The Sword Of Angels (Gollancz S.F.)

by John Marco

  His words stung. ‘No,’ said Salina. ‘I haven’t forgotten.’ She carefully steered the conversation. ‘A month ago you told me you’d send men to Aztar. Did you, Father?’

  Baralosus picked up his tea cup. ‘I did.’

  Salina tried to curb her excitement. ‘He is well, then?’

  ‘No.’ Her father seemed distracted. He began toying with the confections on his plate. ‘What you heard from the northern boy was true. Aztar was burned. The men I sent to see him say he suffers greatly.’

  ‘Oh . . .’

  The king picked up a tiny cake, looked at it, then put it down. She could tell he was mulling things over.

  ‘Prince Aztar wants nothing to do with us,’ he said. ‘I offered him help, but he claims he has all that he needs. His camp is in the Eastern Skein, a day or so from here.’ The king shrugged. ‘He’s close enough to come to Ganjor for food and supplies, but his people are content, or so he says.’

  ‘His people?’ Salina remembered what Gilwyn had told her. ‘His followers are still with him?’

  ‘Some. Aztar was always a remarkable man. People follow him because they love him, because he makes them believe. Whatever you think of the way I used him, I always respected him, Salina. I made a good bargain for you with him. Even you might have learned to love him.’

  Salina glanced away. Her feelings for Aztar were a great mass of confusion. ‘Has he asked about me, Father?’

  ‘What Aztar wants from you no longer matters,’ said the king sternly.

  ‘But Father—’

  ‘I won’t have you speaking about him. Don’t even think about him. You betrayed him, and that’s all you need to remember.’

  For Salina, it was impossible to forget.

  ‘You’re being unfair,’ she told her father. ‘I know what I did to Aztar. I know I was wrong. All I want now is to know if he asked about me.’

  ‘There is no point to it,’ said Baralosus. ‘And that is the end.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Do you understand?’

  With great effort, Salina nodded.

  ‘Good. Now, I have news for you.’ The king brightened. ‘You’re not the only one who had time to think, daughter. I have considered what you’ve done and how well behaved you’ve been these past weeks, and since I have quieted the ones who want you punished, I think it’s time you were freed from your curfew.’

  ‘No more bodyguards?’

  ‘No more guards. Let’s make things the way they were, and forget about all the bad. Would you like that?’

  ‘Yes,’said Salina, meaning it sincerely. ‘I would.’

  She wanted desperately to have her father’s love again. Lying to him broke her heart.

  ‘And you’ll remember what we talked about today? About your place?’

  ‘I won’t forget, Father.’ Salina smiled at him sadly. ‘I know how important it is to you.’

  Satisfied, King Baralosus called the servants back to the table, inviting his daughter to enjoy the confections. Salina chose a berry tart. Her father quickly launched into a story. Like they had throughout her girlhood, Salina and her father shared private time in the garden, Baralosus telling unimportant tales, his daughter laughing politely at his jokes.

  But Baralosus didn’t know that things had changed, or how deeply he had hurt his daughter. She was grateful for his love, but Salina realized it had limits, mostly born of politics and pride. He was not the man of boundless protection she had imagined as a child.

  Now, more than ever, she wanted to see Aztar.

  22

  Four days later, Salina left Ganjor with tears in her eyes.

  In the days since making peace with her father, Salina very carefully laid her plans, going to the market and attending meals with a smile on her face, building her father’s trust. She never spoke again of Aztar or her imprisonment within the palace, but instead kept her conversations girlish, speaking of things that pleased her father, like wearing the ceremonial mejkith and spinning silk the way her sisters did. By the time four days had past, Salina was sure she had convinced the king of her sincerity. Still, she had not expected her escape to go so easily, and as she rode her drowa though the burning Desert of Tears, she continually looked over her shoulder for pursuers.

  Amazingly, none came after her.

  For more than a day Salina had ridden alone, leaving behind Ganjor in the middle of the night after a clandestine meeting with Dahj. Unlike Kamag, the other player in their conspiracy to smuggle northerners to safety, Dahj had gone unnoticed by her father’s spies. A man of the streets, Dahj had easily gone underground when he’d heard of Kamag’s capture, blending into the populace the same as any peasant. And true to his word, Dahj had waited for Salina, just the way they had arranged should they ever be discovered. In a little hidden home on the poor side of the city, Dahj had hidden himself, loyally waiting for his princess to return.

