The Prison of Angels

7

It was the happiest day of Jessilynn’s life, broken only by momentary terror every time Sonowin banked one way or another, forcing her to hold Dieredon tighter lest she fall. Given how they flew high enough to pierce the clouds, it would be a very, very long fall.

“You’d catch me, right?” she asked Dieredon, needing to shout directly into his ear to be heard over the wind that ripped at their hair and clothes. She sat bareback atop the winged horse, with nothing to hold onto but the elf’s waist, which she kept in a deathlock.

“If you fell?” Dieredon asked, glancing back at her.

She nodded.

“Most likely,” he said. He stared at her, then gently tugged on the reins. Sonowin’s great wings shifted angle, and they dipped lower with a stomach-churning lurch. When they leveled out, the clouds were far above them.

“Is it easier to breathe now?” he asked.

Meekly, Jessilynn nodded.

“I didn’t want to complain,” she said, and she meant it. Her excitement was great, and she hated to spoil it just because her head felt strangely light, or because her stomach seemed ready to empty the little remnants of her breakfast across miles and miles of faded grass.

The land rolled along as they flew north. Jessilynn spent a moment with her eyes closed, her forehead resting against Dieredon’s back. Slowly her stomach calmed, the world seeming to spin a little bit less. Rejuvenated, she looked out over the land and felt her spirit soar. Nothing compared to flying like a bird, seeing the shifting of the rivers and the entire limits of vast forests. Carefully she leaned a little to the right, to better see past Sonowin’s bobbing head.

“Is that it?” she shouted, almost pointing before thinking better of it.

“If you mean the gorge, then yes. We’re almost to the Bone Ditch.”

It was surreal seeing it from such height, a place that had been nothing more than a story to her while growing up. It was said that when Celestia created the orcs, she split the land, starting at where the Rigon flowed out of the northern mountains. It was a massive chasm now, the rock a faded red, the cliff faces sheer. At the very bottom the Rigon flowed along, steady as ever. The great span and deadly fall had been one of the most significant protections the eastern land of Neldar had against the creatures that had been trapped there. But during the Gods’ War the orcs within had been loosed, the prophet using his dark magic to aid their crossing.

“What do we do when we arrive?” Jessilynn asked, thinking of the bridges the orcs had supposedly constructed over the past few years.

Dieredon gave her a strange look.

“Land.”

Sonowin banked lower, and the growing proximity to the ground increased her sense of speed. The great chasm wound below them like a giant snake, until what had been a speck in the distance grew and grew, and she realized it was the orc bridge crossing the Bone Ditch. There was only one, constructed of weather-worn wood and thick ropes bound together with crude knots. Just thinking about crossing it made Jessilynn sick to her stomach. Sonowin looped around once, and then a hundred yards out from the western side they landed on the dull yellow grass of the Wedge.

Jessilynn leapt off the winged horse, her knees wobbling. Falling down, she clutched the grass as vomit climbed her throat.

“Focus on breathing,” Dieredon said, standing beside her. “Even elves sometimes feel discomfort from the speed and heights we climb.”

It made Jessilynn feel a little better as she puked onto the grass. Just a little.

“I’m fine,” she said, forcing herself to a stand. She pulled her bow off her back and scanned the bridge, looking for any threats. She saw none, and in her mind she heard no subtle warning of Ashhur alerting her to danger, either.

“Where are they?” she asked.

Dieredon frowned.

“Follow me,” he said. “Stay silent, and stay alert. Do not look ahead, but behind and to the sides. Trust my eyes for the front.”

“Yes, sir,” she said.

Dieredon started to walk, then stopped.

“‘Sir’ is a human title,” he said.

She immediately blushed.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I just wanted to show respect. What should I call you?”

Dieredon cocked his head to the side.

“My name?”

The way he said it made it sound so simple, and she felt her blush growing, much as she hated it. She was not some immature girl. Her monthlies had begun years before, and by all rights she was a woman grown, but something about Dieredon made her feel so stupid, so unsure and unskilled. A simple berating by him shouldn’t embarrass her, especially when it wasn’t much of a berating at all.

Begging Ashhur to clear her head and nerves, she rapidly nodded.

“Of course,” she said. “Lead on.”

“Good. Keep your bow at ready, and follow behind me at ten paces.”

With a near fanatical obsession she followed his orders, and together they made their way to the ramshackle bridge. Every few moments she glanced behind them, where the yellow grass of the Wedge stretched on and on for miles. No matter how often she looked, she saw no signs of life. Up ahead was just as still, and when they reached the first plank of the bridge, Dieredon beckoned her over.

“Look here,” he said, pointing to a faded smear of dirt upon of wood. Jessilynn looked, but whatever he saw, she did not.

“It’s been at least three months since anyone crossed this bridge,” he explained.

“Isn’t that a good thing?” she asked. From what she understood, having orcs escape their prison was about as bad as it got.

Dieredon glanced across the bridge to the east.

“Not if there are no orcs left to cross,” he said. “Sonowin, come!”

