The Prison of Angels

24

Loreina Henley sat on her throne, her husband’s seat empty beside her. In her lap was a letter, and though she’d read it three times already, she read it a fourth. It didn’t seem it could be true, yet the haggard man before her, plus the wax seal of King Antonil, both insisted it was.

“How far behind you are they?” she asked the messenger.

“We’re marching at the fastest pace we can manage with such little food,” the man said. His clothes were stained with sweat, and he looked like he hadn’t slept in days. “I’d say two weeks at most, your grace.”

Loreina nodded.

“My servants will find you a room and prepare you a bath,” she told him. “I’m sure you’re hungry, and if you’d like to eat before resting, tell them.”

“Thank you, your grace,” he said, bowing low. Servants came, having heard her orders, and ushered the messenger out of the hall. Loreina sat there, tapping the letter against her leg. She read it a fifth time, still unable to contain her excitement.

To friend and king,

The orcs number far beyond what I ever dreamed in my darkest of nightmares. The east crawls with their kind, though that is not the real danger. Someone leads them, someone wise, someone they fear. My men whisper it a demon who survived the Gods’ War. I do not know, but only tell you so you might understand the danger you face on your eastern border. My army is crushed, my supplies ruined. We were ambushed on the way to Angelport, left with retreat as our only option. We come to you now, humbly and afraid, asking for aid and shelter when we reach your lands. My men are already starving, yet we face days of marching until we reach safety.

Whatever aid you offer, I will pay back tenfold. And please, prepare your men. An army of orcs is growing, and I fear their leader will not be satisfied with just the ruins of the east.

Your friend,

King Antonil Copernus.

There was nothing particularly shocking about the letter. They’d long known an orc commander had risen among them, though the idea of it being a war demon was unsettling. And that Antonil had been defeated was no surprise, given his failure years ago in attempting to complete the same fool’s errand. But knowing they were out of provisions, exhausted, begging for aid? Now that was something she could use. It was an opportunity her husband musn’t squander.

“Turn away any petitioners,” she said to her guards as she stood. “I fear I will have far too busy of a day for any more.”

Bram was overseeing his army, as he had ever since the angels attacked in the night. Loreina had watched the battle from the window of her room, and still she had nightmares about it. The way the angels had dashed through their soldiers, slaughtering them as if they were children fighting against men…

She shook her head to clear away such thoughts. Fear was unbecoming of her. Lifting her skirt ever so slightly so she might increase her pace, she stepped out into the courtyard. Despite the hard work of many servants, there were still signs of battle everywhere. It seemed until the next year, when the grass regrew in spring, there would be the red blood staining the green. As for the cobblestones pathways, well, it’d taken three days of scrubbing to make them their original gray, and even then she saw missed spots here and there. Bram had told her the final tally. A hundred and twenty-nine men dead, and in return, they’d killed a paltry eleven angels.

Fear was unbecoming of her, and such failure was unbecoming of their soldiers. And so the men drilled, and plotted, and worked out ways to kill men who flew through the air on pearly wings. As she left the courtyard and entered the training grounds surrounding the barracks, the men halted what they were doing so they might pay their respects. Loreina smiled at them, knowing such small gestures did wonders for morale. In the middle of all the chaos was her husband, arguing with Sir Ian.

“I’m telling you, archers aren’t effective against the angels,” Ian insisted. “Either they dodge them on the way down or outrace them on the way up. It’s only if we can get them on the ground that they’d take the significant casualties necessary to justify the extra training.”

“Not if the volley is large enough that…”

Bram stopped, noticing her presence. Loreina dipped her head in respect, then kissed her husband’s lips.

“A letter,” she said, handing it to him as she pulled away.

“From who?” he asked. His eyes lit up as he saw the name at the bottom. “Oh really?”

Loreina waited as he read it, and was not surprised to see him immediately go over it a second time.

“How long ago did you receive this?” he asked, suddenly looking up.

