The Sword Of Angels (Gollancz S.F.)

by John Marco

‘No?’

  ‘Minister Kailyr was not there with me, Majesty. He did not see Aztar’s face. Or your daughter’s. There is real love there. He will fight for her.’

  ‘He’ll die if he does.’

  ‘Yes,’ Jashien agreed, as if there was no question of the outcome.

  ‘So? Is he insane? He has no chance at all. If I have to kill him, what will Salina think of me? He is a fox. He has played me into a corner.’ Baralosus frowned in frustration. ‘And what will you think of me, Jashien?’

  ‘Me, Majesty?’ Jashien laughed. ‘What should that matter?’

  ‘I want to understand. I want to know why men love him. They follow him, you see, and not just the Voruni. You admire him, Jashien. I can see it when you speak of him. If I kill him . . .’ Baralosus closed his eyes. ‘I’ll be the villain, not him.’

  ‘You’ll be the king,’ said Jashien. ‘Majesty, make no mistake – you are the King of Ganjor. No one hopes for Aztar to best you. He is like a myth, but that’s all. He is a good story to tell. You worry what the people will think of you? If you do nothing, you look weak.’

  ‘And if I come back with Aztar’s head on a pole?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Jashien. ‘That’s what you must do! Take his head and hang it from the palace door. Then you will show the people who is the king and who is the brigand.’

  ‘What? Really?’

  Jashien nodded seriously. ‘Yes, Majesty. Nothing less will do. Prince Aztar has offended you. When he is killed, go to him yourself and cut off his head. Take it back with you to Ganjor. Then show it to everyone. Show it like a trophy.’

  ‘But Salina . . .’

  ‘Majesty, you came for my advice, yes?’

  Baralosus nodded. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good. Now you know what you must do. It doesn’t matter what your daughter thinks of you after this. You will have her back, and you can lock her in her room forever if you like. But Aztar has to die, and the people have to see that he is dead. If it turns your stomach, Majesty, then you should not have come here.’

  Baralosus should have been offended, but he was not. ‘I have a gaggle of advisors who tell me what I want to hear,’ he said. ‘I wrote poetry when I was younger. Sometimes I would read it to Kailyr. Always he told me how wonderful it was, but I was a horrid poet. Now he is doing the same thing.’

  ‘Minister Kailyr is a friend, Majesty. He believes what he tells you, but he is wrong. Aztar will fight. So Aztar must die. You are ready for this?’

  Baralosus tried very hard not to let the wine speak for him. He said in a clear voice, ‘I am ready, Jashien. I will take Aztar’s head myself. And when I have it I will show it to everyone, and they will know that I am king.’

  With nothing left to say, Baralosus sat and looked at the moon.

  Across the Skein, Prince Aztar knelt beneath the same giant moon. Atop the hill where he always went for prayer, he communed with his god, Vala, asking him for guidance. The Great One’s voice was quiet but Aztar’s heart was open, ready to hear anything the god might say. Alone and not speaking to anyone, he had neglected his evening meal so that he could talk to heaven. The hour had grown late and Aztar’s body ached. The pains that followed him everywhere since the fire plagued him especially when he prayed, but he considered this a reminder of the things he had done wrong, and accepted his discomfort with grace. Aztar liked the solitude of the hill. Mostly, he went to it in the mornings, greeting the sunrise. Tonight, though, he needed Vala’s presence. The Tiger of the Desert whispered his prayer aloud.

  ‘. . . and I will do as you ask, Most Holy One. I will not flinch from it. Whatever you send to me, I will embrace it. Whatever your fate for me, I will take it.’

  Aztar kept his eyes closed as he waited for Vala’s reply. When the Great One spoke to him, it was not by words but with a simple touch on the heart. It was not easy for Aztar to describe this to others, but among the Voruni they understood. It was what made them devout. Aztar unclasped his hands and put them face down on the warm rock. Craning his neck, he looked up at the moon, and past it, toward the heavens. Why did Vala dwell in the sky, he wondered? Why not in the sand or in the life-giving plants? The answer came to him instantly, and he smiled.

  So that He can see it all.

