The Sword Of Angels eog-3

by John Marco

  The two Voruni men — who the folks of Jador called Raiders — rode silently back toward Aztar’s camp. They had given Salina food and water, invited her to rest before going on, then hoisted Salina onto the back of Fahlan’s drowa for the long ride to the Skein. Still reeling from her good luck, Salina leaned against Fahlan’s chest as they rode, her head wrapped carefully in her own white gaka. The two riders had somehow happened upon her, seemingly unsurprised when they found the princess, and when she told them her name and identity they had simply nodded, doing their best to avoid her queries. In their thick Voruni tongue — a language similar to Salina’s own — they told her that they were indeed men of Aztar, loyalists to the wounded Tiger of the Desert, and that they would take her to see him.

  Now, her body rested and a full waterskin at her side, Salina whiled away the hours as the bouncing motion of the drowa lulled her to sleep. After her agonizing ordeal in the desert she could hardly keep her eyes open, and was glad when she noticed the sun going down. Not much earlier, Rakaar, the more quiet of the silent duo, had commented that they would have to bed down in the desert for the night, but would arrive at the camp sometime the next morning. Perhaps it was her glee over being rescued, but Salina trusted the two riders implicitly, and the thought of sleeping near them barely made her anxious. She was safe now, on her way to Aztar by some unexplained miracle, and that was all that mattered.

  As promised, the riders found a suitable place for them to spend the night, near one of the desert’s occasional hillsides of rock. Scraggly brush and cacti sprouted from the sun-baked earth, the kind of hiding places adored by rass. As they dismounted, Salina looked around suspiciously, voicing her fears to the men. Both Fahlan and Rakaar laughed and patted their scimitars. Fahlan smiled at Salina as he stroked his oiled beard, bragging about how easy it would be for him to protect her.

  ‘You are Salina of Ganjor,’ said the desert man. ‘If harm comes to you, what do you think Aztar would do to us?’

  Salina saw her opening. So far, she had avoided discussing Aztar with her rescuers. ‘It’s been months since I have seen Aztar. How is he?’

  Fahlan shrugged and began unpacking his things from the drowa’s back. ‘Well enough,’ he said.

  Salina looked to Rakaar, who had his back to her. He too seemed eager to avoid the subject.

  ‘He was burned in the battle with Jador,’ said Salina. ‘I know. I heard of this in Ganjor. Please, I only want to know what’s been happening with him.’

  ‘You will see him soon, Princess,’ said Rakaar without turning around. ‘We should rest now.’

  Frustrated, Salina asked no more questions, and her tight-lipped companions continued their silence as they made camp for the night. Rakaar made a fire to stave off the coming chill while Fahlan rolled out their bed blankets beneath a sky already popping with stars. Her body aching for sleep, Salina declined the food the men offered and went straight for her blanket, closing her eyes as dusk disappeared and the moon came out to light the sand. She awoke periodically, worried about rass or some other desert calamity, but mostly she slept, replenishing the strength she had lost through the day. By the time the first slivers of morning light crept over the dunes, Salina felt as through she had been gone for days. Groggy, she sat up and saw Fahlan already breaking camp.

  ‘Good, you’re awake,’ he said with a smile that creased his bearded face. ‘We should go.’

  Leaving their comfortable camp behind, the trio once again mounted their drowas for the trip to the Skein. According to Fahlan, they were only hours away now, and Salina could see the landscape changing, becoming more like the Skein she had always imagined. Dried bushes curled up from the earth, spreading their dead tendrils toward the sun, and now there were creatures skittering across the rocks, mostly rodents chasing bugs and scorpions. Towering rocks studded the dunes, shaped by the wind into fearsome reliefs. Salina settled back against Fahlan to study them. While he drove the drowa, she relaxed and watched the world go from an endless sea of sand to a brooding hulk of stones and scrub.

  They did not break at all that morning, instead eating and drinking from the backs of their mounts. Fahlan and Rakaar exchanged occasional conversations, mostly commenting how close they were coming to home. Salina began running her fingers through her hair to untangle it, wishing she could bathe or at least see a mirror. They were very near Aztar’s camp now. The drowa picked up their pace, almost imperceptibly. The ground flattened and the dunes disappeared, and suddenly on the horizon Salina saw pavilions twinkling in the light, their red and white canopies like brightly coloured flags against the dreary backdrop.

