The Sword Of Angels (Gollancz S.F.)

by John Marco

  ‘I have missed you so much,’ said White-Eye, barely able to contain her emotions. Her fingertips paused on Minikin’s cheeks. ‘I wondered everyday when you would come.’

  Minikin reached up and stroked her hair. White-Eye could feel the sensation of her small fingers, soft and familiar, as gentle as a mother’s. The mistress pulled White-Eye’s hand to her mouth and kissed it.

  ‘I came when I thought I should come,’ she said. ‘When I thought you would understand.’ A paused. ‘You do understand now, yes?’

  ‘Yes,’ said White-Eye, fine with the explanation. ‘I know you did what you had to do.’

  Through her fingertips she felt relief on the ancient lady’s face. Minikin had worried, that was plain. White-Eye had heard it in her voice that day, when she had turned her over to Lorn. For a brief time afterward, White-Eye had wandered in the deepest pain, asking again and again why Minikin had abandoned her, leaving her in the hands of the northerner. But she had never hated Minikin for it, because her love for the mistress was unshakeable. Then, gradually, she began to understand.

  Minikin had come unannounced to Jador, catching White-Eye alone in the garden outside the private wing where her chambers were located. Evening had come, releasing White-Eye from the confines of the palace. With the sun gone, she could at last enjoy the fresh air and honey scents of the garden, sitting beneath the gentle light of the stars while a fountain gurgled nearby. Lorn had left her for the day, eager to spend time with his daughter, and White-Eye had dismissed her servants, confident now in her ability to find her way around. But she had heard Minikin’s light footfalls on the garden path, a sound that struck a chord deep inside her.

  ‘Trog?’ she asked, facing the direction where she heard the big man breathing. ‘You’re here, yes?’

  ‘He’s here,’ said Minikin.

  White-Eye smiled. ‘I can hear him. I can hear everything, Minikin. It’s like a whole new world! Trog, come and let me touch you.’

  The giant gave a reluctant grunt, then shuffled toward the Kahana’s outstretched hands. White-Eye reached high to touch his face. Rough and rock hard, it was so much different from touching Minikin’s sweet face. Finding his mute lips, she kissed her own fingertip and delivered the kiss to the bodyguard. Trog nodded affectionately.

  ‘Trog, it’s good to see you, too,’ said White-Eye, knowing the greeting the big man would deliver if he could speak. He had always been kind to the slight White-Eye, towering over her like the shelf of a mountain. When Trog was around, White-Eye never felt afraid. She released him, then turned her smile toward Minikin. ‘But I wasn’t expecting you! Why didn’t you tell me you were coming? I could have had a meal ready for you, something special.’

  ‘We haven’t come for food, child, but to see you,’ Minikin said cheerfully. ‘We’ll eat later. For now, it’s just good to look at you.’ Another pause. ‘You look well, daughter. So like a grown woman! Ah, but you are Kahana now. Truly.’

  ‘I’ve worked hard, Minikin,’ said White-Eye. ‘Lorn has taught me many things. And the others, too. They have all taught me things. You see? I am not afraid to be alone anymore.’

  ‘I did see that,’ said Minikin proudly. ‘When they told me you were alone here . . . well . . .’ A crinkling sound revealed her shrugging shoulders. ‘You have changed, White-Eye.’

  White-Eye felt her face flush with pride. ‘Come inside,’ she said. ‘Let’s talk.’

  ‘Yes, we should talk,’ agreed the mistress. ‘But not inside. You love the night, I know. Let’s walk, White-Eye. You can guide me.’

  Along the lanes around the palace, White-Eye and Minikin strolled amid the fruit trees and burgeoning flowers. Trog kept pace with them, but kept back a comfortable distance, giving both women a sense of privacy. Because of the lateness of the hour, the palace’s gardeners and grounds keepers had all disappeared, leaving the many patches of grasses and winding lanes alone for them to enjoy. Minikin held White-Eye’s hand as they walked, but White-Eye did not guide her through the lanes as Minikin had requested. Instead, White-Eye quickly fell back into old habits, so comfortable with Minikin that she let the tiny woman act like a parent, directing her along. The talk between them was casual, mostly trivial topics like the heat of the day or how well the hibiscus had bloomed this year, but White-Eye knew the conversation would soon turn. She could sense trepidation in Minikin’s tone, a kind of cautiousness just waiting for the proper time.

