Angel's Knight (Angelwar Book 3)

by A. J. Grimmelhaus

  Tol grinned. ‘Deal.’

  Isallien didn’t smile. ‘I still need to know where the Truth is. If anything happens to you, the Seven will need it.’

  ‘It’s safe.’ Isallien opened his mouth to protest but Tol carried on, ‘The angel knows. If anything happens to me she will see the book is returned to one of the Seven.’

  ‘She has it? The book belongs to the Reve, Kraven. Without it, the truth may be lost – those who follow us could fight the demons never knowing the truth of what they face.’

  Tol fought the urge to punch Isallien. How did Kartane manage not to throw him overboard? Clearly, Kartane had more patience than it seemed.

  ‘Kalashadria agrees that some of the Reve need to know the truth about what we face,’ he said through gritted teeth. ‘But the book is here on Korte, safe with another.’

  Isallien seemed to relax. ‘Perhaps,’ he allowed, somehow making it sound as though he was granting Tol a magnificent boon. ‘And if the angel is killed in the coming war?’

  Tol turned away. ‘If that happens, the Reve will have much bigger problems than that bloody book.’ Like how will Alimarcus ever forgive us. He shivered as Isallien walked away, imagining how the free nations could so easily become slaves to the Gurdal and their demons. Alimarcus, he knew, had a poor opinion of humans, and Tol in particular; Tol didn’t think the vast mind that guarded Heaven was a forgiving sort. All it would take is for the angels to do nothing, he thought. If Kalashadria is lost then all Alimarcus must do is reveal nothing to her successor and the demons will win, our pleas for aid ignored.

  *

  Tol was watching the sun brush the top of the horizon, slowly regaining some measure of calm when he heard raised voices coming from the ship’s foredeck. My luck’s turned sour, he thought, turning away from the richly-coloured hue of sunset and traipsing along to see which of his companions was causing trouble. Kartane? Isallien asking more questions? Victoria annoying someone, or Stetch throwing someone overboard? He stopped guessing, knowing there were just too many possible culprits, and increased his pace just as he felt the Sea Crow begin to veer to port. Tol abandoned all pretence of measured haste and sprinted along the deck with a gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach.

  He burst out onto the foredeck and saw all his travelling companions crowding around the prow. Over the tops of their shoulders he could just make out the tops of sand-coloured buildings bathed in the reddish glow of sunset. Siadendre. We’re almost there!

  Tol stumbled to a stop behind them as he realised the sky shouldn’t be red. Not in the east. He shouldered Bruna aside and squinted into the distance. ‘What’s burning?’

  ‘The other ship,’ a voice said from behind.

  Tol turned and found the hirsute face of Kenzin Morrow calmly regarding him.

  ‘Is Katarina still on board?’

  Morrow shrugged. ‘I don’t think so, but there’s a riot going on down at the docks. My guess is folk tried to take the ship and she went up.’

  ‘You promised you’d take us there, you coward!’

  The deck went quiet, and Tol realised he had made a grave mistake. He noticed that all of his companions were behind him, crowded in one small portion of the deck. Several of Morrow’s crew were closing in around them. Oh, shit. He let his right hand drift towards Illis’Andiev.

  ‘I ain’t about to risk my crew and my ship,’ Morrow said, his voice low, ‘and even if I did, by the looks of the crowd on the docks you’d never make it down the jetty. I’m not in the habit of making stupid decisions,’ he leaned forward, his voice a whisper just for Tol, ‘decisions like getting cornered on the deck of a ship and thinking going for your blade is a sensible idea.’ Morrow rocked back on his heels. ‘Can’t say I understand why but these folk seem to look to you for leadership, so maybe you want to think carefully about your next decision, eh?’

  Tol felt his cheeks flush in embarrassment, and carefully lowered his arms, trying hard to look as unthreatening as possible. ‘Sorry,’ he muttered. He thought for a moment, careful not to take his eyes from Morrow. ‘How close can you get us to the shore without endangering your crew?’

  Morrow grinned, and Tol knew he had asked the right question. ‘We’re turning the Crow north along the coast, not turning tail like your friends might be thinking. We’ll drop anchor as close to the shore as we can get, but you might have a walk to get to the city.’ Morrow smiled again. ‘But that’ll help dry you out after the swim.’

  Tol scowled. ‘You’ve got a small rowing boat.’