  ‘That is it, Princess,’ declared Fahlan. ‘That is home.’

  Home for Fahlan was a collection of tents and wells dug into the ground. A handful of fires blazed in the camp, spiraling smoke into the air, and stunted olive trees poked up between the pavilions. Livestock roamed the areas surrounded the camp, and Salina could see women working at long tables and children playing around them. It was larger than she had thought, stretching a good distance between the rocks and groves of twisted flora. As they neared it, the drowas sensed the end of their long journey and guided them into camp. At once the women and children gathered to see them, calling to their men, and soon Salina was surrounded by excited Voruni. Fahlan and Rakaar spoke quickly to them, telling them that they had found the Princess walking in the desert. The speech between them rifled so quickly that Salina could barely understand, but it seemed to her that somehow they were expecting her. Before she could ask, a woman came out of the crowd and took hold of their drowa.

  ‘Princess, welcome,’ she said, smiling up at Salina. Her voice had a Ganjeese quality to it, like one who had spent a good deal of time the city. ‘Come down, please.’

  ‘I will help,’ said Fahlan, who dismounted and then offered Salina a hand. Salina slid carefully off the drowa’s back, standing in the centre of the growing throng. Rakaar dismounted as well, telling the people to give the princess some space. The woman with the Ganjeese tone took hold of Salina’s hand.

  ‘Look at you,’ she said with a grin. ‘You have been through so much!’

  ‘Yes,’ Salina agreed. She looked around for Aztar. Confused, she frowned. ‘Why so many people?’

  The woman smiled. ‘My name is Harani. I will take care of you. Come, please. .’

  She tugged at Salina’s hand, urging her to follow. Salina glanced at Fahlan.

  ‘Go with her,’ said Fahlan. ‘She will look after you.’

  ‘But Aztar. .’

  ‘The Master will see you, Princess. But you must rest first. Go with Harani. I promise, you will be safe.’

  Before Salina could protest Fahlan and Rakaar both turned away from her, speaking quickly to the crowd as a group of boys hurriedly took away their tired drowas. Some of the group tried to follow Salina as Harani guided her away, but Harani hissed at them to keep back. A pretty child with dark hair began to cry. The girl’s mother knelt to comfort her. Eager to be away from the crowd, Salina let Harani take her through the rows of pavilions, past the cooking fires and the livestock grazing on the scrub. Her mind reeled with questions, but the suddenness of everything had muted her.

  ‘Here,’ said Harani, approaching a small but pleasant looking pavilion near the edge of the camp. ‘This is a quiet place for you.’

  A flap of greyish fabric covered the entrance to the tent. Harani, who Salina guessed to be only slightly older than herself, pulled aside the flap and bid the princess to enter. Crossing the threshold, Salina noted the comfortable interior, which looked a good deal larger than the deceptive outline of the pavilion. A low bed with coloured pillows lay in one corner. Beside it sat a basin and golden pitcher. Incense burned in a tiny urn, and a low table rested in the centre of the tent, the kind desert people used for meals. The table reminded Salina how hungry she was. She drifted into the chamber, loving the cool darkness.

  ‘Harani?’

  The woman was quickly at her side. ‘Y
es, Princess?’

  ‘I’m confused.’

  Harani nodded. ‘You are tired. And you must be hungry.’ She gestured toward the bed. ‘Rest. I will bring you food and clean clothes.’

  ‘And a brush for my hair?’

  ‘Yes,’ laughed Harani. ‘And a brush for your beautiful hair.’

  Too tired to pursue the woman, Salina simply let her leave, then collapsed into the bed of silk pillows.

  By the time Salina awoke, the sun had already gone down. Throughout her sleep she heard Harani enter the pavilion, speaking to her softly as she laid food on the table and fresh, clean clothing near her bedside. Salina vaguely remembered thanking the woman before falling back asleep, and Harani did not come again to disturb her. The bed and pillows cradled Salina as though she were an infant, and her battered body surrendered to its plush caress, drifting easily into unconsciousness. When at last her eyes fluttered open, Salina could see that the sunlight had gone. Outside the flap of the pavilion, there was only darkness. Unafraid, Salina walked slowly to the table and sat herself down. By this time she was ravenous, and did not wait for anyone to join her. She tore into the meat and bread and dates Harani had provided, washing it down with liberal cups of sweet-tasting wine and the best tasting water she’d ever had.

