‘If you are lost, we need the book to call the angel.’
‘She will come, Isallien, I promise you that.’
The knight relaxed fractionally. ‘The Truth still belongs with the Seven, Kraven. It must be returned.’
‘It will.’
‘Where is it?’
Tol glanced round to see if anyone could hear, but the crew had grown bored with watching Kartane and the nuns. Tol and Isallien stood alone. ‘I cannot tell you.’ He closed his eyes and waited for the outburst, but it never came. Tol opened his eyes and found Isallien studying him carefully.
‘Of all the people you can trust with the book’s location,’ the knight said, ‘I am one of the six whose loyalty is beyond doubt.’ Isallien’s voice dropped to a tense hiss, ‘So why do you refuse, Tol? Is this something to do with what Kartane hinted at in High Mera – other truths not contained within the book?’
Tol shook his head and met the knight’s worried gaze. ‘I forgot,’ he said softly. ‘So much has happened since I left Icepeak that I forgot the most important thing, the reason why all this happened and I ended up being chased across Norve by Morrow and his men.’ Tol paused, and experienced a moment’s doubt until he remembered that Isallien had only joined the Seven after his father’s demise. Of the Seven, Isallien was the only man he could be sure of. ‘How did the Gurdal know about the Angel’s Truth?’ Tol asked. ‘You said yourself it’s a closely guarded secret: only a handful of knights know it exists, and only the Seven themselves know what it contains.’
Isallien shook his head. ‘No…’
Tol nodded. ‘Father Michael himself told me the Reve had been betrayed. I didn’t realise at the time, but he knew that only one of Seven could have revealed why the book was so important.’ He took a deep breath. ‘One of the Seven is a traitor.’
11.
All that lives, dies.
Live well.
Thirellius Gonk, Tides of the Moon
Time passed slowly when you were trussed up and left on a mouldy bunk. Katarina thought that was something one of the Sworn should have told her in among all those other lessons. The lessons had started as a game when she was a child. The Sworn were a common sight in her father’s halls, and although some would come and go in the night there were others who would spend days – and occasionally weeks – in the clifftop castle. The Sworn were a mystery that her father never talked about, an elusive enigma that no one would explain to an eight year old child. It ate away at her, these mysterious men who arrived and departed silently, wrapped in darkness and staring out at the world with strange eyes that even an eight year old could tell never quite looked at the world in the same way as everyone else. They were fearsome too, though Katarina held little fear and knew enough that although the men bristled with steel they would not harm the duke’s daughter. The more she thought about it, the more she longed to know about these men, to solve the riddle of their being and ultimately find out what they did and why Cook always watched them carefully, a rolling pin never far from her restless fingers.
Silas Tinch was the first. Katarina followed him round the castle for days, and when sweet smiles and clumsy questions failed she resorted to relentless harassment. Finally, after five days, the man gave in and allowed her a single question. His answer – “The Sworn are what keeps Sudalra safe” – just left Katarina wanting more, so the next day she began again. An answer a day she earned, no matter how much she pestered him. All too soon Silas left, and Katarina chose another visiting Sworn man, and after him another. Weeks passed, and she began to understand exactly what these grim men did to keep her and her family safe.
From Silas she learned the history of the Sworn and its most notorious members.
From Carter Hain she heard the sad tale of Don val Donn whose decade-long love affair ended when his lover was revealed to be a Meracian spy. Captured by Gurdal spies, Don sailed to her rescue, carrying out his final instruction to kill her before turning his sword on himself.
From Tallin Vindt Katarina learned the ballad of Cordis Bale who, along with two companions, hunted down a pirate gang that had terrorised the Sudalrese coast. The three Sworn brothers killed three dozen brigands before Cordis faced their masked leader in a duel that Tallin claimed lasted half a bell and ended with both men mortally wounded. As they knelt facing each other in the sand, blood pooling around them, the pirate captain removed his mask and Cordis came at last to know his twin. ‘Hello, brother,’ the pirate said before the two died in each other’s arms.
