By mid-afternoon Kal had ceased to look back as the last of his strength was stolen by the fierce desert heat. They travelled in silence, the last of their meagre water used to wash Riedel and Vrillian’s wounds.
‘How much further?’ he croaked.
Benvedor was silent a moment, his lips as dry and cracked as Kal’s own. ‘Soon,’ he rasped, but he would say no more on the matter. Kal plodded on, one foot dragged in front of the other. He put all his focus into that repetitive motion, watching his feet as they ploughed the burning sand. After a time, he realised he was alone. Kal stopped and turned back to see the group spread out in a ragged, snaking line. Benvedor, next in line, caught up a few seconds later, his tunic stained with dirt and blood and damp with sweat. Kal looked past his master’s shoulder to the dark mass on the horizon.
‘Is that the Gurdal?’ he asked.
Benvedor followed his gaze and nodded.
‘Will we get there ahead of them?’
Benvedor smiled, a fresh crack opening up in his bottom lip. He raised an arm and pointed ahead.
Kal followed his gaze and squinted at the horizon. In the distance he could just make out a large, uneven dune directly ahead. He stared at it for a few moments and saw tiny dots of colour. There! Flags. Kal sighed with relief as he realised they were finally nearing Siadendre. To the west of the city the land seemed to sparkle and glint, and though he couldn’t smell it yet, Kal knew it for the ocean’s beckoning smile. The thought reignited his thirst and Kal turned back to watch as the slow procession caught up with him and Benvedor.
‘The refugees?’
Benvedor shook his head. ‘There was nothing we could do for them,’ he said, ‘except die alongside them.’
Kal watched the approaching horde for a moment longer, remembering all of the tired faces they had passed since leaving Shade. There were so many of them. He tried not to think of the fate that awaited the travellers, reluctantly turning his back on the Gurdal and their prey and stumbling after Benvedor.
The afternoon wore on slowly, and it seemed that the closer they got to Siadendre the slower they travelled. By late afternoon Kal could once again feel the tang of the sea in his nostrils; a thirsty itch he couldn’t possibly scratch. The Gurdal seemed closer every time he looked over his shoulder, and Kal soon gave up, fixing his eyes on the shimmering haze that made Siadendre look like it was slowly dancing on the sand. His throat was too raw to ask Benvedor how much longer it would be until they arrived, and every staccato gust of wind seemed to slash Kal’s face with burning sand.
The sun began to dip to Kal’s left as they finally neared the city, am erratic skyline that dipped and rose fitfully behind a wall the same shade as the desert that surrounded it. As they got closer still, Kal saw the sand stacked high against the wall, miniature dunes that seemed to be trying to scale the boundary’s modest height. Ramshackle towers rose unevenly behind the wall, brightly coloured flags fluttering weakly in the intermittent breeze as it roughly stroked the travellers.
The rich scent of the sea filled Kal’s nose now, and he could see its diamond sparkle stretching away to the west, an unsubtle tease that left him longing to throw himself in the deep waters, scrub the desert away and find some escape from the overwhelming heat.
Benvedor saw the direction of Kal’s gaze as they neared the gate. ‘We’ll find an inn,’ the Norvek knight croaked, his face burned bright rose by the searing sun. ‘Drink the sea and the Maker’ll take you.’
Kal nodded reluctantly, following his master between the cracked oak gates and into Siadendre, third of the Desolate Cities, and gateway to the desert. Or, he thought sourly, gateway to Meracia for the Gurdal.
The sun was finally nearing its nadir as the rest of the party caught up with them a few yards into the city, a bazaar of swirling colours slowly unwinding ahead of them. Kal stared at it in disbelief. ‘They act like nothing’s happening,’ he said, his voice a ragged whisper.
‘Nowhere else to go,’ Benvedor coughed. ‘Some think the Gurdal will be kinder than the Meracians.’
‘We should warn them.’
‘They know,’ Benvedor assured him as Salazar arrived, bringing up the rear with a waxen Riedel draped over his shoulder.
Kal turned away from the market as the Sworn made their farewells, brief but polite.
‘We leave before dawn,’ Salazar told them. ‘That’s when they’ll strike.’
