Angel's Knight (Angelwar Book 3)

by A. J. Grimmelhaus

  A smile lit up her father’s face. ‘Good,’ he said. He turned back to Katarina, the smile vanishing.

  ‘If you insist on staying, I cannot help you. The Sworn can take no part in this.’

  She nodded. ‘I know. But the Sworn have been known to act as bodyguards for our family on occasion, have they not?’

  ‘Not on a battlefield.’

  ‘I wasn’t intending on walking across a battlefield,’ Katarina said, ignoring Steven’s doubtful grunt. ‘But, perhaps I might take a stroll through the city tomorrow. A small escort might be welcome in an unfamiliar land. And,’ Katarina smiled, ‘if my bodyguards and I happen to stumble into a battlefield, well, that’s just a happy coincidence, isn’t it, Father?’

  ‘And how many men might make up this bodyguard?’

  Katarina smiled. ‘All of them.’

  42.

  ‘I think that went rather well,’ Katarina whispered.

  Tol tried not to choke on his own tongue. ‘Well?’. He looked over his shoulder. Duke val Sharvina was half a dozen paces behind, talking to his other daughter while a token guard of a dozen Sworn flanked them. ‘How was that not a disaster?’

  ‘You’re still alive.’

  Tol didn’t think she was entirely joking.

  ‘Granted, it did not go quite according to plan,’ Katarina added, ‘but I am still here and Father didn’t set the Sworn on you. All things considered, I would say that’s a positive result.’

  ‘Didn’t set the Sworn on me,’ Tol muttered. There was no sign of humour on Katarina’s face. ‘Was that a likely outcome?’

  ‘Well,’ she said, ‘I didn’t really think so, but it’s hard to tell with Father sometimes.’

  Tol suppressed a shiver. If I’d known perhaps I wouldn’t have been so reckless.

  ‘You said precisely the right thing when Father threatened to loose the Sworn on you,’ Katarina said. ‘I think that rather impressed him.’

  ‘Great,’ Tol muttered. Suddenly, having the Black Duke of Sudalra at his back with a dozen Sworn didn’t feel very comfortable.

  Nothing I can do about it now, he thought as he entered Galantrium’s central square, Katarina at his side. Directly ahead of them, facing south like a lacklustre guardian, stood the Governor’s hall, a large sandstone building worn and pitted by the desert winds. He stepped out of the shade and into the boiling midday heat. Crowds of locals were plodding across the square on their business, but with Catardor and Isallien at the head of their procession and a string of stone-faced Sworn behind, people moved quickly out of their way.

  ‘He is something of an uncouth lout,’ Tol heard Victoria telling her father, ‘but from what Stetch has said, he seems somewhat capable.’

  This isn’t going to be fun, he thought. The Meracian leaders were gathering together in the Governor’s Hall on the north side of the square. According to Isallien the Meracians had got a new commander, recently arrived with reinforcements from High Mera. The look on his face had told Tol that the Seven might be a little concerned. Apparently the Meracians hadn’t even invited the Seven to their meeting.

  ‘And he’s saved her life on a couple of occasions, according to Stetch.’

  Tol tried to tune out Victoria’s voice, but it was at just the right pitch to cut through all the sounds of city bustle.

  A few angry Meracians has got to be better than having the Black Duke at your back, Tol decided.

  ‘More than once?’

  Tol smiled. I bet they won’t be pleased to see him, either. Maybe the day wasn’t going to be a complete turd after all.

  ‘Yes, Father. And again in Obsidian,’ Victoria said. ‘Apparently he and Stetch had to fight their way through the Gurdal so they could escape.’

  ‘Is that so?’ The duke, Tol thought, didn’t sound particularly relieved.

  Katarina cursed. ‘She did that on purpose,’ she muttered.

  Tol smiled. ‘Didn’t you say things had turned out better than expected?’

  Apparently Katarina had picked up some very colourful words from Stetch.

  *

  The Governor’s Hall was Galantrium’s largest building, dominating the northern edge of the main square. Low and long, the yellow stone was crumbling, but for sheer area it dwarfed the city’s other buildings. Churches to the north and south poked steeples up above the skyline, but the Governor’s Hall was the symbol of Galantrium. Tol didn’t think it would last much longer, but according to Katarina it was the oldest building in the city, older even than the two churches dating back to the time of the original Seven.

