“Aeros means to wield the great ax in battle,” Ava said out loud, suddenly wanting to spill her secrets to the woman standing next to her.
Spades slipped her hand into the silver buckler at her belt, pulling forth the copper coin she always carried—the Gul Kana copper with Princess Jondralyn Bronachell’s image. With a wistful look she flicked the coin in the air, catching it lithely, doing it again and again.
“Did you not hear me?” Ava inquired, somewhat annoyed.
“Aeros means to wield Forgetting Moon?” Spades repeated.
“And wear Lonesome Crown.” Ava watched the flickering coin in the woman’s hand. “He will also carry the two angel stones. He fashioned a special leather pouch just for them, a pouch to wear at his belt. He believes the stones hold magic powers that will make him indestructible.”
“Is that what brought you to the balcony, to betray Aeros, to divulge your lord’s secrets to me?”
“No.” She gulped nervously. “I came out here because . . .” She straightened her back with resolve. “Because . . . though I couldn’t help but admire the general splendor of Bruce Hall, I prefer the out-of-doors.”
“Ha.” Spades’ lips curled into a wry little smile. “The girl tells a joke. I think.”
“Perhaps,” Ava muttered, gazing back out across the sandy strait.
“If only Mancellor Allen could hear your wit. He would laugh with you indeed. Jenko, too, maybe. No matter how hard I’ve tried to work the lust out of that boy, I see how Jenko still looks at you.”
Ava’s heart lurched at her words. Spades had a knack for keeping her off balance at all times.
“Jenko will never be yours, though, or you his,” Spades went on. “Which is for the best, really. Even had you married and settled for the peaceful life in Gallows Haven, Jenko would have ultimately disappointed you. He has too much of the rake and rambler in him.” Spades was no longer tossing the coin. “But Mancellor, worse than even Gault, practically fawns over you. And don’t think for a moment his innocent little gallantries go unnoticed by Aeros.”
“Why do you torture everyone so?”
“Just be careful how you react to those gallantries, or I fear Ser Mancellor will suffer the same fate as Gault.”
“Mancellor has nothing to fear from me. Nor ever did Gault.”
“Oh, the pleasant torments and bitter sweets of young love.”
“I know naught of what you speak.”
“Sure you do. It’s just a game we girls play, comes natural to we few who are so pretty. ’Tis how we ofttimes get those things we most want out of life, this game of men. And I for one can tell that you are well versed in it.”
Ava had learned what warning signs to look for within Spades, learned when the woman was itching to torment and tease. This was clearly one of those times, and Ava wanted no part of it. Only madness lies down this path.
“I recall when I was a girl,” Spades said, “lying under an apple tree and looking up, imagining all the apples as tiny worlds where the Warrior Angels lived, imagining myself as one of those Warrior Angels, living among the stars, ruling a world of mine own, wondering how I was to accomplish this, knowing it was a man’s game and that if I did not play this game of men, I would never sit upon the heights of the stars.”
Ava recalled the conversation about stars and Warrior Angels she’d had with Nail. She had accused Nail of goddess worship when he had said similar things.
But who’s to believe anything Spades says?
Ava turned from the dizzying view, turned back toward Bruce Hall, wondering if the stench-filled room below wasn’t better than this pointless banter with Enna Spades.
She was building up the courage, readying to take her leave, when she caught a glimpse of her own face in a dull window just to the left of the stone archway. She was taken aback, gazing at her own image, a face wreathed in shadows of dirt. She rubbed the glass clean with the sleeve of her shirt and stepped back into the sunlight just a smidge.
The image gazing back startled her. She was far prettier than she remembered, actually radiant. It was a frightening beauty she saw.
Does Aeros truly fill me with his essence? Her eyes sparked green fire. I possess you and I purify you, he’d once said. Everything I do is holy. When you lie with me, I place into you the healing power of the gods. Our heavenly seasons are blessed by both Raijael and Laijon. In them, I take upon myself your pains, your troubles, and your sins. I even take the wraiths that dwell within you upon myself. I bear your burdens.
She let her hair tumble into her eyes, trying to cover her face. Is it his translucence that shines through my own skin? There was a terrible beauty about his own bearing. Is that in me too? A beauty seared by madness and trauma? But she could see hers was a more vulnerable and untamed beauty, his more controlled and cruel.
