Angel's Truth (Angelwar Book 1)

by A. J. Grimmelhaus

  ‘Do you think he understood what he was saying? Or was it just a desperate gamble?’

  Stetch grunted, the sound closer now, and Katarina looked over her shoulder and saw the warrior crossing the room and heading straight for the locked bureau beside the fire.

  ‘Ask him,’ said Stetch, reaching the bureau and peering at the faint vertical scratches scored into the wood.

  ‘And how do you propose I do that?’

  Stetch grinned. ‘Jailbreak.’

  ‘Is that your answer to everything?’ Katarina slapped the armrest. ‘Do you even know what would happen if we were discovered? At best, a diplomatic incident and your head on a pike, at worst another bloody foolish war. “Ask him,”’ she mimicked, thumping the armrest again. ‘You’re a damn fool!’

  Stetch sighed. ‘Yes.’

  His change of tactic flummoxed Katarina for a moment. ‘Yes?’

  The warrior shrugged. ‘Glory dies fast.’

  But charity lives long. That was the rest of the quotation, another gift of Thirellius. Charity, kindness, wisdom: three foundations of the Prophet’s path to enlightenment, at least two of which had no place among the Sworn. And wisdom, she thought, is rare among them indeed. Katarina watched him, surprised that one of the Sworn was so familiar with the prophet’s works and even - by the sound of it - accepted that the prophet’s path was not for him. They are more than simple swordsmen, she reminded herself as Stetch ran his fingers along the grooves in the bureau’s faded surface, his index finger tracing a path to the top where the lock began. He was more complicated than he seemed, this gruff warrior, and his silence, Katarina realised, was another weapon in his arsenal. And one that has worked far too well on me, she belatedly realised. It had been easy for her to see him as a weapon, as a shield, an instrument of the Sworn, and his taciturn nature had done nothing to disabuse her of the notion. Instead, he had sulked, and waited, and watched, hiding the intelligence she now knew was there. He knows he is a weapon, and like all good weapons he longs to be used, even though he knows his deeds will soon be forgotten with nothing more than a single line in the Sworn’s ledger: died in service. After that would be a number, Katarina knew, the number of enemies the man had interred during his service. I wonder how many are on his account already?

  Stetch glanced at her, grinning wolfishly as if he had read her mind. He kicked the bureau, a dull thud resounding through the Duke’s study. Mixed in with the rolling bass was a soft clink, like glasses knocking together, and the Sworn man’s smile grew wider, a tiny lock pick appearing in his calloused hands.

  ‘You don’t really think there’s anything worth reading in there, do you? I doubt the duke would be so accommodating.’ Stetch cracked the lock as Katarina spoke, pulling down the lid as she added, ‘Knowing the duke, I expect anything in there is disinformation kept for moments like these.’

  She heard a muted clink of glass then Stetch turned to face her, three glasses between his fingers and a crystal decanter of dark umber liquid in his other hand. Katarina sighed as Stetch ambled over to the desk, pouring himself a glass of the dark liquid and dropping unceremoniously into the chair beside her. ‘The duke’s not going to like that.’

  Stetch peered over the glass at her, sipping the contents and smacking his lips in satisfaction. ‘And?’

  Katarina smiled. The man did have his moments. ‘Is that brandy?’

  Stetch passed her the glass, and poured himself another generous measure. She took a sip, the warm brandy burning her throat as the smell of home filled her nostrils. Katarina closed her eyes, and for a moment she was back home sipping the same nectar at one of her family’s rare private parties, a capering melody drifting across the lawn as the festivities muddled along into the damp heat of evening, a far cry from the freezing temperatures that seemed to plague Norve. When she opened her eyes again, Stetch had his feet up on the Duke’s desk, legs crossed at the ankle, his own eyes closed as he swirled the brandy in his glass, savouring its heady aroma.

  Mierlé.

  Katarina sighed. ‘We’re going to have to do something, aren’t we?’

  He opened one eye. ‘Yes.’

  *

  Stetch had brazenly left the bureau open, but the duke said nothing as he entered, rounding the desk and dropping into a high-backed chair which groaned on his behalf. The duke ignored her and stared at Stetch for a moment, his gaze sliding down to Stetch’s feet, heels still resting on the edge of the desk.

