Angel's Knight

by A. J. Grimmelhaus

  ‘About time you showed up,’ Katarina scowled, ‘I was starting to think I’d have to do it myself.’

  Tol nearly laughed but something about her tone made him think Katarina might not have been joking. There was, he realised, a lot he didn’t know about Duke val Sharvina’s youngest daughter. But how much?

  Stetch stepped aside as Salazar barrelled into the room, and threw himself into his sister’s arms, and finally Katarina’s cool exterior broke down.

  ‘Sal?’ she said. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘It’s a long story,’ Salazar told her, ‘but it will have to wait: we need to get out of the city before the Gurdal get here.’

  They filed out of the room, Tol following in their wake, all but forgotten.

  Kartane stopped him with a hand on the shoulder. ‘Time enough for talk later,’ he said. ‘Now’s not the right time for what you want to say.’

  Tol nodded but Kartane didn’t let him go. ‘She might not look it, but she’s grateful. Give her time.’

  It’s a day for surprises, Tol thought as he headed back towards the stairs. Kartane had sounded almost like a regular person. It won’t last.

  Kartane clapped him on the back at the top of the stairs, the force bringing a wave of nausea. ‘We should try that rope thing again,’ Kartane laughed. ‘I damned near pissed myself!’

  It’s a good thing, Tol thought, that he’s on our side. He suppressed a smile as he followed Katarina and Stetch down. Sliding down a rope through a window had been exhilarating, a jolt of both excitement and fear as he sped above Calderon’s guards. And that was the problem: the others had thought the pair stupid, but although Tol had been driven by desperation it had not been a difficult decision. Am I turning into Kartane? he wondered. It was a troubling thought. Very troubling indeed.

  19.

  ‘Victoria’s safe?’

  Stetch grunted beside her, and the flutter in Katarina’s chest faded as she descended to the first floor. ‘Thank you for rescuing her,’ she managed to say, earning a bewildered grunt of acceptance. It felt good to have him beside her again, that familiar presence like an old, tattered coat: functional, and requiring little maintenance.

  With Victoria safe, Katarina turned her attention to the single thought that was keeping her on her feet. ‘Calderon?’

  She stopped as they reached the landing, but Stetch remained silent. ‘Well? Where’s the traitor?’

  Salazar caught up with her, Steven and Kartane following in her brother’s wake. Kartane’s a bad influence on that boy.

  ‘We don’t have time to find him,’ her brother said. ‘The Gurdal are at the gates and we need to be gone.’ He looked away as one of the Sworn joined them from the rear of the house, and Katarina caught the slight shake of his head. His eyes told her the truth.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Stennis,’ the Sworn man told her. Riedel, she remembered. He had passed through Jhanhar before she had left for Norve.

  ‘How many?’

  ‘Fifteen.’

  Katarina nodded. ‘A good account,’ she said. ‘It will be recorded.’ A number in the ledger beside their name was, after all, the only remembrance the Sworn could attain. She saw the faint break in his stern expression, and knew it brought Riedel some measure of comfort.

  ‘Seventeen on mine,’ he said quietly.

  ‘There are more to be added,’ Katarina told him with the sternest expression she could muster. ‘I suggest you make sure you live long enough to add Stennis to the ledger yourself.’ She turned to her brother. ‘Find Calderon. A reckoning’s due.’

  ‘We don’t have time for this, Kat,’ he said as a flurry of footsteps echoed from below. ‘The Gurdal are at the gates and will breach at dawn. We need to leave.’

  ‘Then perhaps you should stop arguing and find the traitorous bastard?’

  ‘The fat one?’

  Katarina spun and two three blood-stained women coming up the stairs. One was thin as a twig, but the one who had spoken more than made up for it. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘the fat Meracian traitor.’

  ‘Downstairs,’ the other said. ‘We caught him trying to escape.’

  ‘Take me to him.’ Katarina set off down the stairs, Stetch once again at her side. ‘Who are they?’

  He shrugged. ‘Nuns.’

  ‘With swords?’

  ‘We are the Sisterguard,’ the thin one said over her shoulder as they headed deeper into the house, ‘and we are sworn to protect Sir Tol.’

  Katarina looked at Stetch. ‘Steven has bodyguards now?’

