Angel's Knight

by A. J. Grimmelhaus

  ‘Keep walking,’ Krom said. ‘They won’t follow us.’

  ‘They won’t hurt the villagers,’ Kartane told his brother. ‘Come on.’

  Korwane shot him a dark look. ‘Do you really believe that? They can see how small the area is within the trees, they can hardly think half an army’s in there, can they?’

  ‘Doesn’t matter,’ Krom said. ‘We need to leave; our job’s to keep that package safe.’

  Korwane shook his head. The men were getting close now, and Kartane counted a dozen of them; more than was ideal, even for three knights of the Reve. ‘We also swore a vow to protect the innocent,’ Korwane said. ‘I’m staying.’

  ‘Fine,’ Kartane said, ‘I’m going. You deal with them by yourself.’ He held out his hand. ‘Give me the package.’

  A heavy hand landed on his shoulder. ‘Two against twelve won’t work,’ Krom said. ‘We stand or fall together, that’s what our brotherhood is about.’

  ‘Anyway,’ Korwane said, ‘it looks like it’s too late to leave.’

  The Sudalrese warriors fanned out in front of them, and Krom Kraven stepped forward. ‘There’s no soldiers here,’ he said, ‘only villagers.’

  The leader of the soldiers shrugged. ‘We go in anyway,’ he said in a thick accent. ‘Church not involved. You stand aside.’

  The Sudalrese men already had their swords drawn, but Krom didn’t seem to notice. He nodded his head slowly, and Kartane thought he looked genuinely saddened that he couldn’t change the invader’s mind. He looked convincing enough that the soldier took a step forward, leaving him only a foot out of range.

  That, Kartane thought, is a mistake.

  ‘Plans change,’ Krom said. He moved forward, sword drawn and slicing through the leader’s neck before the soldier knew what was happening. The man next to him fell a moment later, and then Kartane didn’t see any more because two of them had decided to attack him.

  His sword came free awkwardly, and Kartane muttered a curse as he parried a hopeful thrust. Another sword came at him, and his training kicked in, arms and legs moving in familiar patterns. One man fell to a thrust in his chest, a second collapsed with half his neck missing and a third sank to his knees as Kartane’s blade smashed through his collarbone. His sword was stuck, and Kartane tried to drag it free as a fourth man came at him. He yanked harder, the sword finally coming free with a wet sucking sound. Too late. The man was almost upon him, closing the intervening space as Kartane’s foot shifted and he tried to bring his sword up. Then the man fell over, a dagger jutting out of his neck.

  Kartane blinked. The twelve men were all dead. It was over.

  Krom came over and wrenched his dagger from the fallen man’s neck.

  ‘That wasn’t very knightly,’ Kartane said.

  ‘The Reve care about winning,’ Kraven grunted as he wiped the gore from the blade, ‘that’s more important than seeming knightly.’ He searched Kartane’s eyes, and Kartane knew he could see the truth, knew he could see that Kartane had done wrong. ‘Thought you’d know that after reading the book.’

  ‘What?’ Kartane winced at his brother’s voice. ‘He hasn’t read it,’ Korwane said, his voice sounding almost pleading. ‘Why would you say that, Krom? How can you know?’

  Korwane’s face hardened, and Kartane felt the hairs on his arms stand up. ‘How do you even know what’s in there?’

  ‘I don’t,’ Krom said, his eyes never leaving Kartane’s. ‘Your brother hasn’t asked what was in the package you carry, not for two nights. Only reason to stop asking is if he already knows and, once you’ve unwrapped the cloth, well, it’s a hard thing to stop there, isn’t it?’

  ‘It’s about lying,’ Kartane ground out, unable to contain the anger, ‘that’s what that stupid book’s about.’

  His brother hung his head, muttering a string of curses. ‘That too,’ Krom said quietly, soft enough that Korwane didn’t hear. He’s read it too, Kartane realised. Somehow, it made him feel better.

  Korwane cleared his throat, adjusting the grip on his sword. ‘The Seven would kill my brother if they knew.’ His voice was flat, emotionless.

  ‘Best not tell them then,’ Krom said.

  ‘I won’t,’ Korwane said, ‘but you just might.’

