Angel's Knight

by A. J. Grimmelhaus

  ‘He’s a survivor,’ one of the archers near Kartane said, still stubbornly resisting the idea of losing another comrade. ‘His was the only face I saw that wasn’t full of fear or madness.’

  Then your friend was a fool. Kartane looked over his shoulder and saw a couple of the Meracian captains organising men ready for the last Gurdal push. And in good company, there’s no sensible men here tonight. Kartane could tell which were the reserves, the ones held for this very moment, because they never quite stood still. Skittish. And a skittish man with a sword is no good thing. Kartane sighed, and turned away to look back at the city. A few more minutes, he decided, then he’d have to make sure he was the right side of that line before it buckled under the initial assault.

  Not a bad place for a last stand, he thought as a narrow entrance to the square filled with retreating soldiers. A hundred Reve knights could probably hold the square till past dawn, and leave a pile of bodies high as buildings. Pity there’s probably not a hundred of us—

  ‘Where is he?’

  The shadow resolved itself rather disappointingly into Isallien, the young knight looking every bit as haggard and worn as Kartane felt. The other Meracian, Catardor, was only a yard behind him like his own shadow. Smart, Kartane thought. Sticking together will make it harder for the traitor to bring you down. Isallien’s idea, Kartane figured.

  Isallien grabbed him by the collar. ‘Where is he?’

  ‘I’m going to let that pass,’ Kartane said as he pried the knight’s fingers from his tunic. ‘Maybe you want to start by telling me who you’re looking for.’

  ‘Kraven,’ Isallien snapped. ‘Where is he?’

  Kartane frowned. ‘I thought he was with you.’

  ‘No,’ Isallien shook his head. ‘I thought he was with you.’ He grabbed Kartane by the shirt again, apparently stupid enough not to realise how unwise this course of action was. ‘So where is he?’

  Kartane shrugged his shoulders as the archers began yammering away again. ‘Somewhere else?’ he offered.

  ‘Maybe he’s already left the city,’ Isallien said. ‘Could be he’s slipped past us and will turn up on the road.’

  Kartane sighed. ‘And just when I was starting to think you might not be a total fucking idiot.’

  The archers drowned out whatever Isallien said, but Kartane didn’t think he’d missed anything important. He settled for just staring blankly at Isallien in the hope he’d bugger off and annoy someone else, preferably the Gurdal.

  Kartane was, yet again, disappointed. Isallien’s face reddened and as the archers moved away he barked a question.

  ‘What?’

  ‘What’s got those damned archers so excited?’ Isallien repeated. ‘You’d think we’d just won a victory by the noise they’re making.’

  ‘Lost some bloody idiot friend of theirs earlier,’ Kartane said. ‘By the sound of it the stupid sod’s just turned…’ Kartane looked towards the group and saw they were heading the wrong way; they were walking towards the Gurdal. Moving very purposefully towards the wall at the south end of the square and what looked very much like a six foot gap in the stone. Oh.

  Isallien followed his gaze. ‘You don’t think…?’

  Kartane grinned. ‘You know anyone else stupid enough to get lost in the middle of a battle?’ The archers had taken up positions thirty yards in front of the alley and were drawing arrows from their quivers. Nobody else was anywhere near them. ‘Why’s the alley unguarded?’

  ‘Valeron,’ Isallien said, making the name sound like a curse. ‘I told him to post men here in case any Gurdal tried to sneak through.’

  Kartane drew his sword. He caught the look that passed between Isallien and Catardor. Aye, he thought, might be coincidence. Might be we’ve found our traitor. ‘I’d say there’s a few Gurdal coming this way,’ he said. ‘I’m for giving them a Reve welcome.’

  He skirted around the archers, but even as he passed them he could see two figures coming down the alley towards him, a howling mass of steel and spears not far behind. Someone shouted nearby, and three cloaked figures – one the size of a bear – dashed into the alley ahead of him just as the two forlorn figures emerged into the moonlight.

  Well now, Kartane thought. That’s not what I was expecting.

