The Prison of Angels

13

Entering Mordeina was a far different experience than Qurrah expected.

“Where are the angels?” he asked as they stepped through the second of the enormous gates. When he’d left years ago, they had flown about the city like hummingbirds around a flower. Now, though, it seemed even the floating city of Avlimar was absent of life.

“They hope to guard an entire nation,” Tessanna said, pulling on his arm as they jostled through the overcrowded road leading directly up the hill to the castle. “Surely you didn’t think they’d all be here?”

“I still expected more of a presence,” Qurrah said. He caught sight of words scrawled upon the nearby buildings, written with a dark red paint of some kind. Each one effectively said the same thing: all hail the Missing King.

“Azariah was right,” Tessanna said, and she pointed to where a man had gathered a crowd about him as he shouted from atop a makeshift pedestal of boxes. “Things are not well here.”

The two made their way closer until they could hear his words. The speaker was a man Qurrah did not recognize, dark of hair, clean cut with a soft face. His eyes, however, bespoke madness.

“Now they brandish swords against our fellow men!” the speaker cried. “Now they threaten the blood of the innocent along with the guilty. Will we still let them lord over us? How many years until we are all afraid for our lives? How long until the very words I speak now are considered blasphemy that requires their justice?” He nearly spat out the word. “Their grace. Their protection. Where is our voice? Where is our king?”

“I’ve heard enough,” Tessanna said, tugging on his arm. Qurrah stared at the man, letting his face burn into his memory. He held such anger, it was beyond rationality by that point. It was beyond convincing. This was a man frighteningly similar to Velixar, and that he had assembled such a massive crowd surprised him none. Such was the draw, and danger, of a man willing to tell others what they wanted to hear, feeding them half-truths and exaggerations so they might be angry instead of afraid.

At the castle doors the two stopped, unsure of how to gain entrance. They still wore the magical disguises they’d cast upon themselves, shifting their features, adding color to Tessanna’s eyes and melding Qurrah’s ears into something human. Fortunately they had time to think without being noticed, for another crowd had gathered at the gate, harassing the guards.

“The steward is seeing no more petitioners today!” the guards shouted, but the annoyed looks on their faces showed they knew it’d do little to make them disperse.

“What’s that orcish bastard going to do about the angels?” the man beside Qurrah yelled.

“Nothing,” said another, shouting loud enough to ensure all others heard him. “He’s too busy sucking an angel’s dick. How else you think he got on that throne?”

Qurrah’s fists clenched as the crowd laughed. He’d never considered himself all that protective of his brother, and was surprised to find just how furious these disrespectful comments made him. Pushing to the front, he stepped before one of the guards, who tensed. He didn’t lift his weapon just yet, but it was clear he was ready to if needed.

“I must speak with Harruq,” he told the guard.

“You deaf? He’s not taking petitioners, now get back before I make you.”

“I’m not deaf,” Qurrah said, banishing his disguise with a thought. “I’m his brother. Tell him Qurrah and Tess have come to visit. I guarantee you he’ll grant us access.”

The guard froze, and he glanced to the man beside him for any indication of what he should do. The other guard just shook his head.

“Go tell him,” he said. “I don’t want my head on a spit just because I turned away the steward’s brother.”

“What about them?”

He gestured to the mob, and Qurrah understood his fear. So far they seemed content to mock, yell, and insult, but at any moment their thirst for blood might rise. Such was the nature of a mob. Qurrah beckoned Tessanna closer. The moment she took her first step her disguise vanished, lengthening her hair, returning the blackness of her eyes and the paleness of her skin. Several beside her let out gasps upon seeing the change. For her part, Tessanna looked simply bored.

“Yes?” she asked Qurrah.

“The guards are afraid things might turn violent.”

“They’re right to be.”

Qurrah chuckled.

“Never mind, then, I will handle them myself.”

He stepped into the space between the guards and the mob. He felt their eyes upon him. A couple had overheard his discussion with the guards, and like lightning his name spread. He let them look, let them see the true face of the fairytale monster they’d made him into.

“Did you not hear?” he asked them. “The steward is not seeing any more petitioners.”