  Tomorrow or the tomorrow after that, the hill would be taken from him. Very soon, he would go to face Vala. Aztar knew this with certainty and was unafraid. Living in his scarred body had become an ordeal. Living without Salina had torn his soul apart. Still, Aztar worried. He had sent Salina away to Jador, and so far she had not returned or even sent word to him of her welfare. She was well, though, and this he knew because his men had returned without her. The Witch of Grimhold had agreed to protect her, as had Jador’s blind Kahana. For that, Aztar was grateful. For that, he had spent the night in prayer, thanking Vala. But there were others that Jador could not protect, and for them Aztar was frightened.

  ‘Not for myself, Vala. Never for myself.’

  He kept his eyes on the stars, desperate for wisdom. Not one of his people had fled the camp, not even now, when the Ganjeese army was so close. They would die, Aztar supposed, because he had spat on Baralosus and the king would have no mercy in his heart. But Aztar knew he deserved no mercy, not for himself. He had slain too many innocents for that. Now, Vala made him suffer for them.

  ‘If they stay they will die. Shall I make them leave, Great One? Shall I face the Ganjeese myself? Salina will have no chance at all, then. I must take some with me to your presence. Yes?’

  He waited, and the answer seemed obvious.

  ‘Yes,’ he pronounced. ‘That is what we will do. For your glory, I will protect her. She is your servant, so much better than I ever was. And the people of Jador, your favoured. I will protect them, too.’

  Was Vala satisfied? Aztar waited for the touch, and when it came it was good. With Vala’s help he had made his decision.

  Finally, Aztar lifted himself off his knees, stretching his knotted spine as he rose to his feet. The burns along his body screamed but he ignored them, smoothing down his robe and taking a deep breath of the good desert air. He loved the desert. All he ever wanted was to protect it. Did Vala understand that? He hoped so. It was not good for a man to die being misunderstood.

  At the bottom of the hill, Aztar glimpsed a silent figure, waiting for him patiently in the moonlight. He took his time looking at her, admiring her and all she had done for him. She might have been there for an hour or more. Harani was loyal and never interrupted his prayers. With a slight wave he greeted her, then started his decent down the hillside. Because of his many aches he moved slowly, but when he reached the bottom Harani came to offer aid. Aztar took her arm gratefully, letting the young woman guide him toward smoother ground.

  ‘How long have you been here?’ he asked.

  ‘Not long,’ replied Harani. It was a standard answer. ‘You told me to come as soon as Fahren arrived back, but I did not want to interrupt you.’

  They walked together back toward the distant camp, neither of them hurrying. Aztar took his time before speaking again. He did not need to question Harani. He already knew what she would tell him. Whenever the news was bad, Harani’s pretty face sagged. It was a small change, but Aztar knew her well enough to see the subtle creases. She held tight to his arm as they walked, not hiding her affection. He was her master, and she adored him. It was not at all a romantic thing. Really, it was so much more.

  ‘Harani . . .’

  The young woman stopped and looked at him. ‘Master?’

  ‘We are alone?’

  The question made her blanch. ‘Yes. Fahren could not convince them, Master. I am sorry. No one else will help us.’

  Aztar nodded. It was the answer he’d expected. Asking for help among the other Voruni tribes had always been a gambit. They had no reason at all to stand up against Baralosus. ‘Do not blame them for it,’ he told Harani, seeing the disdain in her face. ‘I asked too much of them.’

  ‘We do not need
them, Master,’ said Harani confidently. ‘We’re still strong.’

  ‘Not so strong,’ laughed Aztar. He kept hold of her, refusing to go further. ‘Harani, the Ganjeese are only two days away. There are at least a thousand of them. Many more, perhaps. When they come they will kill us. You do understand that, yes?’

  Harani’s expression turned serene. ‘I understand, Master. We all understand. We are ready.’

  ‘Ready to die?’

  ‘Ready to go to Vala,’ said Harani.

  Her answer touched the desert prince. He opened his mouth to speak, then stopped himself. It would do no good to tell her to leave him. She would not free herself from the coming storm. Just like the rest of her people, she would stay with him until the Ganjeese came.

  And then she would die.

