The Sword Of Angels eog-3

by John Marco

  General Rhot laughed like a sceptic. ‘So maybe they do. How many could they have? Jashien saw only a few hundred people with Aztar. People, mind you. Not just men. Women and children, too.’

  Kahrdeen, dressed in his black robes, looked peculiarly at Kailyr. ‘What does it matter to you? You say he won’t fight.’

  ‘He won’t,’ said Kailyr confidently. He gave his king a sideways smile. ‘Majesty, don’t fret about it.’

  ‘His Majesty isn’t afraid,’ said Rhot, speaking for Baralosus. ‘His Majesty knows I’ve made a fitting army for him. If Aztar decides to fight, we will finish him quickly and there will be nothing left of him but his ugly, scarred hide.’

  There was some laughing around the table as the soldiers joked at Aztar’s expense. Kailyr, however, did not laugh. Nor did Baralosus. The king looked down into his wine glass, wanting to go home. He wasn’t like these men, and knew he didn’t belong with them. Like all of his bloodline he had trained in weapons and tactics, studying the arts of war like any good king. But they had been texts and mock battles only. His skills were diplomacy, manipulation, and greed, and these things he excelled at. They had made him a great king, fabulously rich, the kind of man who brokered deals for land and gold and women. Yet being with Rhot and his muscular friends made Baralosus feel small.

  To form an army, to march it across the desert, to threaten his one time ally Aztar — all of these things had been thrust upon Baralosus by politics and his stubborn daughter. Salina had refused him, and because she was too beautiful to resist, Aztar had refused him, too, beguiled by Salina’s brown eyes and smooth skin. Baralosus had offered Aztar land and title, but to his great surprise the desert prince had turned him down, sending back his men empty-handed.

  ‘Tell them, Majesty,’ said Kailyr.

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘What you offered Aztar. Rhot doesn’t believe.’

  Baralosus felt annoyed, caught off guard by the question. He shrugged, a little drunk, and snapped at one of the servants to fill his glass again. A boy, shirtless, hurried over with a pitcher and poured wine into the king’s goblet. Baralosus shooed him away.

  ‘A seat at the table,’ he muttered. ‘Kailyr, you know this. .’

  ‘Of course I do. You see, Rhot? Do you really think Aztar would turn that down?’

  Rhot laughed. ‘What does that mean to a man like Aztar? He lives in the desert. He’s like a king to the Voruni who follow him.’ He stopped himself, looking sheepish. ‘Well, not a king. Not a king, no. But you see my meaning, Majesty.’

  ‘I see your meaning, General,’ sighed Baralosus with disinterest. The warmth of the wine began to loosen his tongue. ‘But old Kailyr roped me into this, all of his nonsense. I don’t want to kill Aztar. I have to.’

  The men around the table glanced at each other. Rhot smiled.

  ‘And we will, Majesty,’ he promised.

  Baralosus put down his goblet, leaned dangerously back in his chair, then let out a loud curse. His eyes burned from the day of hot sand, and the insipid talk between his aides had given him a headache. The air smelled of drowa dung and sweaty men. He felt like vomiting.

  ‘We should reach the Skein in a day or two, yes?’ he asked, addressing no one in particular.

  ‘Yes, Majesty. No more than two days,’ said Rhot.

  Baralosus rubbed his eyes hard, then opened them to skewer the general. ‘And you’ll make quick work of Aztar? I want your promise on this, Rhot. No surprises.’

  ‘There will be no surprises, Majesty. Aztar is weak. His men have no means to stand against us. When he sees what he is up against, he will give up your daughter.’

  Baralosus wanted desperately to be assured. ‘And if he doesn’t, you will defeat him easily?’

  ‘Easily, Majesty.’

  Rhot’s words came out with such confidence it almost offended the king. Of all of them, only Rhot took glee in the coming battle. While most of Ganjor admired Aztar, Rhot thought him a brigand. And a threat to Ganjor’s throne. There was a glint of arrogance in Rhot’s eyes as he sat across from Baralosus, a kind of gloating that silently said ‘you should have listened to me, Majesty.’

  King Baralosus took up his wine glass again and sipped at it, inviting the others to talk again. They all remained quiet. Kailyr, always the friend, offered Baralosus a smile of warning.

  ‘What is it?’ Baralosus grumbled at him.

  ‘It’s hot,’ said Kailyr. ‘You shouldn’t drink so much.’

  Baralosus belched and turned away. Throughout the camp he saw fires wavering, lighting the dunes with a pale flickering. His army moved around the fires, settling in for meals or sleep or quiet conversation. The moon seemed impossibly bright, huge and alabaster. The din of the army faded in the enormity of the desert.

  ‘I’m tired,’ pronounced the king.

  ‘Yes, get some sleep,’ agreed Kailyr.

  ‘No,’ said Baralosus, getting out of his chair. ‘I mean I’m tired of listening to all of you. I’m going for a stretch. I need to breathe.’

  ‘Breathe?’ Kailyr stood up beside him. ‘No, Majesty. Sit. Or let me take you to your tent.’

  Baralosus shook his head. More than anything, he wanted to be away from his aides. ‘You sit. Keep on arguing. I’m going.’

  As Kailyr began to speak, Baralosus walked away from the little table. The guards around him started to follow, but Baralosus barked at them to keep back. All the attention was making him feel like a child. Pulling his garments around himself, he trudged along the sand to where the soldiers were bedding down, keeping his face in shadows. Because he’d known the trek would be difficult, Baralosus hadn’t dressed in his usual finery. Instead a wore a gaka made of tanned drowa skin and a pair of riding boots that hiked up to his knees. A headdress of scarlet cloth spun around his skull, but his face remained uncovered. Still, it was nearly impossible to make out his features in the darkness, and none of the men bothered looking up as Baralosus moved through their ranks.

