“Or Judarius is lying.”
Aurelia grabbed Harruq’s hand and pulled him off the road, away from the few travelers nearby.
“Never say such a thing out loud,” she scolded. “The people’s trust in the angels is as thin as a blade of grass. If they start believing the angels capable of lying and murder...”
“But what if they are capable?” Harruq asked. “What then?”
Aurelia fell silent. Her grip on his hand tightened.
“What reason would Judarius have for such a killing?” she finally asked. “Thomas was just a carpenter. Why murder him in full view of witnesses? It’s insane.”
“I don’t know,” Harruq said. “But we need proof of Judarius’s claims, and a public trial where the people can hear it for themselves. The people need to believe we’re still in charge of our own fates if this madness will ever end.”
“You’re hoping the angels will voluntarily surrender power to mankind’s courts, subjecting themselves to potential imprisonment and execution,” Aurelia said. “You’re hoping for a miracle.”
Harruq sighed.
“They say we’re living in the age of miracles. Let’s hope there’s still a few more left.”
The noise of the crowd grew as they approached Devlimar. Soldiers stood locked shoulder to shoulder, shields raised to keep back the crowd. The hatred Harruq heard screamed all around him was stunning. People called the angels murderers, butchers, slave masters, and worse. Some cursed Ashhur, others called the angels traitors to the god’s name. Harruq and Aurelia stood near the back of the crowd, watching as several people flung stones at the soldiers, which plinked off their shields and armor.
“They’re frightened, and hurt,” Aurelia said. “Whatever happens tonight, I do not think it will heal this wound.”
“At least we can make a start,” Harruq said. He slowly pushed his way through the crowd, attempting to be as gentle as possible. When he reached the front lines, the soldiers recognized him and Aurelia, and they parted so they might pass.
“Bring him to justice,” a man near the front shouted. “Justice for all!”
The crowd took up the chant, the cry rising tenfold in volume as Harruq and Aurelia walked down the streets of the golden city.
Justice for all. Justice for all.
Despite how impressive the angels’ progress was in rebuilding, the city was still fairly small, and it took them little time to reach the grand auditorium, built of marble and lit by a ring of hundreds of torches. The enormous structure was open to the sky, allowing angels to fly in from all directions. It was shaped much like a bowl, with row after row of benches circling the center. The only ground entrance was a tunnel carved through the marble. He stood at the end of the tunnel, nerves wavering at the sight of so many angels flying about. For a second he thought it might be wise to stay there instead of trying to find a seat.
“Stay calm,” Aurelia said, tugging on his hand to pull him along. They stepped out into the center ring, and immediately the murmurs increased. Harruq felt his neck redden. Why would the angels care that he attended? He was there only as a witness, with no actual intention of addressing the conclave.
Ahaesarus stood in the center of the auditorium, and when he spotted Harruq and Aurelia he came over to greet them.
“Welcome,” Ahaesarus said. “I have kept a seat reserved for you two at the front.”
“Thanks,” Harruq muttered. The two took their seats along the innermost ring of marble benches. Angels sat on either side of them, towering above their heads.
“There’s Deathmask,” Aurelia whispered in his ear.
Harruq followed her gaze, and sure enough he saw Deathmask sitting on a bench opposite them in the auditorium. His hands were bound behind his back and he lacked his iconic gray mask. He sat hunched over, dark hair falling over his scarred face. The powerful man rarely moved, and Harruq wondered if he were drugged or perhaps had a spell of some kind cast over him. The Deathmask he knew would be mocking and insulting angels all the way to the very end, not sitting there quiet and dejected.
The auditorium steadily filled with angels. Harruq rested his head in his hands as he stared at the angels in the center ring. Ahaesarus and Azariah stood side by side, patiently waiting. They were the only two not seated, and Harruq expected them to be the ones to lead the conclave. From their earlier arguments, he knew Ahaesarus would argue in favor of turning Judarius over for trial. Given how he was their leader, his words would carry enormous weight, but something about Azariah unnerved Harruq. He looked too pleased, too confident.