  Krom gave a slow shake of his head. Kartane was sure the man knew the danger he was in, but Kraven didn’t show it, didn’t so much as move. ‘I’ve seen enough Reve brothers fall,’ he said quietly, ‘and I’ve no wish to see any more join them.’ His eyes flicked to Kartane. ‘We’ve all done stupid things.’

  You read it, too, Kartane thought. That’s why Kraven would keep silent, because to reveal Kartane’s transgression would also reveal his own. So why did he mention it in the first place? Why tell me he knows what’s on those pages? He caught Krom’s eye and the man winked. Finally, Kartane realised: to show me I’m not alone.

  ‘Leave him be, brother,’ Kartane said, reading the indecision on Korwane’s face. He pointed south. ‘Right now we’ve got bigger problems.’ There were five of them, he saw, and these ones moved like the Reve, fluid and graceful, and deadly as a Pit hound’s jaws.

  Kartane stood motionless as they approached, Korwane equally static beside him. The men kept their weapons sheathed, but Kartane knew that didn’t mean much, not with men like these. As they came to a stop in front of them, Krom barked a laugh, bending down and wiping the gore from his sword. He resheathed it as the man at the centre – older than the others, faint traces of grey in his hair – looked down at the corpses. Kartane tensed. They would all move together, he knew, and they’d be fast – maybe as fast as him.

  ‘You’re a long way from home, Valtas,’ Krom said, a grin on his face.

  The man pulled his gaze away from the bodies. ‘I couldn’t stop this, Krom,’ he said. ‘I couldn’t make the King see reason.’

  ‘Kings see what they want to see,’ Krom agreed. ‘So you came to bear witness?’

  ‘To my failure?’ The man nodded, gesturing to the corpses. ‘Your handiwork? I thought the Reve was not getting involved.’

  Kraven shrugged. ‘My friends didn’t like the idea of villagers being murdered.’

  ‘Understandable, I suppose.’

  Krom grunted, and introduced Kartane and Korwane. ‘This is Duke Valtas val Sharvina,’ he said with a smile.

  The Black Duke? Now I’ve seen everything. Kartane caught a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye and sighed. Some days, nothing goes right. ‘That’s nice,’ he said, ‘but you might want to start running.’ He pointed east, and the clot of figures coming towards them. Judging by the amount of blond hair among the men, Kartane figured these were Norvek soldiers.

  ‘A bit late for that,’ the Black Duke said. He looked at Krom. ‘Perhaps they might listen to reason from a knight of the church?’

  ‘If soldiers listened to reason,’ Krom said, ‘they wouldn’t be soldiers in the first place.’ He sighed. ‘I’ll talk to them though.’

  The twelve-man patrol had come, rather belatedly, to warn the village of approaching Sudalrese forces, but they pulled up short when they saw the five men behind Krom, Kartane and Korwane.

  ‘They’re Sudalrese,’ the sergeant said.

  ‘They are not the enemy,’ Krom said with a father’s patience.

  ‘They’re Sudalrese,’ the sergeant repeated, his thick eyebrow furrowed in confusion. His men looked nervous, slowly spreading out into a half circle around the knights

  ‘The church needs this man alive.’

  The sergeant’s eyes flicked to Krom’s Reve tabard. ‘They’re the enemy.’ His fingers started reaching for his sword.

  ‘Don’t do it,’ Krom warned.

  He did it.

  The fight lasted less than a minute, and although it felt wrong to fight his own countrymen, when they came at Kartane he didn’t have a choice. He killed one, and traded blows with a second soldier, the man falling as one of the duke’s men glided in behind him, not even looking as he delivered the f
atal blow – almost as if it was a passing whim.

  They stood in the middle of a circle of dead men, both Sudalrese and Norvek. It felt to Kartane that nobody had really won. Both sides had lost.

  ‘Thank you for your assistance,’ Duke val Sharvina said, though his tone suggested it had been unnecessary.

  Korwane was staring at the sergeant’s lifeless face as Krom turned his head back towards the village. Kartane saw a man standing there in the narrow gap between trees.

  Krom muttered something in Sudalrese, and took a bow from one of the duke’s men. He spun and loosed the arrow in one smooth movement. They watched as it struck the man’s chest and he stood a moment, staring at the wood sticking out of him.

  ‘You didn’t have to do that,’ Korwane hissed as the villager staggered back a pace.

