Kartane shouldered a knight aside, and stepped through the line. The Sudalrese Pit Hound was there now, Chatty towering over her shoulder. Kraven was down, the angel gently rolling him onto his back.
Looks bad, Kartane thought. Tol’s arms and legs were slick with blood, and a dark pool stained his shirt just below the ribs. Kartane chewed his lip. Real bad. Then he saw something worse.
Kartane looked down at the sword in his hand, the reddened point an inch from the churned sand. He sighed, and took a step towards the group gathered around Kraven.
‘Don’t take another step towards the angel, brother.’
It came out loud, much louder than he had intended, and Kartane felt the gathered men fall quiet as Korwane stopped and turned.
‘What’s wrong?’ he said.
Kartane felt that last grain of doubt blow away as he saw the expression on his brother’s face, the same carefully blank expression he had worn when blaming Kartane for his own adolescent mischief.
‘I know,’ Kartane said. He took a step towards his brother. Then another.
‘You know? Know what? Did you take a blow to the head, brother?’
Kartane closed to within half a dozen yards of his brother. The angel was on his left, her back to him though her head was turned to watch their little family drama unfold. It’s all your fault, Kartane thought as he met her eyes, but he couldn’t muster any anger. Kraven was on his back, shielded by the angel’s body as Katarina knelt opposite the angel, one on each side of the daft boy. Chatty was standing behind her, face as expressionless as ever. He’s got the right idea, Kartane thought, a sour taste in his mouth. If you don’t believe in anything or anyone you can’t be disappointed. Can’t be broken.
‘Kartane?’
Korwane understood now; he could hear the fear in his brother’s voice. Kartane met his eyes.
‘Icepeak, the convent, everything afterwards: it’s all on you. You’re the traitor.’
Korwane’s body twitched. ‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t know what’s wrong with you—’
‘Shut up!’
Kartane let out a slow breath, watching his brother as he shuffled, eyes darting out, looking for allies. Korwane opened his mouth, another denial on his lips.
‘Tell me why,’ Kartane said quietly. ‘I know it was you. Tell me why you betrayed everything we believed in, everything we fought for.’
Kartane waited, watching as his brother studied the gathered knights. No friendly faces there, not after an accusation like that. Kartane could practically see his brother calculating the odds of breaking through them, fighting clear and running north for his traitorous masters.
‘You owe me that much,’ Kartane said.
‘Owe you?’ Korwane’s voice rose to a screech. ‘Owe you? I did all this for you, brother, don’t you see? You couldn’t just leave it be, could you? You had to read the book, just had to learn the truth for yourself. And what good did it do you? I watched as the lies broke you, watched as you fought and screwed without a care.’ Korwane jabbed a finger towards him. ‘I watched as you stood before the king, brought shame to our family and didn’t even care.’ Spittle flew from his lips. ‘I saw you sent to Westreach to die in the dark,’ Korwane said, the anger draining from his voice, ‘and all because of that book, because you just had to know the truth. What good did it ever do you, brother? What good did it do anyone?’
‘Still not as bad as what you’ve done.’
Korwane took a step towards him, and flung an arm out towards the angel. ‘Why don’t we ask her?’ he said. ‘Ask her to tell everyone the truth here and now?’
Kartane shook his head. ‘Don’t.’
‘Or what?’
Kartane lifted his right hand, sword slowly coming up. ‘Can’t let you do that.’
‘The truth broke you, tore away everything I loved about my little brother, and all it left was a bitter husk, left to rot in the iron mines. Don’t they all deserve the truth?’
Kartane took a step forward. ‘Last time, brother: don’t.’ He caught Chatty’s look, the slight tilt of an eyebrow in a silent question. Kartane shook his head.
‘Listen up,’ Korwane yelled, ‘this is the truth about our dirty little—’
Kartane stepped forwards, silencing Korwane as their blades met. Korwane lashed out again and again, rage fuelling his arms. He scythed and slashed, growling like a demon. Kartane held him at bay, his mind knowing that the brother he had known was already dead. ‘I’m sorry,’ Kartane whispered. He speared his brother through the chest, their eyes meeting one last time as Korwane stood there, half a foot of steel buried in his chest. He swayed, held upright by the sword. An echo of a smile played across his lips.