When all had gathered, Ahaesarus stepped forward and addressed the entire assembly.
“Angels of Ashhur,” he said. “Wardens of mankind, I greet you. We come with purpose tonight, the first of which is to judge the man responsible for the destruction of our beautiful home of Avlimar. Ezekai, would you please bring him forward?”
A white-haired angel grabbed Deathmask by the arm and pulled him to his feet. Ezekai dragged him across the ring and flung Deathmask to his knees before returning to his seat. Ahaesarus paced before the man, arms behind his back.
“We are Ashhur’s chosen, the last to have heard his voice,” Ahaesarus said. “Know that any words you speak, we will know if they are truth or lie. Answer with honesty, and without deceit. Do you understand?”
Deathmask looked up at the angel. Harruq saw deep black circles underneath the man’s eyes, and when he spoke, he sounded exhausted.
“Yes,” he said.
Ahaesarus gestured to Azariah, who took over the questioning.
“Then let us not delay any longer. Deathmask, are you responsible for the destruction of Avlimar?”
Harruq leaned forward, eager to hear for himself. He’d never believed it, not once, so he prayed this would be the moment his trust would be vindicated. Deathmask steadily rose to his feet, careful to keep his balance given his bound hands, and then looked the angel in the eye.
“No,” he said.
The answer was like a shockwave traveling through the assembly. Harruq looked side to side, wishing he could sense what the angels sensed.
“Did he lie?” Harruq finally asked the angel to his left.
“No,” said the angel. “He did not.”
Azariah seemed flustered when he continued his questioning.
“Did you aid in the city’s destruction, even if you were not directly responsible?”
“No.”
“Did you ever set foot on Avlimar?”
“No.”
Azariah stared at Deathmask for a long moment, slowly shaking his head.
“Foul magic,” he whispered, then spun to the crowd, and he began to address them as well. “Many times you, Deathmask, were spotted within Avlimar, contradicting your words. My brethren, if you witnessed his presence, stand so you might be counted.”
Harruq saw over a dozen angels rise to their feet. Damning evidence, certainly, but he knew there could be more going on. Surely Deathmask would bring up the possibilities of illusions and magic, but it seemed he had no interest in speaking. Worse, Harruq realized there was no one to speak for him, no one to defend him. The angels were the final word, and given their abilities to sense truth and lie, there had never been need for someone to defend the accused.
“I see my brethren, and I see you, a lowly thief and murderer,” Azariah spinning back to Deathmask. “I know who my faith is in, and it is not you. Magic hides your words, deception protects your tongue. You are guilty of Avlimar’s fall, and no spell will save you from our judgment.”
Those words caused a stir among the angels, and Harruq was glad that at least some sounded upset. The rumble ceased as Deathmask’s entire body shuddered from a fit of laughter. There was an air of madness to it. Harruq shifted on his bench, unsure of what to do.
“The glorious angels of Ashhur,” Deathmask said, a feverish grin on his face. “The final judges of truth and lie. No man can lie, no innocent man be punished...unless you don’t l
ike the answer. Then it’s foul magic.”
Ezekai rushed forward when Deathmask spat at Azariah’s feet.
“No lie, yet you condemn me,” he said. “No lie, but you will execute me. Look at yourselves, damn it. Can’t you see how blind you’ve become?”
Ezekai grabbed Deathmask by the front of his shirt, yanked him to his feet, and then shoved a gag in his mouth to silence him.
Aurelia pulled on Harruq’s shoulder so he’d lean close enough for her to whisper.
“You have to do something,” she said.
“Like what?”
“I don’t know, but Deathmask is clearly innocent. They can’t convict him with so little proof.”
He looked about to the thousands of towering angels, each bearing swords, spears, and maces on their belts and backs.
“Yes,” Harruq said. “I think they can.”
“All of you have heard his words,” Azariah said. “You have seen the witnesses. Do you find the man known as Deathmask innocent or guilty of Avlimar’s fall?”