  Salina took the gaka Dahj had given her, wiping her perspiring face with a handful of the cloth. She looked like any other traveller now, her womanhood hidden by the folds of fabric. Dahj had given her everything she needed to cross the desert, even the enormous drowa, but he had so badly wanted her to stay.

  ‘Come with me to Dreel,’ he had pleaded with her. ‘We’ll be safe there.’

  His words echoed in Salina’s mind. The hot sun made her see mirages. It was noon now, the worst part of the day, and Dahj’s plea seemed better than it had in the cool of the morning. For the first time since leaving Ganjor, Salina felt afraid. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw the nothingness of sand, endless and forever. Her city had long since disappeared. Up ahead, the dunes of the desert shifted in the winds, blasting her face with sand. The drowa lopped across the desert, blinking against blowing dust. Overhead she watched the condors wheel.

  ‘Soon,’ she told herself.

  The oasis Dahj had promised her was close. It had to be, because she had done just as he had advised, following the sun until it rose for three hours, then heading north toward the mountains that never seemed to grow closer. She knew the location of the Eastern Skein where Aztar and his camp waited, but she also knew that her father would send men after her, and they would head directly for Aztar. With twelve hours or more to beat them there, Dahj and worked out an alternate route for the princess. Hoping that the winds had buried her tracks, Salina followed Dahj’s instructions perfectly, timing her progress with an hourglass. She could still see the distant mountains on the horizon. The stabbing sunlight forced her eyes into slivers. She had no map to guide her, only Dahj’s instructions and his promise that the oasis did indeed await her.

  ‘Soon.’

  Leaving Ganjor had broken Salina’s heart. Afraid but determined, she had stolen out of the city like a thief, looking back with tears in her eyes as Ganjor slowly faded away, the giant desert swallowing her whole. She knew her father would come after her, but strangely she no longer cared. He, too, had broken her heart. In his world, the world of men, she was nothing but a girl. All her life Salina had seen girls stoned to death in public for incomprehensible crimes, but she had never imagined she might be one of them someday.

  ‘Why?’ she asked herself. Remembering she was alone, she raised her face to the sky and shouted, ‘For what?’

  This time there were no tears, only a crushing frustration. Hearing her cry, the condors flew away. Confused, Salina licked her dry lips and squinted at the mountains. She had been awake for almost a day, and her body ached for rest. There would be water at the oasis, she knew, and shade for herself and the drowa. The enormous beast could go days without water, but not without rest. Already the drowa’s pace seemed to be slower, weary from the long day in the sun. Salina fixed the gaka around her face, alarmed by the growing wind. The sand struck her face, forcing her to turn away. She fought to see past the blowing dust, desperate now to locate the oasis. The hour glass that hung from her belt was nearly empty again, a sign that – according to Dahj – she was very close.

  ‘Hold on,’ she told her dro
wa. ‘Just hold on.’

  Looking south, she saw the wind whip the dunes into a rolling cloud of dust. The cloud spiraled closer as the wind intensified. The sight startled Salina. Frightened, she urged her drowa on more quickly, wondering how best to avoid the coming storm. When she was younger, she had ridden with her father and his men through the desert many times, but they were always close enough to home to avoid the witch winds. Now she recalled the stories the men told, of how the winds could blind a man for hours or blast the skin from his bones. Panicked, Salina looked for a place – any place – to shield her. Suddenly, she wished she had gone north with Dahj.

  ‘No!’ she hissed, gritting her teeth. She had come this far, risking everything to reach Aztar. She would not be silenced by the wind. Determined, she took hold of the drowa’s reins, tucked herself behind its hairy neck, and kicked her heels against its flanks. With a load shout, she drove the beast forward. Urged on by her cries, the drowa galloped across the sands. Salina kept her eyes as open as she could, searching desperately for shelter, a rock or stand of trees that could stave off the winds, but only the distant mountains were visible, too far away to be any help at all.