And my eyes are green! Aeros had twin eyes of a blackness so profound, they seemed to split the very midnight skies.
I belong to him! I am naught but his princess. And that was the game of men, it seemed. As Aeros’ property, her only living purpose was to satisfy the lust and glut of his loins. She looked away from her own image, an image that now seemed to be wavering and warping in the dusky glass.
Spades was staring at her, firm curiosity in her gaze.
In the space between them were five butterflies dancing around each other: one white, one black, a green and a blue, and the fifth one bloodred.
The red butterfly landed on Ava’s shoulder but a moment, then fluttered off. . . .
* * *
Humans, you ask, how shall they be best destroyed? By the hollow of their ignorance shall they be destroyed, neath the boiling belly of the storm they didst conjure themselves shall they perish.
—THE ANGEL STONE CODEX
* * *
CHAPTER SIXTY
BISHOP HUGH GODWYN
4TH DAY OF THE FIRE MOON, 999TH YEAR OF LAIJON
LORD’S POINT, GUL KANA
I can agree to those terms, feeble as they are.” Brown R’elk’s voice was smooth as the smoke drifting up from his curling pipe. The oghul lounged on a plush red-velvet couch with his bare feet up on a stool covered in bear-hide leather, the ivory mouthpiece of the pipe he smoked clicking against his teeth. His stylish manor house and leisurely speech combined gave him an air of distinction and sophistication Godwyn could not have imagined ever existed in oghul-kind.
Brown R’elk had a wedge-shaped face of gray-frosted umber and lucent eyes of a rich dark brown. The red teardrop-shaped tattoo on his cheekbone just below his left eye marked him as one who dealt in dark alchemy. He wore a plush violet fur-trimmed coat that reached to his bare heels and an elegantly stitched shirt of fine linen underneath. His pantaloons were fashioned of smooth ox-hide leather and clean.
In fact, everything about Brown R’elk and his residence was clean and fine. He lived in a tall and stately three-story manor near the Lord’s Point town square. Lush and trellised gardens of ivy had marked the gated entrance, just as S’ist Runk had described.
“I could ask for more from you, old man, but I wish to help the boy heal fully.” Brown R’elk drew on the pipe with one last deep breath and stood, setting the pipe aside. “Such a fine doggy you are.” He petted Beer Mug atop the head, then walked across the smoky drawing room to a dark wood cupboard set against the far wall, returning with two copper beakers, one in each hand. He handed Dokie Liddle the first beaker. It was brimming with Blood of the Dragon. Liz Hen Neville eyed the red draught hungrily.
Blood of the Dragon was rare and it was dangerous. But together with rauthouin bane it could heal near anything. One sip could give almost anyone unnatural good health. But its healing powers came with a heavy price for some. Addiction. And Liz Hen was clearly addicted.
Dokie pulled the hood of his gray cloak back. Ashen-faced and ill, he furtively drank down half of the red liquid and handed the beaker to Liz Hen. She shed her cloak and swiftly gulped the remainder down whole, then cradled the copper bea
ker protectively in both hands, eyes searching the room for more. Her cloak drooped open in the middle, and the Sør Sevier sword she wore at her hip was now clearly visible.
Brown R’elk seemed not to care, offering Dokie the rauthouin bane next. The boy drank it, the clear draught almost instantly adding a healthy pallor to his skin.
“I can feel it,” Dokie said. “It gives me strength.” He bowed to the oghul. “Thank you, good Ser.” Brown R’elk dipped his thin head in return.
“You’re practically healed.” Liz Hen hugged Dokie, the copper beaker still in hand. “It’s a miracle we got you off that glacier as poisoned as you were. A miracle we got you back to Lord’s Point.” When she released the boy, her bloodshot eyes cravenly searched her empty beaker and roamed the room again.
It’s already happening to her! Drinking Blood of the Dragon would eventually change the chemistry of one’s body, turning the eyes red. Bishop Godwyn blamed himself for her addiction. But there is naught to be done about it now. . . .
He lowered the cowl of his own cloak, preparing himself, heart beating faster now in anticipation.
