David Dalglish - The Prison of Angels

“Whoever you have watch him, make sure it’s not an angel.”

Harruq grinned, but the humor fell flat. There was too much worry, too much truth to the joke to laugh. On impulse he took her hand and kissed it, much like Kevin had.

“You’ll do fine,” he said. “We’ll all be fine. No matter how many speeches your brother gives, there’s only so much he can accomplish. We’re guarded by angels, Susan. It’s not like he can start a war. And if he does, well, you’ll have the nastiest bodyguard around. I’ve killed a god before, did you know that?”

“I’ve heard rumors.” She pulled free her hand, rubbed it with her other. “Take care, Harruq, and pray the time passes swiftly. Antonil will be gone for so long, and in my nightmares I see him returning to a kingdom of ash.”

“No,” Harruq said, shaking his head as he headed for the door. “I gave everything to save this city, this land. It won’t be ash, Susan, no matter how hard anyone might try.”

“And if someone does try?” he heard her ask.

He looked over his shoulder, flashed his best smile.

“Then I’ll act inappropriately.”

As Tessanna prepared the last of her things, Qurrah went out behind their cabin to where his undead servant patiently waited. The body was that of a stout man, no doubt a hardy fellow when he’d still drawn breath. Qurrah ran a hand down the side of his face, feeling the necrotic energy still flowing through it. King Bram had given them the land, in honor of their desire to be free of both angels and men in the wake of the Gods’ War. It had been abandoned for many years, left for the forest to slowly reclaim it. They’d chased away the weeds, cleared away the animals, and in doing so discovered the old family grave.

He’d been dead for at least ten years, but that hardly mattered to Qurrah. From the ground he’d summoned the skeleton and, with Tessanna’s help, slowly applied a false flesh to hide the bones and rot. No soul remained in it, for Qurrah would not subject anyone to that punishment, not ever again. The thing was a useful tool, nothing more. They’d not bothered to name him, just like Qurrah had never named his robes or the burning whip he still kept coiled around his arms when he felt afraid.

“You have been good to us,” Qurrah said, hand still touching the thing’s face. “Rest now, and return to the dust. We have need of you no more.”

He pulled in his strength through the contact, the powerful magic returning to him. The servant collapsed, the false flesh becoming a gray powder that hovered in the air like a fog. The bones thudded dully, covered by worn clothes and a bit of hair. Qurrah looked at it, feeling a bit sad. It was definitely good he had not named the mindless thing. He’d grown attached to it as it was.

From the ground he looked up, forcing his attention to the forest around them. In the past few years he’d developed a greater appreciation for the wilderness, for the song of the birds and the rustle of the leaves as the wind blew through them. In it he sensed a peace that would forever elude him. But at least it was a peace he could be close to. At least he could try to steal its comfort like the leech he often was in life.

“Qurrah?” Tessanna called, stepping out from the cabin. The half-orc glanced her way.

“Here,” he said.

She placed a small bag beside the door of the cabin and then joined his side, looping her arms around his elbow. Leaning against him, she looked to the pile of bones and clothes.

“He was a good servant,” she said.

“True. Always quiet, never intruded when he wasn’t wanted.”

Tessanna laughed.

“We should have brought him with us to Mordeina. He could have carried our things.”

Qurrah tried to match Tessanna’s mirth but could not.

“I’d prefer we travel unknown,” he said. “Having a dead man attending our needs would not help in that regard.”

She kissed his cheek.

“You worry too much. What does it matter if we draw attention? They can do nothing to us.”

Qurrah went to the cabin and picked up his own satchel, stuffed full of books, spare clothes, and, coiled at the very bottom, his whip. Slinging it over his shoulder, he rejoined Tessanna, who waited patiently on the edge of the road leading out of the forest. Azariah had said he would return for their answer, but Qurrah had no intention of waiting. Better they leave now, before any sort of preparations might be made for their arrival. When the angel returned to the cabin and found it empty, he trusted Azariah to know what their choice had been.

“How far?” she asked him as he looked one last time at their home.

“Just shy of the border,” he told her. “Azariah said that the people of Mordan are threatening to turn on Antonil. I would hear their whispers for myself. Perhaps outside the city walls I may help my brother more than at his side.”

Tessanna nodded, then closed her eyes. Lifting her arms, she whispered words of magic, her slender fingers clenched. The fabric of reality tore, a swirling black portal ripping open before them with a sudden gust of air. Its substance was shadow, and in its depths was the faint swirling of stars. Without hesitation Qurrah stepped inside, felt the familiar sense of vertigo, and then stepped out many miles away. Tessanna followed. From the corner of his eye he saw her stumble, and dropping his satchel he turned to catch her as she heaved. Bloody vomit spilled from her mouth, splattering on the grass below, and her arms clutched him with terrified strength.

“It’s nothing,” she said when she was able to breathe. “Nothing.”

But it wasn’t, Qurrah knew. The old Tess could have sent them halfway around the world without batting an eye. She sensed his unease, though, and pushed him away.

“We’re here,” she said, wiping her mouth. “So lead on, dear husband.”

He retrieved his satchel, biting his tongue to prevent a fight. To force his mind off her, he looked about to see where, exactly, she’d taken them. They were in the shadows of a forest, the tree trunks slender, the bark a pale brown. The area around them was flat and covered with knee-high grass, so that despite the distance they could still see the river flowing a quarter-mile ahead.

“That way,” Tessanna said, gesturing northeast. “The bridge shouldn’t be far.”

Her voice was already growing stronger, and it helped put Qurrah’s mind at ease. Taking her hand in his, they began walking. The tall grass annoyed him, and he thought of the ticks and chiggers that might be crawling up his robes. With a thought he made his feet trail a dark cloud. Wherever he stepped the grass wilted, any insects unable to flee in time falling to their backs and dying.

“I thought we weren’t to attract attention,” Tessanna said.

“We’re not in civilization yet.”

The immediate area around the river was rocky, left barren and muddy from the spring rains. The two followed alongside it, and as the day crawled along they saw their first sign of the bridge in the distance.

“The Bloodbrick, correct?” Qurrah asked.

“You said you wanted to be at the border, so here we are.”

The Corinth River formed the barrier between the two nations of Ker and Mordan, with the Bloodbrick as the only significant crossing. In times past it had been left unguarded, with Ker nothing more than a puppet of the other kingdom. But then the Gods’ War had come, and in return for Bram overthrowing his demon rulers, Antonil had severed all ties between the two nations. More importantly, he’d vowed to keep Ker fully independent of Avlimar and her angels.

So when Qurrah saw the army massed at the southern side of the Bloodbrick, he was far from surprised.