“A few minutes ago. A messenger came riding in from the east, and our bridge guards escorted him here as fast as they could.”

Bram nodded, and his face hardened into a frown that she knew meant he was deep in thought.

“If we might speak alone?” she asked Ian, who promptly bowed.

“Of course,” he said. “Milord, fetch me if you need me.”

With Ian gone, they were alone despite the hundreds of men milling about, clanging swords. Their words would go unheard in such a din. Loreina slid beside her husband, wrapping her arms around his waist.

“This is it,” she said. “This is everything we’ve waited for.”

Disturbed, he looked her way, his frown deepening.

“How so?”

“Their numbers are weakened, and they are in no shape to fight. Meet them at the bridge. Show them you will not be taken advantage of.”

Bram glared, and he guided her toward the exit of the barracks. It seemed even with all the noise he would not speak of such things in public.

“Are you mad?” he asked as they stepped out. “You saw what thirty angels did to our forces. That was within our own castle, with Qurrah’s lover to aid us. Thousands fly above the skies of Mordan. Even if we crush Antonil, war will still come to our nation, and against that might we’ll be trampled.”

“When did I speak of war?” Loreina asked, letting a hard edge into her voice. Her husband should trust her better than that, and it annoyed her when he would not fully think her ideas through. “When did I speak of crushing that fool of a king? I only ask that you exercise the rights you possess.”

Bram shook his head.

“What you’re asking is dangerous, Loreina. If Ahaesarus meant what he said, we still might escape open warfare. I once thought we would stand a better chance, but that was before seeing what they could do. Their weapons make our chainmail look like butter.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” she said. “I watched from my window as our men, good men with families, bled out and died because those fanatics were determined to get what they wanted. They came at night, without warning, into our very capital. What happens when they come for you? Or for me?”

She saw the anger in his eyes and knew she had him.

“All I ask is that you be the king I know you are,” she whispered, softly kissing him from his neck to his ear. “All I ask is that you let me sleep knowing I am safe. Can you do that?”

He nodded.

“We’ll have little time if we want to meet them at Ashhur’s Bridge,” he said. “Forgive me. I must give out the order.”

She smiled and let him go.

“Of course,” she said.

He hurried back into the barracks, and her heart swelled with pride. This was it. This was the first step toward their freedom.

Trying not to look in any particular hurry, she walked back to the castle. When her servants went to follow, she dismissed them, claiming she had a headache and desired solitude. It was only a half-lie. She climbed the winding stairs to the upper floors, then smiled at the man guarding her room. Slipping inside, she twisted the lock, then rushed to her private chest of things. Amid the various junk was a single scrap of paper, hardly larger than her palm. It was faded brown, and looked as if it’d been forgotten at the bottom of the chest for decades.

Taking the scrap, she went to her husband’s desk and opened his inkwell. Taking a quill, she wrote two simple words in its center. That done, she put the quill and ink away, then walked over to their window. She pushed it open, felt the breeze blow against her. Her heart aflutter, she lifted the paper to her lips then slowly breathed across it.

Immediately the paper snapped to life, folding over and over on itself, reshaping, becoming something else. Throwing it out the window, Loreina smiled as the paper bird took flight, rising higher and higher into the air, the words Antonil approaches safely folded into its very center. Loreina watched until it was gone, her hands clasped before her chest and her eyes alight.

King Antonil parted the rough fabric with his hands and looked inside.

“How does he fare?”

Tarlak lay on a pile of blankets, in one of the few wagons they’d manage to salvage after the ambush at Kinamn. His hat was beside him, exposing the wicked bruise just above his temple. A bit of his hair was missing, shaved off by the elderly surgeon overseeing him.

“He fares fine,” Tarlak said, lazily lifting an arm in greeting. “I dare say I’m sick to death of this bumpy wagon. I think walking would be better for my health, and my sanity.”