  *

  How much further? Katarina wondered. Her legs and arms ached and every step felt like a journey in itself. The Gurdal had not given up their pursuit, and seemed to lurk around every corner, every twist in the winding alleys. The sounds of battle were a constant noise, never far away, and trying to navigate meandering side streets full of looping curves and dead ends meant that they’d never managed to break free of pursuit; the persistent clamour of nearby fighting was a reminder that hundreds of Gurdal were close at hand. And if we slow, if we fall too far behind the retreating army, we’ll be trapped. Katarina swallowed, and forced the thought aside. So far, only small patrols of Gurdal had got in front of them, trying to get around the back of the retreating soldiers and instead finding Stetch and Steven. The pair were slower now though, worn down by a night of running and fighting in near-total darkness broken only by faint slivers of moonlight.

  ‘Almost there,’ Steven said beside her.

  ‘Stop saying that!’ Katarina pulled her hand from his and hit him with all the force of a dead squirrel. ‘Just stop,’ she said, too tired to muster any real anger.

  ‘This time it’s true.’

  She looked up. They were coming up to a bend in the alley, but there was something about a hundred yards ahead. It could be a wall, a soot stain, could be anything really. Maybe even a way out. She took a breath, almost afraid to hope. It has to be, else we’re as good as dead.

  The alley widened as they reached a junction, another alley on their left joining it to form a Y. Katarina glanced down the other branch and saw yet more Gurdal stalking towards them. Stetch was a dozen yards behind her, slowly retreating towards the intersection. He’ll make it, she thought. It would be close, but if Stetch hurried, he’d get there ahead of them. Less than a hundred yards, Katarina thought, and then we’re out of here. If, of course, Steven was telling the truth. He was standing beside her, glancing from the approaching Gurdal to their escape route and back with that slightly pained expression which told Katarina he was thinking.

  ‘Go on ahead,’ he told her, ‘Stetch and I will be right behind you.’ His voice sounded strained and tired.

  There was something about that look on his face which had her worried, like there was something else here that she hadn’t seen. ‘We go together,’ Katarina said. He’s going to say something stupid, she thought. He’s going to try and do something noble to impress me.

  Steven nodded, like her answer was exactly what he’d expected. He plucked the sword gently from her hand. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘I’m going to need that.’ Then the idiot marched back towards Stetch, leaving Katarina standing there with nothing but a throwing dagger and the approaching Gurdal. That bloody man!

  ‘Stetch!’ His voice was raw and hoarse as he covered the last few yards. ‘Get her out of here.’

  Stetch smoothly disengaged, and Steven slipped into the space he had vacated. ‘Watch the sides,’ he barked over his shoulder as he slapped a spear aside, backpedalling the last few yards to the intersection.

  What does he mean? Katarina wondered as Stetch grabbed her hand and started marching away. What sides? She glanced back, and saw Steven reach the intersection just as Gurdal burst from the other branch. Suddenly he was fighting three men at once, tired arms swinging as he continued backing away towards her.

  ‘We can’t leave him,’ she told Stetch. She tried to free her hand but his grip was iron. ‘We can’t!’

  ‘Can,’ Stetch grunted. ‘Will.’

  Katarina saw it, saw the subtle change in the darkness to her left and right. They were a third of the way to freedom, the alley slowly widening like a delta. He saw it, damn him, Katarina realised as Stetch hauled her past the crossroads. She caught
a brief glimpse of the left passage and saw dark shapes moving towards them. She craned her neck to look back at Steven. He was slowly edging back towards the crossroads, but it seemed a long way away. He’s not going to make it.

  ‘Stetch,’ she squealed, ‘we have to help him!’

  The warrior shook his head, hand clamped tightly around hers as he marched onwards. Katarina tried to break free but it was like fighting a wall and no matter how hard she pulled at him, Stetch maintained a steady march, half-dragging her along after him.

  ‘Too late,’ Stetch growled.

  ‘But—’

  ‘Shut up,’ he snarled. ‘Now.’

