“Drop your weapons!” the first guard shouted to the others. “King Bram named him friend at the Bloodbrick!”
They looked far from convinced, but thankfully the great red doors cracked open, and out stepped the king himself. Qurrah let out a sigh of relief. How nice to be his brother, who was cheered as a hero everywhere he went. Qurrah doubted Harruq had to endure terrified guards every time he tried to visit someone.
“I expected your return months later,” Bram said. “Did you change your mind about traveling to Mordeina?”
“Sparrows dream of traveling as fast as us,” Tessanna said, and she curtseyed to the king. “But we did indeed change our minds.”
Bram’s eyes sparkled for a moment, no doubt hoping he interpreted Tess’s speech correctly. Qurrah took her hand, then gestured to the tower.
“We would like a word with you,” he said. “In private.”
“Come inside the Eye,” Bram said. “I assure you, there is no more private place in all of Dezrel.”
Mildly curious about the interior of the over-exaggerated tower, Qurrah nodded his head, then followed Bram through the doors. Directly before them was a single staircase, looping upward through the low ceiling. They climbed the stairs, emerging onto the lone floor of the entire tower. This ceiling stretched high above them, and decorating the massive wall space were hundreds of paintings. They showed men fighting angels, demons, trolls, orcs, and even a few creatures Qurrah had never seen put to drawing. In every image, Qurrah realized it was men who fought them, never the monsters against one another. Torches burned at regular intervals, which, combined with the various stained glass windows, ensured each painting was given visibility. In the center of the room was a large wooden table, the wood well-aged. Carved in perfect detail atop it was a map of the world of Dezrel.
“Forgive the theatrical nature of the place,” Bram said as he took a seat before the enormous table. “But the walls are sheer inside and out, which leaves no place for spies. No ears at these walls, not even those of an angel, so speak your mind.”
Tessanna wandered over to the table, admiring the map. Her fingers drifted over a representation of the Elethan Mountains, her fingertips brushing their pointed tops painted a snowy white.
“They don’t need to hear us,” Tessanna said absently. “Just find us.”
“I’m not sure I understand,” Bram said.
Qurrah took a seat beside his wife. The chair felt slightly oversized, leaving him feeling like a dwarf. He frowned but ignored it.
“You were right about Mordan,” he said. “Things there are foul, and over the few days we spent in Mordeina, they turned all the fouler.”
“How so?” Bram asked.
“Assassins made an attempt on my brother’s family, well-paid assassins that even after death I could learn nothing from. As for the angels…”
Qurrah sighed, not wanting to get into it but knowing he had no choice. Before he could, Tessanna interrupted.
“This map isn’t right anymore,” she said, staring keenly at the northwestern corner.
“My dear, this map is older than my father’s father, but I assure you we’ve kept its borders and representations very precise over the years,” Bram said.
“It’s still wrong.”
She slid around the side, then placed her hand atop of the carved city of Mordeina. Her eyes flared wide, and after a few words of magic, her hand began to glow. Bram tensed but remained seated. Qurrah watched, merely curious. He sensed no real anger from Tessanna, just a vague unease. When the spell enacted, he understand why. Rising from the wood was a small city glowing entirely out of light. It hovered above Mordeina, a shimmering replication of the golden city of Avlimar. Its light shone across the entirety of the west, casting long shadows.
“Forgive me,” Bram said. “It does appear my map was incomplete.”
“Without Avlimar, it never will be,” Tessanna said. “You can’t forget it’s there. You can’t remove it. The angels are coming, and they will not care that you are a king.”
Bram snapped to attention.
“Coming here? Why?” He stared at the two of them, and it seemed his mood improved despite his breathless words. “They’re coming for you, aren’t they?”
“I don’t know,” Qurrah said, slumping in his chair and rubbing his forehead. “But I fear they will. The people of the north are demanding retribution, wanting nothing to do with penance and forgiveness for murderers and thieves. And in Mordan, there’s no better known murderer than I. You promised us protection if we needed it, and now we are here for just that. Will you give us shelter?”
“You’d have me spill blood to protect you?” Bram asked.
“If it must come to that,” Qurrah said.
The king stood, walked around the table so he might put a hand on Qurrah’s shoulder.
“You are a citizen of my nation,” he said. “I care not where you were born, but from now on, your roots are here. Your home is here. And I promise you, from the highest noble to the lowliest serf, no man of my kingdom will be subjected to the angels’ judgment. Not during my reign.”
From below they heard the heavy rumbling of the door opening, following by it shutting. The three turned to see an older knight come noisily up the stairs. Without saying a word he grabbed a pitcher from a side table, filled a tall cup, and then plopped into a chair beside Qurrah. The half-orc recognized him but could not quite place the face.
“No word yet from the east, your grace,” the newcomer said. “I’ve kept our soldiers on alert just in case, since there’s no telling when Antonil will be making his way back to our borders. For all we know, the first orc army he meets will whip his behind and send him crawling back to us. Might not have more than a day or two’s notice if we’re to meet him at Ashhur’s Bridge.”
Bram chuckled, gestured to the man as he guzzled down his drink.
“Qurrah, Tessanna, meet my most trusted knight, Sir Ian Millar.”
“Charmed,” Ian said, tipping his cup.
“I hope this man won’t be the one put in charge of protecting us,” Qurrah said, offering a wry smile. “Otherwise I might try to steal away his cup so there’s a chance of him remaining sober.”
“Just try it, half-orc,” Ian said. “We’ll see just how much your reputation’s been inflated.”
“That’s enough of that,” Bram said. “Ian, these two will be our guests for the next few weeks. They suspect angels might be coming for them, and this is something that must not be allowed.”
“Is that so?” Ian said, raising an eyebrow. “How politely are we to tell the angels to piss off? With flowery words, or with lowborn gestures and swears?”
“With a sword,” Bram said, darkening Ian’s mood. He finished off his cup, then set it down atop the representation of Veldaren.
“Aye,” he said. “I can do that. If you two would follow me, I’ll show you to your rooms. Other than Bram’s own quarters, there’s no safer place in this castle.”
“Will there be windows?” Tessanna asked as they stood.
Ian paused, scratched at his face.
“Hrm. Perhaps I need to rethink just where the safest place is…”
The safest place was far from what Qurrah expected, but he could not deny the logic. The accommodations, however, could have been better.
“Now I know a dungeon’s not the finest smelling of places,” Ian said as servants rushed all around him. “But there’s no windows and only one entrance, which we’ll have guarded at all times.”
“Tales of your king’s generosity will spread for miles,” Qurrah said as he watched two servants haul in a feathered mattress. They’d swept and cleaned the cell best they could, though nothing would ever remove the lingering, dingy feel of the place. Their only light was from a small torch on the opposite side of the hallway. Still, the sheets and bed were soft, and both Qurrah and Tess had stayed in far worse conditions.
“It should,” Ian said. “Given all he’s risking for you two. To be honest, I’m not sure you’re worth it.”
“Risk?” Qurrah asked. “He risks the lives of a few guards. Surely any king can risk that.”
“Qurrah,” Tessanna said, touching his arm.