  Morrow nodded. ‘So I have.’ He turned and walked away.

  Something thumped Tol on his back. ‘You’re a brave lad, Kraven, never let anyone tell you otherwise,’ Kartane laughed. ‘Even I’d think twice about calling Kenzin Morrow a coward!’

  ‘He nearly got us all killed!’ Isallien snapped.

  Kartane turned and stared at the knight like he’d just said the stupidest thing in all of history. ‘That,’ Kartane said slowly, ‘is why it’s called an adventure.’ He shook his head in disbelief. ‘You Meracians are so bloody boring.’

  14.

  The solid stone slabs of Siadendre’s docks were littered with the dead. Most, Tol saw, were centred around one of the wooden wharves. Bodies were scattered along its length as it stretched towards the dockside, where the human flotsam was more liberally distributed.

  Tol shivered, the others watching silently at his side as Stetch picked his way among the fallen, his grim face lit only by moonlight as he searched for any trace of Katarina. Tol closed his eyes and shivered again. Kenzin Morrow had dropped them a mile offshore and several miles north of the city. By the time Tol and his companions had reached Siadendre’s gates, dusk had already passed and the sharp chill left them all cold in still-wet clothes as they trudged through the city.

  Now, standing on the docks, Tol felt lost as he watched Stetch search the dead. They had been stripped of all but their clothes, but in the moonlight Tol could see several had the look of hardened mercenaries, men who probably wouldn’t be out of place among Morrow and his men.

  Stetch reached the end of the wharf, and Tol watched him step between the broken corpses as he returned. He let out a soft sigh as he realised Stetch hadn’t found Katarina among the dead. She’s alive, he thought. It felt like a lead weight had been lifted from his chest.

  ‘We’ll never find her,’ Suranna muttered a few yards away. ‘The city’s just too big to search.’

  Isallien edged closer as Stetch strode back towards them. ‘As much as I hate the man,’ he said quietly, ‘Morrow was right about one thing: these people look to you for leadership.’

  Tol shifted his weight, his eyes drawn earthward as he felt something sticky underneath his foot.

  ‘If you are ever to be more than a figurehead to the Reve,’ Isallien continued, ‘you need to start taking control and setting an example.’

  Tol mumbled something, and Isallien fell quiet. He stared at the large stone slabs, and the dark pool of liquid surrounding his foot; the temperature had cooled enough that it had the consistency of sap.

  ‘It must have been a large group,’ he muttered. There were a lot of bodies, and most had the darker skin of the desert tribes than the paler skin of men from the northern realms. He lifted his foot and started scouring the ground. ‘But with the crowd pinning them in they took losses.’

  A disinterested grunt told him Stetch had returned, but Tol ignored him, turning a half-circle and scanning the ground. There!

  ‘How does that help us?’

  Tol saw another drop a few feet away and started walking towards it. ‘The injured bleed,’ he replied absently, keeping his eyes on the ground as he followed the trail.

  ‘Follow the blood trail,’ Isallien said. ‘It might just lead us to them.’

  Another spot, and another, and Tol followed the ragged line of spilt blood as best as he could in the dark, leading the party between a couple of warehouses and onto one of the city’s main avenues. N
ow, as midnight approached apace, the streets were all but deserted and Tol followed the trail easily, across the main road and down a side street. He stopped at another junction, shuffling around in an increasing arc trying to find the trail again.

  ‘It’s no good,’ he finally admitted, ‘too many people have come this way: I can’t find the trail.’

  Stetch swept past him, every movement taut and stretched like a man fast losing his mind.

  So close, Tol thought. I have to find her.

  ‘We could keep heading East,’ Isallien suggested. The knight kept his voice quiet, reminding Tol that the Spur was practically enemy territory as far as the Reve were concerned. He’d heard tales from passing knights at Icepeak, whispers of the shadowy war that raged in the darkened alleys of the Spur as the Reve hunted spies and assassins hunted the Reve knights.

  ‘We can’t stay here,’ Kartane hissed, ‘we’re sitting targets out here.’

  ‘We should keep moving then,’ said Isallien.

  ‘No.’ Stetch straightened up and walked back towards the mouth of the alley.

  ‘You found the trail?’ Tol asked.

  Stetch shook his head. ‘Need information.’ He shouldered his way between the group and began marching back towards the docks. ‘Know a place,’ his voice drifted back down the alley.

