The Prison of Angels

3

Lathaar was in his study when someone knocked twice on the door before pushing it open.

“Is he here?” he asked as Jerico, platemail armor finely polished and shield slung over his back, stepped inside.

“Well, it’s a flying visitor,” Jerico said. “But not Dieredon. Hurry. I’d hate to keep an angel waiting.”

Lathaar let out a sigh. Grabbing his swords, he followed Jerico down a single flight of stairs, into the main foyer, and then out the large wooden double doors of the rebuilt Citadel. In the building’s shadow the two paladins stood and looked to the western sky. Far away, looking barely bigger than a bird, Lathaar saw the angel.

“Where are the students?” he asked.

“I’ve got them around back, sparring. Figured the distraction would do them good in case any noticed the angel’s arrival. I’d like to hold a conversation without fifteen hundred questions interrupting it.”

“Discipline, Jerico, we need to teach them discipline. That you fear them acting unruly is a poor sign.”

Jerico laughed.

“It’s because they are an unruly bunch. Take heart, though. I don’t think we were so much better back when we were in the Citadel.”

Lathaar grinned.

“Speak for yourself. I was a model pupil.”

“No wonder you’re so bland.”

The angel neared, and now those white wings were greater than any bird that had ever lived. He wore no armor, just a robe tightly cinched due to the constant force of the wind. After a quick loop above the Citadel he banked downward, coming to a gentle stop before the two paladins. They both bowed low, humbled by a visit from the high priest of the angels.

“It has been too long, Azariah,” Lathaar said. “You haven’t graced us with your presence since the day the last brick was put into the Citadel.”

Azariah smiled at him.

“Indeed, and I was hardly needed then. You two had the energy of children, you were so excited.”

“Good thing, too,” Jerico said. “Because the children we took in had far more energy than us.”

Lathaar ran a hand through his brown hair, trying to hide his nervousness. Something about Azariah felt unsettling, as if the angel were terribly uncomfortable. But why?

“Do you come bearing news?” he asked, hoping to pry out the reason. “The best we receive here are rumors from traders, and they’re as consistent as the direction of the wind.”

“No news that would concern you,” Azariah said as he began walking toward the back of the Citadel, where the young paladins-to-be sparred. The two followed, and a glance showed Lathaar that his friend also felt similarly confused by the visit. “Just the usual politics in the capitol. Antonil has launched another campaign to retake the east, but I’m sure you already know of that.”

“Just that it was being planned,” Jerico said. “I was hoping he’d delay for a few more years. I’d love some of our students to be old enough to accompany the campaign.”

“Paladins would do well to lead the troops on the battlefield, but it seems Antonil could not be persuaded otherwise. Hrm, are these your students?”

Before them were thirty children, all fairly close in age. The youngest were twelve, the oldest sixteen. Jerico had grouped them by age, and they sparred with a variety of wooden swords and daggers. A few also held thin sheets of tin to use as shields. At sight of the angel many stopped and turned, several wise enough to also bow. Jerico clapped his hands at them, ushering them back to their practice.

“I should get to instructing,” Jerico said, tipping his head to Azariah. “If there is nothing else?”

“No, go. The infants in Ashhur are most precious to our future, as is their need for discipline.”

Jerico shot Lathaar a look, then went to the circle with the youngest children, pointing out the flaws in their stance as they ran their drills. Lathaar watched him for a moment, then noticed Azariah surveying the students.

“Have you come to inspect our recruits?” Lathaar asked him.

“More out of curiosity than anything,” Azariah said. “You drill them strongly in marshal matters, though I wonder if their faith is given the same testing of mettle.”

Lathaar let out a sigh. It’d been something he’d discussed repeatedly with Jerico, and over the years they’d not come to any sort of satisfactory answer.

“We try,” he said, figuring if there was anyone who might help them in this, it was Azariah. “We teach them the prayers, the lessons, beat into their heads the ferocious need for prayer. But this world we live in…it’s not the same, is it? How do I teach them matters of faith when Ashhur’s angels soar through the clouds? How do I teach them to remain on guard against enemies when Karak has been defeated and his followers scattered to the wind? How do I convince them they are beacons of light amid the darkness when there is no darkness?”

“But there is darkness,” Azariah assured him. “The world has not ended. It still moves on, filled with sickness, death, and despair.”