  ‘There’s a bench near here, I think,’ said White-Eye. ‘Do you see it?’

  Her father, Kadar, had made the palace grounds a sanctuary for the people of the city, a place where all could enjoy the trees and fragrant greenery carefully coaxed out of the dry desert. He had spent a fortune building shaded knolls where lovers could sit and talk and families could play with their children. He was a remarkable man, and like all of Jador, White-Eye missed him. So did Minikin, who spoke often of her old friend.

  ‘There,’ said Minikin, spying the bench. ‘We’ll sit a while.’

  White-Eye remembered the bench from the time she could see, a pretty slab of stone big enough for three, situated beneath an over-hanging willow. When she was a girl, the bench had been her favourite, a place to sit and people-watch or to lean back and stare into the myriad limbs of the great tree. Letting Minikin guide her to it, she reached down and felt its smooth stone before setting herself down upon it. Minikin hopped onto the bench next to her. Trog came to a halt a few paces away. White-Eye heard his big feet stop in the gravel. Minikin sat quietly, her own feet barely reaching the ground. White-Eye waited patiently for her to begin. After a few moments more, the mistress spoke.

  ‘Quiet,’ she remarked.

  White-Eye nodded. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Things could have been chaos here,’ said Minikin. ‘But you have done a good job, White-Eye. The people love you and respect you. So many troubles, but even the northerners outside the wall are well.’

  ‘It is Lorn,’ White-Eye explained, giving the northern king his due. ‘He is like a bull drowa, Minikin. He never rests. And the others from the north know this. They trust him, because he is one of them.’

  ‘And he has been good to you? Not too unkind?’

  White-Eye’s grin widened. ‘Ah. Now I think I see. Is that why you have come? To make sure I am unharmed?’

  She felt Minikin’s small hand slip onto her thigh. ‘Am I so obvious?’ She laughed. ‘All right, yes. I’m just an old woman, full of worries! When I sent him to you I was unsure what to expect. Put me at ease, daughter – tell me he has treated you well.’

  ‘He has, Minikin,’ White-Eye assured her. ‘It was hard at first. He has a will of iron, and no one can make him bend. I did try!’

  ‘I can’t imagine tears getting to him.’

  ‘They did not. But he was gentle in his own way. He has pushed me, Minikin, but he has made me change.’ White-Eye turned to the mistress hopefully. ‘Can you tell?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Minikin. ‘You have grown so much. You are your father’s daughter! He would be proud of you.’

  Thinking of her father again made White-Eye wistful. It was a generous compliment, but she knew she was really nothing like her father. Kahan Kadar had built everything around them. He was a man of great vision, something the blind Kahana could never be, and not just because she couldn’t see. Men like her father were rare, both lion-hearted and deeply kind. She might try to be like him – did, in fact, try with all her might – but she was sure she would always fall short of his mark.

  ‘No can replace my father, Minikin, but I’ve done my best. I have, and I’m glad you see that in me.’

  ‘No grudges, then?’

  ‘None,’ said White-Eye sincerely. She hesitated, having a subject of her own she was afraid to broach. It had been many weeks since she had seen the mistress, but she heard little improvement in the lady’s mood. It was true what she had said – she was old and probably tired, but more than that she had exhausted herself fighting Aztar’s army, infli
cting a wound on her soul that had yet to heal. ‘Tell me about Grimhold,’ she said brightly. ‘I miss it.’

  ‘Things are the same,’ said Minikin. ‘Things there never change. You know that.’

  ‘How is Monster?’ White-Eye asked, eager for news of her old friend. ‘He should come to Jador soon. Tell him that for me, will you?’

  ‘Monster knows he is welcome here,’ said Minikin. White-Eye detected a certain slyness. ‘Now, tell me what you really want to know. We keep secrets from each other. Not good.’

  ‘You’re so worried about me,’ sighed White-Eye, ‘but I have done almost nothing but worry about you, Minikin. You say you’re old, but you have the Eye of God. You can never be old, not really.’

  ‘Magic is one thing,’ said Minikin, ‘but time still passes.’

  ‘But you are the Mistress of Grimhold! You did not have to give me over to Lorn. You could have taught me these things yourself.’

