Half-Orcs: Book 06 - The Prison of Angels (26 page)

“Milord,” a guard shouted from the far end of the hall. “The angel priest, Azariah.”

The door opened, and Harruq rose from his chair. He was impatient to hear the results, and annoyed at himself for his nervousness. Azariah walked across the carpet, and he dipped his head in respect.

“We have listened to the desires of the people,” he said. “And I have done my best to weigh it against Ashhur’s wisdom. Their pain is great, and their frustrations legitimate given all we have seen of the world since our return.”

“So what is your decision?” Harruq asked. “What’s changing?”

Azariah swallowed, thinning his lips. The act seemed strangely human.

“Those committing lesser crimes will still be judged in the same manner,” he said. “Though men given to repeat offenses will be brought to the castle prison. In solitude, it will be easier to enforce the lessons they must learn.”

Harruq nodded. That was acceptable enough. He could oversee the prisons to ensure their humane treatment, and besides, prior to the angels most of the petty criminals would have been thrown into the cells anyway. At least now the stay would hopefully be far shorter.

“What of the major crimes?” he asked. The look on Azariah’s face only increased his apprehension.

“The greater crimes are what trouble the people. The nature of grace is too heavy for this world, at least in its truest form. The chance for redemption will be offered to offenders as always, but after that, punishment of the physical body will also be given as per the laws of your nation, only with us as the executioners. These sins trouble too many minds, and there are those who feel the physical punishment will serve as a deterrent against those who might seek to abuse Ashhur’s forgiving nature.”

Harruq frowned, trying to work through the consequences of the decision.

“So from now on, you’ll execute them, no matter what they say?” he asked.

“Not just from now on,” Azariah said. “Every man who has ever committed murder under our watch will suffer the same brought down upon him. We know every name, every place. If this world would prefer its justice to ours, then we will give it to them. If we have passed judgment upon a man or woman, it will be made again, with no exceptions.”

Harruq felt dizzy, and he took a faltering step back. Everyone the angels had passed judgment upon?

“When?” he asked.

“Tonight. We’ll announce the decree in each village we land in, just before carrying out the new justice.”

Justice. It would have made Harruq laugh if he were not so sick. He kept repeating it to himself. Everyone the angels had passed judgment upon. Everyone…

“Qurrah,” he said. “Your very first trial was for Qurrah.”

It clearly pained Azariah, but he nodded in agreement.

“It was,” he said softly.

Harruq felt his rage growing, long suppressed, but not now. He couldn’t control it,
wouldn’t
control it. His hands were on the hilts of his swords, and his mind flashed red with blood.

“You can’t do this,” he said. “He’s not the same man he was.”

“As we have told the people every day for the past five years. They don’t want to hear it.”

“I don’t care about the people!” Harruq screamed. “You won’t send your angels after him. You can’t. He’s my brother, damn it! You think I’m any better? I killed children, children no different than my little Aubby. Send for your angels, Azariah. Bring Ahaesarus here himself if you must. Serve my head on a platter, straight from Avlimar to the people, and see how much they love you for it. Or am I just lucky to have gotten my act together before your kind came?”

“It was your answered prayer that brought us,” Azariah said. The angel looked like his patience was starting to wear thin.

“Then be an answer to prayers! Not this. You’re protectors, not executioners. This is what you think will win the people over? Flying through the night, blasting open doors and knocking in walls? Dragging the guilty out into the streets and slitting their throats? Don’t do this. Don’t. Whatever love the people have for you, whatever trust, you end it right here, right now, if you continue with this plan.”

Azariah tried to put his hand on Harruq’s shoulder but he batted it away.

“We voted, every angel given equal voice,” Azariah said. “I’m sorry, but this is the decision we have reached.”

“I act as king,” Harruq said. “What of
my
voice, or do our choices mean nothing? Are we given no chance to rule ourselves?”

As much as it obviously bothered Azariah, he appeared unwilling to have his mind changed. Harruq almost drew his swords, but it would accomplish nothing. Even if he cut off Azariah’s head the law would be enforced, only with his own life added to the list.

“Qurrah’s returned to Ker,” Harruq said. It was the last card he had left to play. “King Bram won’t hand him over to any angel, especially not for an execution. If you try for him you’ll be starting a war. How many lives wasted then, Azariah? How much blood will be on your conscience before you realize it’s madness?”

“No exceptions,” Azariah said, his soft voice taking on a hard edge. “There can be no exceptions. I’m sorry.”

“We won’t fight for you,” Harruq said as the angel walked for the door. “I’ll tell Bram it was done against my wishes, that you don’t represent Mordan.”

“He will not believe you,” Azariah said. “Nor would it be true. We fulfill the wishes of your people, remember? This was the demand made of us, the one requested above all others. A life for a life, they said. No murderer made free, no matter how regretful the heart. And so they shall have it. They never trusted us, never wanted to accept our ways. This world is not ready for the grace we offer.
Kill the killers
, the masses scream. Forgiveness is for the soul, but punishment is for the body. You truly think they’ll hate us, Harruq? Come the light of the dawn, let us hear just how many weep for the loss. Despite their penance, their regret, their sincerity, your world will never see them as innocent.”

“None of us are innocent,” said Harruq. “Would you kill us all?”

Azariah’s stare met his own.

“Karak tried,” he said at last. “I pray your brother is wise enough to surrender. I do not seek war, but if we fight, I hope your people are willing to bear the bloody fruits of their mistrust. You begged us to listen to them, did you not? You begged that we open our ears to their cries. And so we did. This blood is on
their
hands, not ours. We forgave them. It’s this world that wants them condemned anew.”

Harruq drew a sword and slammed it into the stone floor. It flared with magical strength, spreading thin cracks in all directions.