  Then, through the swirling sand, Salina saw an apparition, blurred by the dust. The tops of trees peered up above tall rocks, bending as the wind pulled at their broad leaves. This time, Salina knew it was no mirage. Like a saviour from the storm, the oasis beckoned her.

  ‘Thank Vala!’

  Renewed, she raced toward the oasis, watching as it grew out of the storm, filling her vision with its rugged outline. Just as Dahj had described, the oasis was more than a mere watering hole. As Salina entered its outskirts, she at once noticed its scale, with looming rocks that could shield her from the wind and swaying palms erupting defiantly from the cracked earth. Salina quickly led her drowa toward the largest rock near the centre of the oasis, then paused the beast to look around. Behind her, the witch wind rolled inward, threatening her. She could hear its eerie shriek tearing at the dune. She studied the rocks and the trees, trying to determine the best place to hide. Nearby, a spring bubbled up from the stones, soaking the ground with muddy water. Spears of flowering plants blanketed the soil, but the birds that remained quickly fled as they sensed the coming storm.

  Salina had little time to choose a refuge, settling on an outcropping of rock on the other side of the spring. She hurried her drowa toward it, not stopping for the beast to drink, then dismounting to guide the drowa by hand. With its reins tight in her fist, Salina examined the narrow gorge cut between the rock. It was dark but could accommodate them both, so she dragged the drowa toward it. The drowa, however, reared back in protest.

  ‘Come on!’ Salina urged, pulling on the reins. This time the drowa snapped back its powerful neck, wrenching free of her grasp and peddling backward out of the gorge. Cursing, Salina lunged for the reins again. ‘No, you have to come!’ she told the beast. ‘Please!’

  Ignoring the winds, the drowa wanted no part of the dark niche. Again it reared back, dragging Salina with it with an angry snort. Salina did her best to hold on, but the frightened animal shook off her efforts, bolting away toward the spring.

  Salina tossed her hands in the air. ‘You stupid . . .’

  Once more, she went after the beast, trying to speak softly to it, cooing as she begged it to come. The drowa rolled its dark eyes at her, chewed its flabby cud, and turned away. Behind it, Salina watched as the witch wind churned closer. The leaves of the palms began snapping off in the breeze.

  ‘You have to come!’ she shouted. ‘If you don’t you’ll die out here!’

  Worse, all of her supplies were belted around the beast, most preciously her food and water. She took another step toward the drowa, inching closer, but when she was finally in reach and held out her hand, the drowa again bolted.

  ‘You stubborn monster! You’ve got my food!’

  Ignoring the princess, the drowa stayed out of reach, until at last Salina knew she had to give up. The wind began tearing at her hair and face, blinding her with the driving sand. Her ears rang with its fury. Hunching over, she tried one more run at the drowa, but the animal again sprinted off, this time all the way toward the edge of the oasis. Salina watched dreadfully as the wind grew over the drowa, darkening the sky. Panicked, the beast ran off, straight into the mouth of the storm. Instantly the witch wind caught the flailing drowa, lifting it and spinning it like a doll. Horrified, Salina fell back against the rocks, shocked by the wind’s power. She heard the drowa’s horrible cries as the wind, like a tidal wave, broke over the oasis, sweeping toward Salina. Instantly she lost sight of the drowa as the blackness of sand swallowed it. Salina dashed toward the narrow gorge. As the wind came alive at her back, she squeezed herself deeply into the niche, burrowing like a badger to escape the storm. Just beyond her sanctuary, the witch wind clawed at the rocks, screaming as it wound through the gorge. Salina put her hands to her ears and shut her eyes.

  All around her, the earth shook, dropping bits of rock onto her head and driving her to her knees. She chanced to open her eyes, and saw beyond the niche the terrible darkness of a world without sun. Though she could go no deeper into the gorge, she pressed herself against the rocks, feeling the wind grab at her clothing. Bracing herself, Salina imagined that she was safe, back at home in Ganjor. Remarkably, it was the image of her father that calmed her.

  ‘Father!’ she cried over the wind. ‘Why did you do this to me?’ She felt a terrifying urge to cry, but refused the tears, biting down hard. ‘I’m just a girl! It’s not a crime!’