  50

  Corvalos Chane walked alone through the halls of the forum, certain he would find his king inside. As it was on most days, the forum was deserted, and the animals that were sometimes kept in its many cages had been moved off to other places throughout the city. Chane’s boots scraped quietly across the pebbled surface, not wanting to disturb his lord and master. Since returning to the city from Gilorin Court, Raxor had spent most of his time alone. Chane had barely seen his beloved king in the past week. Still in mourning over the death of his son and shaken by the defeat at the Kryss, Raxor had retreated into a private little hole, and without Mirage around to coax him out of it, the old man had become even more remote. Chane mourned, too. Not for Prince Roland, because he never really liked the red-headed loud-mouth. Rather, Chane mourned for Raxor, because the king he had known for so many years was really already dead. Between the two of them, all they could hope for now was vengeance.

  And that was why Corvalos Chane had come.

  When he reached the end of the hall, Chane stopped behind a pillar, peering around the stone edifice toward the arena. There, in the centre of the vast oval, he spotted King Raxor, standing in the centre of the arena with his two enormous pets. The bears were on their hind legs, prancing around Raxor as the king urged them on with treats. At their full height, the bears were a good deal taller than the big king, yet Raxor wasn’t at all afraid of them. He had raised them from cubs and knew they’d never hurt him. Chane smiled, noting the pleasure on the old man’s face. It was good to see him happy, if only briefly. Chane’s grin sharpened, for he was sure his plan would please Raxor even more.

  Chane did not want to disturb his master, but his news couldn’t wait, and so he stepped softly onto the ground of the arena, making sure that Raxor saw him. The king looked surprised but waved him forward. The bears continued dancing as Chane approached, barely noticing him until Raxor ordered them down. They sniffed at Chane, knowing him immediately, and watched him with their beady black eyes. Varsha, the female of the twins, pawed up to Chane and nudged his hand with her nose in greeting. Chane took the beast’s jaw and gave it a gentle squeeze. He had always liked the bear siblings, and they had always amazed him. Their loyalty to Raxor rivaled his own.

  King Raxor knew immediately that Chane had come for a reason. He looked at his spy expectedly. Chane stopped playing with the bear and greeted his king with a bow.

  ‘My lord, may I speak?’ he asked.

  ‘Tell me,’ said Raxor at once.

  ‘I have news, my lord. From Koth.’

  Raxor perked up. ‘Indeed?’

  ‘Baron Glass is going to the old estate at Richter. He plans to leave in two more days. He’s making ready for the trip, my lord. And he’s taking Jazana Carr with him.’

  Raxor was old but his mind was as sharp as ever. He seized on Chane’s meaning at once. ‘Interesting,’ he mused. His hand rose to his mouth, rubbing his lower lip. ‘How many are going with him?’

  ‘Not many,’ said Chane. ‘That’s the key, my lord. Baron Glass is having trouble with Jazana Carr, more so since Mirage went to him.’

  ‘Jealousy?’

  ‘So it seems. Glass means to make amends with her,’ said Chane. Not all the details were in place, but he told his master what he knew. ‘This comes from Jaron, my lord. From inside Lionkeep.’

  ‘Then this is reliable? You’re sure?’

  ‘I think so, yes,’ Chane answered. Raxor had spies everywhere, and Chane had his own connections. Of all of them, Jaron was among the best. He had posed as a mercenary to gain access to Jazana Carr. Later he had managed to work his way into Lionkeep itself, working as an outside guard. Jaron had a gift for small things, an uncanny ability to put puzzles together out of the barest scraps. ‘He sent the news as quickly as he could,’ Chane continued. ‘But it’s five days old, at least. Jaron says that Glass is planning on traveling with only a small contingent. He wants to be alone with his queen, no doubt.’

  Raxor laughed with satisfaction. ‘Mirage has had the same effect on him, no doubt! Jazana Carr is wise to be worried.’ He looked at Chane. ‘What of her? Anything?’

  ‘Of Mirage? The same, my lord. She is well, that’s all I can tell. She spends time with Glass. A great deal of time from what I’m told.’

  A shadow of envy crossed Raxor’s face. ‘Baron Glass has everything a man could want, then,’ he grumbled. ‘He has taken my son and my woman both. He loves Mirage. I always knew it.’

  Chane avoided looking straight at his king. He had not confessed his drunken advance on Mirage, that moment of weakness in Koth. The guilt of it gnawed at him. He said, ‘Mirage is well, my lord. You should not worry about her. And this news is worth acting on.’