Benvedor nodded. ‘Aye, that’s what I reckon. Good travelling with you, lad.’
Salazar bristled for a moment, but covered his irritation with a lazy smile. ‘You’ll find us in the Raven’s Roost, south of the docks,’ he said. ‘We’ll be there tonight if you need travelling companions.’
The three left quickly, Stennis and Salazar supporting Riedel between them as they headed west towards the docks. Kal turned to find Benvedor already stumbling north with Catardor and Vrillian following. He staggered after them, hoping that Benvedor would stop at the first inn they reached. He wasn’t surprised when Benvedor passed three without so much as a glance.
The main avenue, bisecting Siadendre as it ran north up the Spur, was crowded as people meandered through the city. Some, Kal noticed, carried large packs over their shoulders, and many of the men led women and children. All of them, he soon realised, were travelling north, away from the approaching Gurdal. Good, he thought, at least some of them have the sense to leave. Plenty more, he noticed, gave every appearance of going about their daily business with no thought to what tomorrow would bring. They think the rumours false, Kal suspected. Benvedor had told him often enough that the folk who lived on the Spur lived in the constant shadow of a possible Gurdal invasion, and Kal figured that rumours of their return were probably fairly frequent; the only difference being that this time, after two hundred years, the whispers were true.
He followed Benvedor as the knights left the main road, and immediately felt grateful as the narrow, winding roads left them in shade. The temperature dropped noticeably, even though the sun was well past its zenith, and Kal sighed in relief. Up ahead, Benvedor had increased his pace noticeably and even Vrillian seemed to have recovered a little. The faster we get where Benvedor’s taking us, the faster we get a drink. Kal knew the others were thinking the same, and he weaved his way through the dwindling crowd, his mind on nothing other than quenching his first. He rounded a scrawny woman and nearly stumbled into the back of Catardor. Kal stepped round him and saw why the knights had stopped. He recognised their destination, a Reve tavern where the four had stayed on their journey south. Little was left now, just a burned out crust where the building had been.
Bugger.
‘Gurdal,’ Catardor muttered darkly.
Ahead of them Benvedor nodded. ‘Aye. Their spies are already here.’ He turned back to them. ‘We’ll head for the inn where the Sworn are holed up.’
‘Thirsty,’ Vrillian croaked.
‘We could stop at a tavern on the way,’ Kal said. ‘There’s one just down the road.’
Benvedor shook his head. ‘Too dangerous,’ he said, his voice rough as bark. ‘Few enough will let a bleeding man inside, and we’re in no state to hold our ground.’
Kal opened his mouth to argue, but closed it again when he saw the look on his master’s face. I didn’t think it would be that easy.
*
The others looked up expectantly as Kal exited the church. He didn’t think he could talk any more, not until he got a drink or seven, so he just shook his head sadly. The inside of the church reminded him of the last church they’d visited: empty, dark, and home to dead priests, even down to the discolouration on the priests’ lips.
Benvedor didn’t seem surprised. He adjusted his grip on Vrillian – now barely managing to walk at all – and grunted at Catardor. ‘Docks.’
The sun was tickling the horizon now, a faint red glow in the sky as Kal followed the knights on their slow walk across town. The streets were quieter, and Kal noticed that most of the people abroad carried pa
cks; word had reached the city and the exodus was beginning.
He stumbled along after the others, but all Kal could think about was slaking his thirst. Ale, wine, even water would do. I’d drink mud if that’s all I could find. The red-orange glow over the buildings just reminded him of the heat, and made his thirst worse, more powerful, almost as though it was an enemy clubbing him over the head again and again.
Benvedor had to growl unintelligibly twice before Kal realised the knight was trying to attract his attention. They were working their way south-west towards the waterfront, and the sundown sky was rich with warm colour.
‘Check it out,’ Benvedor croaked, pointing towards the dock area just as Kal realised the glow wasn’t just from the setting sun. ‘We’re too close to the docks if they burn,’ Benvedor said, his voice a hoarse rasp that Kal could barely hear.