  ‘I could not,’ said Minikin adamantly. ‘I have never been a king, never a true leader. And never when so much is at stake. Lorn will teach you the difficult things, daughter. As you said, he is made of iron. He has done things in his life that none of us would do in our nightmares.’

  ‘And that’s the man you left me with?’ White-Eye chuckled, but she too had heard the stories, mostly from her beloved Gilwyn. ‘He’s more than all of that, though. He is a good man, really. They call him ‘the Wicked’, but that’s not the side he has shown here in Jador. He cares about Jador and the promise he made to Gilwyn.’

  ‘I believe you,’ said Minikin. ‘I did not at first when Gilwyn told me the same, but now . . .’

  She hesitated.

  ‘What?’

  Minikin patted the girl’s leg. ‘Still, be on guard. Will you do that for me?’

  ‘On guard? For what?’

  ‘Don’t lose yourself, that’s all. Lorn will teach you things you must know to be Kahana. Good; let him tutor you. But don’t forget who you are.’

  White-Eye took her hand and squeezed. ‘I am the daughter of Kahan Kadar. I will never forget what that means, Minikin.’

  At peace, Minikin spoke no more. Together the two women – one young and unproven, the other as ancient as the trees – sat in the starlight and listened to the tunes of unseen insects. White-Eye took a breath of the sweet evening air, satisfied that Minikin was well. She revelled in the little woman’s presence, thrilled that she had come after so long an absence. Minikin, too, seemed satisfied, pleased to just be with the girl she had always called a daughter. For a moment, White-Eye thought that nothing could spoil her mood.

  Then, she heard his footfalls.

  Heavy and deliberate, leaden by boots of northern design, his steps were unmistakable, and White-Eye did not need the sighted Minikin to tell her that Lorn had come. He moved quickly, breathing hard, as if he’d been looking for them for quite some time.

  ‘Kahana,’ he called to her. He halted in front of them. ‘Mistress Minikin.’ His voice sounded unsurprised, even pleased to see her.

  Minikin stood. ‘King Lorn.’

  ‘Your pardon, Mistress, but I have news for both of you,’ said Lorn. ‘White-Eye, you need to come.’

  ‘What is it?’ asked White-Eye, suddenly alarmed.

  ‘Another visitor has come,’ Lorn explained. ‘Someone I don’t think any of us was expecting.’

  Lorn had not seen Princess Salina since he had left her in Ganjor, months earlier. He had heard of the princess’ arrival from Fouro, one of the palace’s many grooms, who had come rushing into his chambers while Eirian – Lorn’s woman – was feeding his daughter Poppy. The news of Salina’s arrival stunned Lorn, who went at once to fetch White-Eye and Minikin. Now, as the three of them walked the empty corridor, Lorn wondered why Salina had come and how she had managed to make it unscathed across the desert. She was a remarkable girl, this desert princess, and Lorn grinned like a wolf when he thought of her. She had likely come to them with bad news, but to Lorn that hardly mattered. She had already impressed him, because she had helped him and the other Seekers and because she had beliefs, something Lorn found sorely lacking in the world he’d left behind.

  At Lorn’s orders, Princess Salina had been taken to one of the palace’s antechambers. He had directed Fouro to bring food and drink for her, but to separate her from the warriors who accompanied her. They were, Fouro explained, Voruni men, another part of the mystery Lorn meant to unravel. He explained this to the others while they walked.

  ‘Fouro says there are eight of them, all of them dressed like Aztar’s brood. She didn’t say why she had come, only that she needed to speak to you, White-Eye.’

  White-Eye moved cautiously through the hall, holding Minikin’s hand. Although she had progressed amazingly over the past few weeks, the news of Salina’s arrival had unbalanced her.

  ‘Is that all?’ she asked. ‘No word about Aztar?’

  ‘Not as yet,’ Lorn warned. ‘But the Voruni . . .’

  ‘The Voruni are Aztar’s people,’ said Minikin. ‘They would not have come with her unless she has spoken to him. Prepare yourself, White-Eye

  – she bears a message for you.’

  Lorn concurred, then guided the women to the antechamber where Salina waited, seated at a long table beneath a frescoed ceiling. The food and wine that had been arranged for her lay untouched. She sat alone, wide-eyed as she studied her impressive surroundings, but when she heard Lorn and the others approaching she stood at once. Fouro, who had been waiting nearby, fled the antechamber at Lorn’s brusque order. Salina looked at all of them in turn, but her gaze rested comfortably on Lorn. An expression of utter relief washed over her and she smiled.

