David Dalglish - The Prison of Angels

“One last question, spirit,” Qurrah said, sensing everyone’s patience nearing their limit. “Where is this door now? Where is it waiting for you?”

For the first time the spirit gave pause. Qurrah watched, then touched one of the rune stones with his finger. Power surged through it, pulsing into Crimson. The ethereal being let out a wail, its features fading for a brief moment.

“Answer me,” Qurrah said, his voice calm.

“I do not know how to answer,” Crimson said.

“Try.”

“If we had succeeded, I would have known. I did not, therefore I do not know. That is the only way I can explain it.”

Qurrah stood, glanced to the others. When none offered anything, Qurrah turned and dismissed Crimson.

“Go back to the Abyss,” he told him. “Maybe down there you’ll learn some answers.”

He scattered one of the rune stones with his foot. Crimson shimmered and vanished, so that only his cold, pale body remained in the center. Harruq pulled free of his wife’s hand, walked to the center, and gave a solid kick to the dead man’s ribcage.

“Stubborn bastard,” he grumbled. “That can’t all be true…can it?”

“Most assassins are trained to withstand various forms of torture,” Aurelia offered. “Is it possible that he could resist you, Qurrah?”

“No,” Tessanna said. “That’s not it. I sensed it as well. He spoke the truth, and even spoke it freely.”

“You’re right about one thing, though,” Qurrah said, turning to face Aurelia. “That was a form of preparation against interrogation. These assassins, they’ve been created with a very real awareness of what someone like me can do. Whoever hired them did so knowing that no matter if they were taken dead, alive, or forced to speak after death, there’d be nothing to learn.”

“That’s it?” Harruq said. “That’s all we get, even with your magic? Unbelievable. It’s a shame Tarlak isn’t here. Maybe he’d have some ideas.”

“I can only help with what I know,” Qurrah said. “But we’re not completely in the dark. Such assassins take a lifetime to craft, and significant magic and coin. Whoever you have made as enemies, they are powerful and wealthy. I can’t say I’m envious, Harruq.”

Harruq crossed his arms and frowned.

“I think I’d rather be in the dark,” he muttered.

“There is one man that might fit that definition,” Aurelia said. “Lord Maryll.”

Qurrah tried to match the name up to a face or position but failed.

“Who?” he asked.

“Lord Kevin Maryll,” Harruq said, letting out a sigh. “The queen’s older brother.”

Qurrah’s mind rapidly connected to earlier in the day, and he knew the answer to the question before he even asked it. The clothes had been too fine, and he had seemed much too certain that no guards would halt him despite his clogging of the main traffic to the castle.

“Is he fair skinned, dark hair, short beard?”

“You saw him in the streets, didn’t you?” Harruq asked.

“I did. He had a crowd gathered, a boisterous one at that. It seems he and the angels don’t get along, and neither does he look favorably upon his brother-in-law. I think it might be time you sit down and have a talk with Kevin.”

Harruq groaned.

“Yeah,” he said. “Gods damn it, I think you’re right.”

“This isn’t necessary.”

The queen paced back and forth before Harruq, who slumped in Antonil’s throne.

“It is,” he insisted. “You have to know that.”

“You’re going on assumptions based on learning nothing from a dead man,” Susan said. “Forgive me for not being impressed.”

“Not trying to impress you, only discover who tried to kill your son. These weren’t normal assassins. They weren’t even unusual assassins. These were expensive, dangerous, rare men that until today none of us knew existed. So before three more of them try to slice out my wife’s throat and cook her with a fireball, I’d like to do whatever I can to find out who hired them. That sound fair to you?”

Harruq knew he was crossing the line, but he didn’t care. His family was in danger because of this stupid role he’d accepted, so if he was going to withstand the risks, by the gods he was going to at least take advantage of the power. Those soldiers who remained had been sent out into the city, with orders to apprehend and bring in Lord Maryll for questioning. Harruq waited for him in the throne room, swords lying across his lap. He’d been sheathing and unsheathing them for the past ten minutes, desperately wishing he could plunge one of them into heart of whoever tried to kill his precious Aubby.

And his gut said that person was about to stand before him in the next few minutes.

“Let me talk to him,” Susan said. “He listens to me, trusts me. If you start asking him questions, he’ll think you’re accusing him, and…”

“I am accusing him,” Harruq said.

“Without proof? Without reason?”

“You know damn well we have reason. He hates your husband with a passion. Not much of a stretch to carry that over to his son.”

“He’s my brother,” Susan said. “He’s family, and nothing has ever been as important to Kevin as family.”

“Me too,” Harruq grumbled. “And that’s why he’s coming in for a talk.”

The queen threw up her hands, stopped her pacing.

“I could override you,” she said.

Harruq nodded.

“You could. And if you do, this whole charade is over. I’ll step down as steward, grab Aurelia and Aubrienna, and high-tail it to the far ends of Dezrel. And you know what, your highness? I’m really, really hoping you override me right now.”

Susan fell silent, and she respectfully dipped her head.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I will not undermine my husband in such a way, nor make him seem a fool. Question my brother, but do not harm him unless you have proof. Will you at least grant me that request?”

“Fair enough.”

She stared at him, and he wished he had enough skill at reading people to understand the thoughts racing behind that stare. At last she curtseyed and hurried out of the room, leaving Harruq alone but for a few of his most trusted guards, who lurked behind various pillars and curtains. Kevin was one man, and so long as Harruq held his swords, he wasn’t afraid. The others had wanted to be there with him, but Harruq had rightly guessed Susan’s response to that. Already they treaded on thin ice. It’d do no good to toss in more weight.

Minutes passed at an interminable pace. When the doors finally cracked open, and Kevin Maryll stepped inside, Harruq almost felt happy. Almost. The desire to draw one of his swords was still the stronger impulse.

“Harruq!” Kevin shouted, hurrying down the carpeted hall. “Where’s Susan? Where’s Gregory? Are they all right?”

“They’re fine,” Harruq said, shifting in his seat. The handle of Condemnation was cold in his palm. It took every shred of his self-control to keep the blade sheathed.

“They are?” His relief appeared genuine. Harruq kept telling himself it was an act to keep his rage high. “The guards would only tell me there was an attempt on her life. They wouldn’t say anything else. Did you capture the men responsible?”

“I don’t know,” Harruq said. He shifted again. Kevin was so close, now. Just a few steps and a thrust and he’d be dead. Not that he was imagining doing that repeatedly, of course. “I was thinking bringing you here was a first step to that.”

Kevin froze in his tracks.

“Excuse me?” he asked.

“Those assassins were hired by someone wealthy, someone with many connections. Someone who might want King Antonil’s son dead. And perhaps it’s just me, but haven’t you been out firing up crowds and spreading hatred against Antonil? Or should I say, the Missing King ?”