David Dalglish - The Prison of Angels

Let him die from the fall, she prayed. Spare him the pain of their teeth.

Dieredon let go of the rock, and crying out, she watched him plummet. He turned in the air, legs downward, and then swooping in from the sky came Sonowin. Dieredon landed atop her, rolled to one side, and then grabbed her mane with a hand to steady himself. Tears were in Jessilynn’s eyes as he flew away. At least he lived. At least someone would know her fate.

Gray-hair growled, his teeth so close to her face.

“Stubborn elves,” he said, tossing Jessilynn to the ground. The twenty gathered round, flexing their claws, their tongues drooling.

“We should eat her now,” said one. “There’s not enough for us as is. The rest will try to take her.”

“No,” the gray-haired one snarled. “We are late, and the kings might be angry. Let her be a gift. They cannot be angry if we give them human-flesh to eat.”

“Our presence is a gift!” one of the bigger wolf-men snarled back. He turned his yellow eyes on Jessilynn, licking the sides of his long snout with his tongue. Gray-hair roared, stepping between him and Jessilynn.

“A gift,” the wolf-man said. “Or we shall feast on you instead.”

The younger wolf-man bowed his head and flattened his ears.

“If you say, then so be it.”

The gray-haired one turned and wrapped his enormous paw around her neck. His eyes were all she saw as he lowered himself to her height.

“Walk,” he ordered.

She did so, flanked by the pack. The thundering of her heart and quickness of her breathing gave the entire world a flat, glassy look. Unreal, she thought, it was all unreal. Like a bad dream. Part of her wished it was, but her senses were overloaded, giving things a clarity no nightmare could ever possess. Down the ravine they walked as high above she saw Sonowin circling. When the winged horse began to lower, she dared hope he’d rescue her. It seemed gray-hair saw as well, and he snarled up at the sky.

“Come for your pet?” he asked. Reaching out, he grabbed Jessilynn by the throat. The paw closed so tightly she could not breathe, and frantically she clutched at his claws as he lifted her into the air, as if offering her to Dieredon. His other paw tightened against her chest, thick claws easily punching through her armor. With blurred vision she looked up to the stars, saw Sonowin lift back up into the air. Her last bit of hope died, and she knew, absolutely knew her time had ended.

“Such cowardice,” the wolf-man snarled, and he set her down. Gasping for air, she fell to her knees, only to find herself yanked back to her feet.

“Walk,” the gray-hair said. “The kings will prefer the kill to be their own, but I will present your warm dead body if I must.”

Jessilynn coughed so hard she vomited, the bile dribbling down her throat, yet still she struggled to her feet. One foot after the other , she thought, beginning her descent down the outside of the ravine, following the pack as they curled her around to the entrance. She tried praying to Ashhur, but her mind was white with terror. She couldn’t think. She couldn’t form words. All around her were yellow eyes, and there was no disguising their hunger. Into the camp she went, and now there were thousands of them, howling and growling. The sound was deafening, and without even realizing it she began to cry.

I’m sorry, she pleaded to her god, though she didn’t know why. She felt an overwhelming sense of failure, and though it made no sense, she could not help it. I’m sorry, so sorry. Please, forgive me.

They stopped at the great pile of bones where Dieredon had hoped to overhear the meeting. Now so close, she saw the age of the bones, many chalk-white and meticulously clean. Others were red with blood, bits of meat still clinging to them. Overpowering was the smell of sweat from the beasts, and their breath was tinged with the scent of blood. She tried not to gag, but her stomach was already weak. To her knees the gray-hair flung her, slamming her atop the bone pile. The bones scattered beneath her, clattering.

Think, she told herself. She knew the prayers she was supposed to pray if she thought herself approaching death. All the comforts of the Golden Eternity, the promises of Ashhur and his angels, she tried to think on them, to face death with the stubbornness and comfort that Jerico had when he’d been captured by the enemy. But all she felt was an aching desire to be anywhere other than where she was, to walk backward in time, to when Dieredon was first climbing down the cliff, and make him stay, make him fly her out of there, out of the Wedge and to the safety of the Citadel.

But instead the wolf-men howled, the sound piercing her ears and overwhelming any rational thought. Sobbing on the bones, she curled her head, closed her eyes, and waited for death.

The howling lessened as she heard movement upon the bones.

“A gift, great kings,” the gray-hair said from behind her. “She was with the elf when we arrived, aiding him with a rope.”

This was it. Her whole body tensed. A massive paw reached down, and she waited for it to rip open her throat. Instead it grabbed hold of her armor and lifted her upward. Determined to show some shred of dignity, she opened her eyes and looked upon her killer.

There was not one wolf-man there, but two. Both were enormous, seemingly towering over the others. They peered at her, and the intelligence in their eyes was all the more frightening. Both were solid black but for their paws, which were a deep red. The only difference she saw was that one had two circles of white in the center of his face, highlighting his yellow eyes.

“Your armor,” the one holding her asked, lifting her higher. “What does it mean?”

The question made no sense to her. What did her armor mean? Could the wolves truly recognize the style of her armor, the meaning of the various symbols?

“A paladin,” she said, her voice trembling. “I’m a paladin.”

The two wolf-men shared a look as the rest of the pack howled for blood.

“Like him,” one said to the other. “Like the one who humiliated father.”

“And that is why she must live,” an elderly female said, stepping to the edge of the bone pile. Her back was bent low, and white hair marked her ears. “There is much she will know. That knowledge will benefit us all.”

“Take her, then,” said the wolf-man holding her. With ease he flung her to the female’s feet. “Her meat is little, and I will not taste the flesh of man until we are free.” He turned to the crowd, his voice roaring throughout the entire ravine.

“Until we are all free!”

Others of the beasts nipped at Jessilynn, but the two wolf-men on the pile bared their fangs, ushering them back. The old female knelt down before her and grabbed her arm. Her watery eyes looked her over with a wisdom that seemed far beyond what Jessilynn thought possible. When she spoke, there was no compassion in her voice.

“Follow me, before you become their meal.”

With no other choice, Jessilynn obeyed.

The village elders gathered, though elder was a misleading term. Many were young and fiery of temper, though the presence of the angel host did much to still their tongues. Qurrah watched them assemble into the great auditorium at the very rear of the castle, seldom used but recently cleaned to accommodate the meeting. He stayed at the door, not allowed to enter.

“Strange that I would be denied entrance,” Qurrah said to Kevin Maryll, who stood beside him, greeting the various men as they came to take their seat. More than sixty attended, each representing the village they came from. The procession had slowed to a trickle, but still Kevin waited in case more might arrive.