‘Okay,’ Kal replied, realising his own voice didn’t sound any better than his master’s. The last thing he wanted was to head towards a fire when the others were drinking, but deep down he knew it made sense. The buildings are so tightly packed that if one goes, half the city could burn. Reluctantly, Kal turned away and headed for the docks. Who would be stupid enough to sail into port as the city falls?
Five minutes later, Kal could smell the burning as he shuffled between two warehouses and got his first view of the docks. A single ship lay in port, its sails already alight along with most of the deck. A huge crowd packed the narrow pier leading up to the ship, and as Kal watched he saw men and women crowded off the slender wooden walkway, plopping soundlessly into the sea, their cries lost amid the angry crackle of flames and desperate men.
They’re still trying to board her, he realised. Burnished figures were hurling themselves onto the deck, even as the crew tried to fight their way off with drawn swords. The violence wasn’t just there though, the mass of people on the dockside was swelling and shifting. Kal followed the motion, and heard the all-too-familiar cries of death and pain.
Someone’s in there.
A moment later, a pack of angry men burst through the group’s outer edge in a flurry of steel. Kal counted over fifteen of them stagger away, all tightly clumped around two figures clutching each other. The guards began to spread out as the group hustled towards where Kal stood. A couple more men burst out of the rioting mass and hurried after them, surrounding the pair in the middle with a discipline that told Kal he wasn’t looking at just any old household guards. Trained men, he thought. Most likely mercenaries.
He caught a glimpse of a portly man at the centre as they came closer, but could only see the occasional limb of the figure next to him. A child?
The group veered away fifty feet away, and Kal watched as they slipped behind the other side of the warehouse next to him. Just as the mercenaries passed he caught a single glimpse of a small woman in the centre, a cloak falling loose around her. Kal chewed his lip as he tried to make sense of the image. He closed his eyes and pictured the split-second glimpse again and sighed as he realised he was right.
Why was she manacled?
Kal took a deep breath as uncertainty stole over him. What would Sir Benvedor do? he asked himself.
Kal was already moving before the answer was fully formed.
13.
Tol recognised the footsteps even before they reached him, a familiar bombastic gait that suggested a man who liked to make an entrance; a man who felt himself important enough that heralds would not be out of place. A man who, in short, had to make do with thunderous footsteps.
Just when I’d found some peace. Tol had come back out on deck to escape the hectoring questions and suspicious looks. For a brief time he had been able to just stand at the stern and watch the waves play against the Sea Crow, their gentle slapping like a strange, clapping accompaniment to Nature’s own unfathomable rhythm. The last few weeks had been a mad dash from one perilous situation to the next, and Tol was trying to savour a rare moment of quiet amidst the violence, arguments and relentless series of half-witted plans and escapes from almost certain death. For a while he had tried to think, just as Kartane had told him, but his mind kept coming back to Katarina and her captivity, travelling in interminable circles as he asked himself whether she truly was alive, how her captors were treating the Sudalrese noble, and how much she would blame Tol for her capture in the first place. All of which just left him pondering how he felt about the prickly woman, and whether he would be able to carry on without her. In the end, the best he had been able to do was focus on the undulating waves and try and make peace with a world which seemed out to ruin everything he loved.
‘It’s time for the truth.’
Tol closed his eyes a moment, hoping just for a second that Isallien might turn away.
‘Well? Did you hear?’ The voice was at his side now, and Tol knew the Meracian wouldn’t leave again, not without answers. Isallien had been plaguing him all day, his attempts growing more desperate and less subtle with every league they sailed.
‘I heard.’
‘Then answer me, Kraven. You and Kartane know more than you have told me, and I am out of patience.’
Tol could hear the frustration in the knight’s voice and felt a twinge of pity. ‘You know the Truth,’ he said, ‘you have read the same book as I have.’
‘There is more than what’s in the book, Kartane damn near admitted as much.’
Tol closed his eyes. ‘Yes.’
‘Then tell me, the Seven need to know.’
‘I couldn’t stand the not knowing,’ Tol said, gripping the rail as stared off into the distance. ‘The nun at St. Helena’s warned me, you know. She told me the Truth was meant only for the Seven and for them alone.’
Isallien leaned on the rail beside him. ‘But you read it anyway.’