  Kartane looked away as he fell. Yes, he did, he thought as he stared at the duke’s impassive face, devoid of any emotion as he and his men watched the villager slowly topple. The Reve killing our own soldiers? Not something we could survive, no matter how good our reasons. He drew his dagger, flipped it over in his hand and with a flick of his wrist hurled it towards the duke. It missed his face by inches, embedding itself in the eye of one of the fallen soldiers who had hauled himself to his feet. The sword fell out of his hands as he toppled backwards in a parody of the villager’s death.

  The Black Duke glanced over his shoulder and grunted in surprise. ‘When the war’s over,’ he told Kartane, ‘you should come and visit me so I can thank you properly.’ He turned to Krom. ‘Sudalrese soldiers are not far behind us, and more are to the west. You should take the villagers north.’

  The duke and his men turned and headed back south across the meadow.

  ‘You didn’t have to kill him,’ Korwane repeated.

  Kartane put a hand on his elder brother’s shoulder. ‘Yes, brother, he did.’ He met Krom’s gaze. ‘After all this death, I think maybe it’s worth us saving the villagers, and whatever’s in the book be damned.’

  Krom nodded. ‘Some good should come from this.’

  *

  ‘He’s a hard man,’ Kartane said, his eyes rooted to Tol, ‘but there’s more to him than just strength. He could see what reading that book did to me, but he took a risk and could have been killed by my brother for it.’ He leaned forward. ‘There’s a reason for everything he does, so stop feeling sorry for yourself and try thinking why he sent you away instead of getting angry.’

  A sharp rap sounded at the window, and Kartane turned to find his old friend there, beckoning to his son. Tol scraped his chair back. ‘I’ll see you later?’

  Kartane grinned. ‘Wouldn’t miss the show.’ He watched the young man walk out of the tavern. So much like his father.

  ‘Uh, what book?’ Tol’s cousin asked.

  ‘Doesn’t matter,’ Kartane said.

  ‘Was that story true?’

  Kartane froze. It had been years, but he recognised the voice. He didn’t turn around. ‘Yes.’

  She stepped into view, and the years fell away. She looked just as he remembered when he had left Jhanhar.

  ‘I always wondered why my brother was so tolerant of you,’ she said. ‘I didn’t realise you saved his life.’

  She looked a lot like him, even had that same huge nose. Prettier though. Much prettier. ‘Hello, Selene. You’re a long way from home.’

  She shrugged lightly. ‘Not so far,’ she said. ‘I ended up in Karalvia, married one of their lords.’ A large, hairy man sidled up to her.

  ‘This him?’

  She shook her head. ‘He died.’ She smiled. ‘Now I’ve got a few thousand warriors at my beck and call, and they’re all worried about some little scuffle taking place outside these gates. They are concerned the Gurdal might make it into Karalvia.’ She cocked her head and smiled. ‘What do you think I should do about that, eh?’

  Kartane roared with laughter while the nuns and Kraven’s cousin looked on, dumbstruck.

  ‘Who is this woman?’ Rachel asked.

  ‘We haven’t been introduced,’ his old lover said. ‘I’m Selene val Sharvina, sister to the Black Duke.’

  Kartane wondered why he was the only one laughing.

  27.

  The Gurdal stretched back as far as Tol could see. The leading edge of their ranks had reached the razor-sharp black surface outside the city walls, a rugged, ridged plain of sharp edges rising from deceptive hills and hollows. The dark blotch began a mile away, covering the entire width of the Spur – shore to shore – and crept up almost to Obsidian’s walls. There was, Tol thought, something strange and alien about the diamond-hard surface; it seemed fitting that it would slow down the similarly strange warriors from beyond the desert.

  ‘You read the book?’

  Tol started in surprise, turning his attention from the approaching army to his father. He hadn’t spoken a word to Tol since Kartane had left the tavern, leaving Tol to follow him as he bellowed orders at various soldiers and knights throughout the city. Somehow, his father had been placed in charge of the forces defending the city.

  Tol nodded, one hand on the battlements. ‘I understand why you couldn’t tell me when I was younger.’

  ‘Loose!’ his father yelled, and the archers lining the battlements sent a volley out over the scorched sand. Tol saw a few fall short, but most sank into the first rank of the Gurdal, carefully picking their way over the rugged surface. It looked rough and sticky to Tol’s eyes, but Kal had assured him it was slick and treacherous. And if a man fell on such a surface, there was a good chance he’d cut himself bad on the unyielding ground, maybe even sever an artery.