  ‘Agreed.’ Raxor sidled closer to Broud, the huge black male of the bears, and dug his fingers deeply into his thick fur. The bear responded with a grunt of pleasure. ‘I have been to Richter,’ said Raxor, ‘years ago. That was when King Akeela was alive, when there was peace.’ He thought for a moment, summoning the memory. ‘It’s very small. Not many staff. There are mountains around it, and I remember a lake. It’s very high up. Secluded.’

  ‘My lord, I’ve already sent some people there,’ said Chane. ‘Horatin and Kaprile of the Red Watch. A few others. They’re already making plans, watching the layout. I had some ideas for them to take with them.’

  ‘What ideas?’

  ‘As you said, it’s a small estate, my lord. And Glass isn’t taking many men with him.’

  ‘He doesn’t need many men. He has the armour, remember.’

  ‘Aye,’ said Chane, ‘I remember. But nothing is indestructible, my lord, and he can’t wear the armour forever. Not to bed, certainly.’

  Raxor looked intrigued. ‘You mean to assassinate him.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Chane. Assassination was a specialty of the Red Watch. Chane had trained them himself. ‘Six or seven of us should be able to get it done.’

  ‘If Glass sees you, he’ll kill you,’ said Raxor.

  ‘He won’t see us, my lord. I don’t intend to climb though his window.’

  ‘What then?’

  ‘I plan to burn him,’ Chane replied. ‘I’ve thought about this, my lord. If the doors were barricaded, no one would be able to escape. And if someone did manage to get out alive . . .’ Chane shrugged.

  ‘You mean to murder them all?’

  ‘Baron Glass and Jazana Carr at least,’ said Chane coolly.

  King Raxor turned away, considering the plan. Chane stood very still, giving his master time to think. It would not be as easy as he’d hinted, but he desperately wanted Raxor’s blessing.

  ‘A chance like this won’t come along again soon,’ he said. ‘Consider, my lord – both Glass and the Diamond Queen in the same small space. Not even the armour can protect Glass against an inferno. And if it does, we’ll be there to finish him – all of us.’

  ‘Even you won’t be enough to stop Baron Glass, Corvalos. If you had seen him at the Kryss you would know what I mean. He’s not just a man anymore. It’s like Mirage said – he is possessed of a devil. And devils live in flames.’

  ‘Then at least we will kill his queen,’ Chane countered. ‘My lord
, there isn’t much time. I have to get to Richter quickly and join the others. There are things I’ll need to arrange. Baron Glass will have the jump on me either way.’

  ‘I hear you, Corvalos, I do. But there are risks.’

  ‘To myself and the others alone,’ said Chane. He brought his lanky body closer to the king. ‘Please, my lord, let me do this for you. Let me kill the man who killed your son.’

  The bears had stopped ambling around. As if sensing the seriousness of the conversation, they looked up earnestly at Raxor. The king remained silent, his eyes glazing over.

  ‘I’m not mad,’ he said softly. ‘I’ve heard others talking, Chane, the things they’ve said about me. But I’m not mad. I’m simply . . . troubled.’

  ‘Yes, my lord,’ said Chane gently. ‘I know.’

  The old man turned his eyes on Chane, full of love. ‘Baron Glass must not know it is us. Do nothing to betray Reec. Dress as mercenaries. Make him believe it is Norvans, even. That upstart Elgan perhaps. But nothing must lead him back to us. We cannot have him march against us. Not yet. Not when we are so weak.’

  ‘Of course, my lord.’

  Raxor reached out and gripped Chane’s shoulder. ‘You have been so good to me for so many years. Let this be your last mission, Corvalos.’

  ‘My lord?’

  ‘We are old, my friend,’ said Raxor with a grin. ‘No one has served me better or longer than you have. You have given up everything for me. Even your birthright as a man.’

  ‘I have not minded, my lord.’

  ‘Haven’t you? I have eyes, Corvalos. I saw the way you looked at Mirage, how you craved her. No, do not be embarrassed! She was a splendid woman.’

  The revelation stung Chane. He dropped his head and sank to his knees. ‘My lord, I’m sorry,’ he sighed. ‘In my heart I lusted for her. Forgive me.’

  ‘There is nothing to forgive, my friend,’ said Raxor, looking down. ‘You’re not a eunuch, after all. No man can expect to be without hungers if he is truly a man.’

  ‘But she was your woman, my lord . . .’