‘The Band of Blood were close and I didn’t know if I would see another sunrise. I wanted to know what I was dying for, so yes, I read the Angel’s Truth. I wanted to know the truth, know the secret that so few men had heard.’ He turned to Isallien. ‘Do you remember the excitement you felt before you read the Truth? The anticipation that you were about to learn something wondrous that almost no-one else knew?’ Isallien’s head bobbed after a moment and Tol turned away. ‘Then you understand how it felt to learn that everything we were taught was a lie.’
‘Yes.’ Isallien’s voice was barely a whisper, lost among the cries of the pitching sea.
‘I would say that reading that book was the biggest mistake I ever made if it hadn’t led me to her,’ Tol admitted quietly. ‘We have been through much together and fought side by side. And Drayken’s estate?’ He shuddered as the memory resurfaced. ‘Neither of us escaped unscathed after what we witnessed, what we experienced.’ He took a deep breath and stood up straight. ‘The angel is my friend, and I hers.’
‘Perhaps,’ Isallien said, though Tol could hear the doubt in the knight’s voice. ‘But we are not as they are, we fight their war while they sleep and watch us squirm. For two hundred years we have been alone, Tol. Who can say what really drives the angels? Destruction of the demons, or some other purpose that remains hidden from us?’
Tol smiled humourlessly. ‘You are a smart man, Isallien, far smarter than I’ll ever be, but Kalashadria’s friendship is all that has kept me going.’ He sensed Isallien stir as he heard the angel’s name for the first time.
‘Of course,’ the knight muttered, recognising the name. Isallien collected himself and said, ‘The angels are so different from us, so beautiful, that it is easy to fall under their influence.’ His tone was gentle and Tol could tell the knight was trying to spare his feelings as he continued, ‘Most would bow immediately on seeing the Maker’s children; we are raised to worship these strange creatures, so how then do we see them as the creatures they truly are?’
Tol laughed. ‘Oh, I stood up to her alright. She damned near killed me on one occasion.’
‘And yet you call her friend?’
Tol nodded. ‘Yes.’ He fidgeted a moment, debating how
much to tell Isallien. ‘I’ve seen Heaven,’ he said.
Isallien grabbed him. ‘Explain!’ There was a strange look in his eyes, as though he still hoped the Maker and his angels were all that the church claimed.
Tol looked down at his sleeve and Isallien reluctantly let go. He met the knight’s eyes and stared calmly back. ‘She shared a vision,’ he said, careful not reveal too much. ‘I saw the tiny corner of Heaven that remains unsullied, and I saw the miles of barren wasteland, destroyed in the their fight with the demons.’ He shook his head. ‘I am not sure which moved me more: the beauty or the desolation.’ Tol turned away, staring into the deep water. ‘She is my friend, and we have talked of many things, Isallien. None of these concern our fight against the Gurdal, but most would bring you no joy to hear, only sadness and a glimpse of the futility which we throw ourselves against.’ He shook his head again. ‘Some truths are better left unspoken.’
Isallien was quiet for a long time. Finally he spoke. ‘You are sure there is nothing which could help us in our fight against the Gurdal?’
‘There is not much to know,’ Tol said. ‘They are fearless monsters, faster than any man. Fight them and you will tire long before them no matter how hard you press them or how many stand with you. The only way to kill them is with an angel’s sword.’
‘Then that really is Galandor’s sword?’
Tol nodded and tapped the hilt. ‘Yes. I have told you what I can; will you still help me rescue Katarina?’
Isallien scowled. ‘I gave my word.’
‘So you did,’ Tol said, ‘but I must ask for your oath again.’
‘I’ll not repeat myself,’ Isallien snapped, ‘either my word’s good enough or it’s not.’
Tol turned away from the angry knight, gripping the rail so he wasn’t tempted to thump the man just for the heck of it. ‘The Reve can win without me,’ he said quietly. ‘If I fall, you must take Galandor’s sword and see the Gurdal do not get their hands on it.’
‘Very well,’ Isallien said, ‘but I intend to see you survive this foolishness, if only so I can keep reminding you how foolish it was.’
Angel's Knight (Angelwar Book 3) Page 9