  Tol looked over the shoulders of the Seven and studied the wall. It was pitted and uneven, a decrepit edifice that looked altogether too fragile. I hope the roof doesn’t fall in, he thought. If anything more than a stiff breeze started it might be sensible to get out quickly. Wouldn’t that be funny? The Seven and the Meracian military defeated by a collapsed building. From what he’d heard, the hall was supposed to be magnificent – that’s what Patrick had said. All I see is a ruin that hasn’t realised it’s not a building any more. He sighed, earning a sour glance from Katarina beside him. Perhaps a few weeks ago this would have seemed a grand thing indeed, but I’ve seen too much since leaving Icepeak. He’d hardly had time to appreciate all the places he’d visited, only catching glimpses of alley and streets as he ran from one fight for survival to the next. The plateau that was home to Karnvost had been first, and then Norve’s capital, Kron Vulder, but that was seen mostly from between an escort of guards or in the midst of the Reve, or as he ran for the docks. Jhanhar, Katarina’s home, had been most impressive: a small, beautiful city nestling at the bottom of a crescent shaped cliff. Meracia had been different again, beautiful but full of unseen dangers and gaudy colours like a flock of startled peacocks. After seeing all those places, Tol thought, this just seems sad, an echo of something that was once impressive but has fallen to the ravages of time and neglect.

  An elbow jabbed him in the ribs and Tol pulled himself out of his reverie. They had reached the doors. He caught a glimpse between the shoulders of Isallien and Korwane, and saw two guards moving quickly aside. Probably for the best, he decided. They don’t seem in a mood to argue with guards. They were all here: Korwane, Isallien, Catardor, Patrick, and Valeron. The Seven. Who were only ever six. And were, right now, only five until another was chosen. Five angry knights, fully armed. Kartane, despite a lack of invitation, had turned up too, and for once nobody had argued. It’s bad news when Kartane’s a welcome sight, Tol thought. He liked the man, but knew his fellow knights were less tolerant of him. Five angry knights, and a Kartane who’s probably more terrifying to the Meracians than the others combined. Why do I have such a bad feeling about this?

  Tol glanced over his shoulder, and remembered why just as the doors flew open and he and Katarina were carried along by the tide of people squeezing into the hall. Pressed in close, he didn’t have a good view, but could just make out a knot of swords and lace in the centre of the room; a group of figures huddled over a large table.

  Their footsteps echoed off the distant walls, effective as any trumpet, and Tol heard the chitter of distant conversation slowly fade away as he and his companions approached.

  ‘Ah. So nice of the church knights to join us,’ one of the men at the table said. ‘Even though they weren’t invited.’

  Tol pushed his way between Isallien and Catardor as the speaker surveyed the motley group.

  ‘Duke val Sharvina? How unexpected. Has Sudalra finally decided to ally itself with Meracia?’

  He was the best dressed man in the room, and had a face much like his brother’s. Tall and thin, Tol realised he had seen him once before, in High Mera’s council chamber. He had been standing next to the throne. This can’t be good.

  ‘No, Prince Rolfen,’ Katarina’s father replied. ‘I am merely here to take my daughters home.’

  ‘I see. And the guards?’ He gestured towards Stetch and Riedel, who had entered with Victoria. ‘You d
idn’t bring an army, I suppose?’

  ‘A modest bodyguard. Just as well: your leaders seem to have a habit of being assassinated of late in these parts.’

  The Crown Prince of Meracia held the duke’s gaze for a moment, but looked quickly away. ‘As I was saying, it is nice of you church knights to put in an appearance but as you can see I already have our battle plan drawn up.’ Prince Rolfen’s gaze swept over the knights. ‘We can manage the city’s defence quite well without your further interference.’

  ‘Our interference,’ said Korwane, ‘slowed down the Gurdal advance. If not for us, they would have arrived before your reinforcements and the city would already be lost.’

  ‘No matter,’ the prince said with a wave of his hand. ‘The full strength of Meracia is gathered here now and we will surely prevail.’

  Tol bit his lip. How much does he really know? he wondered. The prince sounded supremely confident, but Tol was guessing he had never been in a battle. And it’s a lot different to duelling, no polite rules or any kind of order, just bloody chaos.