“I tell them,” Lathaar said, shaking his head. “I tell them, and I don’t think they believe me. Their faith is hollow, Azariah. I know it. I feel it in my gut. So few of them carry any true love for Ashhur. When they hold their weapons, only the slightest hint of blue shines. And if they were to be tested, truly tested? Ashhur save us if someone like Velixar should get their hands on them. When Jerico and I were in the Citadel, we were outnumbered. We were seen as a dying order, soon to be overwhelmed by Karak’s forces. In every prayer, every day of training, we knew deep down in our hearts that we were the last hope for a troubled world, the last stand against an encroaching evil. But we aren’t anymore.”

He looked to Azariah.

“You are.”

This took the angel back, and he paused.

“You give us a role we cannot have,” Azariah said after a moment of watching the students train. “Your paladins are what men must aspire to be. They are to be the light of our god manifested in mortal men, to show humanity’s full potential by embracing Ashhur’s commands. We angels cannot be that. We are not men, and mankind will never believe us, never understand us, until they themselves enter the Golden Eternity. A sickness runs through this land, and it must be cured. Convince them, Lathaar. Convince them their need is not yet over.”

Lathaar nodded, and he felt a little better hearing those words. Perhaps he’d been looking at things the wrong way. Rebuilding the Citadel had been a mark of honor for him and Jerico. They’d begged for every scrap of coin. With their close relationship to Harruq, the king’s advisor Tarlak, and the angels, it should have been easy getting aid. But all of Mordan had been devastated, and the first year in particular had been one of frantic rebuilding and political upheaval. Through it all they’d fought, determined to have their home rebuilt in defiance to Karak’s past evil.

But they’d rebuilt the Citadel simply to rebuild it, and now pressed with the functions, the responsibility, he and Jerico were struggling. Had their own aimlessness poisoned their students?

“You’ve given me much to think over,” he said. “Thank you.”

“I am glad I could be of some help. And do not be too difficult on yourself. I sense the faith of those here, and there are many who are stronger than you believe. To help ease your mind, I will show you.”

Azariah stepped into the training arena and lifted his hands. Immediately all eyes were upon him. Lathaar watched, arms crossed, curious as to what the angel planned. His robe shimmered white, and from his mouth issued words of a prayer too soft for Lathaar to hear.

“Come to me, children,” Azariah said afterward. “Come to me, faithful. I would see your hearts naked before the eyes of your god.”

From the tips of his fingers flared a sudden brightness, coalescing into a shining ball of white, like a miniature sun hovering above his palms. It pulsed, and with each pulse a wave of light washed over the paladins and students. The force of it knocked them to their knees. Even Jerico fell to one knee, and Lathaar did the same. In his mind he felt a sudden closeness to Ashhur, a presence he’d not known since the last days of the Gods’ War. Before it he felt naked and afraid. The light grew brighter, and he opened his mouth to speak, to cry out. All around the world had vanished, so that he saw only darkness where the grass and the rivers should have been. Piercing that darkness was Azariah, a being so unearthly that it filled Lathaar with awe.

Before a cry escaped his lips he saw a light burning from within his chest, where his heart should be. The bluish-white glow was strong, and as he knelt it continued to grow so that it nearly enveloped him. A thought struck him. He reached for his sword, and as he drew it the glow from his chest swirled down his arm and into the blade, manifesting itself again. Looking around, he saw his students, all kneeling, and from their chests emerged similar glows. Just as Azariah said, many were strong, bright, filled with life and devotion. Jerico in particular was nearly blinding to look upon. But also he saw dimness in many, emptiness. It hurt him seeing it, and he could not help but feel responsible.

The darkness broke, and the light vanished. It happened so suddenly Lathaar let out a gasp. How long had it been? He didn’t know. What had felt like minutes may have only been seconds, so strangely that vision had distorted time. Colors rushed back into his eyes, the green of the surrounding hills, the gentle blue of the Rigon River rolling beside the Citadel. The students rose to their feet one by one, some muttering to themselves, others praying. Jerico shot him a look, but what it meant he couldn’t decipher. And then he saw Azariah.

The angel knelt on his hands and knees, gasping for air. His wings shivered, and feathers fell like leaves in an autumn wind. Lathaar reached down for him, but his offered hand went ignored. With a loud groan Azariah pushed himself to stand. His bearing was unsteady, but with each passing moment the color returned to his face and the firmness returned to his voice.