  ‘So you have decided to abandon that ridiculous pretence of him being a manservant?’ the duke asked as Stetch, slow as a turtle, removed his feet from the desk. ‘Nobody’s unlucky enough to have a servant that sullen.’ His eyes flicked back up to Stetch. ‘A killer’s eyes,’ the duke remarked. ‘They give you away every time.’

  Stetch shrugged, poured a generous measure of brandy into the third glass and slid it across to the duke.

  ‘You would be surprised how many people believe it,’ Katarina said. ‘My father once told me that people believe what they want to believe, and when that fails they’ll believe whoever’s in charge.’

  ‘Smart man,’ Duke Tirian said, raising the glass and taking a deep draught, sighing as the dark liquid trickled down his throat. ‘Can’t say as I’m surprised most people fall for it though. Norve’s a nation of drunkards and blowhards who love the sound of their own voices more than anything, and think that farting is the pinnacle of wit.’ The duke drained the rest of his glass and slid it back across for Stetch to refill. ‘Don’t be stingy,’ he warned the warrior.

  ‘We will see it is replaced,’ Katarina promised, but the duke waved away the offer.

  ‘I’m more interested in the news that brought you here,’ he said.

  Tirian listened in silence as Katarina recounted her journey from Findhel, her discovery of the slaughter at Icepeak and the butchery at Rickron’s Elbow. Finally, she told him of the demon, and the Duke’s corpulent eyebrows lifted in surprise.

  ‘A demon?’

  ‘Stetch saw it,’ Katarina said, ‘otherwise I would not have believed it myself.’ She smoothed her tunic. ‘I grew up around the Sworn, but that was the first time I’ve ever seen fear in one of them.’

  That alone seemed to make the duke pause for thought, staring into his brandy as if hoping it would deliver answers. ‘It makes no sense,’ he said after a moment. ‘The Band of Blood in Norve? Blackhearted as they are, I cannot imagine Kenzin Morrow ever contracting out to a demon. The man’s a fiend, but not fool enough to work for the Gurdal and their thralls. More to the point, why? What in the world could they want?’

  It was a penetrating question, and one that Katarina had considered at some length. ‘Information would be my guess,’ she said, ‘that or some artefact which the Reve hold dear.’

  Duke Tirian nodded. ‘Makes sense. I suppose. If they didn’t find what they were looking for at Icepeak, St Helena’s is the next closest Reve church.’ He frowned. ‘But why come here? Surely they cannot hope to take Karnvost?’

  Katarina hesitated. She didn’t want to reveal Steven’s existence to the Duke, but the young Havakkian was almost certainly the object of the Band’s search – if he hadn’t been at the start, she felt sure he was now; it was the only explanation that made sense. And that means he has whatever they’re looking for. A kick to her ankle brought Katarina up sharply, and she spared a moment to glower at Stetch. ‘One man escaped Icepeak,’ she said quietly. ‘We met him on the road and travelled with him as far as the convent. We parted ways there, but he had business there. Sent, I would guess, by the abbot when Icepeak was assaulted, though to what end I do not know.’ She sighed. ‘I suspect it was to recover whatever the Band are searching for.’

  ‘Then he is almost certainly dead,’ the duke said with a shake of his head. ‘One man against the Band of Blood? Even if he has eluded them, it is only a matter of time before they catch him. You know their reputation as well as I.’

  Katarina nodded, and sipped her brandy. While the K
ing of Norve was considered both handsome and charming, these gifts were absent in his brother, a portly, balding man with ruddy cheeks. Every time Katarina saw the duke, more of his hair seemed to make the migration from his pate to his eyebrows. Quick-tempered yet blessed with a certain animal cunning, the duke ran Norve’s spy network, and ran it well, Norve’s weak imitation of Sudalra’s own Black Duke. And a man even the Black Duke is wary of. But what will he do, Katarina wondered, armed with the boy’s full name? Will he send his own men to hunt down the boy, or wait for the Band of Blood to do his work for him, swooping down afterwards to deny them of their prize? Probably the latter, she suspected. It’s what her father would do.