  ‘Near as did tell you,’ Tol’s father said. ‘How many different versions of the Seven’s tale did I tell you?’

  Tol followed his father along the battlements as the archers loosed another volley, slowly building up a rhythm. ‘Half a dozen or so,’ he guessed.

  ‘Always with a different ending,’ his father said. ‘Truth’s not an easy thing to find in a story.’ He glanced at Tol, eyes full of hard judgement. ‘That was the lesson.’ He shrugged, and resumed his walk along the city wall. ‘Thought you’d figure it out.’

  ‘Maybe you should have been a better teacher,’ Tol retorted, feeling colour rise to his cheeks. ‘Maybe you should have taught me yourself instead of sending me away to Icepeak because you didn’t want me around!’

  His father stopped. ‘Is that what you think?’ Tol didn’t say anything and his father shook his head. ‘Didn’t the abbot teach you to think for yourself, boy?’ He turned and resumed his march along the wall.

  Tol looked out over the black plain. The Gurdal kept coming, even as more and more fell to the storm of arrows. Slowly, he saw, they were making progress. He sighed and followed his father. His memories of the man were all unclear, like distant people seen through a muddy window. He had looked sad though when Tol had asked him about being sent to Icepeak. Why, if not because he didn’t want me around? He could have taught me himself.

  His father stopped abruptly, and Tol nearly walked into the back of him. ‘It won’t be enough,’ his father said, his voice almost lost amid the persistent thrumming of bowstrings.

  Tol followed his gaze. Yard by bloodstained yard, the Gurdal were crossing the jagged black stone. In minutes they’d reach the gates.

  ‘One of our brothers is a traitor,’ Tol said. ‘One of the Seven.’

  His father nodded. ‘I know.’ He looked out over the wall again. ‘It’s time.’ He started walking for the stone stairs.

  ‘Do you know who?’

  ‘No,’ his father said as he marched down the worn steps, ‘but they killed Patrick and they’ll pay for that.’

  Tol followed his father across the open ground to the middle of the square, a large swathe of uncluttered land that reminded him of the square in Siadendre and his desperate escape from the city. This isn’t going to be any better.

  A handful of men waited for them in the centre, while men armed in boiled
leather lined the far side, ready to face the first ranks of Gurdal and retreat down the city’s narrow streets. It would be the kind of fight, Tol knew, that would break many of them. Constantly retreating under the enemy’s assault, flitting from shadow to shadow; it was the kind of fight that put fear in the bravest of men. He glanced to the sky. The sun was setting. The city will fall in the night, he thought. The darkness would make the coming fight all the more terrifying.

  ‘Now?’

  Tol’s father shook his head at the bugler. ‘Not yet.’ He turned back towards the gates, towards Tol. ‘Stay close to Kartane,’ he said. ‘He’s a survivor – even the Truth couldn’t break him.’

  The thrum of bowstrings was slowing, Tol noticed, the bowmen tiring as they launched volley after volley into the Gurdal. His father was watching the gates, listening for the tell-tale pounding of the assaulting Gurdal. His looked at Tol, eyebrows lifting in surprise as he staggered as if struck.

  ‘Father?’

  He took a step towards him, and Tol saw a trickle of blood dribble from the corner of his father’s mouth as his knees bent and he stumbled forwards.

  Tol caught his father, supporting his weight so he could stand. ‘What’s wrong?’ There was a terrible feeling in the pit of his stomach, some instinctive knowledge that something was very, very wrong. He held his father up, pushing as his father fell forwards. Tol saw it, a thin shaft of wood, feathers fletched to one end. He looked around frantically and saw a figure moving on the far side of the square.

  ‘Assassin!’ he shouted, jerking his head towards the retreating figure. His cousin was at his side, eyes following the path along the arrow. He saw the lone figure moving away from the gathered soldiers.

  ‘I’ll get him,’ Kal said. He squeezed Tol’s arm then started running across the open space.

  Iron fingers gripped Tol’s arm. He met his father’s gaze, trying to ignore the thin stream of blood leaking down his chin.

  ‘I’m proud of you, boy,’ his father coughed, fingers weakening their hold on Tol’s arm.