Piece by piece Katarina learned the history of the Sworn, tales told simply by men who knew nothing of peace, and for whom each legend inspired them to do better, to be better, and as Katarina learned with her discovery of the ledger, to kill more. She also learned of current events, how the Sworn intervened in Serria to prevent an anti-Sudalrese lord’s rise to power, how the removal of a single Meracian lord affected brandy prices, and the importance of maintaining good relations with the King of Norve so that Sudalra might maintain its pipeline of quality metal from the iron mines of Westreach. And always there was Silas Tinch with his quiet voice and calm blue eyes that never wavered when he spoke to her, giving an eight year old girl his full attention in those moments between returning and leaving on his next assignment. The last time she saw him, Silas told her of the vow, the oath each man took, the words that bound him to his brothers. When he refused to tell her the words Katarina shouted and screamed and beat her tiny fists against his thigh, but Silas still refused. The following morning she went to find him and apologise and found him already gone from Jhanhar. Every day Katarina watched the docks but weeks passed and Silas never returned. When autumn cooled into winter and Silas had still not returned, Katarina began interrogating his Sworn brothers but their silence was deafening, and none would reveal his whereabouts. Katarina began to suspect her friend had deserted her, had perhaps requested a remote posting. She could have asked her father, and perhaps he would have told her, but it felt wrong: the stories the Sworn shared were something special between them, something unique to Katarina; admitting it to her Father would somehow be wrong.
He arrived in winter, ice in his beard and blood on his boots. His name came before him, and Katarina could see how even his brothers were careful around him, how their eyes narrowed ever so subtly when his name was mentioned. Loud and arrogant, he stood above the others and already Katarina had heard tales of his deeds, his prowess spoken of in equal measure to his conceit and obdurate attitude – something which the Sworn seemed to find admirable. A huge bear of a man with arms thick as tree trunks and hair black as night, a fearsome, fearsome man to any eight year old. It took two days but Katarina mustered the courage and asked him of Silas Tinch.
‘Dead,’ he told her.
Katarina cried and cried until the bear picked her up easily, striding through her house as she howled and kicked. He took her to a small room, bare except for a lectern in its centre. Upon it sat a large book, its pages open.
‘All that lives, dies,’ he told Katarina as the door thumped shut behind them. He carried her under one arm over to the lectern. ‘For those of the Sworn we measure our deeds by the number of Sudalra’s enemies that we kill.’
He reached the lectern and lifted her higher so she could see the curling Sudalrese script. ‘Silas Tinch is remembered here,’ he said. ‘The Sworn do not forget their brothers, for no one else will remember them.’
‘I’ll remember them,’ Katarina whispered as she found his name on the page. She reached out and traced a finger across the page. ‘Fifteen?’
He grunted. ‘Fifteen times over Silas Tinch held to his vow; few can say so much.’
She tried not to, but a sob escaped. ‘They took him from me before I could say I was sorry.’
He let her drop to the floor. ‘Hard words, eh?’ He scratched his beard. ‘A forgiving man was Silas. He’d have not held it against you.’
She nodded, her tiny fingers balled into fists. ‘Who killed him?’
‘It doesn’t matter.’
Katarina kicked him in the shins. ‘It matters to me!’ she squealed.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ he repeated, ‘because I finished what Silas started.’
‘You killed the men who took my friend?’
He scratched his beard and nodded uneasily. Katarina stamped on his foot and screamed, ‘You stole my revenge!’
He flicked her away with one swipe of his paw and she stumbled backwards, dropping to her rump with a surprised grunt. She was sobbing again, but he just folded his arms and scowled until she stopped, wiping her nose on one sleeve.
‘Killing’s no business for a little girl.’
‘I’m not little!’
‘Revenge is a game with no winners,’ he told her, his voice gruff and harsh. ‘And Silas wouldn’t thank you for it. You want to honour the man, honour what he stood for.’