“I hope you gained what you needed,” Azariah said, turning to go.

“Wait,” Lathaar said, hurrying after him. “Is something wrong? You look-”

“I am fine,” Azariah said, interrupting him. “I…no, Lathaar, you do not deserve such harshness. Ashhur’s power is fading from me, fading from all of us. When did you last talk to one of your priests?”

Lathaar frowned.

“High Priest Keziel stayed here a few months before returning to the Sanctuary, but that was not long after we first rebuilt the Citadel. A few have traveled here from time to time, but not recently, no.”

“They suffer, same as I. The world of Dezrel is fading, paladin, and the celestial magic I once possessed fades with it. Forgive me, but I came here to see if your kind felt it as well, but it appears the glow of your blades remains strong.”

“Praise Ashhur for that,” Lathaar said.

The angel fell silent, deep in thought. Lathaar stood there, giving him time. Shifting his weight side to side, he glanced up at the sky, then chuckled.

“It seems you’re not our only winged visitor today,” he said.

They both looked upward, to where an elf in dark green camouflage rode atop the back of a beautiful winged horse, her white wings the only thing that could match the splendor of the angels. The elf circled twice, then dove low, landing just before the two. With inhuman grace he leapt from the horse’s back, and in unison the creature and master bowed. The elf’s hair was long and brown, carefully tied so it would not interfere with his vision or movements. From his back hung a wicked looking bow, attached to leather straps that wrapped about his chest and shoulders.

“Greetings,” said Dieredon, Scoutmaster of the Quellan elves. “I come as requested, though forgive me for the delay. The Vile Wedge has gotten far wilder in the past few years.”

“I’m just glad you’re safe,” Lathaar said, bowing in return. He glanced at Azariah, noticed a hardness in the angel’s eyes that worried him.

“I must be leaving,” said Azariah. “I still have much to do. Trust your students, Lathaar, and have faith in them. Should Ashhur be kind, they will repay that faith tenfold.”

With a curt nod to Dieredon, Azariah spread his wings and then leapt into the air. Lathaar watched him go, careful to reveal nothing to his elven guest.

“Have I done something to offend?” Dieredon asked.

Lathaar shook his head.

“No, it just seems that even angels can have a long day. But let’s not think on that. I’m glad you’re here, Dieredon. I’m in need, and you’re the best person imaginable to help me.”

“Ask, and I will do what I can, my friend.”

Lathaar led him back around the Citadel, to where the students had resumed training. They passed through the various age groups, gathered together in small circles. Most wielded swords and shields, trading blows as they searched for openings in their sparring partner’s defenses. Further back they passed a few who wielded swords in each hand, and many others wielding maces like their trainer, Jerico. But at the very far end sat a young lady, her chestnut hair cut at the shoulders and then pulled into a ponytail. Unlike the others, she wore soft leather gloves, and in her lap was a bow.

“Jessilynn,” Lathaar said, drawing her attention upward. She smiled until she saw the elf, and then the smile fled her face. Immediately she leapt to her feet, fumbling through a bow. At sixteen she was one of the oldest students at the Citadel, but to Dieredon she was but a child, nothing compared to his centuries of life.

“You must be Dieredon,” Jessilynn said, her eyes staring at the dirt. “Jerico and Lathaar have told me so much about you. Consider me honored to be in your presence.”

“Well-spoken,” Dieredon said, crossing his arms. “Though I fear your teachers’ stories. Paladins may not lie, but I still believe they are prone to exaggeration.”

“Nothing of the sort,” Lathaar said, grinning. “Jessilynn, fire a few arrows at a target. Don’t be nervous, either.”

Jessilynn nodded, and without looking at either of them she grabbed her bow and turned around. Thirty yards away was a bale of hay, and leaning in front of it were several planks of wood that served as targets. For a moment Jessilynn dipped her head, closed her eyes, and began to pray.