  Katarina’s lips clamped shut, his voice so sharp and angry that she thought the Sworn man had finally reached the limits of his patience. Perhaps I shouldn’t have kneed him in the nethers, she reflected. Or is he angry that I didn’t listen and dragged him into this? She glanced over her shoulder and saw Steven falling back under the Gurdal assault. He was only half a dozen feet from the crossroads. Maybe Stetch would rather it was him there. She turned forwards as they reached the mouth of the alley, a broad expanse of packed sand all that stood between them and the city’s north wall.

  We made it, Katarina thought, seeing shapes moving towards them. We made it. A volley of arrows flew over her head and she belatedly remembered that Steven was still holding off the Gurdal. She turned her head and could just make him out as he stepped into the centre of the crossroads, Gurdal swarming in from both sides to surround him. She caught a glimpse of him spinning at the centre, a graceful tornado of scything swords, then he was lost to view as more Gurdal poured in from left and right. Steven! She stumbled as Stetch pulled her into the open square, righting herself as three hooded shapes swept past them and charged into the alley towards the Gurdal. She shook her head with disbelief as Stetch dragged her clear of the alley, standing aside so that a clump of weary archers had a clear line of sight to the Gurdal swarming around Steven. Stetch stopped when he reached the bowmen and finally let go of her hand. Fools or heroes, Katarina thought as the three figures ploughed into the Gurdal. Which the trio were would depend on whether they survived. More importantly, whether they reached Steven before he was overwhelmed. If it isn’t too late already.

  ‘Well now,’ a familiar voice drawled in her ear, ‘fancy seeing you and Chatty here. Get bored or something?’

  ‘Something like that,’ Katarina muttered.

  Kartane winked. ‘Or did you have a romantic moonlight walk in mind, eh?’ People were trudging towards their part of the square now, and she saw many injured among them. They were shouting, too, and after a moment Katarina realised they were calling a name again and again, a name once spoken only in hatred or as an example of how far a man can fall. Kraven. She looked around and saw hope on the faces gathering round as though some hero from the stories had arrived and not some sullen boy who snapped like a rabid hound.

  He’s going to be insufferable after this, she thought. A tremor of worry tickled her as she saw the mass of writhing bodies in the alley. If he lives. She held her breath as the shouts rose to a crescendo, willing him to survive, willing him to escape the onslaught. You can’t tell a woman you love her then die. That’s plain rude.

  ‘Was Stetch your chaperone?’ Kartane asked, shouting to be heard over the voices calling Steven’s name. ‘Did you lose track of time? Maybe you lost something more precious?’ He didn’t seem to know when to stop. ‘Or maybe you lost that a long time ago, eh?’

  Katarina sighed. ‘Stetch.’

  She smiled as Kartane doubled over, Stetch apparently deciding to duplicate Katarina’s earlier assault to his groin. He did it a little less gracefully, and perhaps with a little more force, but it had the desired effect and she smiled as Kartane doubled over.

  She leaned over and spoke in his ear. ‘Knowing when to be quiet is a skill you really ought to learn.’

  Kartane groaned, his voice drowned out by a sudden roar as everyone around her shouted Steven’s name. Katarina looked up, and saw him staggering out of the alley, looking around him like he couldn’t quite believe what he was witnessing. He made his way towards her, shrugging off the attentions of everyone trying to congratulate him. His eyes never left Katarina’s, almost as if they were the only two people here.

  ‘About time you got here,’ she said.

  37.

  People were chanting his name. It had happened before, of course, usually when the boys at Icepeak decided to gang up on him and punish him for being the spawn of the world’s greatest traitor. Tol had expected it to happen again one day, probably in some remote tavern with villagers chanting his name, demanding a hanging. This, though, was different.

  He blinked as he stumbled out of the alley, dozens of people gathered around. Men who had survived the night, battered and bloodied were staring at him like he was some kind of hero, cheering and shouting his name.

  This isn’t how I thought it would be. No baying dogs, no pitchforks, no spitting. Definitely not what I imagined. He felt a twinge of sorrow, wishing his father could be there to see this, to see that even though these people still believed the lie about Kur Kraven that he, Tol Kraven, had earned some measure of redemption in their eyes. It felt wrong though as people he’d never met came up to congratulate him, one or two slapping him on the back. All I did was survive. He looked over his shoulder; the three nuns were still standing. They had cut a path through the Gurdal and Bruna had practically thrown him behind her while the trio kept the Gurdal at bay. I survived, but it was a close thing. He shuddered at the thought of what he had been through, fighting in the dark, never knowing whether the next turn would lead to freedom or a horde of enemy warriors. I couldn’t have done it alone.