  The others were looking at Tol. He shrugged. Any plan’s better than nothing right now. ‘Let’s go.’

  *

  An inn? That’s what I’d expect from Kartane.

  Stetch didn’t stand on ceremony, hammering on the back door loud enough to wake a corpse. Tol thought he saw dust fall away from the wood as it bowed under the force.

  Tol could hear the tremulous whisper of the sea behind him as they waited in silence. A few moments passed then Stetch hammered on the door again.

  ‘We’re closed,’ someone inside shouted. ‘Bugger off.’

  Stetch stuck his mouth to the keyhole. ‘Mierlé,’ he hissed.

  Five long seconds passed, the group motionless as they waited. Whatever he’s said, Tol thought, it’s not going to work. No sooner had the thought arrived than he heard a bar being lifted inside and the soft clink of a latch. The door swung open and a portly Sudalrese man blocked their way, a large, shiny meat cleaver in his hand. His gaze swept over the party crowded around the door, finally settling on Stetch and the sour look on his face.

  The innkeeper looked down almost apologetically at the meat cleaver. ‘Rough times,’ he muttered as he stepped back and opened the door wide. ‘You’d better come in.’

  Tol followed Stetch into the kitchen, the others traipsing in after him as the innkeeper backed away, suspicious eyes flitting over the companions. ‘What is it with the Sworn and strays,’ the man muttered. He glared at Stetch. ‘Or has the duke lowered recruitment standards to let any old halfwit in?’

  Stetch grunted noncommittally.

  ‘Put the bar back,’ the innkeeper told Suranna as she slipped inside. ‘Better come and say hello to the other fools,’ he sighed. He turned on his heel and picked his way through the darkness towards the weak light of the taproom.

  Tol grabbed Stetch’s arm. ‘Others?’

  Stetch shrugged, utterly indifferent, and set off towards the light, Kartane barging through the others to join him.

  Tol sighed. There must be drink in there. He couldn’t remember Kartane ever moving so fast.

  *

  The taproom was a quiet expanse of gloom bathed in a weak, almost ethereal light from a paltry number of candles, all burning low. Tol followed Stetch and Kartane as they trailed the innkeeper, his bald pate lighting the way like a fast river bathed in starlight under a cloudless sky. He picked his way between the tables, heading for a shadowy group seated in the room’s centre. Tol could only make out indistinct shapes, trying to separate them as he peered over Kartane’s shoulder. Five men? Six? They were clustered close together and Tol couldn’t make out their features.

  ‘Found another one of your brothers,’ the innkeeper drawled, stopping a few yards from the seated men.

  ‘Benvedor, you fat old git,’ said Kartane, ‘you’d better not have drunk this place dry.’

  Tol saw a heavyset figure at the table stir like a slumbering bear. ‘You’re supposed to be in Westreach,’ he rumbled. ‘Or dead. Dead would be better,’ he said. ‘What are you doing here, Kartane?’

  The man’s companions all went still as Tol caught up with Kartane. He groaned inwardly. Is there anyone in the world who hasn’t heard of him?

  ‘Haven’t you heard?’ Kartane held out his arms and grinned. ‘I’m a hero.’ He noticed Tol and wrapped an arm around his shoulder. ‘And this, lads, is my apprentice: Tol Kraven, Knight of Angels.’ Tol heard Kartane sigh when nobody seemed to recognise him.

  ‘The fuck you talking about, Kartane?’ the bulky knight said. ‘Just how drunk are you right now?’

  ‘You haven’t heard?’ Kartane sounded almost hurt. ‘This here lad fought side by side with the angel who took Galandor’s place. Kraven killed two demons.’

  ‘Two?’ Someone asked into the silence. Tol saw the speaker turn his attention to the figure on Kartane’s other side. There’s something familiar about him. ‘Was this Father’s punishment?’ the young man asked Stetch. ‘To travel the world with fools and liars? He must be truly furious with you to send you here with these idiots.’

  Tol looped a finger through Kartane’s belt, just in case he took umbrage. It was, he knew, more than likely. A familiar Stetch-like grunt came from Kartane’s other side. To Tol it sounded more like agreement than anything else.