  ‘Yes,’ Katarina agreed. ‘They have troubled Sudalra often.’

  Tirian drained his glass again, thrusting it over the desk for Stetch to refill before leaning back in his chair, the worn leather creaking as it took his full weight. Through hooded eyes, he regarded Katarina carefully. ‘A tall tale indeed, my lady,’ he said. ‘Had I heard it from anyone else I would laugh, praise the storyteller’s work and then throw him in the dungeon. But, coming from yourself I cannot help but wonder: is this a genuine warning you bring, or some game of the Black Duke’s designed to humiliate me should I trust your word?’

  ‘The war was a long time ago.’

  ‘A decade is not so long,’ Duke Tirian replied, ‘and I would wager there are plenty of people in Sudalra who remember still, and more than a few who still rue the losses. Dead fathers and brothers are not soon forgotten.’

  ‘King Rhiarl bears no ill will towards the people of Norve.’

  ‘No?’ Tirian smiled. ‘It is not your king who concerns me; the king follows the whispers of the Black Duke. Where does he stand on the issue of retribution?’

  ‘My father knows nothing of what has transpired at Icepeak or St. Helena’s—’

  ‘—You mean you do not think he knows anything,’ Tirian interrupted. ‘It is not the same thing.’

  ‘Regardless,’ Katarina snapped, ‘I am here of my own volition and bring a warning. Will you not heed it? The Band of Blood are almost certainly within the city by now.’

  ‘Here?’ The duke’s voice turned low and dangerous as he leaned forward. ‘How can you know that?’

  Katarina leaned forward. ‘Because the boy they are chasing is already here in Karnvost. Last I saw of him he was saving your wife’s sister from assassins.’

  ‘What?’ the duke roared. ‘Why in blazes didn’t you tell me this before?’

  Katarina sat back in her chair, fingers gently drumming on the armrest. ‘You already know Lady Sarah is not dead. Who saved her seemed rather less important than mercenaries indiscriminately murdering your citizens.’

  ‘He broke into my home,’ the Duke growled, ‘and aided an escaped criminal. Tell me his name.’

  ‘Gladly.’ She paused. ‘As soon as I have your word the boy will not be punished for his actions here tonight.’

  Tirian rose swiftly to his feet, his face reddening. ‘You dare make demands of me in my own home? My guards are searching for him now, it is only a matter of time before he is found. Tell me his name.’ The duke dropped back to his seat, his face red and angry. ‘You will do this or your nation will regret it.’

  Stetch stirred beside her, and for a moment Katarina feared he would strike the duke, perhaps worse. The duke flinched as Stetch leaned forward, but Katarina was relieved when the warrior merely poured himself another extravagant measure of brandy. The Sworn man snorted a laugh at the duke’s reaction. ‘He wouldn’t see it coming,’ Stetch told her in their native language. ‘Just say the word.’

  Katarina patted his hand, but kept her attention on the frothing duke. ‘You would risk a war?’ she asked mildly. ‘Should I return home with so much as a bruise that is what will happen, and you know it as well as I. And for what? Because your anger at the church still blinds you to reason?’ She shook her head. ‘My father has always respected you as an opponent, but I see now that all that remains of the man who once bested him is a bitter, angry shell.’ Katarina sighed, a little more theatrically than she had intended. ‘I am glad he is not here to see you now.’

  Have I gone too far? she wondered as some of the colour drained from the Duke’s face. She waited as he seemed to stare off into the distance.

  ‘Did he really admit I bested him?’

  She nodded. ‘Yes.’ Once, when he was drunk.

  The duke grinned. ‘My finest moment, getting one over on that devious meddler.’

  ‘The boy did you a favour,’ Katarina said quietly. ‘Ask yourself, what would you have done if she had been killed and the assassins found dressed as priests?’

  The duke stared into his brandy. ‘Very well,’ he said, his voice barely a whisper, ‘no harm will come to him.’

  ‘His name is Tol Kraven.’

  The duke raised his head, and was about to speak when the study door was flung open. Katarina glanced over her shoulder and saw a guard stumble into the room. His mouth was already half-open when Duke Tirian snapped, ‘Is the city under attack, man? If you’ve interrupted me for anything less you’ll be guarding the privy.’

