David Dalglish - The Prison of Angels

“Look here,” he said, pointing to a faded smear of dirt upon of wood. Jessilynn looked, but whatever he saw, she did not.

“It’s been at least three months since anyone crossed this bridge,” he explained.

“Isn’t that a good thing?” she asked. From what she understood, having orcs escape their prison was about as bad as it got.

Dieredon glanced across the bridge to the east.

“Not if there are no orcs left to cross,” he said. “Sonowin, come!”

His sudden worry made Jessilynn nervous as she climbed atop the winged horse. Without any of his usual attempts for steadiness, Dieredon tugged on the reins, sending them flying over the Bone Ditch and into the greener lands beyond.

“Where are we going?” she shouted.

“The Green Castle.”

She dared not ask why. She felt intrusive enough as it was. For three days they’d camped north of the Citadel, and he’d spent hours fixing her stance, showing her the proper way to grip her bow and draw an arrow. By the third day she could tell he’d grown restless, and come the fourth they’d begun their flight northeast. Hearing the worry in his voice put a seed of guilt in her stomach. What if they arrived somewhere too late, and it was all because of her training? Could she even stay with him in good conscience if that were the case?

They remained low to the ground, passing over hilly lands that seemed to go on forever. The grass was lush, showing the healthy luster of spring. Slowly the hills evened out, and then in the far distance she saw a faint hint of stone that rapidly took the shape of a circular wall built atop a hill. Jessilynn almost asked Dieredon if that was the Green Castle, then realized the stupidity of the question. Beyond the outer circular walls was a slender tower, every facing covered with what she guessed to be vines. Nearer and nearer they flew. The castle took on a more vivid green, and even from her distance she could see the large clusters of flowers that speckled the castle.

Dieredon circled twice, his eyes scanning the ground. His frown deepened, but still he ordered Sonowin to land. Just inside the inner walls the winged horse touched ground. Dieredon leapt off before the beast was still, and he offered her a hand.

“What’s wrong?” she asked as she took it. “It’s so quiet here.”

“This castle belonged to Lord Sully. He was never a friend of elvenkind, but he did aid us in keeping the orcs at bay. When last I left here, his men were patrolling the Bone Ditch to prevent the construction of any more bridges.” He gestured about the empty courtyard. “It shouldn’t be quiet. There should be servants, soldiers, children…”

He pulled off his bow, then hurried toward the castle. Jessilynn tugged free her own bow and ran after him. Her plodding footsteps seemed so loud compared to the elf’s silent passage. They crossed through the courtyard, stopping at the large castle doors. They were shut, with no visible sign of attack. Dieredon’s frown deepened. The elf briefly investigated the castle doors, tugged once to confirm they were still locked, then peered up the castle walls.

“Check the outer grounds for any signs of life,” he said, hopping atop of Sonowin. “I’ll investigate the castle, see if I can discover where they’ve fled. If you find yourself in trouble, whistle as loud as you can.”

“I will,” Jessilynn said. She clutched her bow and tried not to let her nervousness show. Being alone in the great courtyard made her uneasy. Something had gone terribly wrong, and they both knew it. Dieredon flew higher and higher until he was even with one of the upper windows of a tower, then leapt off Sonowin’s back. He vanished into the stone edifice. Wanting to be useful, Jessilynn started scanning the area, trying to decide what she was even looking for.

Aimlessly, she began walking through the courtyard, slowly making her way around to the western side. The hairs on the back of her neck began to stand as more and more things looked askew. She found overturned barrels, broken shafts of wood that might have been spears, bits of shredded clothing. Against one wall of the tower she saw a stain, and stepping closer, she saw the stone was chipped. The stain was, without a doubt, a great smear of blood.

When her fingers brushed against it she heard a distant sound, one she could hardly believe.

Laughter?

Closing her eyes, she did her best to listen, and sure enough she heard it again. From somewhere in the building, she decided, but where? With how large the tower was, it’d take time for Dieredon to find them if he also heard. Jogging alongside the stone, Jessilynn looked for an alternate entrance beyond the locked gates. Rounding the southwest corner, she found a small jut built out from the wall, just narrow enough for a single man to pass through. It was blocked by a single gate. A way to flank attackers at the front gate if the situation demanded it, she guessed. Beyond the iron gate was a second wooden door. From beyond that, she heard another round of muffled laughter.

“Dieredon?” she called out, but so pathetic was her cry that she doubted anyone could have heard her. She swallowed, told herself to be brave. She was a paladin of Ashhur. She was supposed to be a champion of mankind, not a girl quaking in fear at a stranger’s laughter.

She touched the gate. With a grinding squeak it pushed inward. It took a moment for her to overcome her surprise. She’d been convinced it would be locked like the front gates had been. Of course, there was still the wooden doors just beyond. Stepping into the dark passageway, she grabbed the handle and pulled.

It opened with a dull thud, revealing a long, unlit hallway. Offering a prayer to Ashhur for safety, she pulled an arrow out of her quiver and pressed it against the string of her bow. The arrowhead lit up with a soft blue-white glow, and with its light guiding her, she stepped into the hallway. The echoes of her footfalls made her wince, and again she thought of Dieredon’s silent passing. Jessilynn wore lighter armor than the other paladins, a special suit requested by Jerico himself from a traveling smith. It was heavy leather, studded, with her chest and shoulders reinforced with a variety of plate and chain. She could move far easier than the others in their platemail, but it was still heavy, and worse, noisy. Each step she took sounded like thunder. Her fear made the light of her arrow falter until she could barely see five feet before her.

Again she heard laughter, this time of two different men. Their voices were deep, boisterous, yet muffled too much for her to make out the words they occasionally spoke.

“Hello?” she called out, traveling deeper into the Green Castle. “Is someone there?”

At the sound of her voice the laughter stopped. Jessilynn’s heart caught in her throat as she heard movement and the rattle of weaponry. She took a step back, stumbling as her foot landed atop a heavy stone. She flung her elbow to the side to brace herself against the wall, except the wall wasn’t there. She landed on hard dirt. The arrow and bow fell from her hands, clattered to the ground in the darkness.

Stay calm, Jessilynn told herself. Stay calm, and don’t panic. Feel along the ground.

The bow was easy enough to find given its size. For another moment she felt for the arrow, then realized she had a dozen more in the quiver on her back. Drawing another, she notched it on the string. The metal arrowhead brightened, surrounded by the glow of her faith, and finally able to see, she looked about.

She was in a large tunnel that stretched sharply into the earth for a distance far beyond the reach of her light. Spinning around, she found the broken bricks of the castle wall, the gap the size of a large man. The panic she’d fought against assaulted her at double strength. The castle hadn’t been taken from outside. It’d been tunneled into and taken from within.