“You have my pity,” said Antonil.

“Thank you,” Tarlak replied.

“I meant the surgeon.”

“He sleeps more than he complains,” the surgeon said. “Though the herbal milk I give him is probably to blame. The infection is gone, praise Ashhur for that. In a week, maybe two, he’ll be back to his old flamboyant self.”

“Nonsense,” Tarlak said. “I’m my flamboyant self right now. See this smile? That’s the smile of a happy man.”

“The smile of a drugged man,” Antonil said, chuckling. “Cut down on the herbs. I think it’s time he regained a bit of his lucidity.”

“I might have to take some myself then,” said the surgeon. “You cannot imagine what this man is like when ill. I’ve known children who handled toothaches better.”

“We’ll be at Ashhur’s Bridge within the hour,” Antonil said as Tarlak stuck his tongue out at the surgeon. “Soon we’ll all get the rest we need, and even better, the food our bellies have been grumbling for. Will that make up for the wizard?”

“It’ll do.”

Antonil patted Tarlak on the leg.

“Get better,” he said. “Oh, and try not to be too annoying.”

“No promises,” came slurred speech from the wagon as Antonil hopped back down. His smile, while natural in there with Tarlak, soon became forced as he wandered through the rest of his army. Of his thirty thousand, only five remained, and very few of them walked with their heads held high. Their faces were sunken and thin, crying out for sleep and food. Antonil wished he could give it to them, and he thanked Ashhur they had finally made it to Ker.

The loss of so many made him sick to the stomach whenever he thought about it. He’d been at the front, trying to reach the catapults shattering their ranks. When they finally broke through the orc line, their commander had issued a retreat. From atop the hill, Antonil watched the orcs pull away, and he denied his men a chance to chase after. There was no point. He guessed the orcs had two thousand left, maybe three. Perhaps they would have overrun them, but he didn’t want to risk it, not with a broken army. They’d left the dead where they were upon the hillside, gathered up every shred of supplies into their few remaining wagons, and then traveled west. From then on, the orcs had left them alone, as if knowing they’d accomplished what they needed to keep their land safe.

Retaking Veldaren was now but a dream. Antonil did his best to accept it, to push that sting aside while there was nothing he could do about it. Securing aid from King Bram was all that mattered now. Whatever promises he had to make, he’d make, and whatever humiliation he must endure, he’d endure. If he had to kiss Bram’s ass cheeks he’d do it, so long as it got food in his soldiers’ bellies.

At the head of the army were their few horses, and Antonil mounted one. Despite everything, he had to appear lordly, especially before a fellow king.

“Are we ready?” he asked Sergan, who had been waiting for him.

“We’ve given out the last of our water,” he said. “Our food will last maybe three more days, but I kept it rationed. No sense being wasteful until we know how badly Bram’s going to gouge us for his aid.”

“You’re a good man, Sergan,” Antonil said. “What would I do without you?”

“Go hungry and thirsty, I’d say,” Sergan said with a tired smile. “At your word, we’ll march.”

“Consider that word given. Let’s go home.”

The army moved out, and it didn’t take long before they caught sight of civilization. The smoke of campfires drifted lazily into the air from the direction of the bridge. At first Antonil was heartened by the sight, but then, as the river neared, he felt worry growing in his empty stomach. The number of fires, the amount of smoke, was far beyond any normal garrison. They’d received no response from the messenger he’d sent out, but that wasn’t surprising. His orders had been to forgo sleep and rest as much as possible on the way to Angkar. Most likely he was recovering from the trip, hopefully in far nicer conditions than Antonil and his marching army found themselves in.

“That’s a lot of smoke,” Sergan said as he sidled alongside Antonil, showing he’d noticed the same.

“If Bram’s there, it’d make sense for him to have an escort.”

Sergan shrugged and stared at the sky.

“Big escort then.”