  ‘Lorn,’ she sighed. ‘The people outside the wall told me I would find you here. Do you remember me?’

  Lorn was careful not to overstep his authority, but could not help being enthused about her arrival. ‘Would I ever forget someone who helped me so much? Welcome, Princess Salina.’ He stepped aside to introduce the others. ‘Kahana White-Eye,’ he pronounced, carefully taking her hand.

  Salina, looking all the more like the child she was, licked her lips nervously, stepping forward and bowing. ‘Kahana,’ she said reverently. ‘Thank you for seeing me.’

  ‘I wish I could see you,’ said White-Eye softly. ‘I have heard from King Lorn what a lovely young woman you are.’

  Salina blushed. ‘The king is kind.’ Her eyes went to Minikin, filling with wonder. ‘The lady of Grimhold.’ Again she bowed, but this time more slowly. ‘I am in awe of you, lady.’

  Minikin floated closer on her tiny feet. Behind her towered Trog, though the big man kept respectfully distant. The mistress inspected Salina with a smile, then reached out and took her chin, lifting the girl’s eyes to face her.

  ‘Don’t look away, child,’ she said gently. ‘I want to see the brave girl who has done so much for us.’

  The princess coloured. Like White-Eye, she was dark-skinned, yet her girlish embarrassment was plain. She managed to hold her gaze on Minikin, but only slightly.

  ‘My lady, all my life I have heard the stories about you. And now I know they are true! To see you now is like . . .’ Lost for words, she faltered. ‘I am amazed.’

  ‘As am I, child,’ chirped Minikin. ‘None of us expected you to be here. Please, sit. Tell us why you’ve come all this way.’

  With no servants around, it was up to Lorn to pull out the chair for her. He did so quickly, then did the same for White-Eye and Minikin, at last choosing a seat for himself at the Kahana’s right hand. Together they looked at Salina expectantly, none of them really knowing how to begin. Salina seemed on the verge of bursting. Her eyes jumped between the three, finally resting on Lorn, the only one of the trio she knew.

  ‘Where do I start?’ she lamented. ‘So much has happened.’ She pushed aside the plate that had been set before her. ‘You know I came here with others, yes? Voruni men?’

  ‘We know,’ said Lorn. ‘They are Aztar’s men.�
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  ‘We know that he’s still alive,’ said White-Eye. ‘Have you been with him?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Salina softly. Lorn picked up the dreamy quality of her tone. ‘I have left my father and gone to him.’ She looked earnestly at White-Eye. ‘We are in love, Kahana. My father has forbidden it but it is so, and he has protected me so far from my father’s anger.’

  ‘Forbidden it?’ White-Eye cocked her head. ‘It was your father that sent Aztar against us! You were to be the prize for him. Why would he forbid it now?’

  ‘For politics, that is why,’ said Salina. ‘He still bargains me like a gaming chip, but now he does so to move the conscience of the people. They think he is weak, that Aztar has made a fool of him, and so he still bargains with Aztar for me.’

  ‘And Aztar?’ asked White-Eye. ‘What about him? What does he want from your father?’

  ‘To be left alone and nothing else,’ claimed the princess. ‘My father has offered him land and a title if he returns me, but he’s refused.’ She puffed a bit at this. ‘Aztar is a changed man, and that’s what I’m here to tell you. Lady Minikin, you most of all must hear this – Aztar isn’t the man he was when he attacked Jador. He’s not my father’s puppet or a zealot. He’s a good man who’s heart has suffered.’

  Lorn ached to jump in with questions, but he controlled himself, leaving the battlefield for White-Eye. To his pleasure the Kahana did not retreat.

  ‘Prince Aztar killed hundreds of people. All of them were innocent.’ White-Eye’s voice was steady and cool. ‘Forgive us, Princess Salina. We are not ungrateful. None of us have forgotten what you’ve done for us. But to speak of Aztar this way . . .’

  ‘Let me convince you,’ Salina told them. ‘Kahana White-Eye, Lady Minikin – I have spoken with the one called Gilwyn Toms. He was with Aztar at his camp. He knows of what I speak.’

  White-Eye leaned forward. ‘Gilwyn? What do you know of him?’

  ‘He came to Ganjor. He sought me out – at your insistence, King Lorn.’