  ‘Salazar?’ Victoria stepped out from behind Stetch and stared at the young man who had spoken. He, and two men with him, both twitched in surprise at the sight of Duke val Sharvina’s eldest daughter. It’s the same damned nose, Tol realised as he stared at the man Victoria stared at.

  Salazar leapt to his feet. ‘Victoria?’ He glared at Stetch, his expression grim in the candlelight. ‘What’s my sister doing here?’ His voice rose. ‘The Gurdal are at the gates, you idiot, why in the Prophet’s name would you bring my sister here?’

  ‘This isn’t his fault,’ Victoria said, ‘I refused to stay behind.’

  Her brother calmed a tiny fraction, and Tol saw his mind start working. ‘You were in Meracia,’ Salazar said. ‘Why did you come here?’ He looked from his sister to Stetch, hungry for an answer.

  ‘Information,’ Stetch grunted.

  ‘They’ve taken Katarina,’ Victoria said quietly.

  Salazar slumped back onto his chair. ‘She’s here?’

  ‘One of the Meracian lords took her,’ Tol said. ‘He’s in league with the Gurdal and kidnapped Katarina.’ He swallowed. ‘He’s planning on giving her to them.’

  Three sets of eyes were staring up hungrily from the table and Tol felt like he had been cornered by wolves as Salazar spoke, ‘And just what have you got to do with this?’

  ‘She’s my friend,’ Tol said simply, ‘and I owe her my life. I’m going to find her and kill anyone in my way.’ He took a deep breath. ‘It’s my fault she was taken.’

  The table was quiet for a moment. ‘No,’ Salazar said heavily as he glanced at Stetch. ‘If that was the case you would already be dead.’ Tol just saw the faint nod of Stetch’s head out of the corner of his eye. He nearly did, Tol thought as recalled the incident on the docks. More likely he’s letting me live for as long as I’m useful.

  Salazar looked around at the bedraggled group in front of him. ‘We have much to talk about, it would seem.’ He glanced over at the innkeeper. ‘A small fire, Coljas? There’s enough burning beyond the walls that no-one will notice another.’

  The innkeeper grimaced. ‘Might as well burn the furniture,’ he mumbled as he tottered towards the fireplace. ‘I’ll be damned if I’ll leave it for the Gurdal.’

  ‘What would really help,’ Kartane said loudly, stepping in his path, ‘is a drink. This is a tavern, right?’

  ‘It’ll cost
you.’

  Kartane gripped the man by the shoulder, and Tol saw the fellow wince as the knight’s fingers dug into the flesh. ‘Think of it as helping the war effort.’

  ‘Not my war,’ the innkeeper muttered.

  ‘Then think of it as depriving the Gurdal of supplies,’ Kartane said, his voice dangerously low. ‘We really don’t want them having supplies.’ His fingers dug in deeper, and Tol saw he looked almost feral in the candlelight. ‘Particularly ale.’

  ‘Might be a keg or two,’ the innkeeper reluctantly admitted. The two knights seated with Benvedor chorused their enthusiasm, as did a man Tol took for one of the Sworn slumped next to Salazar.

  ‘Best get us all a drink,’ Benvedor said, ‘then get a fire a going.’ Tol wasn’t surprised that Kartane started grinding his teeth; he was never keen on sharing ale.

  ‘Where’s my sister?’

  Tol switched his attention to Salazar. He didn’t look much older than Katarina: the same oversized nose, the same unblemished skin several shades darker than his own, and dark brown eyes that were now regarding him with ill-disguised impatience.

  ‘Somewhere in the city,’ Tol said. ‘Calderon’s ship arrived earlier tonight. We searched the docks, but lost the trail in the streets to the east.’

  ‘Ren Calderon?’

  Tol nodded and Salazar shook his head. ‘It’s hard to believe he would betray us; Ren’s been one of my father’s most valuable assets in Meracia.’

  ‘Not any more,’ Kartane said.

  Salazar ignored him. ‘Calderon has a small estate somewhere in the city, but I do not know any more than that. Does anyone else?’

  A chorus of deflated negatives met him, and Tol watched the young man carefully. He could imagine how Katarina’s brother must feel, but he kept most of his disquiet hidden from view. A family trait, Tol thought; the amount of times Katarina had deceived him with practised ease was more than he would care to count, and it seemed her siblings had the same talent.

  ‘Then we have no other choice,’ Salazar said. ‘We will have to go house-to-house and hope we find them.’