David Dalglish - The Prison of Angels

“Jerico lives,” she said. “At the Citadel to the south, training more like me.”

“How many of your kind wait for us when we cross?”

Waiting? They had a few boats patrolling the Rigon, barely covering a few dozen miles of land. Ever since the Citadel fell, they’d relied on the elves to fill in the gaps, but with the orcs’ conquering of the east, even that had ceased.

“There’s no one waiting,” she said. “I promise, no one else knows of…of…all this.”

Other than Dieredon, of course, but she didn’t need to say that. They’d all seen him escape on Sonowin’s back.

“You lie,” the wolf with the white around his eyes said. His lips pulled back in a growl, exposing enormous yellow teeth.

“No,” she insisted, fear clutching her throat. “No, please, I don’t!”

“Then what good are you to us? You know nothing of man, nothing of his armies, nothing of what awaits us.”

His claws were reaching for her when Silver-Ear called for him to stop.

“Hold your temper, Moonslayer,” the female said from the slender cave entrance. The pair turned, and the white-eyed one sniffed her way.

“It is no temper, shaman,” he said. “I only seek a meal. This human is worth nothing to us.”

“You are wrong,” Silver-Ear said, shuffling closer. “She is everything. The other races lose their patience, and worse, their trust.”

“What do we need of their trust?” asked the other. “I am Manfeaster, son of Redclaw. Let them fear me instead. We have already slaughtered many to cow their spirits. Should the goblins or birds grumble, we will remind them of their fear.”

“You keep them here with fear, but even fear will not be enough when we cross the river into the land beyond. We must have something to make them listen, something to make them trust you long enough for us to secure a strip of land.”

“And that is her?” Moonslayer asked, gesturing to Jessilynn. “What does this runt know to help us? She is but a child, and lacks wisdom because of it.”

It was so terrible sitting there, listening to them describe her in such a way. These were the beasts they’d been taught about in the Citadel, led to believe they were just vicious, brutal eating machines. To be thought of as lesser by these creatures, as lacking any wisdom, was humiliating.

“She bears the weapons and armor of a man,” Silver-Ear said. “It does not matter if she is a child, for just as our own cubs still bear teeth, so too does she threaten us if we are not careful.”

“All the more reason to slash her throat,” Manfeaster argued.

Silver-Ear came up behind them, and at her beckoning Moonslayer stepped back, giving her room to kneel. Jessilynn curled her knees to her chest, watching, curious what the milky-eyed female wanted of her. What was it about her that the shaman felt was so important?

“Twice we have crossed the river in my lifetime,” Silver-Ear said. “Twice we were defeated by men with glowing weapons and silver armor. Your father was defeated. Those creatures you’ve cowed out there know this, and stay only because of fear. But if you can make them believe you, if you can make them accept you as kings…”

Silver-Ear rubbed a claw down the side of Jessilynn’s face. She flinched, but the shaman’s touch was strangely gentle.

“We hold one so similar to who defeated us before,” Silver-Ear said. “And you think she is nothing?”

She stood, turned to face the two.

“Humiliate her,” she said. “Enslave her. Parade her before all the races, and let them know we will not be stopped. And her use does not stop there.”

Jessilynn’s heart was in her throat when the female turned her cold eyes on her.

“You will deny nothing that we say,” she said. “Only nod and accept my words. Do you understand me, human? If you do not, then your mutilated body will serve our purpose just as well.”

Whatever defiant part of her that existed before that moment felt miniscule in the darkness, stared down by strange, bestial eyes.

“I’ll say nothing,” she said.

“Good.”

Silver-Ear turned to the others.

“I will begin,” she said. “I trust you two to continue when I stop.”

“One wonders who the pack leader really is,” Moonslayer said, his voice carrying a hint of a growl.

“I swore a promise to your father,” Silver-Ear said. “Do as I say, lest you insult his memory by preventing me from fulfilling his dying wish.”

She walked to the entrance of the cave, glanced back.

“The time is upon us,” she said. “Everything we’ve prepared for, it happens now. Bring her. And bring her bloodied.”

The two wolf-men turned to her. She felt the impulse to sob, but she fought it down. She would not weep before these monsters. Moonslayer lifted a hand, and there was undeniable cruelty in his eyes.

“Bloodied?” he said. “If the shaman insists.”

With shocking speed he slashed across her face. She felt the claws tearing into her cheek, ripping flesh. The impact sent her slamming to the stone, flooding the darkness with a sudden swirl of stars and light. She felt blood dripping down her neck as well as her throat, and reflexively she coughed. Her left hand brushed her cheek, felt the flesh hanging like ribbons. Tears from the pain rolled down her face as Manfeaster grabbed her neck and lifted her off the ground.

“Come, brother,” he said, carrying her as if she and her armor weighed nothing. “Let us show the rabble our prize.”

Once outside the cave, Manfeaster slung her over his shoulder like she was one of the cattle they’d brought in the night before. Amid her delirium she saw the entrance to her cave, saw her bow and arrows lying against the stone beside it. She felt a desire to grab it, not to kill others, but to send an arrow through her lower jaw and into her skull. This was torment. This was the Abyss. Sinful or not, she couldn’t help it, not when she thought of what her face must look like. Not while it throbbed with unbearable pain, dripping blood across the fur of her tormenter.

Wolf-men gathered around them as Silver-Ear and the two brothers led the way toward the center of the ravine. They parted easily enough, only a few nipping back. All eyes were on her, and she closed her own so she would not have to see them. She was only a curiosity, not a threat. On and on they walked, until she was violently thrown to the ground. The force of her head striking the dirt jarred her eyes open, and she let out a cry. Moonslayer put his foot on her chest, holding her down.

“Stay put,” he told her.

Jessilynn nodded, glancing around. They were in the center of the ravine, in a place sectioned off from the other camps. Every race had a place to be represented, she saw, from the goat-men to the bird-men to the diminutive goblins. In the very middle of it all stood the two-wolf men, with Silver-Ear nearby. The creatures howled and cursed one another, but when Silver-Ear threw her head back and howled, they quieted enough so they might hear her words.

“All you monsters of the Wedge,” she said, turning so she might address the races. “You know why you are here. You know of the land beyond the rivers, rich with game, with green grass and clear water. It will be ours, as it was in the days of old. And it will happen, because for the first time in an age we will be united. We will be free. We will serve kings!”

“Kings of the Vile!” roared the wolf-men, and scattered among the other races were a few who took up a similar cry.

“In times past we failed, broken and alone,” Silver-Ear continued. “Our greatest could not succeed, for our enemies were strong. But behold now their strongest.”

The female was at Jessilynn’s side instantly, grabbing her arm and yanking her up so they might see her armor.