‘Father never believed me,’ Korwane said, his voice a stuttering breeze. ‘I always said you were faster.’
Korwane toppled away from him, sliding off Kartane’s sword and hitting the sand with a muted thump.
Kartane turned his back and walked away.
50.
The sky was sandstone yellow, rough.
Tol blinked, and drew breath. He groaned as his chest moved, and suddenly Kalashadria’s head was hovering over his own, blonde hair tickling the side of his face.
‘What happened?’
‘Vidrikan fled,’ the angel said. ‘His army soon after.’
‘Oh.’ He seemed to remember seeing a black shape fly away, but after that…
A slap spun his head round. Tol blinked, and saw walls in the distance. Not yellow sky, he realised, but a roof. I’m inside.
He turned his head and heard a bone click as the ceiling swung into view, an angry, beautiful woman filling the left side of his vision.
‘What happened?’ Katarina asked. ‘You nearly died, you stupid man!’
Tol’s lips moved soundlessly. ‘I’m sorry?’
Katarina stepped back and folded her arms. ‘You saved me again,’ she said, managing to make it sound like an accusation.
Tol smiled. ‘Yes.’
She slapped his arm, but Katarina’s face softened as he winced. ‘You’re an idiot,’ she said, voice dropping to a quiet murmur. ‘It cost you.’ A finger traced a line across the left side of his chest. ‘It was foolish.’
‘Probably.’
‘And you don’t seem even a little bit sorry.’
‘I saved your life,’ Tol said. He grinned. ‘Again.’
Katarina pouted. ‘We’re still not even.’
Tol tried to sit up. He fell back with a groan as a wave of pain washed over him. Katarina held him down with one finger.
‘Your wounds were deep,’ she said. ‘I’m afraid you won’t be up to any mischief for some time.’
Tol put a hand to his chest and felt the foreign skin of a moist bandage. ‘How long?’ he asked. He glanced at the window and saw bright sunlight. That just meant it wasn’t yet night. ‘How long have I been out?’
‘Half the day,’ Katarina replied. ‘Your wounds have already begun to heal.’ She studied him carefully. ‘Quicker than any would expect.’ She smiled, her expression sad. ‘She hurried the process along. Like last time,’ she added.
Tol winced. ‘I was going to tell you…’
Katarina waved him to silence. ‘An abominable practice, Steven, but it has saved your life so I shall restrain myself on this occasion.’ Her eyes fixed on Kalashadria. ‘And, make no mistake, this was the last occasion.’
The angel remained silent, and Katarina seemed to take it as acceptance. ‘The smaller wounds are already knitting together. I stitched the larger ones myself.’ She glanced at the angel. ‘I am told they will hold until you recover. As long,’ she raised an eyebrow, ‘as you don’t exert yourself.’
‘Thank you.’
Katarina sighed. ‘You’ll have to wear the bandages for some time so the knights don’t grow suspicious.’
Tol propped himself up on his elbows, the room spinning momentarily.
‘And,’ Katarina said, ‘you will have to act like you
’re gravely injured.’
Tol nodded as he looked himself over. Bandages swaddled his chest and stomach, with more wrapped around both arms and both legs. He took a deep breath, and felt the pain still lurking in his chest. ‘I don’t think that will be a problem.’
‘It is time,’ Kalashadria said.
Tol turned his head and studied her carefully. It was over, he knew, their time together. She seemed more than he remembered; different somehow in her bearing. Taller, maybe. ‘You’ve changed.’
She nodded, her expression suddenly uncomfortable. ‘We both have.’
‘It’s more than that though, isn’t it? You look more…alive.’
Another tight nod. ‘I am no longer without caste. Like Galandor, I am of the High Anghl’teri.’
‘The warrior caste,’ Tol said, a vague memory from one of Father Michael’s sermons surfacing.
