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

they could hear him, one of the angel formations suddenly dipped lower, curling around to fly directly over the bridge. Ian saw it, immediately began running about shouting orders. Bram watched their approach, did his best to calculate the angle. Despite his fury for their insolence, he felt a sudden spike of panic. They were coming in far too low, and would fly within the reach of his archers.
    “Belay that order!” Bram shouted, but it was too late. The angels were streaking in at inhuman speeds, and for the past hour the archers had been given a single, specific command: if the angels flew over, let loose with all they had.
    Up into the air sailed hundreds of arrows, rising together like an inverse rain. The group of angels, seven in all, flared their wings and tried to rise. It didn’t matter. Bram saw the arrows climb, saw war ready to spill forth before him. News of a dead angel, let alone seven, would be all it’d take for those watching his nation with hungry eyes to put their plans in motion.
    And then a shadow tore open in the air, spreading wide like a shield. Within it were a legion of six-fingered hands, their skin shining a translucent purple. They batted at the arrows, snapping them with a mere touch, as above the seven angels beat their wings and lifted higher into the air. The other formations circled close, and Bram could almost taste the tension spreading. When the last of the arrows was a cloud of splinters falling back to Dezrel, the dark collection of hands vanished as if they had never been.
    “What in Karak’s name was that?” Ian asked, rejoining his king’s side.
    “An undeserved gift,” Bram said. He nodded to the angels. “What do they wait for?”
    “They’re discussing,” Ian said, having watched them closely.
    “Prepare the archers just in case. I was a fool, but not this time. If they swoop in again, they’ll be coming for blood. If we’re lucky we’ll have them dead before Antonil’s men find out and try to return the favor.”
    Before Ian could carry out the order, the angels gathered together into one large formation, turned north, and flew away. Bram closed his eyes, let out a sigh of relief. His army’s presence at the Bloodbrick was meant as a message, a warning. The last thing he truly wanted was war.
    “Where are our two guests?” he asked.
    “I’ll lead you to them.”
    Deep within their camp, the half-orc and his sorceress had been surrounded by his soldiers. So far none of his men had drawn blades or made any threatening motion. Bram understood their confusion. The spell they’d cast had countered an order given by their king, but Bram had also held private conversations with the two prior to Antonil’s arrival. Ian called for them to make way, and realizing their king had arrived, they quickly parted.
    “Your archers have terrible aim,” Qurrah said before Bram could open his mouth. “I dare say you frightened them far more than you intended.”
    The half-orc was giving him an out, and Bram gladly took it.
    “The fault is mine for not giving proper orders, but your magic will frighten them more than my arrows. Move freely through my lands, half-orc, and know you will always be considered a close ally and friend.”
    Bram meant it, too. Qurrah had read the circumstances and events correctly and then acted to prevent a war Bram himself had admitted he didn’t want. Such a powerful ally, he thought. If only he could somehow convince the half-orc and his strange bride to stay at his side, to use their intelligence and power for something greater than themselves.
    “Your kindness is overwhelming,” Tessanna said. Her hands were wrapped around Qurrah’s arm, hugging him tightly. Bram sensed sarcasm in her words. There was no way for him to know their reasons for protecting the angels, not fully, so he let the matter drop. Instead he tilted his head the tiniest amount to show his respect, then marched away.
    “What now?” Ian asked him.
    “Now we