His sudden worry made Jessilynn nervous as she climbed atop the winged horse. Without any of his usual attempts for steadiness, Dieredon tugged on the reins, sending them flying over the Bone Ditch and into the greener lands beyond.

“Where are we going?” she shouted.

“The Green Castle.”

She dared not ask why. She felt intrusive enough as it was. For three days they’d camped north of the Citadel, and he’d spent hours fixing her stance, showing her the proper way to grip her bow and draw an arrow. By the third day she could tell he’d grown restless, and come the fourth they’d begun their flight northeast. Hearing the worry in his voice put a seed of guilt in her stomach. What if they arrived somewhere too late, and it was all because of her training? Could she even stay with him in good conscience if that were the case?

They remained low to the ground, passing over hilly lands that seemed to go on forever. The grass was lush, showing the healthy luster of spring. Slowly the hills evened out, and then in the far distance she saw a faint hint of stone that rapidly took the shape of a circular wall built atop a hill. Jessilynn almost asked Dieredon if that was the Green Castle, then realized the stupidity of the question. Beyond the outer circular walls was a slender tower, every facing covered with what she guessed to be vines. Nearer and nearer they flew. The castle took on a more vivid green, and even from her distance she could see the large clusters of flowers that speckled the castle.

Dieredon circled twice, his eyes scanning the ground. His frown deepened, but still he ordered Sonowin to land. Just inside the inner walls the winged horse touched ground. Dieredon leapt off before the beast was still, and he offered her a hand.

“What’s wrong?” she asked as she took it. “It’s so quiet here.”

“This castle belonged to Lord Sully. He was never a friend of elvenkind, but he did aid us in keeping the orcs at bay. When last I left here, his men were patrolling the Bone Ditch to prevent the construction of any more bridges.” He gestured about the empty courtyard. “It shouldn’t be quiet. There should be servants, soldiers, children…”

He pulled off his bow, then hurried toward the castle. Jessilynn tugged free her own bow and ran after him. Her plodding footsteps seemed so loud compared to the elf’s silent passage. They crossed through the courtyard, stopping at the large castle doors. They were shut, with no visible sign of attack. Dieredon’s frown deepened. The elf briefly investigated the castle doors, tugged once to confirm they were still locked, then peered up the castle walls.

“Check the outer grounds for any signs of life,” he said, hopping atop of Sonowin. “I’ll investigate the castle, see if I can discover where they’ve fled. If you find yourself in trouble, whistle as loud as you can.”

“I will,” Jessilynn said. She clutched her bow and tried not to let her nervousness show. Being alone in the great courtyard made her uneasy. Something had gone terribly wrong, and they both knew it. Dieredon flew higher and higher until he was even with one of the upper windows of a tower, then leapt off Sonowin’s back. He vanished into the stone edifice. Wanting to be useful, Jessilynn started scanning the area, trying to decide what she was even looking for.

Aimlessly, she began walking through the courtyard, slowly making her way around to the western side. The hairs on the back of her neck began to stand as more and more things looked askew. She found overturned barrels, broken shafts of wood that might have been spears, bits of shredded clothing. Against one wall of the tower she saw a stain, and stepping closer, she saw the stone was chipped. The stain was, without a doubt, a great smear of blood.

When her fingers brushed against it she heard a distant sound, one she could hardly believe.

Laughter?

Closing her eyes, she did her best to listen, and sure enough she heard it again. From somewhere in the building, she decided, but where? With how large the tower was, it’d take time for Dieredon to find them if he also heard. Jogging alongside the stone, Jessilynn looked for an alternate entrance beyond the locked gates. Rounding the southwest corner, she found a small jut built out from the wall, just narrow enough for a single man to pass through. It was blocked by a single gate. A way to flank attackers at the front gate if the situation demanded it, she guessed. Beyond the iron gate was a second wooden door. From beyond that, she heard another round of muffled laughter.

“Dieredon?” she called out, but so pathetic was her cry that she doubted anyone could have heard her. She swallowed, told herself to be brave. She was a paladin of Ashhur. She was supposed to be a champion of mankind, not a girl quaking in fear at a stranger’s laughter.

She touched the gate. With a grinding squeak it pushed inward. It took a moment for her to overcome her surprise. She’d been convinced it would be locked like the front gates had been. Of course, there was still the wooden doors just beyond. Stepping into the dark passageway, she grabbed the handle and pulled.

It opened with a dull thud, revealing a long, unlit hallway. Offering a prayer to Ashhur for safety, she pulled an arrow out of her quiver and pressed it against the string of her bow. The arrowhead lit up with a soft blue-white glow, and with its light guiding her, she stepped into the hallway. The echoes of her footfalls made her wince, and again she thought of Dieredon’s silent passing. Jessilynn wore lighter armor than the other paladins, a special suit requested by Jerico himself from a traveling smith. It was heavy leather, studded, with her chest and shoulders reinforced with a variety of plate and chain. She could move far easier than the others in their platemail, but it was still heavy, and worse, noisy. Each step she took sounded like thunder. Her fear made the light of her arrow falter until she could barely see five feet before her.