Hundreds rose to their feet, all shouting ‘guilty’. Only one angel in four kept seated, and it sickened Harruq’s stomach. This was their justice? This was their trial? It was a sham, a bad joke, and Harruq leapt from his bench, unable to control himself anymore.
“I will not allow this,” he shouted as he approached Azariah. “You have no proof, no evidence, and your own ears cannot hear a lie, yet you’d kill him anyway?”
“This is not your place,” Azariah said, spinning to face him.
“I am steward of this realm, and that man is one of my subjects,” Harruq said. “How is this not my place?”
Angels began to protest, some questioning the same. A divide between them was growing, Harruq had no doubt. Ahaesarus stepped before Harruq, and he gently held him back.
“Stay calm, my friend,” he said.
“Calm?” Harruq asked. “I am calm. You want to see me pissed? Drag Deathmask off to die instead of handing him over for trial. A real trial.”
Azariah shook his head.
“His crimes were committed against us,” he said. “Not your people, but Ashhur’s servants. We will judge him, and as you can clearly see, he has been found guilty.” The angel spun to Ezekai, and he nodded. “Do what must be done.”
Ezekai grabbed Deathmask by one arm, and a second angel came to join him. A swift blow from Ezekai’s free hand knocked the dangerous man unconscious. Harruq moved to stop them, but Ahaesarus intercepted, pushing him back with an enormous hand.
“This matter is done,” Ahaesarus said quietly. “But another matter lingers. Save your strength. Deathmask is only one man, but this coming divide will affect thousands...”
Harruq peered over Ahaesarus’s shoulder as Ezekai and the other angel lifted into the air, flying off with Deathmask’s limp, unconscious form. Beyond reach of human hands. Beyond justice.
The peoples’ chant echoed in Harruq’s ears, and it felt all the more troubling.
“We have a second matter now to address,” Azariah said, stepping away from Harruq and Ahaesarus. “The matter of mankind’s desire to hold a human trial for one of our own, Judarius.”
Harruq drifted toward his seat but refused to sit. Having so many eyes on him made him nervous, and he felt sweat trickling down his neck, but after witnessing Deathmask’s supposed ‘trial’ he knew he could not let things proceed without him. Just like there was no one to speak for Deathmask, there were none to speak for the dead Thomas. The angels saw themselves as perfection. Perfection meant no doubts, no questioning. Harruq needed to remind them the world was not as black and white as they saw it.
“Judarius, would you please stand?” Azariah asked.
Judarius rose from his seat along the front and crossed his arms over his muscular chest. Azariah gestured toward Ahaesarus, who took over the questioning.
“The man named Thomas,” he said. “Did you murder him?”
Judarius shook his head. “All I have done was justified. I committed no murder. I am guilty of no sin.”
Harruq didn’t need to ask this time if he spoke the truth or not. The looks on the angels’ faces was one of overwhelming relief.
“I consider this proof enough,” Azariah said. “To hand Judarius over to trial only risks that an innocent life is judged guilty by imperfect hands. We cannot allow it. Let this matter be settled and forgotten.”
“Except there is more at stake here than that,” Ahaesarus said, stepping into the very center of the auditorium and turning to address the assembly. “If Judarius is innocent, then we need fear no trial. We must let the people we protect feel they are our children, not our slaves. If they believe angels may commit crimes without punishment, they will rebel against our aid.”
“To acknowledge their request is to acknowledge we are capable of crimes,” Azariah argued. “That alone would invalidate all our efforts.”
Enough of this, Harruq thought. He stepped forward, joining Ahaesarus’s side.
“Witnesses saw him cut down Thomas,” he said. “Witnesses no different than the angels who just condemned Deathmask to death. Yet here you give them no voice. You feel no need to question them, or bring them before the assembly to describe what they have seen. Judarius was innocent before he ever spoke a word, no different than Deathmask was guilty before he even opened his mouth to answer.”
Harruq’s words were like wildfire to the assembly. The murmurs intensified. Azariah shook his head as if Harruq were a child.