“You’ve agreed to the price, old man.” Brown R’elk said, eyes narrowing, now focused on the purple telltale signs of bloodletting at Godwyn’s neck.
The bishop nodded, his entire body shaking with an expectation of its own. It had been such a long journey to reach this place. They had set sail from Stanclyffe eleven days ago, arriving in Lord’s Point yestermorn, again taking up lodging at the Turn Key Inn & Saloon. During the voyage, Dokie had recovered most of his faculties the first few days, and then showed steady improvement each day thereafter. The medicines that S’ist Runk had plied the boy with had worked miracles.
Godwyn’s own addiction to bloodletting had occupied his mind for most of the journey. Ever since Stanclyffe, he could scarcely focus on any one thought for long. And now his eyes were but twin points of stinging agony, his stomach knotted in pain. Not to mention the profusion of sweat he could never escape. Yes, I agreed to the terms, but it is no feeble price to me. . . .
With swollen gums, Brown R’elk drifted casually toward him, his disconcerting, hungry gaze focused solely on Godwyn. The bishop stood still with an anticipatory meekness; every muscle of his face quivered in nervous anticipation.
As Brown R’elk’s teeth sank into his upturned neck, an all-consuming bliss and ecstasy enveloped Godwyn.
† † † † †
“I am Leif Chaparral, Captain of the Dayknights!” Leif’s voice rang out over the crowd. The tall knight with black-rimmed eyes and long dark hair stood atop the stone podium in the middle of the Lord’s Point Square, the spires of the city’s cathedral looming over him. Lord Kelvin Kronnin stood next to the dark-eyed knight along with a mix of blue-clad Ocean Guard and soldiers in the Wolf Guard maroon-and-gray livery of Rivermeade.
“As you all know,” Leif continued, “an army of the White Prince camps naught but ten miles south of Lord’s Point! Some fifty thousand strong!”
The crowd below him was teeming with a mixture of knights and other Lord’s Point denizens, all shoulder-to-shoulder. Many of them shouted, “We shall fight the White Prince! Let us at ’em!”
Leif quieted the crowd with a wave of his arm. “Fifty thousand they have! But fear not, we should soon have twice that gathered in Lord’s Point!” Cheers rose up from the crowd. Leif stepped back and soaked in the thunderous sound.
His black-lacquered armor was shined to an obsidian polish, and the silver surcoat draped over his shoulders gleamed. The silver-wolf-on-a-maroon-field crest at his chest marked him as Rivermeade nobility, and the black sword with the black opal-inlaid pommel at his belt confirmed his rank as Dayknight.
Godwyn carried a similar sword hidden under his own gray cloak. Strands of hair clung to his face under the stifling hood. His eyes were stinging nonstop, and his gut was jumping, sweat soaking everywhere from head to toe. He stood with Liz Hen, Dokie, and Beer Mug in the middle of the throng. It’s too crowded here . . . too loud. He wished to move on, but what Leif was saying was nothing short of historic.
Once the thunder of voices died down, Leif continued. “Knights from the breadth of Gul Kana have rallied under the colors of Amadon and Lord’s Point! Rallied to wage war under the banners of Rivermeade and all points beyond! Thousands more arrive every day!” More cheering followed.
What Leif said was true. Ever since Godwyn had arrived back in Lord’s Point, the entire composition and makeup of the city had changed drastically from when he had last been here. It was no longer merely merchants, burghers, and other assorted tradesmen milling about. Knights and mercenaries clogged the cobbled streets now, contingents and small parties of every stripe, complete with horse and tent and squire and all the bristling accoutrements of war.
“He’s such a handsome knight.” Liz Hen’s eyes were wide and red as she gazed up at Leif Chaparral. Blood of the Dragon, still changing her, working its foul magic inside her head . . .
“Last night I received ill tidings from my spy in Saint Only!” Leif Chaparral shouted. “Aeros Raijael has amassed near two hundred thousand soldiers on the peninsula north of Saint Only, just across the waters from here!”
Godwyn figured most gathered here had already heard the rumors and expected Leif to confirm as much. But Leif was a fool for being so forthcoming about what spies he may or may not have in Saint Only.
