David Dalglish - The Prison of Angels

Up ahead the hills grew taller, and above them drifted a lazy column of smoke. Dieredon said something to Sonowin in elvish, and then the horse’s wings sharply changed their angle, blowing back against the air current. They soared upward, killing more of their momentum, and then with hardly a bump they landed at the foot of the hills. Jessilynn hopped off Sonowin’s back, following Dieredon. Something about the way his body tensed made her uneasy, and the mischievous grin on his face helped none, either. He seemed excited, yet all she felt was fear.

“What’s beyond the hills?” she asked, keeping her voice a whisper. She already felt too loud because of the soft rustling of her chainmail against the studded leather backing.

“That’s what we’re here to find out,” Dieredon said as they continued to climb.

“Then why not fly over with Sonowin?”

The elf shook his head, a gesture Jessilynn was becoming all too familiar with seeing.

“The sun’s not yet set, and the sky is clear,” he said. “I don’t want them to know we’re here.”

He hurried ahead, his excitement growing. Despite his speed, he made not a sound. Jessilynn bumbled after, more and more thinking she needed to make some adjustments to her armor. Why he hadn’t forced her to already was baffling. Perhaps he was waiting to see if she did it on her own, just as he waited to see if she would complain when he pushed her too far in her training.

When Dieredon neared the top of the hill he lay on his stomach and crawled to its peak. When he looked beyond, she saw a jolt go through him. He held his palm open toward her, and she dropped to her belly, figuring he wanted her to show equal care. Something in the way he froze there, the way his excited grin had fled…what was beyond the hill? What could scare the Scoutmaster of the Quellan elves? Elbow over elbow she crawled across the yellow grass, until at last she joined the elf’s side and overlooked the land below.

“Ashhur help us,” she whispered, unable to stop herself.

The hill ended sharply, revealing a wide cleft. It looked like a gash rent into the world, with many surrounding hills also ending just as steep. The space between was wide and flat, much of it covered with dry red clay, the sparse grass there smashed or dead. And in that massive area, spread out below them like colonies of ants, were the creatures of the Vile Wedge.

Nearest to her were the wolf-men, packs of them gathered around the small fires that dotted the ravine. She couldn’t even begin to count their number, but they were the most numerous of all the species as far as she could tell. Amid the cacophony of sounds rising up to them, it was their growls that were the loudest. Beside them, in the heart of the gulch, were the bird-men. They sat in circles, their feathery arms wrapped around their bodies. Their colors varied wildly, more so than any of the other beasts. Most were dark black, like a raven, but others were white, blue, red, even a few pinks and purples among their plumage.

Beyond them were the goblins, miniature humans with grotesque heads. They were the only ones gathered that wore clothing, tattered loin cloths sewn from the yellow grass of the Wedge. Their encampment seemed the most industrious, with actual tents scattered about. Their skin varied in color, though not as much as the feathers of the bird-men. Most were an ugly green, with red the second-most common color. Also unlike the rest, they wielded crude weapons made of wood and stone. Nearest to the goblin camp were the hyena-men. They were the most hyper, yipping about and snarling at one another. The hunch in their back looked uncomfortable, almost obscene. Unlike the rest, their fur was unanimously a dirty shade of spotted orange.

On the far end of the ravine, their forms just barely visible to her eyes, were the goat-men. She’d heard of them rarely, their numbers were few. They walked about, bare-chested, their faces long and horned. Their arms and hands were like that of a human, but their legs were covered with fur, their feet ending with hooves as large as a horse’s. She saw them talking, but the distance was too great for her to make out any sound.

Between each race were large gaps, with what appeared to be poles or spears jutted into the ground to form the borders. Fire, ordered encampments, alliances between races…all of it was counter to what she’d believed possible. The creatures in the Wedge were mindless, brutal, devouring each other like the monsters they were. They weren’t supposed to reason. They weren’t supposed to be more intelligent than any other pack of wild animals. From them she heard yips, snarls, random curses, and amid it all were words shouted in the common tongue. That she could understand them, could listen to their words as they shouted and mocked one another…

Most terrifying, though, was their number. It was beyond counting, almost beyond estimating, but between them she knew there had to be twenty thousand, if not more.

“What is going on?” Jessilynn whispered. She almost felt paralyzed as she lay there. If any spotted her, or even smelled her with their animal noses, they’d swarm in an instant. Sonowin wasn’t far down the hill, and surely they could reach her before any beasts curled around the sides of the ravine, but still, that was a race she didn’t want to take part in.

Directly below her she watched a wolf-man come in from the south entrance of the ravine, carrying what looked like the upper half of a cow. It flung the corpse before one of the fires, and with frightening speed dozens of the beasts tore into the thing, grabbing at innards and ripping flesh free with their claws. Jessilynn watched, a chill spreading through her veins.

“A gathering of the subhuman,” Dieredon whispered, and over the sounds below he was barely audible. “Of the like I’ve never seen, never even dreamed.”

“I don’t understand. They hate each other, don’t they?”

He nodded.

“It’s that hatred that has allowed us to keep them in check. But this…this isn’t normal. I’d say it impossible if I didn’t see it with my own eyes. The entirety of the Wedge has been making its way here for months, abandoning all former territorial lines. We must find out who leads them, who is capable of creating such an army. Perhaps magic is involved, maybe even priests or wizards.”

“How?” Jessilynn asked. “How do we find out without them discovering us?”

Dieredon stared, and the longer the silence lingered the greater her fear grew.

“I don’t know,” he said at last.

It was the most frightening thing he could have possibly told her.

It wasn’t the stress the position put on her husband that upset Aurelia. She knew Harruq could withstand it, no matter how much he might complain otherwise. It wasn’t the responsibility, for she knew his decisions would be the right ones, regardless of his doubt. No, the thing that upset Aurelia most about Harruq’s role as steward was the sheer loneliness it brought about in her.

“Mommy, look!” Aubrienna called, pulling her from her thoughts. She sat on the edge of a fountain in one of the castle’s many gardens. Aubrienna and Gregory played on the far side. They’d been chasing each other with wooden weapons, Gregory wielding a sword, Aubby a wand, but the toys now lay in the grass. It seemed a new game had piqued their interests.

“Careful of thorns,” Aurelia told them, seeing they had begun picking flowers. Aubrienna was the one taking charge of things, as she often did. Aurelia watched as her daughter began putting the small daisies into Gregory’s hair, the little girl frowning every time they didn’t stick. Gregory mostly let her, trusting her implicitly. The sight put a smile on Aurelia’s face, and she wished Harruq could watch as Gregory finally grabbed a tulip and yanked it free so he could place it atop of Aubrienna’s head. Both giggled as it fell off, landing on the stone walkway.