  ‘However,’ Prince Rolfen continued, ‘Meracia acknowledges the good works of the church knights. You shall have a place at the fore of our defences in acknowledgement of the last great battle here.’ He had a thin stick in his hand and gestured at the table, where a map of the city unfurled. The tip of the stick was slapping a point next to the south gate.

  ‘Meracia feels the church knights should have the honour of first engagement with the Gurdal swine. Just as the last time this city was besieged, the Knights Reve will stand at the gates, ready to repel the savages.’

  The others had fallen silent, and Tol saw that the younger members of the Seven seemed wrapped up in dreams of reliving that famous stand: a handful of knights and an angel pitting themselves against an entire army. They’re considering it, Tol realised. They’re seriously thinking about it. Korwane had a similar glint in his eye, even though Tol thought he should know better. And Kartane… his face was turning the shade of a ripe tomato, like he was slowly building up to the kind of rant that might end up in bloodshed. Isallien was the only one who looked dubious, his brow furrowing as he studied the map. But this is his future king, Tol thought. And telling him he’s stupid probably won’t do him any favours.

  Tol took a step forward. ‘We could do that,’ he said. ‘But only if you want to lose the city.’

  ‘Kraven,’ the prince said slowly. ‘It is in part due to your efforts in High Mera that the crown has decided to lay this honour at the church’s feet. Despite,’ he added, ‘your complete lack of courtesy and manners. I had hoped that was just due to circumstances, but it seems I was mistaken.’

  ‘Probably,’ Tol said, ‘but it’s not really your biggest mistake.’ He winced as he heard the gasps of outrage from the prince’s staff, and knew he’d let his temper get the better of him. Katarina reminded him with a sharp elbow to his ribs.

  ‘I see,’ the prince said after a moment. ‘I have heard from my lords and captains how your father and his fellows threatened to withdraw the angel’s aid. Is this what you intend also? To try and get your own way by blackmail?’ The prince threw up his arms. ‘Why, I am not sure this angel even exists; it seems you are the only person who has ever seen this creature.’

  ‘I’ve seen her,’ Kartane said. ‘Tits the size of melons, and just as sweet.’

  The prince gave him a scathing look. ‘The word of an adulterer and convict carries no weight.’

  Korwane grabbed his brother, one hand clamping over his mouth. With Valeron’s help, the two managed to keep Kartane in place as he struggled to launch himself at Prince Rolfen.

  ‘You have rather made my point for me,’ the prince smiled, unruffled as Kartane struggled with renewed vigour.

  ‘I have seen the angel, Prince Rolfen,’ Katarina’s father sighed. ‘Or perhaps you would doubt my word?’

  The prince was stunned momentarily. ‘No,’ he said, eyes flicking towards Stetch, whose fingers were drumming on his sword hilt. ‘Of course not, Duke val Sharvina.’ He turned his attention back to Tol. ‘Empty threats will not work, Kraven. If Galantrium falls because you withhold the angel’s aid, the world will know soon enough. And if Meracia falls, your church will not survive long. The church has no less interest in victory than Meracia.’

  ‘The angel will come,’ Tol said.

  Prince Rolfen looked puzzled, and Tol pressed on, ‘I do not know what others said to your men, but the angel will be here for the battle and we will stand against the Gurdal and their demons. The thing is,’ he continued, ‘if we do it your way, the angel will die in the first few minutes of the battle and then who’ll stop the demons? Do you want to be remembered for causing the death of an angel?’ Tol scratched his chin. ‘I reckon something like that might get you sent to the Pit rather than Heaven.’

  The prince looked uncertain. ‘It worked last time,’ he said. ‘The plan is foolproof.’

  Tol shook his head. ‘It would work if the demons led the charge, but that isn’t what happened in Obsidian: one of them followed the first wave and the other flew in from the other side of the city. If they use the same tactics, the angel and I will be killed by the first wave, and then nobody will be able to stop the demons.’

  Prince Rolfen stared at him, the room around them totally silent. ‘You keep saying “demons”,’ he finally said. ‘Just how many are you expecting?’