  Katarina watched as the guard captain struggled to regain his breath. ‘It’s worse than that, Your Grace,’ he said. ‘There was a demon at the gates.’

  35.

  ‘A demon at the gates?’ the duke repeated, all bluster gone.

  ‘Yes, Your Grace.’

  ‘I see. And how much had the idiots on duty drunk?’

  ‘None, Your Grace.’

  Duke Tirian just glared at the captain, and he shuffled his feet, suddenly uncomfortable. Katarina almost felt sorry for him.

  ‘Not so much as they couldn’t stand, Your Grace. There was another witness also.’

  ‘Blind or just blind drunk?’

  ‘Neither, Your Grace.’ The captain fidgeted again. ‘But she was the victim of an attempted rape.’

  ‘The same man again? Did you catch him?’

  The captain shook his head. ‘My men are chasing him down now, but the description sounds like the man we’ve been searching for.’

  ‘So, if I understand you correctly, in one evening you’ve let a rapist slip through your clutches and believed the drunken lies of your gate guards,’ Duke Tirian said, his voice even and worryingly calm. ‘And as if that doesn’t say enough for your poor judgement, you then burst in on me unannounced to share your glorious news. I am struggling, Captain, to remember why I haven’t had you hung.’

  The guard’s face was turning purple as he wriggled in the doorway, and pity finally got the better of Katarina. ‘Your Grace, I think your captain has more to say on the matter. He does not seem the foolish type, I warrant.’ The duke remained silent, so Katarina turned her attention to the harassed guard. ‘There is more, Captain? What else did you find?’

  ‘Tracks, my lady,’ the captain stammered, a miniscule measure of confidence returning. ‘I did not believe the tale myself, so I ventured out to where my man said it happened.’

  ‘And what did you find?’ Katarina asked.

  ‘Tracks no man nor animal could make, my lady. Large as a head, deep and long. The grass around them was scorched, a foul ichor staining the earth black. It… it smelled of sulphur.’

  ‘Demon sign,’ Duke Tirian muttered. ‘Last thing we bloody need.’ He swirled the brandy around his glass. ‘You said the demon was at the gates; where is it now?’

  ‘Gone, Your Grace. It was injured and fled into the sky.’

  The Duke sighed heavily. ‘Good.’

  ‘The angel nearly killed it.’

  Katarina winced, waiting for the inevitable eruption from behind. It seemed, however, that Duke Tirian’s angry blustering had run its course, the evening’s events perhaps catching up with him. Perhaps it’s the captain’s lucky day, Katarina thought as she heard the Duke place his glass back on the desk.

  ‘Bring me the witnesses, Captain,’ he sighed. ‘And send word to the patrol
s, I want men on the walls through the night.’

  To Katarina’s eyes the captain looked momentarily relieved, but as the duke finished talking, the beleaguered guard stirred again.

  ‘They are on their way, your Grace, but the woman could do little more than stumble so I came ahead. They should be here within minutes.’

  ‘Good. And the other reason you can’t keep still?’

  ‘I already diverted men to the walls in case the demon returns.’

  ‘Surely you know why I sent patrols out? I assume if you weren’t here then one of the men would have told you?’ The captain nodded and Duke Tirian continued, ‘So why would you redeploy my men and countermand my orders? Do you know better than I?’

  ‘No, Your Grace, it’s… the man they’re looking for… I think he’s the one the demon came for.’

  Katarina jerked in her seat, and it took all of her composure not to leap across the room and shake the truth out of the guard. ‘Did it get him?’ she asked, her voice sounding thin and frail to her own ears.

  ‘No, my lady. The angel took him.’

  The angel took him.

  The Duke spoke to the captain again, but Katarina was no longer paying attention. An angel? She supposed she should not have been surprised; angels and demons were two sides of the same coin, and you couldn’t have one without the other. Even so, she had left the boy thinking she would never see him again, and had been certain he would never reach Kron Vulder. If the Band didn’t get him, the demon would. But now there’s an angel in the mix. And that changed things, certainly for Steven, but also for his church. He might still make it out of this mess alive. A single thought, and one that pleased her more than she might have expected.