David Dalglish - The Prison of Angels

“They’ll either leave, or you’ll kill them,” Qurrah said, as if it were obvious.

“True,” Ian said. “But think long term for a moment. Just try.”

“It’ll be war,” Tessanna said quietly. “Terrible, brutal war.”

“A war I don’t see us winning,” Ian said. “At least, not as we are. Perhaps if you two lived up to your various legends we might stand a chance. But we’d be going up against the might of the angels, plus Mordeina’s far larger army. You were at the Bloodbrick. You saw their show of might.”

“Might currently spent fighting orcs,” Qurrah argued.

“Aye,” Ian said. “And just imagine how quickly they’d turn back around if they heard rumors of war. You two coming here puts us all in danger. I’m not one to complain. My life is on the line pretty much every day I put on this armor. But if you’re going to stay here, if you’re going to let my men die to protect you from some winged maniacs, all I’m asking for is a little appreciation.”

Qurrah bowed his head.

“My apologies,” he said. “I should better control my tongue. I am thankful for all you do, and pray that our time here in this dungeon will be long and uneventful.”

Ian nodded his head, then pushed off from the bars.

“Much better.” He tossed them an iron ring. “Here’s the keys to the cell, just in case you need to lock yourselves in. Angels might be strong, but I doubt they’ll be breaking open bars with their bare hands. Try to stay in here as much as you can, but you’re free to walk around the city at your leisure. Servants will come to see if you need anything-food, drink, whatever. Other than that, enjoy your stay. I’ve got some patrols to schedule.”

He left, the heavy door to the dungeon slamming shut with a bang. Qurrah stood in the center of their cell, feeling as if his feet were bolted in place.

“War,” he said softly as Tessanna flung herself onto the bed. “Is that really what we create by coming here?”

“Don’t blame yourself,” Tessanna said, stretching out on her back. “If it wasn’t us, it’d be someone else. You heard Bram. He won’t let a single man or woman be judged, and over the past years I’m sure many who were spared the angels’ wrath have crossed the Corinth into Ker’s lands.”

“Pale comfort,” Qurrah muttered.

“But comfort nonetheless.”

He joined her on the bed, and Tessanna curled her body into his, her face pressed against his chest and her eyes closed. Slowly he brushed her long hair, his mind far away.

“Tess,” he whispered. “Can you sense the angels?”

After a long pause, she nodded.

“They’re not like men,” she said. “They burn in my mind if I let it wander.”

Qurrah knew he should ask, but he was frightened to. Taking a deep breath, he let it out, then asked anyway.

“Do you sense angels coming toward us?”

Another long pause.

“Yes.”

“How many?”

She curled tighter against him, kissed his neck.

“Enough,” she whispered.

Tessanna watched her lover sleep and wished she could do the same. He lay half dressed, the result of their lovemaking. Despite all that had happened, he looked peaceful. For that, she was jealous.

In her mind, the voices whispered.

You turned against me. You betrayed me for a god that will never love you, never forgive you. His angels come, and they carry not a crown in their hands but a sword. You ran from me, and you now run from them. Who is left, Qurrah? Who is left?

Tessanna balled her fists, clenching her jaw so tightly it bared her teeth.

“You’re a dead god,” she whispered. “Your priests are scattered, your paladins in hiding. All faith in you is broken.”

She never expected an answer, but it seemed Karak’s dim voice heard. She felt unseen eyes turn to her, felt her presence finally acknowledged. It sent a chill down her spine, she who had long existed under the watchful eyes of the goddess.

So too were Ashhur’s followers broken, in a time not so distant. The world changes, daughter of balance. You above all should understand it can change again.

The presence vanished, the oppressive weight on her chest lifting, only to be replaced by another presence that burned in her mind like fireflies.

The angels had arrived.

The sound of shouting awoke Qurrah from his slumber. His eyes snapped open, his mind immediately alert. Grabbing his clothes, he began to dress. When he saw Tessanna sitting at the foot of the bed, already awake, he was hardly surprised. No doubt she’d sensed the angels’ presence long before they actually arrived.

“Have they landed yet?” he asked her.

“I don’t know.”

Her voice was calm, emotionless, but there were tears running down her face. Feeling strangely guilty for them, he kissed both her cheeks, then held her close.

“Together we can withstand anything,” he told her. “Anything.”

She smiled up at him, and he pulled her to her feet.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

Qurrah shook his head.

“I won’t cower in here while others die for me. If there’s to be a fight, then I will be a part of it.”

He wrapped his whip around his arm, its tightening weight a comfort to him. Done, he stepped out from the cell and climbed the stairs leading to the dungeon’s exit. To his surprise, he found it locked from the outside. He beat his fist against it, calling out to the guards on the other side.

“Let us out!”

“Forgive me,” a man shouted. “I have orders not to.”

Qurrah groaned.

“That stupid bastard.”

“It seems he knows you better than you thought,” Tessanna said, and a smile flickered briefly on her face.

Before Qurrah could ponder ways of smashing the door open, a voice rang out. Despite the thick walls of the dungeon he heard it clear as day, leaving him certain that it was some sort of clerical or divine magic.

“Qurrah Tun!” cried an instantly familiar voice. “Our council has convened. We have capitulated to man’s law, recognizing mankind’s authority to rule themselves as Ashhur has granted. Come forth, and accept your fate with dignity and grace.”

“Dignity,” Qurrah snorted. “What a damn fool.”

His bluster was fake, and it was obvious Tess knew it as well. That voice, that powerful, intimidating voice, only belonged to one angel: Judarius, the most dangerous of all when it came to combat.

Qurrah pressed his ear to the door, for he heard a faint shouting in response, that of Sir Ian.

“Get your bloody-ass wings off our land, you pompous piece of duck shit. You’re not welcome here. Qurrah’s staying, you’re leaving. That clear?”

There was a long pause.

“This is your last chance,” Judarius shouted. “Qurrah, I beg of you, come forth. No man must die needlessly this night. Will you let others suffer and bleed for naught?”

War, Qurrah thought. This moment will spark war. I can stop it. I can be the hero my brother has always been.

He almost did just that, but something stopped him. The thought of kneeling before the angels and presenting his neck filled him with sickness. That wasn’t a noble sacrifice. That was just death. Pointless, meaningless death. Worse, it felt like spitting in the eye of Ashhur for all he’d been given. He couldn’t do that. He wouldn’t.

“Open this door,” Qurrah told the guard on the other side.

“I’m under orders to…”

“Open it, or I destroy it.”

The door opened, and Qurrah stepped out, Tessanna at his side.

Stretching out before them was a great courtyard, the dungeon located just within the castle’s outer walls. Filling the courtyard were over two hundred soldiers, with even more rushing in from the city. Hovering in the air, their bodies clad in shining golden armor, were over thirty angels. Their swords and spears were drawn, tips glistening, looking hungry in the night sky. In the center of the angels’ formation flew Judarius, his enormous mace hanging loose in his right hand. With their departure from the dungeon, the angels’ attention turned his way. He felt dozens of eyes upon him, and it made his skin crawl. Still he stepped forward, refusing to be cowed.