David Dalglish - The Prison of Angels
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- Название:The Prison of Angels
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Dieredon had Sonowin fly far to the east, then south, and then finally loop around north. Jessilynn was confused at first by what he was doing, but she eventually put it together. The rest of the creatures, the goat-men, the bird-men…they were all gone. He had to realize what it meant. She watched the sky, waiting, wondering what he would do. He had to have seen her there in her armor, like a strange metal flea among the sea of fur.
The elf flew lower, dipped around, and then flew even lower. Jessilynn slowly reached up a hand, trying to wave at him, to let him know she was willing for him to make any attempt to save her, no matter how desperate. Even that small movement made the chain of her armor rattle. Not loudly, and she could barely hear it herself, but Silver-Ear’s hand lashed out, old claws curling around her arm. The female leered at her with milky eyes.
“On your knees,” she said. “Push your face to the dirt.”
Jessilynn did as she was told, folding herself into the demeaning position. Silver-Ear stood above her, and her claws traced along the flesh of her neck. She shivered, wondering if this would be the end.
“I see him,” the shaman said. “Your friend is skilled, but is he wise? Let us see how brave he is, and how much your life might mean to him.”
She didn’t know what to say. Silver-Ear leaned in close, her nose bumping against her cheek.
“I want your face in the dirt until the sun sets,” she said. “Should I see your eyes on the sky for even a moment, I will rip out your throat myself. I am old. Do not think I require the sleep of a young pup.”
Jessilynn closed her eyes, shifting her shoulders in an attempt to find a more comfortable position. Within moments her back started aching, and she thought of the long day ahead. Steeling herself, she shifted again, trying to slow her breathing, trying to remain calm. She heard Silver-Ear rustle beside her, settling in. Jessilynn dared not look to see if she remained awake.
Time passed, slow and dreadful. Her back tightened, and she moved her legs as often as she could. At last, sheer exhaustion won over, and she slept.
“Wake, girl,” said a rough voice, punctuated by an upward blow to her stomach. Jessilynn let out a scream and rolled onto her back. Looking up, she found several wolf-men standing over her, Moonslayer among them. He grabbed her arm, yanking her to her feet.
“The night is young,” he said to her. “Why do you sleep?”
It was mockery, and he flung her onto her rear. Her stomach twisted, and she yearned for something to eat or drink. She curled her knees beneath her, wondering what it was they wanted now.
“Stand,” Moonslayer said. “Stand, or die where you sit.”
She obeyed, trying to interpret the look he gave her. There was something in his eyes, something frightening. As she crossed her arms before her, one of the wolf-men tossed her bow at her feet, along with her quiver of arrows. She made no move for them.
“My army attacks,” Moonslayer said. “The weaker creatures are committed. I have no need of you anymore, human.”
“It is a waste of time,” Manfeaster said, joining them from beyond the camp. All around the wolf-men were in a stir, wrestling with one another, preparing for the upcoming battle. “I say we eat her now, let the blood of a paladin mark our victory.”
“We will,” Moonslayer said to his brother. His eyes turned back to her. “But first we have a hunt.”
He gestured to the bow.
“Take it,” he said. “Run. Flee west, or north, or wherever you think you might hide. My wolves are anxious for the battle, but the moon has not yet risen. You will entertain us until then.”
“You risk lives needlessly,” Manfeaster said.
“And any who would die at her hand would die anyway. Besides, her teacher defeated our father. Her kind has stopped us for centuries before. Let our pack tear her apart and prove we will be beaten no longer.”
Jessilynn watched the brothers stare at each other. It was Manfeaster who relented, flattening his ears and turning away.
“Enjoy the hunt,” he said to the others.
Moonslayer gestured to the bow.
“Take it,” he said. “Run.”
She scooped the quiver up, slung it over her shoulder, and then did the same with her bow. She looked at the wolves, hardly believing it came to this. All along she’d desired escape, but now they would let her go freely?
No, not freely , she thought as she saw the hunger in the eyes of the wolf-men around her.
“You should have listened to your brother,” she said to Moonslayer as she took a step backward.
The enormous wolf-man bared his teeth.
“We shall see.”
His howl pierced the night as she turned to run toward the river. Behind her she heard Moonslayer howling, his deep voice slowly growing fainter by the minute.
“A hunt!” he cried. “A hunt, a hunt, gather for a hunt! The heart of a paladin is our prey!”
They would find her, she knew. As she ran she looked to the sky, daring to hope. She scanned the stars, the miniscule clouds. She stared so long she stumbled from not watching where she ran. As she hit the ground she banged her knee on a rock, sending a spike of pain shooting up her leg. Struggling to a stand, she bit down her cry. With her hope turning to dread, she looked to the sky again.
Dieredon was nowhere in sight.
On and on she ran, cramps tightening her sides. She’d been starved, and given little water to drink. Already her head grew light from the exertion, but there was nothing she could do but press on. On a whim she changed the angle of her path though she knew it wouldn’t matter. The wolf-men were excellent trackers, and out there in the wild her scent would stand out like a fire in the darkness. As the land passed her by, she wondered how much time they would give her.
A few minutes later she heard her answer in the communal cry of dozens of wolf-men. The sound was her death knell, yet on she ran. When she saw the Gihon floating softly before her, she let out a cry of her own. Her armor…she couldn’t swim with her armor on! Frantically she yanked off the heavier parts weighted down with chain, flinging them to the ground. When she was down to just her leather under padding she slung her bow and quiver over her shoulder and then rushed into the water. The cold was shocking. Much as she dreaded it, she plunged her head beneath the surface and began to swim.
Upon reaching the other side, Jessilynn pulled herself from the river, gasping for air. Tears ran down her face as she tried and failed to crawl beyond the shoreline. Her feet remained in the water, her hair a wet rope looped around her neck. It wasn’t far enough. It’d never be far enough. The wolf-men hunted her, and their noses would not be fooled by something as simple as a river. Within the hour, perhaps even the minute, they would find her. And this time they would not let her live. Moonslayer had made that quite clear.
“Please Ashhur,” she begged. “Please, I can’t do this. I can’t, I’m not like them. Help me, god. Help me!”
She shrieked it out until she lost breath, her mouth locked open from her crying. She’d seen what the wolf-men did to their prey, the way they tore into flesh with their claws and ripped muscle from bone with their teeth. Would she die quickly, or would they torment her? Panic twisted in her gut, stabbing her like a rusted knife. It seemed so cruel. Dieredon no doubt flew overhead, still looking to rescue her as she assumed he had been trying to do all along. Yet now she was free and unable to signal him in the night. If only he’d been watching when they released her. If only Sonowin could stay aloft longer. If only she’d never agreed to go with the elf in the first place.
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