David Dalglish - The Prison of Angels

“You want fire?” she asked. “Then have it.”

A great stream burst from her gathered palms, belching out as if from the belly of a dragon. It filled the doorway, easily overwhelming the man’s attempt at a magical shield. When it subsided, his body was but blackened ash. Turning to the other, she saw him fleeing.

“Not so fast,” she said through clenched teeth, summoning a swirling blue portal. Its location wasn’t far. Stepping through, she reemerged at the end of the hallway the final assassin had attempted to flee down. He skidded to a halt, his eyes widening behind his mask. Aurelia gave him no time to react. Unleashing all her fury, she tore bricks free from each side of the castle walls and then slammed them together. She heard the assassin’s bones snap, saw his skull crunch inward. His body dropped to the floor like a rag doll, and it was only then Aurelia felt she could breathe.

She ran back to the garden, pausing only momentarily at the door. Two guards lay slumped outside the entrance, thin darts protruding out from their necks. Aurelia passed them by, holding in a shudder. Checking the other exit, she found two more dead guards. The waste of life infuriated her as much as it frightened her with the implications.

“Mommy!”

Aurelia turned, felt her heart break upon seeing Aubrienna rush out from cover and run toward her. Her cheeks and neck were red, her face a mess of snot and tears. Aurelia scooped her into her arms, then went to Gregory. She set her daughter down, wrapped them both in her arms, and tried to calm them.

“Hold your ears now,” she said, pulling them closer to her chest. Turning her head toward one of the doors, she gathered magic into her voice.

“Guards!”

The sound must have echoed throughout half the castle, for within a minute, dozens came rushing in, cursing at the sight of their dead brethren.

“Take them to Harruq, and make sure they don’t leave his side,” she said to the man in charge. “I don’t care how disruptive they are, they don’t leave. Is that clear?”

“Understood,” the soldier said, scooping Gregory up into his arms. Another pulled off his mailed glove and offered a hand to Aubrienna.

“Mommy, don’t go,” she begged. She had started to calm down, but was only the slightest push away from breaking again.

“I’m sorry sweetie,” Aurelia said, kissing her forehead. “Go to daddy. Mommy has people she needs to see.”

She sniffled but managed to keep herself together. Aurelia felt guilt watching them go, but she shoved the feeling away. Now was not the time. As squads of soldiers spread out to scan the castle for any more intrusions, or at least discover how the assassins gained entrance in the first place, Aurelia opened a portal to her and Harruq’s room. From there she grabbed her staff, one of her few cherished possessions she still had from their flight from Veldaren. Leaping back through the portal into the garden, she approached the rainbow sphere that had given her so much trouble. The closer she stepped to it the more she felt her magic fading, until when it was at her feet she was powerless once more.

With a satisfying crack , she smashed it with the butt of her staff. The sphere broke easily, letting out a great puff of smoke and color as it did. Scooping up the surprisingly cool shards, she closed her eyes to create another portal. The masks the assassins wore were familiar, and that they wielded magic made them doubly rare. But there was one man she knew that matched both qualities, a man that might either be behind the attack, or know who was responsible.

Through the portal she stepped, still holding the shards. When she exited, she was on a distant street in the trade district of Mordeina. The men and women passing by turned to gawk, and for once Aurelia wished she might fit in a little better. No time for a disguise, though, so she hurried to the tavern she’d been told to go to if she ever sought to make contact. It wasn’t the tavern itself she needed, though, but the dark alley beside it. A child sat there on a crate, looking bored. His hair was disheveled, his face dirty, but there was something of an act to his appearance. The alertness of his eyes, the healthiness of his skin, belied the supposed starvation of a street rat.

“Hello,” Aurelia said to the boy.

“Don’t feel like talking,” was his response.

“I fear I’m not as wise as I thought,” she said, as instructed. “Might you help me?”

The boy stared at her, then gave a curt nod.

“Wait here.”

Aurelia stepped into the alley, holding her staff in one hand, the shards in the other. Several minutes passed, but at least she was out of clear sight of the traffic.

“Bored of your life in the castle?” asked a woman’s voice from above.

Aurelia glanced up to see Veliana peering down from the rooftop of the tavern, a smirk lighting up her lone good eye. She wore the colors of her new guild, dark gray shirt and cloak with black sleeves and pants. In her left hand she twirled a dagger, her fingers dancing.

“I’d prefer the boredom over today,” she said. “Where’s your guildmaster?”

“Right here,” Deathmask said, stepping out of the alley’s shadows, his arms crossed behind his back. His long dark hair curled down around his neck. A gray mask covered his mouth and nose, but his eyes were sparkling with humor. “Ah, Aurelia, how good it is to see you again. Your beauty is as stunning as ever. Such a shame you waste it on that oaf of a half-orc you call a husband.”

“I’m in no mood,” Aurelia said, tossing the shards at his feet. “Someone tried to kill me and my daughter, and Antonil’s son as well. I want to know why.”

Deathmask lifted an eyebrow.

“Interesting. And you think I have the answer why?”

“All three assassins wore masks similar to yours.”

“Hardly unique to cover one’s face.”

Aurelia crossed her arms, reminding herself not to take her frustration out on the wily rogue, despite how much she wanted to roast him down to ash so he’d match the name of his guild.

“They were also proficient with magic,” she said. “Only one guild in Mordeina has members with any magical training that I know of: yours. And if it wasn’t you, then you of all men should know who it was. No one has a better finger on the pulse of the underworld than you.”

“No one since the days of the Watcher,” Veliana said, laying on her back and continuing to twirl her dagger. “By the way, should I mention how stupid it’d be of you to come here if you actually thought we were guilty of the attack? But you’re not that stupid, which means you don’t think we were responsible. So please, lay off the demands, and keep the shallow reasoning to yourself, hrm?”

Fire swarmed around Aurelia’s right hand.

“Easy now,” Deathmask said. “I’d rather not have anyone die. No profit in it. Aurelia, when you arrived you oh-so-politely tossed something at my feet. Care to tell me what it was?”

“It was a sphere before I smashed it,” Aurelia said, turning her attention back to Deathmask. Her fist clenched, removing the fire. “The assassins threw it at me just before they attacked. Somehow it created a hole in the world’s magical weave, preventing me from casting any spells.”

Finally she saw a bit of interest spark in Deathmask’s eyes.

“Really now?” he asked, kneeling down and picking up one of the shards. “Interesting…”

“So please, what can you tell me? They wore gray and red, and all were light of skin if that helps.”

“So they even dress similar to me now? How interesting. Are you sure I’m not the man responsible for the attacks? Enough coin and even I might rethink my allegiances. Angels do tend to make life as a rogue difficult.”