  Tol scanned the faces looming in front of him, forging his way through the onlookers to the one he’d thought he’d never see again; the only one that mattered. Stetch stood one side of her, Kartane on the other, flanking her like two mighty oaks standing vigil over a sapling. Tol kept his eyes on her as he approached, ignoring everyone else. She held his gaze and Tol found he couldn’t look away, didn’t want to look away. You’re a fool, he told himself, but like a faithful puppy he found his feet drawn irresistibly back towards her until he stood only three feet away, head turned slightly down to look at her face.

  Katarina folded her arms. ‘About time you got here.’

  Tol nodded. ‘Wasn’t sure I’d make it,’ he muttered and saw her face cloud over. He bit his lip. Why do I always say the wrong thing? He offered the sword he had taken from her. ‘Thought you might want this back.’

  ‘You may keep it.’

  Tol dropped his arm to his side, feeling foolish and having no idea what to say. After everything they’d been through words seemed almost superfluous. Isallien rescued him, marching over with Catardor looming over his shoulder.

  ‘You idiot!’ Isallien shouted. ‘Why did you wander off on your own?’ He didn’t stop for breath, just kept ranting. ‘You could have got yourself killed, you fool, and then where would be? Damn it all, Kraven…’

  Tol winked at Katarina. ‘I got lost,’ he said. ‘Did you know those back streets are full of Gurdal?’

  ‘You idiot,’ Isallien sputtered, his face turning bright red like embers in the darkness.

  ‘He saved you all,’ Katarina said loudly. ‘If we hadn’t kept the Gurdal bay they’d have swarmed through that alley before midnight and would have your soldiers surrounded.’ She stepped right up to Isallien, even though her head barely reached his chin. ‘And if you call him an idiot again,’ she said quietly, ‘something very bad is going to happen to you.’ Tol saw her smile up at Isallien as if she’d said nothing more than “nice night, isn’t it” and then said breezily, ‘now, if you don’t mind, it’s been a rather tiring night killing all those Gurdal. Perhaps you’d be kind enough to leave us alone?’

  Somehow, Tol noticed, Katarina had drawn her dagger while talking and was now idly spinning it around her fingers as if it was n
othing more than a twig. He tried really hard not to smile as Isallien looked from Katarina to him.

  ‘Sorry,’ the knight muttered quietly, ‘it’s been a long night and our losses were heavy.’

  Tol nodded. ‘My father’s dead. Kal, too.’

  ‘Lovely as this reunion is and all,’ Kartane drawled, ‘are you idiots waiting for the Gurdal to break the lines or do you maybe want to live to see the dawn?’

  Isallien’s head snapped up, quickly scanning the square. ‘He’s right,’ Isallien said. ‘We need to get everyone but the rearguard out of here before it’s too late.’ He marched off and started shouting at the soldiers and knights milling around. Slowly, all the onlookers began to file past.

  ‘You were very impressive tonight.’

  Tol opened his mouth, then realised Katarina was talking to Stetch.

  ‘My father will hear of your bravery in front of the demon,’ she said.

  Stetch turned to face her, and Tol saw genuine surprise on his features. His eyebrows knotted together in suspicion just as Katarina planted her knee firmly in Stetch’s groin.

  ‘But if I hear you call me a “sailor’s barnacled bollock” again my father will hear of that, too.’ Katarina patted a doubled-over Stetch on the shoulder and marched off towards the gate. ‘Come along, Steven. We have much to talk about.’

  Tol raised his eyebrows as Stetch straightened up. ‘She means listen,’ the Sworn man said in a strained voice. ‘She’ll talk, you listen.’ He took an awkward step forward, wincing at Katarina’s painful gift. He grinned and clapped Tol on the back. ‘I’d rather fight the Gurdal.’ He hobbled away, chuckling darkly like some hound with a cough.