The Prison of Angels

16

Jessilynn waited in the dark, hating that she’d been left behind. It reminded her of her earliest days after entering the Citadel, friendless and alone because of her sex. She’d only been eleven, unable to fully understand why the other boys looked at her like she was a different species. The days had been long, and that first year she’d cried herself to sleep more times than she could count. But through it all, she’d endured. Jerico in particular had done everything he could to make her feel welcome, accepted. In time she’d finally felt like she belonged.

Belonging, though, still didn’t mean she was like the others. Getting dressed, keeping herself clean during her monthlies, even taking a piss meant going off on her own. It was like a sore on the roof of her mouth that refused to go away. Most of the time she could easily ignore it, pretend it didn’t bother her, but sometimes…

Without a fire to warm her, or even provide mild entertainment, she sat huddled and did her best to pray to Ashhur. She begged for patience, for calm. Most of all, she asked her god for bravery, because no matter what Dieredon decided, she knew it would not involve running away, not from such a massive gathering of forces.

After far too long, she heard the sound of wings, and then Sonowin softly landed in the flat yellow grass nearby. Dieredon hopped off, and though Jessilynn had stood at his arrival, he only sat down beside her. He said nothing, staring up at the stars in thought. It made Jessilynn uncomfortable, and she crossed her arms and shifted her weight from foot to foot.

“I wish you’d bring me with you,” she said, breaking the silence.

“Your armor is too loud. It would give us away.”

“Weren’t you going to teach me to make new armor?”

Dieredon finally looked her way.

“Indeed,” he said. “But it seems we won’t have time for such lessons, will we?”

She deserved that, she knew, but at least he was talking to her now.

“What did you learn?” she asked, sitting back down and facing him.

Dieredon looked to the west, where the creatures of the Wedge had gathered in the ravine.

“There does appear to be some sort of ruling council,” he said. “The various races on the whole do not interact with one another, but I’ve seen lone members go into the wolf-men side, or at least close to it. There’s a large pile of bones nearby, and it isn’t just refuse like I first thought. They’re meeting there, discussing. Right now, it appears there is a wolf-man strong enough to frighten not only his kind, but the rest of the creatures as well.”

“Then our task is simple,” Jessilynn said. “We kill that wolf-man, and the alliance collapses in his absence.”

Dieredon nodded.

“That is my belief as well, though it will not be simple. Any creature with such a fearsome reputation will have earned it in blood. It seems this council meets once each night. I think whatever they’re preparing, it is about to begin. Arrivals have slowed, and the tension among the races is thick. Whoever is in charge will need to act soon, lest this entire army dissolve into chaos.”

“How do we kill their leader?” Jessilynn asked.

“I have to discover who it is first,” Dieredon said. “And that means getting close enough to overhear one of their meetings.”

Jessilynn thought of the ravine, and of how each entrance was heavily populated with the vile creatures.

“There’s no way,” she said.

To this, Dieredon smiled.

“Even the eyes and ears of wolves are nothing to me, Jessilynn. But if you’ve been wanting to be involved, don’t worry. Tomorrow night, my life will be in your hands.”

Jessilynn swallowed, felt a tightening in her chest. Suddenly, remaining behind seemed like a much better idea.

The wolf-men occupied the larger southern end of the ravine, effectively blocking in most of the races, with the hyena-men filling the smaller northern end. Jessilynn and Dieredon lay flat on their bellies at the very top of the cliff above. Below was the pile of bones, where they expected another meeting to take place. Between the two was a long, thin rope, one end securely fastened to the ground with two different hooks.

“Remember, the fires will be my greatest ally,” Dieredon whispered to her. “Their eyes are sharp, but not when so close to light. That means only wolf-men arriving from outside the ravine pose any danger of spotting me. That is when you must signal. Are you certain you have them memorized?”

“One to halt, two to retreat, three if spotted,” she said, repeating what he’d told her countless times.

“Make sure you are certain, and make sure you keep the signals clear. Give a test signal early on as well, understand?”

Jessilynn nodded. Her breathing had increased, and she felt strangely light-headed. Her ears were full of the howls and roars of the creatures below, and now the only friend she had for hundreds of miles was about to descend into that beastly den.

“If something should happen, run to Sonowin,” Dieredon said as he took hold of the rope and secured it to his belt. “She’ll fly you back to the Citadel, and from there it’ll be up to you to convince Lathaar and Jerico to act accordingly.”

She nodded again, too nervous to speak. Her bow was slung over her shoulder, along with her arrows, and she wished she had them in her hands. She obviously couldn’t take on thousands of creatures all by herself, but at least she wouldn’t feel so helpless. As Dieredon began his descent, she remained on her stomach, clutching the rope with both hands. The rope was intended solely as a safety line should the elf needed to ascend rapidly, as well as a means of communication between him and Jessilynn. The ravine cliff, while steep, was far from sheer, and with amazing strength Dieredon descended, looking like a spider as he shifted between handholds.

