David Dalglish - The Prison of Angels

“But what do we say to these angels?” he cried, his hands shaking to convey the sheer depth of rage boiling within him. “What do we say when they declare us liars, thieves, adulterers? Do they give us proof?”

No! the crowd shouted.

“Do they give us witnesses?”

No! they cried again.

“That’s right! Nothing, they give us nothing but their word. They give us nothing, then take from us everything, our land, our possessions, our very lives. And what do we say? What can we say, when their word is the only law that matters?”

A chorus of denials washed over him, varied in wording but similar in tone. Kevin drank it all in, at last letting himself relax. These were the fruits of his labor, hard-fought and long won. For years he had spoken out against the rule of angels. When the Gods’ War first ended his cries had fallen on deaf ears. No one would listen, for surely he was mad to say they should not trust the saviors of Dezrel. But patience and time had proven him right. Now over a hundred men and women surrounded him in the streets of Mordeina, blocking off a large portion of trade just so they might hear his truth.

“The gods started this war. The gods and their followers tore this land asunder, filling its rivers with blood and its fields with corpses. Yet now the puppets of the victor, these enforcers, these so-called angels, would lord over us. Who will protect us from them? Who will stand tall when they execute an accused thief yet let a confessed murderer go free? Who will represent us, who will be our voice to the heavens to shout in a loud and clear voice that we will rule mankind, not them?”

“The king will!” a man shouted from somewhere in the back, perfectly on cue. Easily worth the three copper he’d paid him.

“The king?” Kevin asked. “The king will protect us? The king will speak for us? Aye, a good king that is, my friend, so bring him to me. Show me. Tell me his name. Where is our king? All of you, I ask, I beg, tell me where is our king?”

Missing , the crowd shouted, and the chant soon was on the lips of all hundred. The Missing King! All hail the Missing King!

“To him I go!” Kevin shouted to them. “Let the castle hear my words, let the throne be painted with the truth. I will not walk to my death across a bed of angel feathers, nor bare my neck to gilded blades whose gold hides metal long stained red with blood. My fellow man, we will have a voice, one that will be heard!”

Their cheers urged him on, and as he walked down the street dozens flanked either side of him. Just before the hill he looked up to the floating city of Avlimar. Several angels circled the clouds, watching, waiting. Protecting, they claimed.

“Do you see me?” Kevin whispered to the sky. “Do you still think you can stand in my way?”

Up the hill to the castle gates he went, knowing they would not, could not, stop him any longer.

Harruq slammed the door shut, flung his back against it, and let out the most heartfelt groan his tired body was capable of.

“How?” he said. “How does Antonil not go mad?”

Aurelia looked up from where she sat on the floor. They were in a small room adjacent to the throne room. The furnishings were few, the windows slender and tall. The floor was carpeted, though, and Harruq flung his boots off so he could feel its softness on his toes. Before he could complain further he heard his daughter call out to him, using the name he was most proud of.

“Daddy!”

She raced barefoot across the room, instinctively weaving through the mess of wood-carved toys. Without slowing she slammed into his leg, hugging his thigh.

“Hey Aubby,” Harruq said, rubbing the top of her head and making a mess of her long brown hair. “Give daddy a chance to breathe.”

She squeezed tighter, then returned to her toys. Without bothering to find a seat, Harruq slumped to the carpet, still leaning against the door. He didn’t want to say anything, do anything, just sit there.

“Things haven’t gotten easier?” Aurelia asked him as she absently made one of the toys, a cat painted blue, spin and dance through the air as if on invisible strings. Aubrienna watched, delighted. Telling her mother to wait, she grabbed another toy, that of a dog, and began having it chase after.

“Easier?” Harruq said, rubbing his temples. “Dealing with Velixar was easier. These people are insane. Six hours I listened to them grumble. They want land, they want food, they want soldiers. Bandits are here, demons are there, and each person acts as if our entire army didn’t just leave for the other side of the continent. And they were the reasonable ones! I’m beginning to think the castle guards hate me, because they didn’t turn anyone away. For Karak’s sake, I had one woman ask if I’d touch her hands to cure her arthritis. Who do they think I am?”

Aubrienna looked his way, and he could see the vague worry in her beautiful brown eyes.

“Daddy…daddy’s upset because he had to listen to people,” she said to Aurelia, who kissed her on the nose.

“That’s right,” Aurelia said. “And people can be silly sometimes.” She turned her attention back to Harruq. “How many requests did you turn down?”

Harruq rolled his eyes.

“Five…maybe six if I count the hand lady.”

His wife laughed.

“You’ll have the kingdom bankrupt within a week.”

“I’m not made for this,” Harruq insisted, not seeing the humor in the situation that his wife did. “Some old woman comes up saying she needs money to feed her grandbabies, but the money lenders won’t help. Now what do I say to that? I’m not a big enough bastard for this job, Aurry. They should have picked Qurrah instead. He’d know a clever way to tell these people to go home and leave him be. Not me, oh no. I just…I just couldn’t sit out there anymore. I couldn’t listen to another word.”

“Are any still waiting?”

Harruq felt his neck flush.

“I may have left a few standing out there,” he muttered.

Aurelia shook her head.

“Get over here,” she said.

He got up with a groan, then sat down beside his wife. As she cuddled against him she lifted her free hand, sending more of the toys dancing. Aubrienna frowned, for they were moving too fast for her to catch.

“Mommy, slow down,” she said, holding up her toy. “My puppy can’t reach them.”

The whirlwind of cats, trees, horses and soldiers settled, and one by one Aubrienna began knocking them from the air with her toy.

“Ruling isn’t easy,” Aurelia said, watching their daughter play. “You need to stay calm, and know when you’re reaching your limits. When it comes to your decisions, remember, everything is a balancing act. Help those who need it, and encourage those who would falter, but not so much that they depend on you when they should instead depend on themselves.”

“Figures an elf would mention something about balance,” Harruq said.

“Are you saying I’m wrong?”

He turned and kissed her.

“I’m saying I’m tired and can’t think straight. Just ignore me.”

The door cracked open. Harruq felt a surge of panic. They wouldn’t follow him in there, would they? A paranoid delusion of beggars, petitioners, and politicians trailing around his bed day and night filled him, and if it had been anyone else than Queen Susan who stepped through the doorway he’d have screamed.

“Am I interrupting?” she asked.

When he shook his head she opened the door wider, and in rushed little Gregory Copernus, heir to the throne of Mordan. He was six months younger than Aubrienna and a good three inches shorter. His hair was short and blonde, neatly trimmed like the little lord he was. Every time Harruq saw Gregory and Aubby together he kept thinking how tall his little girl would grow up to be. Orcish blood, he thought. At least it had some benefits.