  When she had finished her meal, Salina turned to the clothes Harani had provided. They were simple desert woman clothes, a white shirt with a vest and a long pleated skirt of wool to keep off the sand. Plain and unadorned, they were nevertheless clean and Salina was grateful to have them. Confident she would not be interrupted, Salina stripped off her own filthy garments, discarding them in a heap, and washed herself in the water from the pitcher, watching the filth of the road collect in the basin. After that she slipped on the fresh clothes. The transformation was immediate; she felt like a woman again. Just as Harani had promised, she had also left a brush for Salina, and a silver, hand-held mirror. Salina picked up the mirror, grimacing when she saw her reflection. The ordeal in the desert had sapped her face of moisture. Desperate to regain her looks, she started brushing her long black hair, pulling roughly through its tangles. Gradually, her unruly hair yielded to the brush, at last bringing a smile back to Salina’s face. Relaxing, she sat back on her feet as she worked the brush, luxuriating in the simple pleasure. She barely noticed the sound of the tent flap opening.

  ‘Harani, thank you,’ she sighed, not turning around. ‘I feel much better now.’

  When the woman did not reply, Salina turned around to greet her. But what she saw in the threshold made the smile fall from her face. She knew who he was, though he said not a word. Though his face was scarred, she saw the familiar glint in his eyes. Prince Aztar had come a single pace inside and moved no further. His body had lost its lean, powerful look, ravaged by the fire that had seared his face and hands. His drab brown cloak hung down to his saddled feet, hiding the worst of his scars, and his dark hair curtained his face, falling into his penetrating eyes. His lips curled back unnaturally, his maimed skin tugging them backward. One missing eyebrow had been replaced by a knotted wound. He watched her, trying to smile, his gaze brightening as their eyes met. Salina let the brush and mirror drop from her hands. Slowly, she got to her feet.

  ‘I can hardly believe it is you,’ he said. ‘That you would come here.’

  His voice remained unmistakable. Untouched by the fire, it reminded Salina of music.

  ‘I had to come,’ she offered. She studied his face. ‘Are you displeased?’

  ‘No.’

  They had never known each other well, yet every time they were together the same connection quickly ensued. Salina felt drawn to him, and the love she had always seen in his eyes was still there, fighting to come out. Aztar resisted it, however, and did not move.

  ‘I wondered when you would come,’ said Salina. ‘I thought maybe in the morning.’ She shrugged, not sure what to say. ‘Your woman Harani, she looked after me. I’ve slept most of the day.’

  Aztar looked at her as if in disbelief. ‘What you did was beyond stupid, Salina. If my men had not found you-’

  ‘I would have died. I know that. It was my chance to take.’

  ‘But why? Why did you come here?’

  ‘To see you,’ Salina argued. ‘To speak to you.’ She felt her resolve shaking. ‘Because I had to see you.’

  ‘Because the boy came to you,’ said Aztar. ‘Gilwyn Toms. He made it safely?’

  ‘And delivered your message, yes,’ said Salina. ‘He told me that you were still alive. And that you love me.’

  Aztar did not look away. He nodded. ‘I am glad. He was a remarkable boy. We tended to him, right here in this pavilion. Harani looked after him just as she has you. You sent him on his way?’

  ‘He was heading north, back to Liiria,’ said Salina. ‘I don’t really know why. I gave him all that I could to help him. I have not heard from him again.’

  ‘And because you helped him, you were discovered,’ said Aztar. ‘I am sorry, Salina. I have worried about you.’

  His apology surprised Salina. Like a knife through her heart, she remembered what had drawn her here.

  ‘You are sorry? Aztar, I betrayed you. I know that Gilwyn told you what I did, helping the Jadori. How can you stand there and apologize to me? Look at-’ Salina choked on her words, shattered by the sight of him. ‘Look at you, Aztar. Look what I did to you.’ She began to cry, and to hate herself for doing so. Even lost in the desert she hadn’t cried. ‘I did this to you. I ruined you. And I’m sorry. .’