  Stetch shrugged.

  ‘I get kidnapped for a few days and everything changes,’ Katarina muttered, nearly walking into the back of the nuns as they stopped. She stepped around the large one and found another armed nun standing over Calderon’s body.

  ‘He’s still alive,’ the nun said. ‘I thought you might want to…’

  ‘Thank you,’ Katarina said. Stetch forced his way between the nuns and came to stand next to her. ‘Wake him up.’ Stetch moved to kick him in the ribs and Katarina grabbed his arm. ‘Wake him up properly.’

  He nodded, nudging Calderon’s leg with his foot. He kicked him hard in the groin and Katarina felt a surge of pleasure as Calderon jolted awake. He looked around for a few moments trying to work out what was going on, but his face fell as his eyes landed on Katarina. She smiled.

  ‘I have information,’ Calderon stuttered. ‘Let me go and I’ll tell you everything.’

  He didn’t add “please”, Katarina had to credit him for that, but she could hear it in his voice nonetheless. She met his imploring gaze and allowed him just enough silence to think he might persuade her.

  ‘His belly looks fat,’ she told Stetch. ‘It looks fit to burst.’

  She watched Calderon’s face as Stetch drew his sword, saw the fear build and build, and savoured the expression and the child-like scream as Stetch opened the traitor’s innards. When the screaming died down to a whimper she spoke, ‘How long?’

  ‘Long enough,’ he wheezed. ‘Your father never guessed a thing.’

  ‘Cut him again.’

  Steven forced his way to her side. ‘We need to leave,’ he said.

  ‘So people keep saying,’ Katarina told him. ‘So,’ she said to Calderon, ‘I suppose my aunt is dead?’

  ‘You can’t win,’ Calderon said. ‘The Gurdal can’t be stopped.’

  ‘Stetch.’ He cut Calderon again and drew another whimper from the lord’s lips.

  ‘We don’t have time for revenge,’ Steven barked in her ear. ‘We have to leave now.’

  ‘You understand nothing,’ Katarina replied, her eyes never leaving Calderon. ‘This is what happens to those who betray Sudalra.’ She glanced at Stetch. ‘Start on his legs.’

  ‘I don’t care about the Gurdal,’ she told Calderon. ‘You betrayed the homeland and a good man died tonight; and that is something I do care about.’ She gestured and Stetch sliced again as Steven grabbed her arm.

  ‘Finish this now,’ he growled. ‘A lot of people risked their lives to come and get you, and every moment we wait increases the danger.’ He grabbed her arm, voice rising to a shout. ‘We have to leave now!’

  ‘Leave if you must,’ Katarina replied, still not willing to look at him.

  ‘It’s too late,’ Calderon crowed with a liquid chuckle. ‘They know you’re here and they won’t wait till dawn. Finish me now or share my fate.’

  ‘Again,’ she told Stetch. Is he telling the truth or just trying to avoid this? There was something in his tone that rang true. Would they really bring forward their attack just to reach me? If the Gurdal were prepared to do such a thing – and for someone not even part of the war – then they truly were a terrible foe. Surely not…

  ‘We have to leave,’ a familiar voice shouted down the hall. ‘What are you idiots doing?’

  Katarina turned and saw her sister racing towards her, her face a patchwork of cuts and bruises. ‘You didn’t say she was here,’ she scre
eched at Stetch as Victoria reached them.

  ‘The bloody Gurdal are over the walls,’ Victoria panted, ‘and a big group of them are coming this way in a hurry.’ She looked down at the bloody mess which was Calderon. ‘He must have sent word.’

  ‘That settles it,’ Steven said loudly, ‘we’re leaving and we’re leaving right sodding now.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Stetch, we need to go.’

  To her surprise, Stetch nodded. ‘Stetch—’

  ‘Now,’ Stetch grunted.

  He’s siding with Steven now?

  Stetch gestured towards Calderon and Katarina shrugged. ‘Let him bleed out.’

  ‘We make for the north gate,’ Steven told everyone. ‘If anyone gets separated, that’s where we meet up.’

  Unbelievably, everyone paid attention to him, and Katarina found herself swept up in a tide of bodies making their way to the front door. ‘Who put him in charge?’ she asked Stetch. ‘And who are all these people?’

