David Dalglish - The Prison of Angels

“We went through too much together for you to turn on us without a chance to rectify things first,” Aurelia said.

Deathmask laughed.

“Sentimentality? I think you confuse me for someone else, elf. No, the proof you need to know I wasn’t behind this is much simpler. If it had been my guild making the attempt, you wouldn’t be out hunting for the party responsible. You’d be dead.”

He tossed the sphere shard back to the ground.

“What he threw at you is known as a voidsphere. Rare, but not impossible to craft if you know what you’re doing. As for these assassins…no, I cannot tell you who might have hired them, nor the name of their organization. If any other guild started showing an affinity toward spellcasters, I assure you, I’d know about it. I’m sorry, but if you need answers, you’ll have to look elsewhere.”

There was no hiding Aurelia’s disappointment. She clutched her staff and took a deep breath. The city wasn’t big enough for a new guild with such power at their disposal to go unnoticed for long. Someone had to know.

“Please,” she said. “If you learn anything, find me or my husband.”

“I will,” Deathmask said, winking. “If the profit’s right.”

Aurelia turned, ripped open a portal, and vanished.

Veliana watched the elf disappear into the swirling blue, then leapt down from her perch atop the tavern.

“You lied,” she said.

Deathmask shrugged.

“I do that from time to time.”

Veliana knelt before the shards of the voidsphere, scanning over the intricate detail required to carve the magic into its surface.

“What does it mean?” she asked.

“Games,” Deathmask said, leaning against the wall. “People are playing games, and no matter what happens, we will benefit. Nothing can be worse than the way things are now.”

“And if they kill Gregory?”

“Do I look like a man who will shed a tear?”

He was grinning, she could tell by the way his cheeks pulled upward at his mask.

“You look like a heartless bastard,” she said, standing.

“You’re making me blush. But no, Vel, until we know everyone’s aims, we keep our mouths shut and our eyes open. Can you do that?”

“I can,” she said. “But you still could have told them who was responsible. That alone would have been worth a princely reward.”

“And ruin all this fun?” he asked, scattering the shards with his foot as he walked toward the street. “I dare say, Veliana, it’s like you don’t even know me anymore.”

Entering Mordeina was a far different experience than Qurrah expected.

“Where are the angels?” he asked as they stepped through the second of the enormous gates. When he’d left years ago, they had flown about the city like hummingbirds around a flower. Now, though, it seemed even the floating city of Avlimar was absent of life.

“They hope to guard an entire nation,” Tessanna said, pulling on his arm as they jostled through the overcrowded road leading directly up the hill to the castle. “Surely you didn’t think they’d all be here?”

“I still expected more of a presence,” Qurrah said. He caught sight of words scrawled upon the nearby buildings, written with a dark red paint of some kind. Each one effectively said the same thing: all hail the Missing King .

“Azariah was right,” Tessanna said, and she pointed to where a man had gathered a crowd about him as he shouted from atop a makeshift pedestal of boxes. “Things are not well here.”

The two made their way closer until they could hear his words. The speaker was a man Qurrah did not recognize, dark of hair, clean cut with a soft face. His eyes, however, bespoke madness.

“Now they brandish swords against our fellow men!” the speaker cried. “Now they threaten the blood of the innocent along with the guilty. Will we still let them lord over us? How many years until we are all afraid for our lives? How long until the very words I speak now are considered blasphemy that requires their justice?” He nearly spat out the word. “Their grace . Their protection . Where is our voice? Where is our king?”

“I’ve heard enough,” Tessanna said, tugging on his arm. Qurrah stared at the man, letting his face burn into his memory. He held such anger, it was beyond rationality by that point. It was beyond convincing. This was a man frighteningly similar to Velixar, and that he had assembled such a massive crowd surprised him none. Such was the draw, and danger, of a man willing to tell others what they wanted to hear, feeding them half-truths and exaggerations so they might be angry instead of afraid.

At the castle doors the two stopped, unsure of how to gain entrance. They still wore the magical disguises they’d cast upon themselves, shifting their features, adding color to Tessanna’s eyes and melding Qurrah’s ears into something human. Fortunately they had time to think without being noticed, for another crowd had gathered at the gate, harassing the guards.

“The steward is seeing no more petitioners today!” the guards shouted, but the annoyed looks on their faces showed they knew it’d do little to make them disperse.

“What’s that orcish bastard going to do about the angels?” the man beside Qurrah yelled.

“Nothing,” said another, shouting loud enough to ensure all others heard him. “He’s too busy sucking an angel’s dick. How else you think he got on that throne?”

Qurrah’s fists clenched as the crowd laughed. He’d never considered himself all that protective of his brother, and was surprised to find just how furious these disrespectful comments made him. Pushing to the front, he stepped before one of the guards, who tensed. He didn’t lift his weapon just yet, but it was clear he was ready to if needed.

“I must speak with Harruq,” he told the guard.

“You deaf? He’s not taking petitioners, now get back before I make you.”

“I’m not deaf,” Qurrah said, banishing his disguise with a thought. “I’m his brother. Tell him Qurrah and Tess have come to visit. I guarantee you he’ll grant us access.”

The guard froze, and he glanced to the man beside him for any indication of what he should do. The other guard just shook his head.

“Go tell him,” he said. “I don’t want my head on a spit just because I turned away the steward’s brother.”

“What about them?”

He gestured to the mob, and Qurrah understood his fear. So far they seemed content to mock, yell, and insult, but at any moment their thirst for blood might rise. Such was the nature of a mob. Qurrah beckoned Tessanna closer. The moment she took her first step her disguise vanished, lengthening her hair, returning the blackness of her eyes and the paleness of her skin. Several beside her let out gasps upon seeing the change. For her part, Tessanna looked simply bored.

“Yes?” she asked Qurrah.

“The guards are afraid things might turn violent.”

“They’re right to be.”

Qurrah chuckled.

“Never mind, then, I will handle them myself.”

He stepped into the space between the guards and the mob. He felt their eyes upon him. A couple had overheard his discussion with the guards, and like lightning his name spread. He let them look, let them see the true face of the fairytale monster they’d made him into.

“Did you not hear?” he asked them. “The steward is not seeing any more petitioners.”

Qurrah dropped to one knee, slamming his palm to the ground. A thin wall of shadows burst from the dirt, climbing over ten feet into the air. It formed a semicircle, sealing the door and the guards within its translucent protection. From the other side people yelled, and a few hurled stones that bounced off with a high-pitched twang .