  The wind answered with an irate howl. Salina stuck her face out into the tugging storm and cursed it.

  ‘You won’t stop me! You won’t!’

  Again the witch wind replied with a maddening shriek. Salina buried herself against the rocks. All she could do was wait, she knew, and determine to hold tight. She forgot about her drowa and the food she had packed and stopped wondering how she would ever make it to Aztar now. All she could do was grit her teeth and wait for the storm to pass.

  Salina endured a dark eternity inside the gorge. And then, the winds abated.

  Cautiously, she moved away from the rocks and saw sunlight returning to the oasis. Creeping out from her hiding spot, she surveyed the damage the storm had occasioned. All around her lay scattered leaves and broken fruit. The wind had tumbled rocks and flattened trees. Salina stepped out from the protection of the gorge and saw that the little spring still bubbled up fresh water, a sight that gladdened her heart until she saw her drowa.

  It lay at the edge of the oasis, its body twisted and unmoving. The packs had been ripped from its back, taken by the wind. There was no chance it had survived, and Salina knew it. She stared at its battered carcass, trying to comprehend what it all really meant.

  ‘Gone,’ she whispered.

  Her food, her blankets, even her transportation. Now she was stuck in the little oasis, her tracks erased, with no chance of rescue. The stupidity of what she had done struck her like a second storm.

  ‘I’m trapped.’

  The word terrified her. She glanced around, at once wondering what she might be able to salvage, but could find nothing of the things she had packed. Alone, defenseless, Salina slumped to her knees.

  That night, Salina slept within the crack of the gorge, continually awoken by the sensation of insects on her skin. She had spent the rest of the daylight hours scouring the area around the oasis for bits of her belongings, lucky enough to find two of her food packs and a blanket that had miraculously been blown into a tree. With the blanket rolled like a pillow beneath her head, Salina waited for the morning to come, unsure how she would escape the oasis. Sleep came to her in brief little fits, ruined by worrisome dreams and the terrible realities she faced. With her drowa dead, she had only her legs to carry her to Aztar’s camp in the Skein. Because she had taken a circuitous route to avoid any pursuers, she was further from Aztar’s camp than she should have been, at least a full day’s rid
e by drowa, and she had never heard of anyone successfully walking such a distance through the desert. The oasis provided water and some food, and these were good things, but Salina knew she could not remain forever in the little refuge. Sooner or later, she would have to leave.

  She awoke the next morning to a sun already burning hot. As she emerged from her dark niche in the rocks, a salamander skittered past her hand. After a night spent with bugs, the lizard barely startled her. Driven by thirst, Salina went at once to the spring, kneeling down in the warm mud surrounding it. She saw her reflection in the cool water bubbling up from some miraculous source, and realizing how horrible she looked, gasped at the sight of herself. The storm had teased her hair in every direction and lines of dirt smudged her face. To Salina, she looked old, as if she’d been wandering the desert for decades. She spread her hands through the water to clear it of debris, then cupped a drink for herself, dribbling the water into her mouth. This she did again and again until the burning left her throat. Then, satisfied, she leaned back on her haunches and looked around. There was fruit to eat and the things she had managed to salvage from her packs, but fear had mostly banished her hunger, and all she really wanted was a drowa to take her home.

  ‘Home.’

  Could she go home any more? Or would her father hang her the way he had Kamag? It was her father’s sternness that had driven her away, his absolute unwillingness to see the goodness in what she’d done. He had imprisoned her, but that wound had already healed. Rather, it was the deep cut of his willingness to side against her that hurt the most. And though Salina longed for the safety of the palace, she knew she could never return there. She had cast her lot with the desert, knowing all its many risks.

  ‘I have to go on,’ she told herself. ‘Somehow.’

  She looked south, the way the storm had come. There were no roads in the desert, but there were established passes that the kreel riders of Jador used in the days when they frequented Ganjor. The passes were mostly abandoned now, because the Jadori no longer came to Ganjor and because Aztar’s war on the northerners had frightened others off. But to Salina, the southern routes seemed her only hope. If she could come across a caravan . . .