Angel's Knight (Angelwar Book 3)

by A. J. Grimmelhaus

  The fifth man, Tol thought as the last man withdrew his sword from the dying assassin. He wasn’t one of them.

  The figure bent over the other man and Tol watched him pluck a dagger from the back of the assassin’s neck. Hardly fair, he thought. Still, I’ll not complain.

  The figure took a step towards him, dagger and sword in hand. ‘Dangerous night to be out alone,’ he said.

  The clouds parted briefly, and Tol got a look at his saviour, a handsome young man with a face he’d seen before. He felt his skin go cold. ‘Valeron.’

  The knight peered at him. ‘Kraven.’ He said the word like it was a curse. ‘You have my family’s sword.’

  ‘Galandor’s sword.’

  Valeron shrugged. ‘Same thing.’

  They stood like that for long seconds, neither moving. Tol wondered whether Valeron really was the traitor. But why save me? he wondered. Those assassins would have killed me. He sighed. ‘Lucky you arrived when you did. That could have got nasty.’

  ‘Luck’s got nothing to do with it,’ Valeron said, still not moving and still making no effort to put away his weapons.

  ‘No?’ Tol tensed, ready for the strike. Any moment now…

  ‘No.’ Valeron grinned. ‘I was gambling with some of the captains and saw some fool wandering away from the docks. Then I saw some fellows following, so I thought I’d come and try a different kind of gamble.’ He looked Tol over. ‘If I’d known it was you prancing around without a care in the world I might not have bothered.’

  Tol let out a sigh of relief. ‘I’m glad you did.’

  ‘Yeah, well, don’t make me regret it.’ Valeron sheathed his dagger and stooped over one of the corpses to clean his sword on the dead man’s tunic. ‘You seen Isallien and the others?’

  Tol wiped the gore from Illis’Andiev and sheathed it at his side. ‘At an inn across town. Kartane found one with ale that hasn’t been watered down. I’m heading over there now.’

  ‘You’d got my attention with ale, but I suppose I’d better go with you and make sure you don’t get killed while daydreaming.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Tol replied. I can see why Kartane doesn’t like him.

  Valeron sighed. ‘They said you knew what you were doing, but here you are in the middle of what’s about to become a battleground and it never occurs to you that people might want you dead.’

  ‘I was distracted,’ Tol muttered.

  ‘Something’s crooked,’ Valeron said. ‘We’ve lost two generals and one of the Seven to assassins since I got to this cursed furnace. Some bastard’s going around killing key people, and the funny thing is he’s wasting his time.’

  ‘He is?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Valeron said. ‘Every idiot around here’s pinning their hopes on you like you’re something special. If the Gurdal knew what a useless idiot you are they probably wouldn’t bother. All they’d have to do is wait till you screw things up.’

  Maybe I should just let Kartane kill him. The idea was certainly tempting. ‘And just how many demons have you killed?’

  ‘Give me back that sword and I bet I’ll kill double what you’ve done.’

  Some people, Tol thought, just need to be punched in the face. ‘I think I’ll hang on to it,’ he said through gritted teeth.

  *

  Kartane sat at the table, alone with a tankard of ale and as happy as Tol had ever seen him. Right up to the moment he saw Valeron enter the inn behind Tol.

  ‘I suppose it was too much to hope someone had killed you,’ Kartane muttered.

  ‘Nobody’s that good,’ Valeron said.

  Kartane dragged a sleeve across his mouth. ‘And what hole did you crawl out of? People been wondering where you are.’

  Valeron barked at the innkeeper for ale then turned to Kartane with a smug grin. ‘Gambling,’ he said, ‘and saving Sir Idiot here who seems to think nothing of prancing around town in the dead of night with his head in the clouds.’

  ‘That so?’

  Tol winced at the hard look from Kartane. ‘I walked into an ambush,’ he admitted.

  Kartane stared at him for a moment. ‘Aye, well,’ he said slowly, ‘I suppose I can understand why you might have been a bit distracted.’

  Valeron snorted. ‘With someone like you as a tutor it’s hardly surprising.’

  Tol spun round, his hands already in fists.

  ‘I’ll not hear anyone speak ill of my brother.’ Korwane walked past, the door squeaking shut behind him, and joined his brother at the table. ‘Balvador’s dead.’