  Prince Aztar at last inched closer. ‘That is why you came here? To tell me this?’

  ‘Yes,’ Salina said, holding her hand to her face.

  ‘Salina, you did not do this to me,’ said Aztar. ‘It was the will of Vala.’

  ‘No, Aztar. .’

  ‘Yes. I’m the betrayer, not you. It was my love for you that made me betray Vala and fight against Jador. I prayed mightily, but I never confessed the truth to Vala. I made a deal with your father for you, Salina. I wanted to cleanse the desert but I wanted you even more. That’s why Vala punished me.’

  ‘No,’ Salina argued. ‘I know you believe this but it is not so.’

  ‘It is!’ Aztar thundered. ‘The little woman of Jador — she made the fire come! She is Vala’s favoured, not I. How can anyone command the sky without the help of Vala? She is blessed by him, and I tried to destroy her.’

  ‘And that’s why Vala burned you? Why he makes you suffer? Because you loved me?’

  ‘Because my love for you led me to betray him,’ said Aztar. He held up his burnt hands, hands that had once been beautiful. ‘I will always have these to remind me of what I did, Salina. To you, it may look like a curse. But it has opened my eyes to the truth, and for that I thank Vala every day.’

  ‘Your burning was the magic of Jador, Aztar, nothing else. Gilwyn Toms explained this to me. .’

  ‘The boy said the same to me,’ Aztar snorted dismissively. ‘But he is not one of us. He doesn’t know our ways, our beliefs. I have never seen the hand of Vala so clearly in anything before, Salina. And I accept what Vala has done to me — and why.’

  Salina tried to argue, but her words began to fail. There was serenity in Aztar’s eyes, the one thing she had never expected to find there. And there was love as well, just as plain as it had been before his maiming, when they had walked through her father’s gardens and he had read his love poems to her. Had she loved him then? Did she love him now?

  ‘I don’t know what drew me here,’ she told him softly. ‘I just knew I had to come. I had to see you and tell you what I did. My father said you will not speak to him any longer. He said he sent men to you to help you, but you sent them away.’

  ‘Your father is part of my sins,’ said Aztar. ‘I cannot see him any more, or take aid from him.’

  ‘He told me you would not speak of me, either,’ said Salina. She looked at him hopefully. ‘And now I know why. You think I have corrupted you.’

  �
�No,’ said Aztar. He sighed and went to stand beside the table, still littered with Salina’s supper. ‘How can I make you understand this? Only I am to blame for what happened to me, Salina. I made the deal with your father. I attacked Jador. I thought the Jadori were filth polluting my desert. And I was pleased to make my bargain with your father.’

  ‘Because you love me,’ said Salina. ‘You love me still. You told Gilwyn that you do.’

  ‘I am not embarrassed by my love for you. It is what we do with our love that matters. I used mine to betray Vala and to attack those he protects.’

  ‘But you’re wrong, Aztar,’ pleaded Salina. ‘You have to see that. The Jadori are not chosen by Vala, and you were not condemned by him.’

  ‘You say this? After protecting them?’ Aztar turned away in frustration. ‘Even you saw the worth of the Jadori, Salina. When I was harming and killing them, you protected them. And you were right to do so. Vala favours them.’

  ‘He doesn’t.’

  ‘He must!’ said Aztar, whirling to face her. ‘You were not there, Salina. If you had felt the fire as I did, you would believe.’

  The serenity on his face fled, replaced by a grieving pain. Salina went to him. Taking his hand, she guided him down onto the pillows by the table. Aztar relaxed at her touch, yielding to her, and together they sat staring at each other. Neither spoke for a time, and suddenly the insects buzzing outside the pavilion seemed the only sound. Both kept a determined eye on the other, sure of their positions. At last Aztar looked away, picking up a pomegranate from the table and rolling it in his palm.

  ‘I am glad you came,’ he said softly. ‘Whatever else you might think of me, I want you to know that.’

  Salina smiled. ‘Thank you. And thank you for saving me.’ She laughed at her good fortune. ‘I could not have gone on much more without Fahlan and Rakaar. If they hadn’t found me when they did, I think I would have died within the hour.’