Qurrah dropped to one knee, slamming his palm to the ground. A thin wall of shadows burst from the dirt, climbing over ten feet into the air. It formed a semicircle, sealing the door and the guards within its translucent protection. From the other side people yelled, and a few hurled stones that bounced off with a high-pitched twang.

“That will last an hour,” Qurrah said, turning back to the guards. “Long enough for one of you to find my brother.”

The first guard nodded, looking frightened but doing a fine job of trying to hide it. Turning, he banged on the giant doors twice. When they opened, he slipped inside just before they reclosed.

“Where are the rest of the guards?” Tessanna asked, eyeing the castle curiously. “It seems odd you would be alone. Is the threat not out here among the angry people?”

The remaining guard opened and closed his mouth, confirming Qurrah’s suspicions that something more was amiss.

“I cannot say the reason,” the guard said at last. “Forgive me, but until milord gives me permission, I can say nothing.”

Qurrah and Tess shared a look.

“Very well,” he said. “We’ll leave you be.”

A few minutes later the great doors reopened. A guard stepped out and beckoned to them.

“Follow me,” he said.

They did, and it was only when the doors shut behind them were they finally free of the angry shouts of the people. Down the carpeted hall they walked, until the guard veered to the right, leading them into a small but well-furnished room. It had several chairs, a table already set with food, and a hearth that was currently empty given the warmth of the day. Tessanna grabbed an apple, took a bite.

“Wait here,” was all the guard said before exiting. The door slammed shut, and from the outside they heard the lock slide into place.

“Trusting fellow,” Qurrah said.

“While he was watching, you changed your appearance and then summoned a wall of darkness,” Tessanna said, rolling the apple from hand to hand. “That he left us alone at all seems pretty trusting to me.”

Qurrah chuckled.

“Since when did you become so understanding?” he asked.

“How else would I have stayed with you so long?”

She laughed at him, her eyes sparkling with humor, and Qurrah laughed with her. She seemed so happy, so content, so…normal. It wouldn’t last long, he knew. It never did. But he’d appreciate it while it was there.

“Are you nervous?” she asked after taking another bite.

“A bit. How long ago did he visit our cottage? Surely a year now, if not longer. Aubrienna will be twice the size she was when we last saw her.”

His niece’s name was like a trigger, and immediately Tessanna ceased eating her apple. She lowered her head, shoulders curling inward. Nervous, shy, regressing. Qurrah put a hand on her shoulder, kissed the top of her head.

“You’ve been forgiven,” he said to her. “Don’t forget that. You’re her aunt, that’s all she knows you as.”

“Her crazy, crazy aunt,” Tess said, peering up at him through her long bangs, but despite her obvious discomfort, she smiled.

Qurrah kissed her again, then held her against him as he tried to ignore his own nervousness. It had been a long while since he’d seen his brother. Perhaps he’d be unwanted. After all, he was a living memory of all the agony his brother had suffered, a specter from a far darker past. Harruq’s life had become so grand now. Exotic wife, beautiful daughter, friend of kings and steward of a kingdom. Would he, in his poor existence and plain robe, be just an unwanted reminder of childhood days stealing food and scrambling to find shelter when the weather turned sour…

A heavy fist knocked on the door twice before it barged open. Qurrah lurched to his feet, feeling like he’d somehow been caught. Standing there was his brother, wearing that same old leather armor Velixar had given them ages ago. Their eyes met, and all of Qurrah’s fear and nervousness went flying out the castle and into the heavens.

“Qurrah!” Harruq exclaimed, wrapping him in a bear hug. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”

“Because then you wouldn’t have the chance to tell us not to,” Qurrah said, and he smiled at his brother. “I hear you’ve become a man of importance. What fool did you con to get that stupid crown on your head?”

“The only fool here is the one wearing the crown,” Harruq said, his grin spreading.

He let go of Qurrah, returned to the door. Guards stood before it, their weapons at the ready.

“It’s all right,” Harruq said. “Bring them in.”

One of the guards shifted, and in rushed two children. The boy was unfamiliar, but Qurrah easily recognized the little brown-haired girl, with her father’s height and her mother’s sparkling eyes. Qurrah knelt, opened his arms, and she quickly rushed his way.