Katarina followed his gaze to the ledger. She wiped her sleeve again and pulled herself to her feet. ‘For the homeland,’ she whispered to herself. She sniffed. ‘They are all dead, the men who killed Silas?’
He nodded. ‘The ones who did the deed, yes. But there are always men behind the ones with swords, hidden in shadows and directing their actions. They are Sudalra’s true enemies: the ones we don’t see who are even now plotting our downfall.’
‘They are the ones I want,’ Katarina sniffed. ‘And you are going to teach me everything I need to hunt them down.’
‘Now why would I do that?’
Katarina folded her arms. ‘Because they are the enemies of our country, because they took my friend, and because we’re alone.’
He frowned. ‘Because we’re alone?’
She smiled. ‘I know what men do,’ she whispered. ‘One scream is all it takes to bring Father here, and I’m sure someone saw you carry me in here.’
He was completely, utterly still for a second and Katarina was convinced he would kill her but his beard split in a wide grin and laughter boomed off the walls. ‘You’ve got spirit girl, I’ve give you that. There’s not many who’d threaten a man of the Sworn and expect to live.’
‘I am quite serious.’
The smile disappeared. ‘You’d sacrifice a Sworn man just to get what you want? Rob the homeland of a weapon used to defend us?’
‘Yes.’
Kenzin Morrow smiled. ‘Aye, I believe you would. You’re every bit as stubborn as your father, child.’
*
Morrow had tutored her through the winter and the following spring, right up until Katarina made the mistake of telling her father she was going to join the Sworn. To this day, it was the only time she remembered seeing the duke lose his temper. She had expected Father to be proud, but instead her ambition had been met with anger such as she had never seen. The following day Kenzin Morrow was gone from Jhanhar, despatched to remote Stonepoint to train new recruits. She never saw him again, and despite her best efforts no one would train her in his place. Three weeks passed by – an eternity to an eight year old girl – and then, finally, one of the Sworn passing through Jhanhar relented. Lessons began anew, but this time was different and Katarina applied herself with hard purpose to the task. Sworn came and went from Jhanhar, and each taught her something new – lockpicking from Sendar Ray, rope knots from Solto Vance, and the brewing of poisons and antidotes under the watchful gaze of Lannis Trey – but always in secret, away from prying eyes and anyone who might tell her father.
So long ago. A lifetime, it seemed. Katarina stretched, but the ache in her restrained muscles only deepened. She had learned much from her father’s men, but none of them had warned her how boring being held captive could be. Not that many would know, she admitted; rarely did the Sworn allow themselves to be taken alive.
Soon. It will be soon. The second day of her incarceration at sea was coming to a close, and Katarina knew that the Spur must surely be close. That was where they were bound, Calderon’s man had made that abundantly clear. There would be a time soon, perhaps when they took her from the ship, or perhaps when they reached whatever hole they intended to keep her in, that someone’s attention would waver. Perhaps, if she didn’t resist overly her guards would relax, or perhaps something would distract them. Either way there would be a chance, just a single chance. Sendar Ray had told her during their lessons, and never had the Sworn lied to her; if they claimed it, it was true.
‘There’s always a chance’, he had told her while she tried to unpick the manacles behind her back, ‘a moment – however brief – when your enemy forgets himself. It may be minutes after your capture, minutes before your death, or anywhere in between, but it will come as surely as death finds us all’. His face grew serious, and Katarina thought he was remembering such a time. ‘The dangers women face are different to those men must face in captivity’, he had said slowly. ‘You understand?’ Katarina nodded, forgetting the manacles as Sendar’s low voice hypnotised her. ‘Victory’, he said, ‘is death or escape. When the moment comes you will have to choose which path to follow, but to the Sworn either is victory – you understand?’ Again she nodded. ‘It may be only one is achievable, and you will not know until the moment comes, but should you find yourself in such a position there is only one rule, and this you must remember above all others: do not hesitate’.