  Kartane sighed. ‘Assassins?’

  Korwane nodded. ‘Right after we left for Obsidian. He’s been dead for a couple of days.’

  Kartane swore. ‘He still owed me money.’

  *

  Tol left Kartane and his brother to reminiscing over their fallen friend, and it seemed like only minutes later when he awoke to the sun streaming through his window and an armed man kicking in the door of his room.

  ‘Move,’ Stetch growled, a dire sense of urgency to his voice. ‘Now!’

  41.

  Katarina awoke to the sound of furious hammering. She sat up in bed, the ship’s slow rocking a reminder that she was no longer at home. ‘What is it?’ she snapped.

  The door flew open half a foot and Kenzin Morrow stuck his head through the gap. ‘Get up,’ he told her. ‘Get dressed and get topside.’ His head retreated through the gap and the door closed with a slam that made Katarina jump. She yawned, suddenly aware of the noise above her, the sounds of movement on deck. The kind of movement which suggested people in a hurry.

  She dressed quickly, cursing Kenzin Morrow every few seconds. He’d better not be leaving, she thought. If I leave Steven to fend for himself it won’t end well. She shucked on her boots. If that angel doesn’t get him killed, there’s a traitor just waiting for the right chance. If Kenzin Morrow was going to try and make her leave out of some misplaced sense of loyalty, well, he was about to learn just how much of a bad idea that was.

  Five minutes later Katarina stepped onto the deck. The sun was already reaching the apex of its arc, boiling heat assailing her as soon as she stepped out of the shade. Katarina singled out Kenzin and strode towards him, picking her way between crewmen scuttling across the deck in seemingly random patterns. Most, she noticed, seemed to be struggling to arm themselves.

  ‘What is it?’ she asked. ‘Are the Gurdal here already?’

  Kenzin peered down at her through his dark beard. ‘It’s worse than that,’ he said, pointing across the water.

  Katarina held a hand over her brow and followed the direction of Kenzin’s hairy finger. ‘A ship,’ she said. ‘You got me out of bed for a ship.’

  ‘Not just any ship.’ He handed her a spyglass.

  ‘Not just any ship,’ Katarina muttered, still annoyed at being disturbed. ‘What other kind of ship is there?’ She raised the spyglass, slowly turning it to take in the figures littering the deck. She swept it left to right, then brought it back for another pass. ‘Oh.’

  ‘Aye, “oh” is right. I’d say that’s a ship filled with Sworn. And it looks like your father’s come along, too.’

  ‘Well, that’s alright. I’ll talk to Father and explain how you helped to rescue me.’ She handed the spyglass back. ‘I’m sure it will be fine, I just need a few minutes with Father. Just stay out of sight and I can clear all this up.’

  ‘Too late,’ Kenzin growled. ‘They’ve already seen me.’

  ‘Ah.’ Katarina thought for a moment. ‘In that case, I’m going to need a sword.’

  ‘A sword?’

  ‘Yes,’ she snapped. ‘Sharp pointy thing you stick in other people.’ She ignored a sailor behind her sniggering.

  ‘You planning on fighting your father?’

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ Katarina replied. ‘It won’t come to that.’

  Kenzin scratched his beard. ‘You don’t sound very convinced, girl.’

  Katarina smiled up at her old tutor. ‘Life is full of uncer
tainties,’ she said. ‘I remember someone telling me that a long time ago.’

  ‘Aye,’ Kenzin muttered, ‘A lifetime ago. They won’t stop to talk, you know. The Sworn don’t bother with niceties like that.’

  ‘I am well aware of that,’ Katarina said. ‘That’s why I need the sword.’

  *

  The sword felt unnatural nestling against Katarina’s left hip. It’s a wonder people don’t trip over their own legs carrying these things around, she thought as Kenzin Morrow fidgeted beside her like a maiden facing her suitor for the first time. Or a man meeting his executioner. Which, she realised, was altogether more appropriate and quite possibly accurate as well.

  ‘Stay still,’ she snapped as they waited on the docks, Morrow’s crew arrayed to Katarina’s left and peering over the side of the Sea Crow with a mixture of consternation and curiosity.