“We have given so much to mankind,” he said. “We bled and died for you twice over, first as Wardens, then as angels. We spend our waking days serving you, healing you, protecting. We ask for so very little, only a home we might call our own, and even that is called into question as mankind picks away at it piece by piece in the name of greed. Our lives are not our own, but Ashhur’s. We are the slaves, not the people we protect. And yet you stand here. You point your finger at us, calling our justice into question. You do not understand our sacrifices, sacrifices we could never make if we were not perfect beings. For you to then repay this wonderful service with doubt and accusation is insulting.”
The neck of Harruq’s shirt continued to itch from sweat, and unable to take it anymore, he grabbed at it and yanked on the fabric. The shirt ripped, and he tore it free, stripping himself naked from the waist up. A quiet rumble traveled through the angels as Harruq turned, letting them see his many scars. His wrists and neck were burned, some from Qurrah’s whip. His arms and chest bore dozens of long white slashes from swords and spears, and several purple splotches were the faded remnants of dark magic rupturing his flesh. Greatest were the matching scars across the center of his chest and back, left from when Thulos had run him through with his blade.
“Do you see the scars?” Harruq asked the assembly. “Do you see the torture I’ve endured? I have bled. I have screamed. I gave everything, I gave my life to the people of this land. You speak of your sacrifices as if they are unique. You act as if mankind is forever in your debt. I slew the war god. My brother burned away the prophet. Not you. We did what you could not. Have we anointed ourselves as gods above mankind? No. All we did, we did for those we loved.”
He pointed an accusing finger at the crowd.
“You are servants of mankind, not masters. You are protectors, not executioners. Let Avlimar’s fall be a lasting reminder that you are not above the people you serve. You do not lord over us from the skies, but walk among us in the dirt. If you would claim yourselves above our justice, if you would declare mankind inferior and undeserving of treatment equal to your own, then you bear no love for us. You don’t deserve the place you once held. You cannot be our guardians. You cannot be our protectors. Be gone from us, each and every last one of you.”
Harruq had expected an uproar. He’d expected to have his words drowned out with dissention. Instead he was met with chilling silence. All eyes were on him, far too many flooded with cold rage. Azariah slowly rose from his seat and stepped into
the center of the auditorium.
“Do you give voice to those who throw stones at our homes?” he asked. “Do you speak the hidden thoughts of every thief and murderer within Mordeina’s walls? Each day, we perform Ashhur’s will. Each day, you loathe us for it. You are the sick telling the physician all is well. You are thief claiming no doors need locks. You are the murderer saying all men should lay down their blades.”
Azariah stepped closer, his wings spreading, his entire presence seeming to grow so that each cold, calculated word thundered throughout the assembly.
“Ashhur would bring paradise,” his voice boomed, “yet you would tear it down out of greed, selfishness, and cowardice. The way we demand is hard, but mankind does not want perfection. It fears it. It fears the sacrifice. It fears the day each man or woman will look into a mirror and see through their lies and justifications to the wretched being beneath it all. Mankind fears us because we cannot be fooled with their lies. We cannot be bought with their gold, for we do not share in their greed. We cannot be crippled with compromise, for we do not share in their doubt. I once walked through the golden lands of eternity, and I will do so again. Mankind was given to us, half-orc. We are to protect it, nurture it, and above all, force it to grow. The past cannot be accepted. The wretchedness of sin must be turned away at all costs. You think we act harshly, but in truth, we coddle your people. Let that end today. Let us stand tall against their pitiful attempts to drag us into the dirt. We are to judge mankind, not be judged by them!”
Harruq felt the peace he’d bled for crumbling away, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. Ahaesarus rushed the center, but before he could speak a word, Azariah turned his way.
“No!” Azariah cried. “We will hear no more of this. I call this matter to a vote. Those who believe we should hand over Judarius for trial, rise to your feet so your vote may be counted.”
Ahaesarus raised his fist into the air to show himself in favor. Harruq spun, scanning the thousands, begging for what he knew would never be. Angels stood, slowly, scattered. A third at best. The sight sank Harruq’s heart into his stomach. The angels returned to their seats, and Azariah addressed the conclave again.
The King of the Vile Page 19