Jessilynn looked away from the elf and instead scanned the area below. She trusted Dieredon and his camouflage to keep himself hidden. The fires dotting the wolf-man section of the ravine were at a perfect distance, too far to cast significant light on the ravine wall, yet still close enough to affect the eyes of those at the bone pile and the surrounding area. Even when she tried to locate him, knowing he was there, she needed a moment. It was his cloak, she realized. Something about its subtle splotches of green and brown seemed to perfectly blend in with the stone.

When Dieredon was a quarter of the way down she tugged on the rope, pulling until she felt resistance like she’d been shown. The elf halted, flattening himself against the cliff face and remaining perfectly still. After counting to ten, she tugged once more. Using the same number as the previously given command cancelled the command. Dieredon resumed his descent, and Jessilynn continued scanning the area. So far, it appeared there were no patrols, which was far from surprising. What could the creatures possibly need protection from? The bigger danger to Jessilynn and Dieredon were the hunting parties, which returned both often and irregularly.

When he was halfway down she spotted a group of seven wolf-men coming in from the south. She tugged once, hoping she hadn’t noticed too late. Dieredon stopped, flattening himself again. The wolf-men loped past the great pile of bones, three of the seven carrying corpses across their shoulders. Two were of other wolf-men, she saw, while a third was that of a goblin. Runaways, perhaps? Was it punishment, feasting, or both? She received her answer swiftly enough, as the wolf-men plopped the bodies into the center of their camp and let out a howl.

Grim but efficient, Jessilynn thought, a way of simultaneously reinforcing discipline while keeping the army fed. She figured Dieredon would be safe due to the distraction, and she used the rope to give her signal. Immediately Dieredon continued moving. She watched him for a moment, stunned that he could maintain his grip without relying on the rope. His body was slender, but it was clear that all of it was muscle. No wonder he was so frightening in combat, not that she’d seen him fight. She only had reputation to rely upon, but that hard-won reputation was impressive, indeed.

When Dieredon was a third of the way from the bottom he paused without need of signal from Jessilynn. At first she felt an impulse of panic, thinking she’d missed something that he himself had spotted. Then she saw the size of the jutted rock he used as footholds, the deepness of the shadows there, and felt soft pressure applied on the rope. He was either resting, or settling in to listen. Whichever it was, she told herself to calm down. Dieredon was hundreds of years old, and had most likely dealt with far more dangerous situations than this. She had to trust him.

The minutes passed, each one feeling like an eternity. Another hunting party arrived, this one full of bird-men. She gave a single tug so he’d know, and she actually felt a tug back in return. For whatever reason, it made her smile, a reminder that he was aware and in control.

As the night wore on, the sounds below grew louder, more boisterous. The stress picked away at her mind, made her feel exhausted despite her training. She knew she could go at least a full day and night without sleep. They’d been forced to do so several times in the Citadel, but being out in the midst of real danger, with the fear of being eaten or seeing a friend mutilated because of her own mistakes chipping away at her, was a different beast altogether.

So great was the noise below that she almost didn’t hear the sound of beating wings. A sudden surge of fear assured her something was wrong. The beating increased, loud enough for her to pick it out among the chaos. Looking up, her mouth dropped open as she realized the implication of what she saw.

Sonowin was in flight.

“Come up, come up, come up,” Jessilynn said, tugging on the rope. She felt Ashhur scream warning in her ear after the second tug, and close behind her she heard a low growl. Despite her terror, she did not turn, did not try to flee, instead forcing herself to pull the third time, giving Dieredon the order to retreat.

Clawed hands grabbed her, lifting her into the air without the slightest bit of effort.

“What is this?” asked a gray-haired wolf-man. He held her before him like a curiosity, like a strange plaything. Behind him were twenty more wolf-men, sauntering up the hillside. The entire scene was so unreal, Jessilynn felt paralyzed. She smelled the foul breath of her captor, felt the sharp sting of his claws as they tightened around her arms. His eyes were bloodshot, and they glinted yellow from the starlight. That she understood him made it all the more surreal. She’d been taught the creatures knew the human tongue, but knowing and experiencing were two entirely different things. She knew, right then and there, that she was going to die.

“A tasty treat?” asked another of the wolf-men as he climbed up to join the gray-haired one.

“A scraggly female,” said gray-hair. “But with at least some fat on her.”

The wolf-man looked down, saw the rope. Letting out a snarl, he shifted Jessilynn so that he carried her with one arm. His muscles were like a vice, and though she struggled against him she might as well have been trying to pry open a rock with her bare hands. Gray-hair sniffed the air, then opened his mouth wide and let out a yip.

