David Dalglish - The Prison of Angels

“Such paranoia,” Qurrah said as they walked through the thin mud.

“Is it?” Tessanna asked. “Azariah implied the people were ready to rebel. And he did not say it, but what if they seek to rebel against the angels as well? Bram may have good reason to fear.”

Qurrah shrugged. Bram had always come across as a man ready to believe the worst in anything, though that hardly made him a defeatist. No, it just made him that much more prepared for when trouble did arrive. Of the four nations, Neldar and Omn had been thoroughly destroyed and overtaken by orcs. Mordan’s capital had been ravaged by battle and her countryside left in shambles from rebellion. But Ker, however…Ker had thrived, left nearly untouched by the devastation. And so her power had grown, as had the arrogance of her king.

“Should we disguise ourselves?” he asked as the bridge neared.

“No,” Tessanna said, and her tone left no room for argument. “I tire of hiding. If we are recognized, we are recognized. I walked at the side of gods and prophets. I will fear no lowly border guard.”

“That’s more than a border guard,” Qurrah said, frowning. By his best guess, at least ten thousand men gathered in various camps. The idea that Bram might be planning an invasion was preposterous, but then why such a strong show of force? He didn’t like it. And with that many eyes, there were bound to be a few who’d recognize them. Neither were particularly inconspicuous looking, him with his gray skin, orcish face, and curved ears, and Tessanna with the body of a goddess, long black hair, and those solid black eyes. He longed to use a disguise, but Tessanna had made her opinion clear, and he would not challenge her, not on this. At least the scars beneath his eyes were gone, having fallen away when Azariah returned life to his dead flesh after the demon god’s death.

“I need no magic to sense your fear,” she said, holding his hand as they approached the army. “We’ve come to help your brother, yes? Then perhaps we may do some good here, for I doubt an army gathering at his southern doorstep is there without reason.”

They veered farther from the river, so they might travel along the road before they reached the army protecting the bridge. The nearer they came, the stranger the sight. They weren’t even checking those who traveled into the nation, only out. Qurrah squeezed Tessanna’s hand tight as they approached the first dozen tents.

“They don’t even look for spies,” he said quietly to her.

“Perhaps they only fear the spies that fly through the air?”

He shrugged.

“Then why did Azariah not mention it to us?”

“Perhaps he didn’t know it to mention?”

The soldiers milled about, some gambling, some singing and playing simple instruments, while a good many drank. Only a few kept their attention on the road, and they had the bored look of someone forced into duty.

“Stay on the path,” one said as they passed. “No gawking, no begging, no selling wares.”

“Not even these wares?” Tessanna said, tilting her head back a little to better show her breasts. Qurrah pulled her along before the soldier could respond.

“Are you out of your mind?” he hissed.

“Do you know of a better way to learn information than from a man’s bed? Whores learn secrets spies cannot.”

She returned his look with a dull gaze, then giggled as if she were a little girl.

“You’re cute when you’re jealous,” she said, letting the matter drop. The concentration of soldiers thickened the closer they moved to the bridge. Ahead of them rode a large group, an apparent family traveling north with all their possessions. Their single wagon was loaded with belongings, and at the first stone of the Bloodbrick they were stopped and lazily searched over by two men holding halberds. A third guard stepped in front of Qurrah and Tessanna and lifted his hand.

“Hold up,” he said, offering no other words than that. He glanced back, watching the others search the wagon. Qurrah bit his tongue, and in the very center of the encampment he waited, trying not to look nervous. He felt stupid for being nervous in the first place, but it’d been five years since he’d been around people in general, let alone a large army. Tessanna was right-he really had been hiding from society in their cabin. Of course, standing in the middle of ten thousand men felt like a horrible time to realize it.

“Is there something they search for?” Qurrah asked, thinking he might try to learn something instead of standing there shuffling his weight from foot to foot.

“Keep your tongue behind your teeth,” the soldier said, barely giving him a glance. “I’m not here for questions. Just wait your turn.”

“You made the man mad,” Tessanna said, still seeming terribly amused by everything.

“Mad?” the soldier asked, actually turning to face them. “Girl, you haven’t…”

He stopped and stood perfectly still, his jaw hanging open the tiniest bit. There was no mistaking his gaze, which focused on her strange eyes.

“Your name,” the soldier said.

“I thought you weren’t here for questions,” Qurrah said, feeling his heart speed up. Ignoring him, the soldier drew the sword at his hip.

“Your name,” he said again. So far he kept the blade tip pointed downward, but he seemed about to jump at any second. Tessanna smiled at him, long hair flowing down the sides of her face.

“Tessanna,” she said at last.

The soldier looked ready to shit himself-whether from fear or surprise, Qurrah couldn’t say. He took a fresh look at Qurrah, and his face paled, showing he knew exactly who stood before him.

“James!” he shouted. “Get the fuck over here, right now!”

The two guards at the wagon turned around. Others around the camp heard the shouting, and seeing the drawn blade they rushed over. Qurrah held his arms out at his sides, hoping to show he posed no danger. Tessanna remained perfectly still, her sly smile receding inward, becoming a calm look of apathy. Qurrah envied her.

“I only travel to meet my brother,” Qurrah said, hoping someone in charge might hear and listen. “We are no threat, no-”

“Quiet,” said an older man who pushed to the front of the gathering crowd. “You, are you the Betrayer?”

Qurrah glared at him even as a wall of swords encased him and Tess. As if they could stop him, he thought.

“I doubt I am the first, nor the last, to have ever committed that particular sin,” he said in answer. Apparently that was enough for the soldier, though, for he turned his attention to Tessanna.

“You said your name was Tessanna,” he said. “The prophet’s bride?”

“I was,” she said, her voice nearly toneless. “But that fiend lives no longer, as will you if you touch a hair on my head.”

“She was never his bride,” Qurrah said, unable to help himself. He hated the title given to her, formed by the twisted story most commonly told around hearths at night. Only once had Qurrah worked up the nerve to ask his brother what the tales said. In them, Qurrah had betrayed Veldaren, his glorious brother, and then the whole world by helping the prophet Velixar summon the war god Thulos. From then on, Qurrah was seen as the hapless puppet and Velixar the true evil. Tessanna was Velixar’s bride, his dark angel, and if the age of the audience permitted, many storytellers liked to embellish the sick, perverted love that had supposedly gone on between them.

“So she wasn’t, was she?” the soldier asked, his glare showing he was an inch away from striking the half-orc. “Let’s see what Bram has to say about that.”

Qurrah sighed. Would it matter telling them Bram knew where they lived, had known for the past five years since he himself had overseen the deeding of the land to them?