Read Half-Orcs: Book 06 - The Prison of Angels for Free Online

and devotion. Jerico in particular was nearly blinding to look upon. But also he saw dimness in many, emptiness. It hurt him seeing it, and he could not help but feel responsible.
    The darkness broke, and the light vanished. It happened so suddenly Lathaar let out a gasp. How long had it been? He didn’t know. What had felt like minutes may have only been seconds, so strangely that vision had distorted time. Colors rushed back into his eyes, the green of the surrounding hills, the gentle blue of the Rigon River rolling beside the Citadel. The students rose to their feet one by one, some muttering to themselves, others praying. Jerico shot him a look, but what it meant he couldn’t decipher. And then he saw Azariah.
    The angel knelt on his hands and knees, gasping for air. His wings shivered, and feathers fell like leaves in an autumn wind. Lathaar reached down for him, but his offered hand went ignored. With a loud groan Azariah pushed himself to stand. His bearing was unsteady, but with each passing moment the color returned to his face and the firmness returned to his voice.
    “I hope you gained what you needed,” Azariah said, turning to go.
    “Wait,” Lathaar said, hurrying after him. “Is something wrong? You look—”
    “I am fine,” Azariah said, interrupting him. “I…no, Lathaar, you do not deserve such harshness. Ashhur’s power is fading from me, fading from all of us. When did you last talk to one of your priests?”
    Lathaar frowned.
    “High Priest Keziel stayed here a few months before returning to the Sanctuary, but that was not long after we first rebuilt the Citadel. A few have traveled here from time to time, but not recently, no.”
    “They suffer, same as I. The world of Dezrel is fading, paladin, and the celestial magic I once possessed fades with it. Forgive me, but I came here to see if your kind felt it as well, but it appears the glow of your blades remains strong.”
    “Praise Ashhur for that,” Lathaar said.
    The angel fell silent, deep in thought. Lathaar stood there, giving him time. Shifting his weight side to side, he glanced up at the sky, then chuckled.
    “It seems you’re not our only winged visitor today,” he said.
    They both looked upward, to where an elf in dark green camouflage rode atop the back of a beautiful winged horse, her white wings the only thing that could match the splendor of the angels. The elf circled twice, then dove low, landing just before the two. With inhuman grace he leapt from the horse’s back, and in unison the creature and master bowed. The elf’s hair was long and brown, carefully tied so it would not interfere with his vision or movements. From his back hung a wicked looking bow, attached to leather straps that wrapped about his chest and shoulders.
    “Greetings,” said Dieredon, Scoutmaster of the Quellan elves. “I come as requested, though forgive me for the delay. The Vile Wedge has gotten far wilder in the past few years.”
    “I’m just glad you’re safe,” Lathaar said, bowing in return. He glanced at Azariah, noticed a hardness in the angel’s eyes that worried him.
    “I must be leaving,” said Azariah. “I still have much to do. Trust your students, Lathaar, and have faith in them. Should Ashhur be kind, they will repay that faith tenfold.”
    With a curt nod to Dieredon, Azariah spread his wings and then leapt into the air. Lathaar watched him go, careful to reveal nothing to his elven guest.
    “Have I done something to offend?” Dieredon asked.
    Lathaar shook his head.
    “No, it just seems that even angels can have a long day. But let’s not think on that. I’m glad you’re here, Dieredon. I’m in need, and you’re the best person imaginable to help me.”
    “Ask, and I will do what I can, my friend.”
    Lathaar led him back around the Citadel, to where the students had resumed training. They passed through the various age groups, gathered together in small circles. Most wielded swords and shields, trading