“A tricksy elf,” the beast said, reaching down for the rope. Jessilynn thought he’d cut it, but instead he took hold of the rope and yanked upward as hard as he could. Dangling over the edge in the wolf-man’s arm, Jessilynn had all too fine a view of what happened next. Dieredon was frantically climbing, and though he might have been able to support himself had rope gone slack, instead it pulled against him, dislodging him from the cliff face and sending him dangling above the ravine. The gray-hair tugged again, pulling the rope free of the spikes, and then let it drop. Already having slid down the rope, the elf fell the rest of the short way down, rolling to absorb the impact.

Jessilynn screamed as the wolf-man let out an ear-splitting howl. The attention of the camp turned their way, and suddenly alert, it took only moments before Dieredon was spotted. A legion of howls took up the hunt as the elf sprinted toward the exit. The rest of the twenty wolf-men gathered around the cliff edge to watch the excitement. Jessilynn felt completely ignored, and for some reason that made her all the more afraid. They didn’t care about her, found her vaguely amusing at best. She was but food to them. What interest would they show, other than when it was time to rip apart her flesh?

Staring down, Jessilynn prayed for Dieredon’s safety, even as she saw how hopeless a situation it was. He’d stashed his bow with Sonowin for the duration of the climb, which left him with only two long-bladed daggers. His speed was incredible as he ran, but the wolf-men could still overcome him. The elf was a blur of motion, and anytime a wolf-man neared, the creature fell back, clutching part of its body or falling dead on the spot. Jessilynn stared, wide-eyed, continuing to pray. Maybe he could live. Maybe he wouldn’t suffer for her failure. She should have heard them. She should have realized they were sneaking up on her. All her fault. His death, the death of a legend, would be her fault.

“A feisty one, he is,” said one of the wolf-men.

“All elves are,” gray-hair snarled. “Perhaps the pups are liars if they cannot kill one elf.”

“They’ll kill him,” said another. “Where else will he go? Sad we won’t get a taste.”

“I’ve had elf flesh before. It is sweet, like honey. You would not like it.”

Dieredon scrambled toward one of the cliff edges as three wolf-men cut him off. They leapt in unison, and beneath them Dieredon tumbled. Fire glinted off his daggers, and only two wolf-men got up to chase after. The third lay motionless.

“Now he is trapped,” gray-fur said, pointing a clawed finger. “They’ve cut him off.”

Over a dozen wolf-men had ignored chasing after Dieredon, instead racing past so they might curl around, forming a wall of fur to prevent him from reaching the ravine’s exit. Dieredon raced toward them anyway, as if he might challenge them, but at the last moment he slid to a halt, turned, and vaulted to the side. He struck the opposite cliff face, scrambling upward with amazing dexterity. A few wolf-men picked up speed and leapt, slamming gracelessly into the rock and clawing wildly. They shredded the edges of the elf’s cloak, but did little else. Still, Jessilynn could see hundreds of the beasts racing out of the ravine and curling back around, scaling the slope to wait for Dieredon should he reach the top. Below him were hundreds more, howling and yipping at him, eager to feast the moment he fell.

Jessilynn saw him slip, and from a single hand he hung above the maw of snapping teeth. She let out a cry, and it earned her the attention of her captor.

“You care for him?” the wolf-man asked. “You amuse me, human. Watch him die. Cry for him. I love seeing humans weak.”

Dieredon had regained his balance, climbing halfway up the cliff. Jessilynn felt a lump in her throat, knowing there was nowhere for him to go. He was just delaying the inevitable. He slipped again, and she saw his movements lacking grace when compared to his initial descent. He had to be wounded, she knew, though she could only guess how badly from such a great distance.

Let him die from the fall, she prayed. Spare him the pain of their teeth.

Dieredon let go of the rock, and crying out, she watched him plummet. He turned in the air, legs downward, and then swooping in from the sky came Sonowin. Dieredon landed atop her, rolled to one side, and then grabbed her mane with a hand to steady himself. Tears were in Jessilynn’s eyes as he flew away. At least he lived. At least someone would know her fate.

Gray-hair growled, his teeth so close to her face.

“Stubborn elves,” he said, tossing Jessilynn to the ground. The twenty gathered round, flexing their claws, their tongues drooling.

“We should eat her now,” said one. “There’s not enough for us as is. The rest will try to take her.”

“No,” the gray-haired one snarled. “We are late, and the kings might be angry. Let her be a gift. They cannot be angry if we give them human-flesh to eat.”

“Our presence is a gift!” one of the bigger wolf-men snarled back. He turned his yellow eyes on Jessilynn, licking the sides of his long snout with his tongue. Gray-hair roared, stepping between him and Jessilynn.

“A gift,” the wolf-man said. “Or we shall feast on you instead.”

The younger wolf-man bowed his head and flattened his ears.

“If you say, then so be it.”