The angel’s lips parted and for a moment Tol thought she would elaborate, then her features smoothed over, her face suddenly expressionless and blank. ‘Yes,’ she said. Kalashadria strode away, long strides taking her towards the doors and the square beyond the hall.
Odd, Tol thought. He’d sensed a confused melange of emotions through their bond, as if Kalashadria couldn’t decide what to say.
‘Are you going to sit there all day?’
That’s why, Tol decided. He took Katarina’s offered hand and let her help him to his feet. There was still so much left unsaid between him and Kalashadria, but the presence of Katarina made any conversation awkward. So she left.
Leaning on Katarina for support, Tol staggered towards the open doors, every wound squawking in protest.
Kartane was standing in the doorway, his gaze flat. He was standing just inside the Governor’s Hall and Tol realised he had been there the whole time. He’s the only other person who knows the power of an angel’s blood, Tol remembered. The only person Kalashadria could trust to stand guard. He blushed as he stumbled to the threshold. And he heard all of Katarina’s none-too-subtle remarks about healing.
Kartane stopped him with a look. ‘Thought I told you not to get cut up.’
Tol smiled. ‘I was never very good at listening.’ He pretended he didn’t hear Katarina’s sigh of agreement. Tol took a deep breath and stepped out into the sunlight.
*
The square was full, packed with knights and soldiers while a smattering of Sworn watched with expressions of practiced disinterest. Kalashadria was waiting for him in the centre, a corridor of space leading from the hall’s steps to where she stood.
Katarina grunted with effort as he leaned against her, stumbling down the steps. Kartane appeared on his right seconds later and slung Tol’s free arm over his shoulder. Draped between the pair, Tol allowed himself to be half-led, half-carried between the ranks of gathered knights. Silence hung over the square like a heavy blanket, and the only sound Tol could hear was his own belaboured breathing. Knights glanced at him as he staggered past, and a low susurration of shifting feet followed him as the ranks closed behind him. It felt like a journey to the gallows.
He came to a teetering stop half a dozen yards in front of Kalashadria. A circle of space hung around her, the gathered knights giving her room. Tol had felt her watching him as he made the long walk, but now he had arrived she let her eyes roam over the assembled survivors.
‘Today,’ she said, voice booming over the crowd, ‘we earned a great victory.’
The crowd cheered, hundreds of voice raised in triumph, and Kalashadria was forced to wait until the noise slowly died down.
‘A victory worthy of legend,’ she said, head slowly turning to take in as many of the assembled warriors as possible. ‘A victory that will be remembered for many generations, every bit as significant as that won by the first Knights Reve and my predecessor, Galandor.’
The crowd roared again, a chaotic cry rising and falling in pitch as a thousand voices rejoiced. Kalashadria raised her hand, and the crowd fell silent, leaving only a dull echo as the sound reverberated off the buildings bordering the square.
‘Yet it was not without cost,’ Kalashadria said. ‘We have all lost friends.’ A low murmur ruffled through the crowd and the angel held herself higher, ivory skin gleaming in the midday sun. ‘Know this, my loyal friends: their lives were not spent in vain. What we achieved here today has held back a tide of savagery that would have laid waste to your lands.’ She turned a full circle, gaze slowly sweeping across the crowd. ‘You are all heroes,’ Kalashadria said, stifling a few cheers with a simple wave of her hand. ‘But I must ask more of you, my brave knights. We must remain vigilant, and guard against the return of our enemies.’ She bowed her head. ‘I am sorry to ask this of you as I know you have sacrificed so much, but know this: I will hold the watch over your world, and I will come when you need me most.’ Kalashadria raised her head. ‘This I promise you, my faithful soldiers.’
The crowd erupted, cheers and whoops and shouts rising in a clamour so loud Tol half expected a nearby building to collapse under the vocal assault. She has changed, he thought. He had sensed her discomfort through their bond, but in the end the angel had propagated the lie Galandor had birthed, had added to it and, at the same time, earned more loyal followers in a single minute than Tol figured the church could match in a year. Honesty and lies, he thought as the roar slowly tapered, an angel’s weapons in the war for men’s souls.