“She was part of our inaugural class,” Lathaar whispered to Dieredon. “It was a big stink, too, our very first female paladin. Plenty of the priests were furious, but Azariah declared it good, and that ended the grumblings. Our younger classes have more now, and it isn’t the trouble or difficult matter we thought it’d be. As for Jessilynn, to be honest her skills with a sword aren’t very impressive, and neither can she wield a shield with any sort of grace. But the bow…”

Lying at her feet were a pile of arrows, and with her prayer finished Jessilynn leaned down to grab one. Pressing it against the string, she pulled it taut, then hesitated. As she did, a soft blue began to glow from the arrowhead. Then she let it fly. It arced through the air, leaving behind it a blue-white trail. The arrow missed the wooden targets, instead vanishing into the hay with a brief flicker of light.

Dieredon looked at Lathaar, an eyebrow raised. In response, Lathaar just shook his head.

“It gets crazier,” he said. “Jessilynn, another.”

She grabbed a second arrow, and this time she looked far less tight as she nocked it for flight. After another moment of hesitation she let it fly. Its aim was true, striking a thin board in the center of the hay bale. Upon contact the wood shattered as if blasted by an enormous hammer. Onward the arrow continued, vanishing into the hay. Seeing the explosion, Jessilynn hopped once in the air, her ponytail bouncing.

Now both of Dieredon’s eyebrows were raised, and his mouth dropped open a little.

Jessilynn spun around to bow, and she was unable to hold back her pleased smile. But at least she tried.

“I hope my demonstration was sufficient,” she said.

“Jerico’s shield gives us some precedence in dealing with this,” Lathaar said. “The problem is, neither of us knows what we’re doing with longbows. I’ve only shown her the most rudimentary basics, and even those might have been wrong. Basically, she’s self-taught.”

“Of that, there is little doubt,” said Dieredon. “Her stance is too narrow. She sights down the arrow while gripping it too tightly. Her follow-through is incorrect, and I cannot believe I must say this, but she even nocks the arrow incorrectly.”

Each critique made Jessilynn wince as if she were being stabbed with a dagger, but she remained quiet, her attention undivided.

“That’s great and all, but can you train her?” Lathaar asked, stepping away from Jessilynn and dropping his voice. “We can’t help her, and you’ve seen what she’s already capable of untrained. We can’t let such a unique talent go wasted. She could take down a bull with a single shot. What she needs more than anything is a teacher. That’s why I sent for you, Dieredon. Who else is better with a bow than you?”

“Flattery won’t help you here,” Dieredon insisted. “I can’t train her. The amount of time it would take to make her even proficient would be too much of a sacrifice. The Vile Wedge stirs, Lathaar, and orc armies surround our forests at all times.”

“Take her with you, then.”

Dieredon rubbed his eyes with his fingertips.

“What of her lessons here?” he asked.

Lathaar thought of what Azariah had said, as well as his own beliefs on the matter. His students had been coddled. They were out of the darkness of the world, living in safety and comfort.

“She knows the prayers, the lessons, the verses,” he said. “Everything else she’ll learn on her own, or from you. Please, Dieredon, she’s quiet, focused, and will take to your lessons well, I promise. I’ve talked with Jerico, and we’ve both prayed about this for months. This is the right thing to do, I’m sure of it.”

The elf let out a sigh.

“Six months,” he said. “That’s all I guarantee. And she’ll learn everything I teach her, not just about the bow. She’ll wear the armor I tell her to, move silently as needed, learn to forage, to craft her own arrows, anything and everything to survive out there with me. She won’t be a paladin when she returns, not in discipline or tactics. She’ll be a ranger. Can you accept that?”

Lathaar turned to Jessilynn, knowing without a doubt she’d been listening in.

“Can you?” he asked her.

Jessilynn’s green eyes sparkled, and she clutched her bow tight.

“Will I learn to shoot like you?” she asked.

“In six months?” Dieredon laughed. “Good gods, you humans. By the end of six months, my hope is you’ll know how to hold your bow without hurting yourself. Now do you accept? Know that we will soar to many places on my horse, Sonowin, so if you fear heights you should remain here and accept a more appropriate teacher. A human teacher.”

Lathaar watched as Jessilynn’s grin spread ear to ear.

“I get to ride Sonowin?” she asked. “I accept, of course I accept!”

And then she was off, calling out to her friends while rushing around the Citadel, to where Sonowin waited patiently. Lathaar watched her go, and when he caught Dieredon glaring at him, he smiled.

“I did say she was focused,” he said, and laughed at Dieredon’s exasperation.