“Hi uncle,” she said, curling into him, and Qurrah was stunned by the familiarity she seemed to display. It’d been a year, after all, and Harruq had only brought her down to see them a handful of times. She acted like she felt safe in his arms, though, and that made it easy to ignore his own surprise and clumsiness. He closed his eyes, remembering a similar life he had robbed from all of Dezrel. Some day he prayed he might not have that pain and guilt haunt him. Someday, he just wanted to hold Aubrienna and be happy.

“She’s quiet today,” Qurrah said as Aubrienna continued to snuggle deeper into his robes. Meanwhile, the boy went and sat in one of the chairs, seemingly content to be alone and play with the toy soldier he carried. They both looked sullen, maybe even upset, depending on how he interpreted their silence and averted stares.

Harruq’s smile wavered, and he turned to the guards.

“Give us some space,” he said before shutting the door. When he turned around, Qurrah was floored by the rage in his brother’s eyes. Had he ever seen him angrier? Just once, he thought. Just once.

“What’s wrong?” Qurrah asked.

“Assassins,” Harruq said. “Aurelia’s out looking into it. While I was sitting on that damn throne, three men attacked Aurelia and the kids as they were playing in one of the castle’s gardens.”

“Who would dare?” Tessanna said, turning both their attentions to her. She’d remained quiet, lurking in the background when the children came inside. “Who would try to kill Aubrienna? Tell me, Harruq. Bring me to him if he lives, and I will make him suffer.”

Harruq swallowed.

“They’re dead,” he said. “Aurelia killed them during the attempt.”

Qurrah saw the rage and fear in his lover’s eyes, nearly rivaling that in his brother’s. She looked at Aubrienna, went to speak, then stopped. Qurrah knew she sought Aubrienna’s embrace, but she feared what her very presence might do to the child. That she also loved her beyond words, that she saw her as the child she could never have, seemed a cruel fate for her unstable mind to struggle with.

“Do you want to go to your aunt?” he asked Aubrienna.

“All right,” she said, sliding down from Qurrah’s lap. Tessanna dropped to her knees, and when Aubrienna came to her, Tess wrapped her tightly in her arms. Eyes closed, she pressed her cheek against the top of Aubrienna’s head.

“No one will hurt you,” Tessanna whispered as she rocked back and forth. “No one, I promise. I promise.”

Qurrah turned to Harruq, and he felt his own anger rising. Someone had struck at his family?

“Do you know why they attacked?” he asked.

Harruq shrugged.

“Popular as I am, I’ve got plenty of enemies, and Antonil has more. They may not have wanted Aurelia or Aubby. Gregory might have been the real target.”

“Gregory?”

Harruq gestured to the quiet child.

“Gregory Copernus, as in Gregory, heir to the throne of Mordan.”

From outside the door they heard another set of knocks. Harruq opened the door, and in walked a tired, disheveled Aurelia.

“Deathmask knows nothing,” Aurelia said, wrapping her arms around Harruq and leaning her head against his chest. Her eyes flicked in the direction of Qurrah and Tessanna, but if she was surprised by her guests, she didn’t show it.

“Then we’re already out of ideas,” Harruq said. “Shame you couldn’t leave one of them alive.”

“Sorry, honey, but you’re not the only one with a temper when someone threatens our child.”

Qurrah coughed to steal their attention.

“Perhaps you’ve forgotten,” he said. “But the dead talk to me just as fine as the living…”

Thankfully they’d left the bodies intact, at least the two Aurelia hadn’t burned to cinders. The guard in charge said they’d hoped their clothing or faces could be identified. Qurrah doubted either would be useful, but he didn’t need such material clues. No, he had access to something far more useful.

“Clear out everything around him,” Qurrah ordered. “Leaves, flowers, even bugs.”

Harruq began sweeping the area as commanded. Qurrah watched him, feeling a tug of nostalgia. How many times had they worked his magic together, dabbling in arts that were so often beyond him? Not that he missed the experiments themselves. Thinking back to those times, sifting through body parts with his necrotically tuned mind…it’d been like a child cutting animals with a sword thinking himself training to be a knight. The shame of it was enough to make him shiver and push the memories far away.

“Find me small, smooth stones for the runes,” he told Aurelia. “You should know the type I need.”