Again she heard laughter, this time of two different men. Their voices were deep, boisterous, yet muffled too much for her to make out the words they occasionally spoke.

“Hello?” she called out, traveling deeper into the Green Castle. “Is someone there?”

At the sound of her voice the laughter stopped. Jessilynn’s heart caught in her throat as she heard movement and the rattle of weaponry. She took a step back, stumbling as her foot landed atop a heavy stone. She flung her elbow to the side to brace herself against the wall, except the wall wasn’t there. She landed on hard dirt. The arrow and bow fell from her hands, clattered to the ground in the darkness.

Stay calm, Jessilynn told herself. Stay calm, and don’t panic. Feel along the ground.

The bow was easy enough to find given its size. For another moment she felt for the arrow, then realized she had a dozen more in the quiver on her back. Drawing another, she notched it on the string. The metal arrowhead brightened, surrounded by the glow of her faith, and finally able to see, she looked about.

She was in a large tunnel that stretched sharply into the earth for a distance far beyond the reach of her light. Spinning around, she found the broken bricks of the castle wall, the gap the size of a large man. The panic she’d fought against assaulted her at double strength. The castle hadn’t been taken from outside. It’d been tunneled into and taken from within.

She stepped out, pointed her arrow down the hall. She heard a door open, and yellow eyes glinted a mere fifty feet away. Jessilynn let fly her arrow, and as it streaked down the hall she was finally able to see. Orcs, two of them, each wearing crude armor and carrying swords. The arrow struck the first in the chest, blasting him off his feet. The other let out a yell, screaming in alarm. Jessilynn flung her bow across her back and ran. The exit looked so small, yet so bright. Her heart pounded in her ears as she heard more voices clamoring behind her. It sounded like an entire army awakening.

“Dieredon!” she screamed, fear giving strength to her legs. She blasted through the door and out into the painful daylight. “Dieredon!”

Without slowing she raced into the courtyard, wanting to put as much distance between her and the castle as possible. Her lungs burned, and when she reached where they had first landed she spun in circles, looking for Sonowin’s great wings. She didn’t see them, or the horse they were attached to, anywhere.

From the side entrance orcs burst out, rounding the corner with weapons drawn. At first there were only a few, and they squinted against the light. Grabbing her bow, Jessilynn let fly an arrow at the closest. It sailed wide, bouncing twice off the dirt. Her eyes widened as the orc closed the distance, rusty sword lifted high to strike. Before she could nock another, an arrow flew in from the sky, piercing the orc’s throat. The shaft remained halfway embedded, and dark blood poured around it.

“Your hand!” she heard Dieredon shout from high above. Flinging her bow back over her shoulder, she turned around and lifted her arms. Sonowin dove toward her, Dieredon on her back releasing arrow after arrow. They sailed over her head, and she heard pained cries from behind each time one found purchase. The elf put aside his bow, reached down, and yanked her onto Sonowin’s back as the winged horse momentarily halted in place. Then they were moving skyward, and the feel of the wind was enough to bring Jessilynn to tears.

She clutched the elf tightly, then looked down to the castle. In the courtyard swarmed hundreds of orcs.

“They tunneled in,” she shouted, struggling to regain her composure.

“Then all is lost in the Hillock. The orcs have emptied out of the Wedge, every last one of them. Thousands upon thousands, greater than any army of man.”

Sonowin’s wings steadied, and Jessilynn loosened her grip on Dieredon’s waist, chastising herself for being so afraid. What was the point of all those years of training under Lathaar and Jerico if she would panic against the very first enemy she ever faced? Still, she couldn’t chase away the image of the orc falling backward, her arrow crushing his chest as if she’d struck him with a maul. The way the blood had splattered against the walls, colored purple by the blue hue of her arrow…

“Where do we go now?” she asked, trying to think about anything else.

“The east is theirs, and so the west we must protect,” he said. “Over the past five years I’ve never received word of any other of the races traveling into Neldar.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?”

“The door to their cage is open in the east, yet they remain behind,” Dieredon shouted, shaking his head. “The question is…why?”

She could not imagine a reason. The wildlands were the elf’s expertise, not hers. She glanced behind her, offering a prayer for anyone that might still remain lost or hidden in the great nation of Neldar. Celestia’s cursed children had taken them as their own, and from the laughter she heard deep within the castle, the orcs were more than comfortable in their new home.

“I’m sorry,” she shouted.

“For what?”

“For panicking.”

Dieredon lessened his grip on the reins so he might turn about to look at her.

“Are you alive?” he asked her.

“Yes?”

“And did you act when confronted by your enemy, or did you do nothing?”

“I killed one,” she admitted. “And then I ran for you.”

“Then you have nothing to apologize for. Even for a human you are young, so do not judge yourself so harshly. Remember, you are with me to learn, not to prove you have no need of learning.”

He put his back to her, fell silent.

“However,” he said, turning back around. A smile was on his face, but it quickly vanished. “You still missed your mark during my descent. Sonowin, take us down somewhere quiet. I think Jessilynn needs an hour of practice to remind her not to rush her aim.”

Sonowin let out a snort, and then down they went.