“You’re supposed to be better!” he screamed, feeling so helpless, so lost.

“We’re not,” Azariah called without turning about. “If only the people had believed us when we said it.”

18

R
een stood in the doorway to his home, staring up at the golden star that was Avlimar.

“Close the door,” Tracy, his wife, said from her seat by their small fire pit. “You’re letting in a chill.”

“Feels good,” he lied. His eyes scanned the sky. The moon was waning, but the stars were full, and across that somber tapestry he watched the shadows of angels flying in all directions, numbering in the thousands. The whole city was abuzz with news of the meeting, though Reen did not know what to make of the rumors. Too many contradicted each other. Too many were so outlandish as to be horrifying.

“Don’t feel good to me,” Tracy said, lifting a thin blanket off the floor beside her and draping it over her arms. “Go out for a walk if you need some air.”

Reen grunted.

“Not safe,” he said, closing the door.

His wife said nothing, only accepted the excuse. He could tell she knew something was wrong, but if he wasn’t going to explain, she wasn’t going to press him. She was good like that, better than Reen deserved. There’d been many nights he’d freely walked the streets, a long dagger hidden in his pants. When the alcohol had really been in his blood, he’d hoped men would accost him, just so he could take their coin after they lay bleeding in the street.

But that was another time, another man.

“What did you hear from the other women?” Reen asked, deciding he might as well bring his worries out into the open. Tracy frowned at him. She worked with the servants in the castle, one of the few that didn’t sleep there due to Reen owning his own property. The quartermasters ran her ragged, but even amid the hectic pace her work required, Reen knew she talked with the other servants. If there was ever a place where rumors of the angels would spread, it’d be the castle.

“Nothing I’d believe,” Tracy said.

Reen leaned his back against the door and crossed his arms.

“Humor me.”

“The angels had a big meeting with farmers and old men from the outer lands. Most are saying it was just so people could let off steam. Nothing’s going to change.”

“That’s not what I heard,” Reen said.

Tracy gave him an exasperated look.

“If you heard more, then why are you asking about my rumors instead of telling me what’s bothering you?”

Reen grunted.

“Was hoping you knew more than me, that’s all. The men at the tavern are saying the angels are thinking of executing all murderers and rapists, regardless of their confessions.”

Tracy’s face darkened. The subtle fear he saw was like a dull knife stabbing into Reen’s belly.

“I thought you weren’t going to taverns anymore.”

“I didn’t drink anything,” Reen said, raising his hands. “Honest.”

Tracy settled back into her chair, but the fear still lingered. Reen thought of how he’d been when he came home those many nights. He never laid a hand on her, hardly even yelled at her, but no matter how hard she pretended not to, he knew she saw the blood on his clothes. How else would the stains be gone the next morning? How late did she stay up trying to hide the proof of his sins? The guilt was heavy, unrelenting ever since he started his two years of sobriety. Ever since he killed his friend, Charles.

Ever since the angels.

He hadn’t meant to, of course. It’s not like he was ever fully in control during those nights. Charles had said something to him, and no matter how hard he tried, no matter how many times he dreamed of that moment, Reen never remembered what it was his friend had said. A bawdy joke, perhaps? A jovial insult? It didn’t matter. Something about it had set off Reen’s temper, and he’d struck his friend in the stomach with all of his drunken might. They’d both come home bruised and bloody on multiple occasions, but something about the location of his fist, the way Charles’s body had been unprepared, came together just perfectly. Charles had lost his balance, and within moments he’d begun to vomit blood.

It didn’t take long for the angel to come. In his stupor, Reen never even learned the angel’s name, but he knew the reason he was there. The sword on the angel’s back had been more than enough. There’d been dozens of witnesses, no need for Reen to confess, no real mystery to the trial. Charles had lain before him, for Reen had not left his side, not even when his friend’s body had begun to turn cold. Something about the angel, the understanding in his voice, the compassion in his eyes, left him feeling naked. He confessed to it all, and not just Charles. His drunkenness, his greed, his willingness to kill and maim. Feeling so lost, so afraid, he’d bowed his head and waited for the blade to hit.

But it hadn’t.

“I think your old friends at the tavern are too drunk to think straight,” Tracy said, pulling him from his memories. “Ashhur wouldn’t let his angels do that. It goes against everything he teaches.”

“Perhaps,” Reen said, joining his wife before the fire pit. “But I don’t see Ashhur around to stop them.”

Tracy reached out and grabbed his hand, kissed his rough fingers.

“Go to bed,” she said. “You’ll be up far earlier than I.”

Before Reen could answer he heard a sound he immediately recognized. It’d haunted his dreams for months, encapsulating everything about that horrible, broken moment when Charles had breathed his last breath, gagging on his own blood. It was the heavy sound of angel wings. And just like then, he felt his blood freeze.

“Reen Sanderson, come forth,” called a voice from beyond the door.

Tracy leapt out of her chair, clutching her blanket to her chest as if it might protect her.

“It’s not what you think,” she said. “You aren’t right. Reen, you can’t be…”

He kissed her, then went to the door. When he opened it he found three angels waiting for him. For the moment their weapons were sheathed, and he prayed that was a sign.

“Yes?” he asked them.

“Our council has convened,” the middle one said. Reen noticed the angel refused to meet his eyes, instead looking slightly upward. “We have capitulated to man’s law, recognizing mankind’s authority to rule themselves as Ashhur has granted.”

“Don’t give me that,” Reen said. “Tell me why you’re at my door this late an hour. Let me hear it in plain speech.”

“Plain speech?” said the first angel. “So be it. Your sentence of murder is no longer stayed. Please step forward, and let us carry out justice.”