  ‘Less talking,’ he grunted, one hand pressed to the small of her back and pushing her forward. He flicked up a loose sword with his toe and passed it to her as they reached the front door and an impressive pile of bodies. Stetch held the sword out, hilt first. ‘Need this,’ he told her.

  The party were picking up pace as Katarina stepped out onto the porch and saw the bodies strewn around the front gate. ‘Impressive,’ she muttered. ‘How many of these are yours?’

  Stetch grinned. ‘Most.’

  Same Stetch. ‘How many on your account tonight?’

  He shrugged. ‘Eleven.’

  ‘Eleven? In one night?’

  ‘You think that’s impressive,’ Kartane said at her side, ‘you should see how Kraven and I made our grand entrance.’ He pointed up and Katarina saw the dim outline of a rope suspended from a church tower across the street, coming out of the top window and ending just above one of the windows in her prison. She whistled, then remembered herself. ‘That just proves you’re insane.’

  ‘The line between being insane and being a hero is very thin,’ Kartane said

  ‘You’re still the wrong side of it.’ Katarina looked up again. Steven slid down that rope, too? She thought she knew him, thought he trusted her, but in High Mera he had told her only half the truth, and refused to yield all his secrets. Steven might also be the wrong side of that line, Katarina thought, unable to repress a shudder. And mad men know no bounds.

  20.

  A background hiss, like a distant waterfall, was spreading north through the city as its residents awoke to bloodshed and violent death. The sky was grey, the sombre precedent of dawn, and Tol already felt the day would bring nothing good. He looked round the corner of the church and found he was disappointingly right: more than a dozen Gurdal warriors were running purposefully towards Calderon’s refuge, and the few city guards who stood against them were about to be overrun.

  Damn her, he thought. A few minutes earlier and we’d be free and clear, but no, she decided to stay and torture Calderon.

  He turned away from the massacre and back to his companions as they plodded back along the street to the narrow alley that wound its way west, back towards the docks.

  ‘Hurry,’ he shouted as loud as he dared. ‘They’re almost here.’ Inch by inch the survivors made their way back to the alley, but it was too slow, too slow by far. If we can make it to the alley unseen, we can lose them.

  The first few were already into the deep shadows of the alley as Tol arrived at its mouth, hissing and spitting at them to hurry. We won’t make it, he thought. Today gave every promise of being a disaster, and the sun hadn’t even risen. Damn that woman.

  Kal grabbed his arm, bow already in hand. ‘Go,’ his cousin told him, ‘I’ll bring up the rear.’

  Tol nodded. ‘If we can get away unseen…’

  Kal smiled. ‘I know, I’ll only use it if I have to. Go.’

  Tol clapped his cousin on the shoulder and headed into the alley, passing Benvedor and Riedel then overtaking Suranna and the nuns. We’re going to make it, he thought. Then he heard a shout, followed by the unmistakable whine of an arrow. He glanced back and saw Kal drawing another arrow from his quiver. So much for luck, Tol thought, struggling down the alley with the rest of them. The night’s exertions had left them all exhausted, and the group couldn’t manage more than a slow jog. They had only lost one man – one of Salazar’s men – but several bore injuries. The agony in Tol’s shoulder had subsided to a sharp pain, nearly enough to let him forget the graze he had taken along his ribs. Nearly, but not quite.

  Tol stumbled out onto one of the city’s main roads, the party veering right towards the north gate. He looked back along the line. Kal was still loosing arrows at the approaching pack of Gurdal, but they were getting closer with every step, and Tol knew they were all too tired to outrun the freshly-rested invaders.

  We need cover, he thought as he saw the wide, open road ahead. We have to choose our ground else be overrun.

  ‘Get us off the street,’ Tol shouted ahead just as Stetch veered into a side street. The noise behind them was growing now, a low rumble of battle slowly working its way north through the city. Faces were appearing at windows as Tol ran past, and ahead he could see the odd resident leaving their home and turning north. It’s too late, he thought, too late to escape now. He followed the procession into the street, lungs burning as he pushed himself onward, slowly passing Catardor and Isallien.