Despite their apprehension, there wasn’t much else for them to do but continue on. When the bridge came in sight, the army gathered there did little to improve their mood. Just as when they entered Ker through the Bloodbrick, Bram had gathered his ten thousand men and set up camp before the bridge. Antonil was too exhausted to feel anything more than mild irritation.

Must we go through this again? he wondered, thinking of the tireless back and forth squabbling, the vague threats and posturing. Of course he would. These were his men. They’d risked their lives for him, for a land many had never been to before, and most likely would never see again in their lifetimes.

“Keep the men calm,” Antonil said, glancing back at the rest of his army. “I don’t want anyone trying to rush across. Bram will want some sort of payment, I’m sure of it, and I want to know what that payment is before we cross.”

“Yes, milord.”

His five thousand slowed, then came to a shuffling stop before the entrance to the bridge. Antonil rode ahead, not bothering with an escort. He saw Bram dismounting from his own horse and walking out to meet him.

“Friend!” Antonil cried, widening his smile. “It is good to see you.”

Bram stopped just outside the bridge, and he slowly shook his head.

“I dare not say the same,” he called out. “What is it you come here for?”

Antonil hid his frown as he gestured to his army.

“Did I not say as much in my letter?” he asked. “My men are hungry and thirsty. An orc army ambushed us, their numbers greater than we ever thought possible. I…we…all of us require aid as we travel toward Mordan, and I will gladly pay you back a hundred times if need be.”

Bram stared at him, and the lingering silence made Antonil unconsciously reach for his sword. What was it that the man so clearly debated?

“No,” he said, his sudden words slicing through the silence. “You will not be entering my lands.”

Antonil stood frozen, with only years of training keeping his voice calm despite his inner furor.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“When you last came here, you mocked my right to enforce my borders,” he said, shaking his head. “In doing so you mocked the right of my sovereignty. You scorned the power of my crown. The nation of Ker is not your servant, nor your slave, nor your child. If you would return to your home, then go another way.”

“Another way?” Antonil said. “There is no other way. Please, Bram, let me make up for my pride, but do not punish these men.”

“This has nothing to do with your pride. Your angels flew into my lands under cover of night. They killed my guards, all so they might capture a man under my protection.”

The words hit Antonil like a sledge.

“What are you talking about?” he asked.

“Ask them, should they come for you,” Bram said. “But I was promised freedom from your angels’ tyranny, and I was not given it. I warned you, yet you would not listen. Already your angels kill my men, and now you would have me feed an army allied with such beasts. No, Antonil, I will not let you through. If this is the only way for you to understand the dangers you court with Avlimar, then do this I must.”

Briefly Antonil pondered an attack, but he was outnumbered, and when previously crossing the bridge he’d seen firsthand the extensive defenses they’d built into it. There would be no forcing his way across, not in the state his men were in.

“Please,” he said, his voice softer. “Bram, don’t do this. Don’t punish my men like this. They’ll starve.”

Bram crossed his arms and looked away.

“I am not without mercy,” he said. “I’ll send across some wagons containing food, and there is plenty of water to boil from the river. It will tide you over for a time, perhaps long enough for you to think on your many errors. Oh, and Antonil, don’t try to have anyone swim across. I assure you, we’ll be watching.”

Bram turned, cloak flailing behind him as he crossed the bridge. Antonil heard the first of many fearful cries filter through his army, yet there was nothing he could do. He clutched his sword tighter, teeth clenched, and cursed Bram in every way possible.

“So what are our options?” Sergan asked as they settled down for the night around a small campfire. The two were separate from the rest of the army, the other generals scattered throughout to ensure order. Antonil wanted to be alone with his friend, to speak his mind without fear of panic or scorn.

“I’m not sure what other choice we have,” he said. “It seems Bram is determined to humiliate us, but I don’t think it extends beyond that.”

“You don’t know that,” Sergan said. “What was that nonsense about the angels?”

Antonil shook his head.