Their eyes met, and he saw the sadness there, knew the time was upon them. She would leave, and their time together would be nothing more than a memory. No going back.
Kalashadria raised her arms for silence. ‘Tol Kraven.’
His name echoed across the square, her tone sharp enough to still any celebration.
‘Without you,’ she said, ‘this land would have fallen. You have proved yourself a worthy knight: no less than six,’ the corner of her mouth twisted in distaste at the human word, ‘demons have been killed by your hand. You saved my life again today, and in doing so you wounded our enemy’s greatest warrior, a feat I had thought impossible for any human.’ She nodded slowly. ‘You shall be remembered, Tol Kraven; even Valeron of the Seven could not have done better.’
Her finger rose skyward, forestalling a cheer so that just the first hiss of indrawn breath breezed through the crowd, stuttering to a heavy silence.
‘You have also disobeyed me,’ Kalashadria said, her harsh tone ripping through the square. ‘In rescuing your lover you defied me, and such an action cannot go unpunished.’ Kalashadria ignored the whispers of surprise and raised her voice. ‘Come forward.’
Nobody moved.
‘You must do this alone, my love,’ Katarina whispered in his ear.
Tol nodded, and tried to stand unsupported. He took a step forward, every muscle trembling in protest. Don’t fall over, he told himself, not here, not now. Three uncertain strides took him to within killing distance, the crowd fading into the background as he met Kalashadria’s gaze.
‘You are a knight,’ she said loudly, voice taut as a bowstring. ‘But you are my knight no longer. It is the Seven who lead the Knights Reve that have held to their oaths.’ Someone gasped, and the angel’s head snapped round till silence returned. ‘The Knights Reve are my hand of justice upon this world, wardens of the church while I hold watch,’ another twitch of her mouth, ‘over Heaven.’ Kalashadria’s gaze swept over the silent warriors. ‘Should the Seven require my counsel, call and I shall come.’
He realised his mouth was open and closed it, the snap of his teeth the only sound in the square. No one else was moving.
Kalashadria held out her arms towards him, and just for a moment Tol felt a surge of hope.
‘Return Galandor’s sword.’
He nodded, cold despite the blazing sun, and took a step forward. Thick fingers worked slowly to undo the belt and free the burgundy scabbard. He freed it on the third attempt, feeling his cheeks colour, and placed Illis’Andiev – scabbard and belt and all – in the angel’s waiting hands.
‘I’ll miss you,’ he whispered.
He felt a sudden blaze of sorrow and love through their bond.
‘And I you,’ Kalashadria murmured, her lips barely twitching. She took a deep breath, and Tol felt her emotions slip away like mist. ‘I thank you for your service,’ she said formally, ‘and for saving my life. We shall not meet again.’
She turned her back on him. ‘Be vigilant, my loyal friends,’ she shouted. Her wings slowly unfurled as she bent at the knees, and a roar rose anew from the gathered crowd. Tol heard dozens crying out for her to stay, to join their celebrations.
Goodbye, my friend.
She sprang forward into the sky, a mighty leap taking her twenty feet upwards. As the angel reached the apex of the parabola, her wings snapped out wide and began to beat at a pace that matched perfectly Tol’s heart.
Silence fell as Tol craned his neck to watch the angel as she rose majestically towards the clouds. He felt Katarina at his side. She took his hand in hers and gave a gentle squeeze.
‘That,’ she said, ‘is not what I meant when I said to release you.’
Tol smiled. It wasn’t what he had expected either, but he understood. ‘We’re free.’ He felt himself falling backwards, consciousness slipping away like an elusive dream, until all he could see was a white speck in the sky. It fled from view as Tol hit the ground, a single thought echoing through his mind as the sky swirled overhead.
We’re free.
51.
Consciousness came with a lingering kiss, soft, warm lips brushing his own, caressing them with tender passion.
Tol opened his eyes as the kiss melted away, and found Katarina’s head hovering inches from his own.
‘Could you wake me like that every day?’
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