Half-Orcs: Book 06 - The Prison of Angels by David Dalglish

her knees now, her hands drifting down to his belt.
    “And remember,” she said to him. “You must remain calm around your men. Don’t worry. I’ll help you with that.”
    Bram swallowed, close his eyes, and then mentally swore a hundred times when he heard someone call his name from outside the tent. He recognized the voice, too. It was Sir Ian Millar, his most trusted knight and commander of his armies. The man’s service had been invaluable during the Gods’ War.
    “Yes?” Bram asked through the fabric of the tent.
    “Milord, I would seek your advice.”
    “Can it wait?”
    “I fear it cannot.”
    Bram let out a sigh, pushed back his wife.
    “Later,” he told her.
    “I have duties I must attend,” she said, rising from her knees.
    “Then much later.”
    His mood now even worse, Bram stormed out of his tent, still tightening his belt.
    “What is it?” he asked Ian. The knight saluted, and the worry in his eyes dispelled Bram’s immature mood.
    “If you would, please follow me while I explain,” the knight said, spinning on his heels and marching toward the bridge.
    “Has there been trouble with Antonil’s men during the crossing?” Bram asked.
    “Nothing beyond the ordinary. It isn’t Antonil’s men I’m unsure of how to deal with. Watch your step, and then look to the sky.”
    Bram’s stomach tightened, and he knew what he’d see before he ever looked skyward. Flying in v-formations were several dozen angels. Golden-hued armor glinted in the sunlight, and in their hands were the unmistakable shapes of swords, shields, and spears.
    “Do they accompany Antonil’s men, or are they merely seeing them off?” Bram asked, lifting a hand to shade his eyes as he looked.
    “So far they have not crossed the border,” Ian said. “They’re merely circling their current position. I’ve ordered our archers ready just in case.”
    “In case what? You would spark war while Antonil’s army marches through the very center of our camp?”
    Beside him, Ian stiffened.
    “Their kind has been banned from Ker,” he said. “Forgive me if I erred in preparing to enforce your laws.”
    “We gave Antonil’s army freedom to pass,” Bram said. “One might consider the angels part of that army.”
    “Then they should have stated as much. I do not care what any one person might say. What do you say, milord?”
    Bram stared at the angels, his stomach continuing to twist. It felt like there were stones grinding within him. Just the sight of the creatures was enough to make him feel a flutter of fear. Their size, their speed, their ability to circumvent any standard defensive formation or benefit of terrain…they were so clearly not of Dezrel. The hairs on his neck lifted.
    “If they try to fly over, let loose our arrows,” Bram said.
    “If they remain as high as they are, we won’t hit them.”
    “I’m counting on it. Send them a message, and make it as clear as the message Antonil sent me.”
    Together they watched as the remainder of Antonil’s army slowly crossed over the bridge, through the camp, and into the heart of Ker, a great train of wagons marking the last of their passing. It took the greater part of an hour, and all the while the angels circled.
    “Do they ever get tired?” Ian asked, still on edge.
    “Apparently not.”
    So far the angels showed no inclination of following Antonil into Ker. As much as Bram wanted a chance to save face, he felt himself beginning to relax.
    “Even if they don’t pass now, they might wait until dark, or perhaps fly farther north beforehand,” Ian suggested while rubbing his neck, which was no doubt sore from spending so much time staring up at the sky. “Bridges mean nothing to their kind.”
    “No,” Bram said. “I know them too well. To cross in secret would mean admitting they know what they do is wrong, or should be hidden. If they’re to spit in the face of my laws, they’ll do it here, now.”
    Bram’s words caught in his throat. As if