  Tol shrugged. ‘There were two in Obsidian, but here? This is the last place they can be stopped before they’re onto the plains and free to swarm through Meracia. My guess is they’ll bring as many as they can. More than two.’ He stared at the prince. ‘Maybe a lot more.’

  Colour leached from the prince’s face. ‘Then what do you suggest? How do we stop them?’

  Tol leaned over the table and slammed a dagger point-first into the map. ‘There. That’s where the battle will be decided.’

  43.

  Katarina flung the inn’s door open and stomped inside. Most of the afternoon had been spent with her father on board his ship, and the discussion had not gone well.

  It’s a wonder I can still hear anything, she thought as she arrowed between the empty tables towards the small group drinking at the back. Perhaps I shouldn’t have made Father swear he wouldn’t sail away before stepping on board. That, really, had been where things had gone wrong: right at the beginning. A family lunch turned sour, followed by lectures, recriminations, and – worst of all – a look of pained disappointment on her father’s face which never quite faded. The irritation and anger were perhaps understandable, but her father’s disappointment was hard to bear. He will understand in time, she told herself, ignoring that tiny acorn of doubt. He’ll see I was right.

  Katarina dragged an extra bench to the side of the table, the ragged scraping drawing everyone else’s attention. She ignored them and dropped onto the bench as the conversation fell silent. So this is the Seven. Or what’s left of it. The two Meracians sat with their backs to the door, a young red-haired knight next to them. On the other side of the table, back to the wall, was Valeron, the Norvek descendant of one of the first Seven. Kartane was there, too, but Katarina had found that where ale was concerned he was never far away. His brother Korwane sat between him and Valeron. Probably to stop his brother killing him.

  Everyone was still watching her as if Katarina had just committed some terrible breach of etiquette. These are the leaders of the Knights Reve. They are all so young. With the exception of Korwane none were more than a year or two older than Steven. So very young for so much responsibility. And they were still watching her. It was most unsettling.

  ‘Well?’ she snapped. ‘Why are you all so miserable? Did the prince not give you what you want?’

  ‘We were remembering our brothers who have fallen,’ Korwane said. ‘We have lost many in a short time: Krom, Patrick, Balvador and Benvedor, Isallien’s father and Catardor’s uncle to assassins, and every trainee at Icepeak.’

  ‘Even if we win
tomorrow,’ Catardor said, ‘our numbers will be greatly reduced.’

  Isallien was staring harder than the rest. ‘Has your father truly seen the angel?’

  Ah. Katarina smiled. ‘Certainly not.’

  ‘Then why—’

  ‘Because,’ she interrupted, ‘my father saw the sense to Steven’s plan. My own fate is tied to his, so my father told a tiny lie to give us the best hope of survival.’

  Stetch lowered himself onto the bench beside her, reluctantly sliding a mug in her direction. Katarina raised it to her lips and took an experimental sip. ‘I think,’ she said, ‘I can see why you are all so unhappy. This ale is terrible.’ She took another sip. ‘More like water, really.’ A grunt from Stetch confirmed her suspicions, and several of the knights nodded.

  ‘Told them he’s more squirrelled away,’ Kartane muttered, ‘but they won’t let me beat it out of him.’

  ‘Why have you not left?’ Isallien asked, his face a rather amusing portrait of surprise and mild outrage. ‘You must know there is no guarantee of victory tomorrow.’

  ‘He hasn’t told you?’

  ‘Told us what?’

  Katarina smiled. ‘Steven and I are betrothed. As soon as you deal with those annoying Gurdal we will be married.’ Her smiled broadened as several mouths fell open. ‘We really should be celebrating.’

  The knights muttered congratulations as Kartane cackled. ‘I almost feel sorry for the lad.’

  Katarina gave him a hard stare, then reminded herself that of all the men gathered here, Kartane was one of the few she could trust; he had, after all, saved Steven’s life on a number of occasions. Although I think he’s also led him into trouble just as often. Katarina allowed herself a small, benevolent smile. ‘Did you mention that there’s some ale around here better than this terrible slop?’ Kartane immediately perked up and she added, ‘Perhaps you might go and ask the innkeeper? I’m sure if you explain – in your own unique way – that this is a special occasion he will find it in his heart…’ Katarina stopped. Kartane was already halfway to the bar.