“Supposedly some of them attacked Bram’s castle. I don’t know any more than that. If it is true, then I don’t blame Bram for his fury. Such an action breaks every promise I’ve ever made him since the Gods’ War.”

“Anger or not, the man’s still acting like a bastard,” Sergan said. “We can’t just sit here, can we? The food he gave us will tide us over for a week, but no longer than that. If we don’t do anything we’ll be at his mercy, holding out our hands like lowly beggars.”

“Which is what he wants,” Antonil said, poking his fire with a stick. “He wants his power over us acknowledged. No one in Mordan will expect our return so early. He’ll keep us here, helpless, frustrated, and then make some sort of outrageous demand I’ll have no choice but to agree to.”

“We still might have a shot at crossing farther upstream,” Sergan said. “You have friends at the Citadel, and I know they have their boats.”

“We don’t have the food to travel that far north. Besides, the Citadel houses thirty people, maybe forty. They won’t have enough supplies to feed five thousand.”

Sergan grunted, accepting the rejection.

“Well, what about the wizard? Perhaps he can do something, get a few of us across the river with an ice bridge or something.”

“Tarlak’s too weak for that,” Antonil said, shaking his head. Still, something about what he’d said sparked an idea in his mind, and he looked around, feeling a sudden surge of excitement.

“A map,” he said. “Where is my map?”

“What for?”

Antonil ignored him, instead hurrying into his tent and throwing open his strongbox. He came back out, unrolling the paper and laying it out on the seat he’d been sitting in.

“Wizards,” Antonil said. “I completely forgot about the wizards.”

Sergan leaned over to look at what Antonil pointed to. There, halfway between Ashhur’s Bridge and the Citadel, were the twin towers of the Council of Mages. Sergan saw it and immediately paled.

“Forgive me, my liege, but you’re insane.”

“Why? With that many wizards, surely they would know a way to supply us, and they have a bridge spanning both sides.”

“But…but they’re wizards. And more importantly, they’re reclusive, unpredictable wizards that hate being bothered by anyone, kings or not.”

Antonil stared at the two little towers, one marked with red chalk, the other coal.

“That’s where we’re going,” he said. “I know it’s a risk, but we can’t stay here. I refuse to let Bram lord over us in such a way.”

“We’ll be traveling through his lands without permission if we cross this way,” Sergan said.

“At this point, I don’t care. Most of that land is full of farms and wilderness. We’ll beat him to the Bloodbrick before he finds out, and whatever token force he might have there won’t be able to stop us.”

Sergan scratched at his chin, and finally he let out a sigh.

“If you think it’ll work, then that’s what we’ll do,” he said. “Though let me say now that I don’t like it. Never trust a wizard. That’s wisdom to live by.”

“Do you think Tarlak would agree?” Antonil asked.

Sergan let out a sharp laugh.

“You kidding me, your highness? He’s the one I heard it from first.”

Antonil smiled, finally feeling his mood lifting. He had a plan, a course of action. Regardless of the risk, at least he wouldn’t be helpless before Bram’s army.

“Get some sleep,” he said, rolling up his map. “We have a long march. We’ll head southeast, make Bram think we’re hoping one of the fishing villages along the coast of the delta survived, and then curl north and cross Karak’s Bridge once we’re out of sight.”

“So let’s say this works,” Sergan said. “We sneak across the river through the help of our mysterious wizardy pals, race through the wilderness, and then cross the Bloodbrick back into Mordan. What then?”

Antonil paused before the entrance to his tent. He didn’t want to lie to his dear friend, and so he didn’t.

“Then we return to Mordeina,” he said. “And once we’ve gathered another army, we’ll see just how well Bram is capable of defending the borders he’s so proud to protect. The man spat in the faces of our men this day. I have watched nations fall, angels appear, and gods die. Did he think this would be what broke me? No. Bram should have known better. Much better.”

He entered his tent, put aside his sword, and slept.