you follow us, listen to us, so that you may join us in this conquest. Let us together crush the humans, and go to a land so fertile, so grand, that our kind will never go hungry again!”

“We are the sons of Redclaw,” Moonslayer roared. “Not just us, but all of us, and together we will finish what he began!”

Jessilynn was too tired, too delirious from the pain and blood loss, to take in the cacophony that followed. She’d listened best she could, her horror slowly fading into the background of her mind. It was all too much. The way the creatures looked at her, the goat-men with their long faces, the goblins with their strange, unblinking gaze, it was as if she were some entity from another world. Perhaps she was. All of them stared with a hunger, a sense of greed that she no longer wished to see.

“Your patience wears thin,” Manfeaster told the throng. “So know that the time to act is now. This pathetic human is the sign. Tomorrow, we march for the river! Tomorrow, let every human heart tremble with fear!”

This, more than anything, whipped them into a frenzy. The goat-men brayed, the hyena-men yipped, goblins laughed and clapped, and the bird-men squawked. Over it all howled the wolf-men, loudest and greatest of them all.

“To your feet,” Silver-Ear said as the two kings began howling to continue the excitement. “Before one loses control and tries to eat.”

The shaman’s hand took her own, and as if she were a child she was led back to the cave. Once inside she collapsed to the cold ground. The bleeding of the wounds on her face had begun to slow, but still the pain remained. Silver-Ear stared at her, then let out a soft grunt. Tied to her fur were thin strips of dried leather, holding small pouches made from skin. From within a pouch Silver-Ear pulled out a collection of leaves.

“Chew this,” she said, offering them to her. Jessilynn put the leaves into her mouth, then carefully bit down. The gashes in her face made any movement agony. The leaves were soft, yet when she chewed they were horribly bitter. Her eyes watered and her chest heaved.

“Do not vomit,” the female said. “Chew, but do not swallow.”

Jessilynn did so, striking the ground several times with her fist to help her concentrate. At last the shaman reached out her paw.

“Spit.”

She gladly did so. Silver-Ear took the disgusting mush, narrowed her eyes at it, and then grunted again.

“Lie on your back.”

Jessilynn slowly settled down, the ground feeling somehow comfortable despite its hardness. More than anything she wanted to sleep. A dim hope in her still clung to the idea that when she awoke in the morning everyone would be gone, and instead Dieredon would be there, cooking her breakfast. She closed her eyes, slowed her breathing.

Silver-Ear pressed the wet glob against her cheek. It was like salt poured into her open wounds, and Jessilynn let out a scream. The female easily held her down, growling at her.

“Stay still,” she snarled.

Jessilynn did so, even as the tears ran down the sides of her face. More of the substance pressed against her cheek. She gritted her teeth, choking down sobs. It burned like fire, but after a moment’s time, the sensation finally started to relent.

“Sleep here,” Silver-Ear said. “I will bring you food in the morning. Remember, step outside this cave, and I promise you nothing but death.”

With that, she was gone. Jessilynn breathed in, breathed out, as the din of roars and growls echoed inside the confines of the cave. Twenty thousand creatures, all ready to feed. They’d march west soon, crossing the Rigon and into the lands beyond. How many innocents would die? She couldn’t begin to guess, but the truth of it made her ache. And who would stand against them? Would Jerico be there? No, he was south in the Citadel, oblivious to the threat. Darius? Dead. The other heroes of old? All dead, all gone. The Wall of Towers was all that was left, and Jerico had made it clear what state they’d been in for years. She doubted things had improved since the Gods’ War. The towers had fallen before, retaken only with Darius’s help. But now?

Now the only paladin to stand against them was her, and she lay marred, broken, and weaponless. Worst of all, she couldn’t help but think it her fault. It didn’t make sense. It didn’t have to. Lost in her fear and pain, it seemed so blatantly obvious. Her pride, perhaps. Her desire to be better than others.

I’m sorry, she prayed as she waited for exhaustion to claim her. I’m sorry, Ashhur. Whatever I did to deserve this, I’m so, so sorry.

The only answer she received was blessed, dreamless sleep.

20

They alternated turns summoning the shadow portals to take them south. Through it all Qurrah remained silent, his nerves never calming despite the fact they crept closer to Ker’s border each passing moment. What did a border matter to men with wings?

“An acceptable loss,” he murmured as they camped that night. “Acceptable. Ashhur help us all.”

Tessanna glanced at him, and he saw the question in her eyes. He shook his head, still not wanting to talk about it. More than anything he felt such an immense betrayal at the words he had heard. When he’d expected death, when he’d deserved it, they’d denied it to him. They’d declared him forgiven. Ever since then, he’d felt changed. He’d tried, in his own meager way, to better understand the mercy and grace Ashhur’s priests had preached. Oh, he often felt he failed to live up to it, but the concept had been there, giving him hope, giving him a glimpse of a future where he could sleep without the weight of a thousand corpses on his conscience. More than