  ‘Find us a place to ambush them,’ he called to Stetch. Moments later, Tol saw it, a crossroads up ahead. There! That’s the place. He looked over his shoulder, and saw Kal backpedalling towards him, bow slung over his shoulder as he retreated from the advancing Gurdal. Stetch had stopped at the crossroads, Salazar next to him with Victoria and Katarina safely behind them. The others picked separate forks as they stumbled into the intersection, each instinctively understanding that they couldn’t outrun the Gurdal.

  Kal came last, stumbling backwards as a Gurdal slashed at him again and again. Standing in the south fork, Tol held up a hand to the knights opposite him. The Gurdal came swarming through behind, and Tol just saw Stetch grab Kal by the collar and haul back behind him before the crossroads exploded into battle. The lead men came ploughing in to the immovable wall of Stetch and Salazar, their fellows bunching up behind them.

  ‘Now!’ Tol shouted. Kartane lurched forward beside him and the pair hacked into one flank of the attackers as Isallien and Catardor assaulted from the opposite side. Four men died before they realised it was an ambush, and by then it was too late, the Gurdal were already committed with momentum forcing them into an assault from three sides.

  Again and again Tol slashed at the Gurdal, every muscle protesting as he swung Illis’Andiev in the congested crossroads. Beside him, Kartane’s grunts of exertion grew in their ferocity. The Gurdal kept coming, the intersection turning into a bloody, slippery mess of dead and dying. Every swing sapped more strength, and Tol felt himself slowing as the stream of attackers continued. Finally, when it seemed like it would go on forever, the Gurdal assault ceased. Tol stuck his head round the corner. He couldn’t see them, but he could hear more of the Gurdal not far away. He worked his way between the bodies to the centre, the dull tattoo of running feet growing in volume. ‘We have to split up,’ Tol panted. His eyes came to rest on the slim shadows of Victoria and Katarina behind Stetch. Despite not being involved in the fight, he could see Katarina was struggling after her incarceration, a thin sheen of perspiration still covering her brow.

  ‘Take the girls and Salazar on ahead,’ he told Stetch, trying to get his breath back as Stetch practically dragged an exhausted Katarina through the piled bodies and up the north fork. He couldn’t tell how much of it was exhaustion, and how much was just her contrary nature.

  ‘Kartane? Go with them.’

  The knight nodded, apparently too tired to argue. ‘I’ll keep her safe,’ he whispered as he picked his way past Tol.

  ‘Injured next,’ Tol said just as a shape app
eared at the end of the alley. The cry went up before he could unshoulder his bow, and half a dozen Gurdal came running towards them. ‘The rest of us will make a fighting withdrawal, and buy the others some time.’

  Benvedor, Vrillian, and Riedel staggered after Kartane and Tol found himself with the Sisterguard, Isallien, Kal and Catardor. Seven against the Gurdal, Tol thought as the others began filing into the northern fork. It seems somehow fitting. He felt Isallien’s hand on his shoulder as he backed down the alley.

  ‘You’re bleeding,’ Isallien said. ‘Lead the line, I’ll take the rearguard.’

  Tol nodded, too tired to argue, and Isallien caught his arm as he passed. ‘Catardor knows of the traitor, if I don’t make it.’

  A traitor among the Seven, he thought as the first Gurdal rounded the corner into the alley. Just like last time. Catardor pulled him along after the others.

  ‘We’ve got this,’ he said. ‘Get up front.’ From his expression, Tol was sure the Meracian knight considered him a liability rather than an asset. He nodded mutely, and made his way along the line, his back scraping the rough walls of ramshackle houses as he overtook Bruna and then Suranna. Both were spattered in gore and looked as tired as he felt, but neither complained as he squeezed between them, one eye on the retreating form of Isallien as the Gurdal threw themselves at him.

  The nuns did well, Tol thought as he passed Kal and caught up with Rachel, a few yards ahead of the others. She took one look at Tol’s clothes and then cursed with a sailor’s eloquence. ‘How much of that is yours?’ she asked, one finger crooked towards his bloody left flank.

  ‘More than I’d like.’

  ‘You should be more careful,’ Rachel said. ‘People are depending on you, though I’ve no idea why.’

  ‘I’ll try.’

  Up ahead, he could see Benvedor at the tail end of the injured.

  ‘They’re moving too slowly,’ Rachel said just as Tol thought the same thing.