Calderon’s lackey had left her alone thus far, but Katarina knew such a state of affairs would not long continue. Killing him would be preferable. If she didn’t have that choice though, she would take the other path because, although she had never been allowed to take the vow, in her heart Katarina was Sworn. I shall not bring shame to my family, but I will damn well take as many of them with me as I can.
The ship shuddered, and Katarina realised it was slowing down. We have arrived. The door opened a second later, almost as though Briggan had heard her thoughts.
‘Time to leave,’ he sneered as he slunk towards her. ‘We’re on the Spur now, so you can scream all you want and no one will come running.’ He stopped at the foot of the bed and drew a brightly polished dagger. He cut the bonds around her ankles with one flick of his wrist.
Katarina held her breath, her legs already tensed and ready to strike. The moment is not now, she realised. She looked up into his eyes and saw how carefully he was watching. He was expecting me to fight, she realised as she forced her muscles to relax.
Calderon’s manservant hauled her upright and dragged her towards the door. ‘There’s a crowd gathering on the docks,’ he said, ‘and they won’t treat you any better than me so if you want to live, best stay close.’
Katarina couldn’t bring herself to speak to him, but she nodded her head and let Briggan lead her through the ship. They came out onto a deck packed with sailors and mercenaries, rushing around as the hull bumped roughly against the pier.
‘Quickly!’ someone shouted. Briggan half ran across the deck, Katarina scrambling alongside him, her legs weak and unsteady. Dusk was descending as foreign hands passed her over the side and down to the pier. Angry shouts and pained screams echoed all around her as Briggan thumped down beside her, snagging Katarina’s arm and dragging her towards the press of bodies where the noise was most intense.
‘They’re trying for the ship,’ he muttered. ‘Desperate fools.’ They forged on behind a screen of guards, the corpulent form of Ren Calderon only yards ahead. If only I had a knife right now, Katarina thought, then they were charging into the mass of bodies, screams and flying limbs all around them. Inch by inch, Briggan pulled her forward, slowly working his way along the narrow pier to the sanctuary of dry land. She saw people ahead, maddened, desperate faces screaming for passage, and burning brands held like weapons.
Steel rang in the shadows and the press built to a crescendo as they reached the end of the pier. The guard in front of her fell and a dark-skinned face lurched towards her. A short sword lashed out and split the face in two and Katarina heard someone scream. She thought maybe it was her. Calderon was on her other side now, the ring of guards
around them perishingly small. Something struck her head from behind and the ground came rushing up. Something had hold of her and she swung like a pendulum at the last instant, her face brushing the rough ground.
They were moving again, hands under her armpits held her upright, but everything looked watery and smudged like a child’s finger painting.
‘Come on,’ someone urged. Katarina stumbled on but her legs gave way. She tried to speak, but no words would come, and strong hands lifted her up. She felt herself flung over someone’s shoulder like a sack of potatoes. She lifted her head one last time and saw a smouldering glow in the distance.
The world’s burning, she thought as consciousness departed like a wounded friend.
12.
Each day seemed longer than the last, and after taking the last watch and then finding himself in the midst of a furious fight, Kal was starting to think the day would never end.
Both Salazar’s companion Riedel and Sir Vrillian had been injured during the dawn battle, and Kal had watched helplessly as Benvedor and Salazar did the best they could for the two men. Neither, Kal thought, had taken fatal wounds, but both had lost a lot of blood and moved stiffly after they were bandaged. Once the pair were mobile, the party had set off again while the sun began its inexorable rise. By noon they had covered only a few miles, and Kal found the slow march even more taxing than the frantic flight from Shade. Each ponderous step sapped his strength a little more, and while yesterday there was satisfaction that they were leaving the Gurdal behind, today there was no such boon. Even through the broiling heat Kal could sense an itch in his shoulders, and found himself frequently looking over his shoulder for signs of pursuit. Others, he noticed, did likewise when they thought themselves unobserved, and Kal could feel the tension. It’s not just me, he realised, but the thought brought no relief because his companions were experienced and Kal knew that if they were worried it was not without reason.
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