David Dalglish: The Prison of Angels

“You don’t know that,” Tessanna said, her fingers pinching the skin of his chest. “The angels forgave you. Everyone knows you slew Karak’s prophet, and what of your stand at the Bridges? You gave your life for them, for all of them.”

“No one survived to tell the tale.”

“You and I survived.”

“All the more reason not to tell stories. They won’t believe it, and they won’t care. I’m the man who helped burn Veldaren to the ground. I helped open the portal to let the demons in. To come to Mordeina and insist on aiding Harruq would be disastrous. My very presence will contaminate him.”

“I’m the one who let in the war god,” Tessanna said. “I’m the one who pushed you to Velixar. Do I contaminate you, Qurrah? Would you go alone, leave me here to protect the cabin from the forest’s encroach?”

He fell silent, trying to decide the right words to say.

“You are my everything,” he told her. “If we go, we go together. But the angels’ forgiveness means nothing, not to the people. I know they hate me, and they have every reason to. That’s why we came here, Tess.”

“Is that why? To hide?”

“To make a new life. To start over.”

She sat up, the blanket falling away to expose her thin body, her spine faintly visible in the dying light. Her arms crossed, holding herself as if she were cold.

“If that is why we’re here, then it’s not a new life,” she said, her head dipping low, her eyes downcast. “It’s a prison. I ask you again…do you want to help Harruq?”

“Yes,” he said. “I do.”

“Then we’re going, old sins and angry peasants be damned. We’re not the enemy, not anymore.”

He took her in his arms and pulled her back down to the bed.

“If we’re not, then who is?” he asked her as he held her close.

“What if there isn’t one?”

“The people must always have a villain.”

She curled around so they lay face to face.

“If they must, then they’ll find another. And another. The orcs, the elves, the people of Ker…”

“The angels.”

Her dark eyes stared into his.

“Then Harruq needs our help all the more. I have watched him suffer enough. He won’t again, and not for that. Not for Aubrienna. Even if all the realm crumbles, she must live. She must.”

She slipped free of their bed, and naked she left the cabin. Qurrah lay there for a moment, almost giving her the privacy she wanted. But what if that wasn’t what she wanted? He didn’t know. He never knew. Tossing aside the blanket, he went to the door and peered out. The sight stole away his breath, and he was fearful of revealing his presence. Sorrow tugged at his heart, and he felt painfully helpless.

Tessanna stood in the glimmer of the rising moon. Her arms were raised heavenward, her head tilted back as if she might drink in the light of the stars. A soft wind encircled her, coming from nowhere and everywhere. Words of magic flowed from her lips, gathering shadows. For the briefest moment she lifted up, the grass touching just the tips of her toes. And then she fell, so softly, so gently, back down to the ground. No tears ran from her eyes, but the sorrow was there, as easy to see as her stark black hair. Qurrah turned away, feeling like an intruder. Into the cabin he went, shutting the door behind him. His lower lip trembled. In his head he kept seeing it, the image of her rising. Rising, as if she were still the goddess.

Rising, as if she still had her wings.

Lathaar was in his study when someone knocked twice on the door before pushing it open.

“Is he here?” he asked as Jerico, platemail armor finely polished and shield slung over his back, stepped inside.

“Well, it’s a flying visitor,” Jerico said. “But not Dieredon. Hurry. I’d hate to keep an angel waiting.”

Lathaar let out a sigh. Grabbing his swords, he followed Jerico down a single flight of stairs, into the main foyer, and then out the large wooden double doors of the rebuilt Citadel. In the building’s shadow the two paladins stood and looked to the western sky. Far away, looking barely bigger than a bird, Lathaar saw the angel.

“Where are the students?” he asked.

“I’ve got them around back, sparring. Figured the distraction would do them good in case any noticed the angel’s arrival. I’d like to hold a conversation without fifteen hundred questions interrupting it.”

“Discipline, Jerico, we need to teach them discipline. That you fear them acting unruly is a poor sign.”

Jerico laughed.

“It’s because they are an unruly bunch. Take heart, though. I don’t think we were so much better back when we were in the Citadel.”

Lathaar grinned.

“Speak for yourself. I was a model pupil.”

“No wonder you’re so bland.”

The angel neared, and now those white wings were greater than any bird that had ever lived. He wore no armor, just a robe tightly cinched due to the constant force of the wind. After a quick loop above the Citadel he banked downward, coming to a gentle stop before the two paladins. They both bowed low, humbled by a visit from the high priest of the angels.

“It has been too long, Azariah,” Lathaar said. “You haven’t graced us with your presence since the day the last brick was put into the Citadel.”

Azariah smiled at him.

“Indeed, and I was hardly needed then. You two had the energy of children, you were so excited.”

“Good thing, too,” Jerico said. “Because the children we took in had far more energy than us.”

Lathaar ran a hand through his brown hair, trying to hide his nervousness. Something about Azariah felt unsettling, as if the angel were terribly uncomfortable. But why?

“Do you come bearing news?” he asked, hoping to pry out the reason. “The best we receive here are rumors from traders, and they’re as consistent as the direction of the wind.”

“No news that would concern you,” Azariah said as he began walking toward the back of the Citadel, where the young paladins-to-be sparred. The two followed, and a glance showed Lathaar that his friend also felt similarly confused by the visit. “Just the usual politics in the capitol. Antonil has launched another campaign to retake the east, but I’m sure you already know of that.”

“Just that it was being planned,” Jerico said. “I was hoping he’d delay for a few more years. I’d love some of our students to be old enough to accompany the campaign.”

“Paladins would do well to lead the troops on the battlefield, but it seems Antonil could not be persuaded otherwise. Hrm, are these your students?”

Before them were thirty children, all fairly close in age. The youngest were twelve, the oldest sixteen. Jerico had grouped them by age, and they sparred with a variety of wooden swords and daggers. A few also held thin sheets of tin to use as shields. At sight of the angel many stopped and turned, several wise enough to also bow. Jerico clapped his hands at them, ushering them back to their practice.

“I should get to instructing,” Jerico said, tipping his head to Azariah. “If there is nothing else?”

“No, go. The infants in Ashhur are most precious to our future, as is their need for discipline.”

Jerico shot Lathaar a look, then went to the circle with the youngest children, pointing out the flaws in their stance as they ran their drills. Lathaar watched him for a moment, then noticed Azariah surveying the students.

“Have you come to inspect our recruits?” Lathaar asked him.

“More out of curiosity than anything,” Azariah said. “You drill them strongly in marshal matters, though I wonder if their faith is given the same testing of mettle.”