Leif went on, “The White Prince plans on launching an attack on Lord’s Point with the full might of his army from across the Saint Only Channel! I do not yet know the day of the attack, but it will be soon! It will begin at low tide, two hundred thousand knights charging across that tenuous stretch of sand that separates Lord’s Point from Saint Only! And we shall let him come!”
The crowd was once again in an uproar, swords drawn and thrust heavenward, angry shouts for war issuing forth. Leif again silenced the throng with another crisp wave of his hand. “Fear not! We of Gul Kana will muster all arms! Knights! Soldiers! Mercenaries! Gaolers! Every man in this city able to wield a weapon will be ready! I shall know the hour of the attack! And when Aeros Raijael marches his army out onto that precarious stretch of sand, he will not expect us to charge out meet him in battle! We only need engage him in battle long enough for the flooding tide to rise up and sweep his army away!” Cheers thundered forth.
“Many of us will perish!” Leif continued and things quieted again. “But we shall be more prepared than they, for every available boat in Lord’s Point will be dragged across the sand behind us! Only we shall have a means of escape when the tide rises up! True, many of us will die, but most will escape alive! The entire army of Sør Sevier will founder in the strait! Two hundred thousand dead at the hands of a few!”
Beer Mug rubbed against Godwyn’s leg. He petted the top of the dog’s head. Leif is a fool! A smart carrier pigeon swift of flight could have this news back to Aeros in but hours. It will not be long before the White Prince is made privy to Leif’s plan.
“The war for Gul Kana starts now!” Leif shouted. “Jovan Bronachell and Grand Vicar Denarius will rejoice that we fighting men of Gul Kana have done our part, that we have defended our kingdom before the great day of Fiery Absolution! Know that you men gathered here today will soon be ushering Fiery Absolution and the return of Laijon himself! For it will be by the sum of this battle that Laijon will judge us! It will be by the tally of each of our beating hearts! For it is not us brave men who will make this slaughter against our foe, but the almighty One and Only himself shall guide our weapons. Laijon will use the strength of our arms as an instrument to protect the tender women and children of this city!”
“Tender women?” Liz Hen muttered with disgust. “I think not.” Her red-hazed eyes met those of Godwyn’s. “If there is to be a battle, I mean to join it. I’ve a sword of my own and know how to use it, by God.”
† † † † †
The Turn Key Inn & Saloon was empty when they retur
ned. They found Otto the serving boy sitting in the back courtyard under the porch awning, reading a book. The inn’s courtyard of gray stone and weathered gables was empty but for a stout covered wagon sitting smack in its dusty center. Two piebald ponies were hitched to the wagon’s tongue and neck yoke, their hooves padding restlessly at the dirt.
“Saloon’s empty, Otto,” Liz Hen said as she stepped onto the porch behind Godwyn, Dokie, and Beer Mug. She was picking her teeth with a thin boning knife she’d pulled from the kitchen. “I helped myself to the ribs stewing at the boil.”
Otto looked up from his book, glaring at the girl, irritation gathering on his scrawny mug. “What’d you go and do that for; them ribs were meant—”
“Why’s there a wagon and team of ponies parked plum center of the yard?” Liz Hen pointed with the tip of the knife.
Otto answered, “I was sitting here reading when Derry stumbled out of the stables drunk, passed out in the dirt over by the weapons racks.” The stone beyond the wagon was lined with several weapon racks bristling with swords, spears, batons, clubs, chains, leg irons, large iron keys, and several scuffed and dull suites of gaoler armor gathering dust underneath. The courtyard was set up with enough weaponry and armament for the gaolers to practice their various gaoling techniques. Derry Richrath was the owner of the Inn; a stout old cob himself, he was also a former prison guard.
“Derry bein’ drunk don’t explain nothin’ about that wagon,” Liz Hen commented, annoyed.
“Does too.” Otto shrugged, looking down at his book again, flipping a page.
“Are you daft or just dumb?” Liz Hen asked, her agitation growing.
Otto marked his page with a finger. “Well, I couldn’t very well enjoy my book whilst constantly noticing Derry Richrath out of the corner of my eye just layin’ there face-first in the dirt as he was.” He gazed up at Liz Hen expectantly.
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