Indeed she did, even if she didn’t know the exact runes themselves. When the spell enacted, Qurrah’s magic would flood into the carved runes. If shaped into something malleable as dirt, they’d be too weak, and the magic would break them, scattering the dirt and banishing the magic. But stone? Stone would hold. When he yanked this assassin’s soul back to the world of Dezrel, Qurrah wanted him completely, thoroughly enslaved.

Tessanna lingered behind him, her hands on his shoulders as she quietly watched. When he had the first of the stones, Qurrah took out a dagger and breathed against it. The tip shimmered purple, and then he began to carve. The blade easily sliced through the stone, creating the straight and curved lines he needed. One after another he carved them, never hurrying. When finished with each stone, Tessanna would stand, situate it in its proper place around the body, and then return to where she had been sitting. Harruq and Aurelia watched, holding hands in the garden. It was just the four of them together, and for some strange reason it made Qurrah feel very much at home.

When the ninth stone was finished, he stood and stretched his back.

“Make sure not to interrupt me,” he said. “Especially you, Harruq.”

“I was there when you brought back the ghost of our father,” Harruq said. “So don’t act like I’ve forgotten how to behave during a ritual.”

Qurrah chuckled. That, at least, was still a memory he cherished. Their father had been a coward and a racist, loathing the orcish race despite his coupling with their orcish mother. More and more Qurrah understood it for the confused, angry, and violent act it was, and more and more he both pitied and loathed his father.

Of course, they’d killed him prior to summoning his ghost and hadn’t known his true relationship to them. The half-orc shook his head. No, even his better memories were tinged with death and guilt. Such was the past, he thought to himself. At least he could move on into the future with his head held high.

“Aurelia, have you ever witnessed something like this?” he asked.

The elf shook her head.

“No,” she said. “I’m not sure I want to, either, but I will. This man tried to kill Aubrienna. I want to know why.”

“We all do,” Qurrah said. “And between me and Tess, I promise you, he will not have a chance to deny us. Everyone, quiet now. Let the ritual begin.”

Qurrah knelt outside the circle of stones, putting his hands on one of them. The ancient word carved upon it was the same as the first word of the ritual. He’d chant them all repeatedly, filling them with magic like one would fill a pitcher with water, but this one was the first and most crucial. The words left his tongue, tinged with melancholy, and the magic began to pour out from him. Tessanna was at his side immediately, her hand atop his. They echoed one another, demanding the veil of life be split, using the body as a guide to find the soul it had once belonged to. The stones began to glow, first purple, then a vibrant orange, as if within the stone were a great swell of fire eager for release.

Faster and faster they spoke the words, until with a great tormented shriek the ethereal visage of the man rose from the dead shell of his body.

“Welcome back,” Qurrah said, rising to his feet. “I assure you, your stay here will not be pleasant.”

The man continued to wail. He still wore the clothes he’d had on when he died, which Qurrah knew was common. Returning to the world of the living, even as a spirit, meant a frantic attempt to become as they were before, almost like a coping mechanism. The wailing was also normal. Qurrah himself had experienced the transition once, when Velixar had ripped him out of eternity and back into his rotting corpse. The sensation was beyond explanation, a combination of confusion, pain, and abandonment. Qurrah’s memories of everything beyond had fled him, and he suspected they would always be denied to him until he once more left the mortal coil.

But just because it was normal didn’t mean he had to endure it.

“Silence,” he ordered. The runes flared, and the spirit obeyed. Qurrah stepped closer, watching the spirit’s eyes. When at last he saw a bit of sanity returning, he knew the transition was complete.

“Answer all questions asked of you,” he ordered. “And speak no lies.”

“As you wish,” the assassin said. His voice was thin and whispery, as if he were in a distant room.

“What is your name?”

“We are not given names. We call each other by our colors.”

Qurrah glanced to the others, frowned.

“Then what is your color?”

“My designation was Crimson.”

“I can already tell this is going to go well,” Harruq muttered. Qurrah winced, prayed his brother was wrong.

“Why did you attempt to kill Aurelia and the children?” he asked.

Crimson looked to Aurelia, and it seemed he recognized her.