  Her father’s ship came to a rest a hundred yards further down the docks. Father will listen, Katarina told herself. Her stomach was fluttering, setting her nerves on edge. A clump of men stood at the stern of her father’s ship, perfectly positioned to send a storm of arrows over the gently lapping waves and onto the deck of the Sea Crow. But they haven’t loosed yet. Katarina took it as a good sign, deciding to ignore the likely explanation that her father was waiting till Kenzin was dead before he killed the rest of the Band.

  A plank was lowered to the ground and her father was first off the ship, a score of men following him in an ordered fashion. Her father approached, the men behind him stretching out in a perfect arc behind him. The Sworn accompanying him looked furious, but they were men of poor humour at the best of times. Still, she thought, they look more grim than usual. The sight of a traitor in front of them, a man they had been hunting for years, left the men looking more determined than ever. Katarina could practically sense the fury rolling off them as they spread out in a perfectly choreographed move, first forming a line behind her father, then stretching apart, the line slowly coalescing into a curve which swept round her father to form a half-circle with Katarina and Kenzin at its centre.

  Father will listen, she thought. He was approaching at a measured, firm pace, the half-circle of Sworn slowly closing in on all sides to snare her and Morrow, leaving no escape but the open sea and the ship. She felt Kenzin stiffen as the snare closed around him like a hunter’s trap and he fought the urge to struggle, the urge to flee. I will make Father listen, Katarina promised herself, but she could see his face clearly now, a smooth mask of restrained anger, and doubts fluttered in her stomach. With his men here, it may not be my father who appears before me, but the Duke of Sudalra. Katarina bit her lip. How did that not occur to me? She kept her eyes on him as he approached. Her father was pliant, but the Black Duke? A different prospect entirely. Perhaps this wasn’t such a good idea.

  He stopped a dozen paces away, eyes carefully taking in the two people standing before him.

  ‘Daughter,’ the Black Duke said, ‘I am relieved to find you alive.’

  ‘Hello, Father.’ It wasn’t what she’d planned on saying, not really a grand opening remark, but it was suddenly hard to think.

  ‘Hostages do not usually carry swords,’ he replied, still not looking at Kenzin beside her. ‘Duke’s daughters even less often.’

  Her throat was dry. ‘I am not a hostage.’

  Her father stared at her for long moments and Katarina felt her pulse quicken, realising she could not read the faintest hint of his intentions.

  ‘Then stand aside. The Sworn have business with him.’

  Katarina swallowed and suddenly felt like she was six years old again, caught with the key to her father’s study.

  ‘What?’

  She cleared her throat. ‘I cannot let you harm Kenzin.’

  Her father sighed. ‘It is my own fault,’ he said, a sad note to his voice. ‘I have been overly lenient with you, but it is time you did as you were told.’

  She folded her arms and gave him her best scowl. ‘Kenzin and his men helped rescue me.’

  He paused for a moment, digesting this information, but it was the duke who spoke. ‘Then his death will be quick. Stand aside, child, or I will have the men take you away.’

  ‘No!’ Katarina stamped her foot. ‘You will spare him. His freedom has been promised.’

  Katarina shivered under the weight of her father’s dark stare.

  ‘Who?’ he rasped. ‘Who would dare?’

  Katarina snapped her head to the right as she heard a commotion. One of the Sworn men went stumbling to his right and a grim shape barged through the semi-circle. Behind him came a battered man with a look like he’d just arrived at his own funeral.

  ‘I did,’ Stetch growled. He marched through the open space and came to stand between Katarina and her father. A moment later Steven joined him. Katarina didn’t think it was coincidence that he kept Stetch between him and her father.

  Her father stared at Stetch for a long time, silently weighing him in judgement. Steven stirred at Stetch’s shoulder. ‘There was no other choice,’ Steven said. ‘Morrow’s ship was the only one fast enough to keep pace with Calderon.’

  Her father kept his eyes on Stetch. ‘I’m surprised you didn’t kill him anyway.’

  Stetch shrugged. ‘Nearly did.’

  ‘A duke would have expected it,’ he said, ‘but Katarina’s father is grateful.’

  Katarina felt an overwhelming urge to take a step back as her father’s attention returned to her. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘Morrow will be spared.’ Her father carefully avoided looking at the mercenary standing next to her. ‘And Victoria? She is well?’