The gray-haired one turned and wrapped his enormous paw around her neck. His eyes were all she saw as he lowered himself to her height.

“Walk,” he ordered.

She did so, flanked by the pack. The thundering of her heart and quickness of her breathing gave the entire world a flat, glassy look. Unreal, she thought, it was all unreal. Like a bad dream. Part of her wished it was, but her senses were overloaded, giving things a clarity no nightmare could ever possess. Down the ravine they walked as high above she saw Sonowin circling. When the winged horse began to lower, she dared hope he’d rescue her. It seemed gray-hair saw as well, and he snarled up at the sky.

“Come for your pet?” he asked. Reaching out, he grabbed Jessilynn by the throat. The paw closed so tightly she could not breathe, and frantically she clutched at his claws as he lifted her into the air, as if offering her to Dieredon. His other paw tightened against her chest, thick claws easily punching through her armor. With blurred vision she looked up to the stars, saw Sonowin lift back up into the air. Her last bit of hope died, and she knew, absolutely knew her time had ended.

“Such cowardice,” the wolf-man snarled, and he set her down. Gasping for air, she fell to her knees, only to find herself yanked back to her feet.

“Walk,” the gray-hair said. “The kings will prefer the kill to be their own, but I will present your warm dead body if I must.”

Jessilynn coughed so hard she vomited, the bile dribbling down her throat, yet still she struggled to her feet. One foot after the other, she thought, beginning her descent down the outside of the ravine, following the pack as they curled her around to the entrance. She tried praying to Ashhur, but her mind was white with terror. She couldn’t think. She couldn’t form words. All around her were yellow eyes, and there was no disguising their hunger. Into the camp she went, and now there were thousands of them, howling and growling. The sound was deafening, and without even realizing it she began to cry.

I’m sorry, she pleaded to her god, though she didn’t know why. She felt an overwhelming sense of failure, and though it made no sense, she could not help it. I’m sorry, so sorry. Please, forgive me.

They stopped at the great pile of bones where Dieredon had hoped to overhear the meeting. Now so close, she saw the age of the bones, many chalk-white and meticulously clean. Others were red with blood, bits of meat still clinging to them. Overpowering was the smell of sweat from the beasts, and their breath was tinged with the scent of blood. She tried not to gag, but her stomach was already weak. To her knees the gray-hair flung her, slamming her atop the bone pile. The bones scattered beneath her, clattering.

Think, she told herself. She knew the prayers she was supposed to pray if she thought herself approaching death. All the comforts of the Golden Eternity, the promises of Ashhur and his angels, she tried to think on them, to face death with the stubbornness and comfort that Jerico had when he’d been captured by the enemy. But all she felt was an aching desire to be anywhere other than where she was, to walk backward in time, to when Dieredon was first climbing down the cliff, and make him stay, make him fly her out of there, out of the Wedge and to the safety of the Citadel.

But instead the wolf-men howled, the sound piercing her ears and overwhelming any rational thought. Sobbing on the bones, she curled her head, closed her eyes, and waited for death.

The howling lessened as she heard movement upon the bones.

“A gift, great kings,” the gray-hair said from behind her. “She was with the elf when we arrived, aiding him with a rope.”

This was it. Her whole body tensed. A massive paw reached down, and she waited for it to rip open her throat. Instead it grabbed hold of her armor and lifted her upward. Determined to show some shred of dignity, she opened her eyes and looked upon her killer.

There was not one wolf-man there, but two. Both were enormous, seemingly towering over the others. They peered at her, and the intelligence in their eyes was all the more frightening. Both were solid black but for their paws, which were a deep red. The only difference she saw was that one had two circles of white in the center of his face, highlighting his yellow eyes.

“Your armor,” the one holding her asked, lifting her higher. “What does it mean?”

The question made no sense to her. What did her armor mean? Could the wolves truly recognize the style of her armor, the meaning of the various symbols?

“A paladin,” she said, her voice trembling. “I’m a paladin.”

The two wolf-men shared a look as the rest of the pack howled for blood.

“Like him,” one said to the other. “Like the one who humiliated father.”

“And that is why she must live,” an elderly female said, stepping to the edge of the bone pile. Her back was bent low, and white hair marked her ears. “There is much she will know. That knowledge will benefit us all.”

“Take her, then,” said the wolf-man holding her. With ease he flung her to the female’s feet. “Her meat is little, and I will not taste the flesh of man until we are free.” He turned to the crowd, his voice roaring throughout the entire ravine.

“Until we are all free!”

Others of the beasts nipped at Jessilynn, but the two wolf-men on the pile bared their fangs, ushering them back. The old female knelt down before her and grabbed her arm. Her watery eyes looked her over with a wisdom that seemed far beyond what Jessilynn thought possible. When she spoke, there was no compassion in her voice.

“Follow me, before you become their meal.”

With no other choice, Jessilynn obeyed.