“Because that was our task,” Crimson said, as if it were obvious. “It is my highest disgrace knowing we failed. You should be dead, elf. We do not fail.”

“Silence,” Qurrah said. “Answer only the questions asked, spirit. You are not beyond feeling pain, let me assure you that.”

Crimson glared but obeyed.

Qurrah looked at the others, to see if any had ideas where the line of questioning should go.

“What is the name of your organization?” Harruq asked.

“We have none that we are told.”

“Your headquarters,” Aurelia said. “Where is it located?”

“I do not know. I shared a room with three brothers. We left through a single door. Sometimes it took us to a new place to train. Sometimes it took us to a place to scout. Most times, it took us to who we were to kill.”

The more Qurrah heard, the more he felt his stomach tighten. What he was witnessing, it was unreal.

“What were the names of those who taught you magic?” he asked.

“I do not know. We were only given numbers.”

“Who were your trainers in swordplay?”

“I do not know. We were only given letters.”

Harruq paced beyond the circle of runes.

“Are you sure they can’t lie?” he asked. “This is getting stupid. What life did this guy lead?”

Aurelia reached out and grabbed his hand to stop his pacing.

“Raised in a single room, taught by men he didn’t know,” she said. “I think Haern might have known something of that life.”

“One last question, spirit,” Qurrah said, sensing everyone’s patience nearing their limit. “Where is this door now? Where is it waiting for you?”

For the first time the spirit gave pause. Qurrah watched, then touched one of the rune stones with his finger. Power surged through it, pulsing into Crimson. The ethereal being let out a wail, its features fading for a brief moment.

“Answer me,” Qurrah said, his voice calm.

“I do not know how to answer,” Crimson said.

“Try.”

“If we had succeeded, I would have known. I did not, therefore I do not know. That is the only way I can explain it.”

Qurrah stood, glanced to the others. When none offered anything, Qurrah turned and dismissed Crimson.

“Go back to the Abyss,” he told him. “Maybe down there you’ll learn some answers.”

He scattered one of the rune stones with his foot. Crimson shimmered and vanished, so that only his cold, pale body remained in the center. Harruq pulled free of his wife’s hand, walked to the center, and gave a solid kick to the dead man’s ribcage.

“Stubborn bastard,” he grumbled. “That can’t all be true…can it?”

“Most assassins are trained to withstand various forms of torture,” Aurelia offered. “Is it possible that he could resist you, Qurrah?”

“No,” Tessanna said. “That’s not it. I sensed it as well. He spoke the truth, and even spoke it freely.”

“You’re right about one thing, though,” Qurrah said, turning to face Aurelia. “That was a form of preparation against interrogation. These assassins, they’ve been created with a very real awareness of what someone like me can do. Whoever hired them did so knowing that no matter if they were taken dead, alive, or forced to speak after death, there’d be nothing to learn.”

“That’s it?” Harruq said. “That’s all we get, even with your magic? Unbelievable. It’s a shame Tarlak isn’t here. Maybe he’d have some ideas.”

“I can only help with what I know,” Qurrah said. “But we’re not completely in the dark. Such assassins take a lifetime to craft, and significant magic and coin. Whoever you have made as enemies, they are powerful and wealthy. I can’t say I’m envious, Harruq.”

Harruq crossed his arms and frowned.

“I think I’d rather be in the dark,” he muttered.

“There is one man that might fit that definition,” Aurelia said. “Lord Maryll.”

Qurrah tried to match the name up to a face or position but failed.

“Who?” he asked.

“Lord Kevin Maryll,” Harruq said, letting out a sigh. “The queen’s older brother.”

Qurrah’s mind rapidly connected to earlier in the day, and he knew the answer to the question before he even asked it. The clothes had been too fine, and he had seemed much too certain that no guards would halt him despite his clogging of the main traffic to the castle.

“Is he fair skinned, dark hair, short beard?”

“You saw him in the streets, didn’t you?” Harruq asked.

“I did. He had a crowd gathered, a boisterous one at that. It seems he and the angels don’t get along, and neither does he look favorably upon his brother-in-law. I think it might be time you sit down and have a talk with Kevin.”

Harruq groaned.

“Yeah,” he said. “Gods damn it, I think you’re right.”