  Katarina nodded. ‘A little bruised, but Stetch arrived before…’

  Her father nodded, the relief shining in his eyes. He blinked and it was gone, replaced by the mask he wore so often when dealing with the Sworn. ‘Get her,’ he told Stetch.

  ‘Do not test me,’ her father warned Stetch as he hesitated. ‘Fetch her.’

  Stetch strode around the back of Katarina and Morrow, making quickly for the Sea Crow. Steven stood to her right, facing the ship with Morrow on one side and her father on the other. He looked seasick, and very anxious to be somewhere else. Katarina sighed. ‘Father—’

  ‘You have what you want,’ her father interrupted, impatience and anger distorting his voice to that of someone she didn’t recognise. ‘We are leaving with your sister, and I will brook no arguments.’

  ‘I have unfinished business here.’ The words came out with more confidence than she felt.

  ‘I will not allow Sudalra to be dragged into the church’s war. You will get what possessions you have and meekly – and quietly – get on board.’ Her father leaned towards her. ‘Or I will have the Sworn drag you aboard like a spoiled child.’

  ‘I am betrothed.’ It wasn’t what Katarina had planned on saying, but it came out anyway. She held her breath and noticed a vein bulging in her father’s neck. That’s probably not a good sign.

  ‘You. Are. Betrothed.’ Her father’s face looked fit to burst, suddenly exploding in a gargantuan sigh. ‘I send you away to do one thing,’ he muttered softly, ‘and a week later I find you’ve been kidnapped, rescued, befriended an enemy of the Homeland’- his eyes darted to Morrow – ‘and now, apparently, decided to take a husband.’ He shook his head. ‘I found you dozens of potential suitors, Katarina, all of whom you managed to find some irredeemable fault with. Did you give any thought to your mother and I? To Sudalra’s needs?’

  ‘I thought you’d want me to be happy, Daddy.’

  It worked. Just for a moment his face softened before the careworn grooves returned. ‘And now you want to stay, to stand with this man as the Gurdal advance north,’ her father said. His mouth twisted. ‘A soldier,’ he sighed. ‘A minor lord?’ he asked hopefully. ‘A captain?’ He pronounced the word like an insult.

  ‘Someone you have already met,’ Katarina said, choosing her words carefully. ‘I am sure you will approve.’

  He grunted,
clearly not convinced. ‘Who?’

  Katarina turned towards her lover. ‘You remember Steven?’

  Her father’s eyes flicked over him briefly, his ragged clothes still caked with blood and a face nine-tenths stubble. ‘Him?’

  Katarina smiled. ‘Yes.’

  Her father turned a withering glare on Steven. ‘Kraven.’ His voice was taut. ‘I heard you killed another demon.’

  ‘He did,’ Katarina said. ‘And two more in Obsidian the other night. He has killed four of the foul things now – that’s quite impressive, don’t you think, Father?’

  Her father kept his eyes riveted on Steven. She expected him to look away or make some foolish comment, but Steven just stared right back, not backing down. Few enough people can manage that. Stetch was just about the only person who had stood up to her Father and survived.

  ‘You know what’s coming?’ her father said at last.

  Steven nodded. ‘I’ve got a fair idea.’

  ‘You can’t protect her when it starts. She won’t be safe, and if you lose… you know what will happen.’

  Steven swallowed and gave a sharp nod.

  ‘I can get her out of here,’ her father continued. ‘If you survive, come to Jhanhar and we will speak of your future.’

  Infuriatingly, he pronounced the word future in such a way as to suggest that Steven might not have one otherwise, a thinly-veiled threat which judging by Steven’s pallor he had recognised. He glanced her way, and Katarina gave a miniscule shake of her head. She could practically see the thought blooming in his mind. Don’t you dare, Steven. Don’t you dare.

  ‘It would be much safer,’ Steven agreed, ‘and I would prefer it if Katarina was safe far away from here.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘But your daughter knows her own mind,’ Steven added, ‘and I have found I cannot deny her. As foolish as it is, if she wishes to stay I will not allow you to take her.’

  The docks fell silent, and it seemed as if even the Sworn were holding their breath.

  ‘You would stand against my men?’

  The idiot was already unhitching his sword belt and passing it Kenzin Morrow. ‘If I must,’ Steven said. ‘They’ll win of course, but there’ll be injuries.’ He shrugged. ‘A few broken bones, I reckon.’