  When he was a comfortable distance away from Kailyr and the others, Baralosus slowed a bit. He was unsure where he was going, and he knew that the wine he’d drank was playing tricks with his brain. He felt happy and deliriously sad both at the same time, on the verge of laughing and crying. His feet shuffled through the dirt, kicking up a tiny sandstorm behind him. The cooking fires carried the smell of meat to his nostrils. Baralosus took a deep breath of it. He looked around, sure that he was lost, but it didn’t really matter. Anyone of these men could escort him back to his tent, if Baralosus didn’t mind looking like a fool.

  Then, from the corner of his eye he spotted a single, familiar figure sitting alone by a campfire. The man had a boot in his hand, carefully lacing it with long strands of gut. Baralosus paused, waiting for Jashien to notice him, but the man was too entranced by his careful work to look up. The others in Jashien’s company had gone to their tents, leaving the fire for Jashien to enjoy. Around him the camp sparked with life, but young Jashien worked without regard for any of it, slowly looping the lace through each of the boot’s holes.

  Baralosus could not bring himself to leave. Watching Jashien reminded him instantly of Salina, and why he had come to this place at all.

  Jashien continued working a few moments longer. Then, with that sense one always gets of being watched, he looked up at Baralosus. A hint of confusion crossed his face, then recognition. He stood, boot in hand.

  ‘Majesty?’

  Baralosus stepped closer, coming into the light. He wasn’t sure what to say, or even why he wanted to speak at all.

  ‘I’m wandering,’ he said, then realized how silly that sounded. His voice slurred badly. He cleared his throat. ‘I needed a stretch. Too much sitting about.’

  Jashien smiled awkwardly. ‘Yes. It was a long ride today.’

  ‘May I join you?’ asked Baralosus.

  ‘Me?’ Jashien looked around at his meagre camp. ‘I haven’t anything to offer you. I can fetch some food and wine. .’

  Bar
alosus put up a hand. ‘No. I’m quite good.’ He sauntered up to the fire, feeling its heat against his face. Jashien was staring at him. The king looked around, not wanting anyone to overhear him. There were things on his mind, the kind of things kings rarely talk about. For some reason, Jashien seemed the perfect foil.

  ‘Sit,’ he directed the young man. ‘Go on with what you were doing.’

  ‘I was lacing boots, Majesty.’

  ‘Then go on with it,’ the king insisted. He waited until Jashien sat himself back onto the sand. Jashien shrugged and placed his boot in his lap, but his hands moved distractedly this time. He grimaced uncomfortably.

  ‘My lord has something he wishes to say?’ he ventured. ‘Your pardon, Majesty, but you look troubled.’

  ‘Why would I be?’ asked Baralosus. ‘Because my daughter has left me? Because I have to go kill a hero? Because I have sand in my shoes that’s making my feet ache?’ He flopped down onto the ground and angrily began unlacing his own boots. He didn’t care what Jashien thought of him or how ridiculous he looked. When he had his first boot off he tossed it aside, undid the other, then began massaging his feet with a sigh of utter satisfaction. ‘I have been drinking.’

  Jashien spoke carefully. ‘Then you should rest, Majesty. Sit here with me.’ He smiled. ‘It is a fine night. Quiet.’

  Baralosus looked around. ‘Yes, it is quiet. Is it always so quiet out here, so far from the city?’

  ‘Oh yes, Majesty, always. This is a good place for a man to come and think.’

  ‘And to get bitten by a scorpion. Take no insult, Jashien, but I prefer my palace to all this sand and drowa dung.’

  ‘But it is peaceful here, Majesty, and here you can get away from all the others. This can be a palace, too, if you know where to look. Even the moon is different here. Look how grand she is.’ Jashien gestured toward the bright orb. ‘It is like she has come out only for us. Don’t you think?’

  Baralosus stared at the moon. ‘Yes. .’

  He felt old suddenly. He saw Salina’s face in the moon.

  Jashien put down the boot, setting it down beside him. He had come back to Ganjor twice with bad news, both times delivering it to the king himself. Baralosus knew him for what he was — a good man, loyal and devoted to the throne. But there had always been a hint of admiration in his voice when he spoke of Aztar. Aztar’s strange glamour worked on men like Jashien, and Baralosus did not know why. The king stretched out his legs and leaned back against his palms, still looking contemplatively up at the moon.

  ‘Kailyr and the others — they’ll come looking for me soon,’ he said.

  ‘Not much time, then,’ said Jashien. ‘Will you tell me what troubles you, Majesty? I think that’s why you came here.’

  ‘I want to know about Aztar,’ said the king. ‘What do you think of him, Jashien?’

  The question set Jashien off balance. ‘Aztar? He is a fool, Majesty. That is what I think.’

  ‘And what else?’ probed the king.

  ‘I think he has made a mistake.’

  ‘And what else?’

  ‘Majesty?’

  ‘No, Jashien, don’t do that. Don’t tell me what I want to hear.’ Baralosus sat up and glared at the man. ‘I came to hear the truth from you. I want to know what you think of Aztar, and what you think he’ll do.’

  ‘Majesty, I can’t say what is in the man’s mind. Or in his heart. He does love your daughter. That is what I think.’

  ‘Kailry says he won’t fight. He says Aztar is merely playing games with us, still, and that he wants more from me than what I’ve offered.’

  Jashien shook his head. ‘No.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘Minister Kailyr was not there with me, Majesty. He did not see Aztar’s face. Or your daughter’s. There is real love there. He will fight for her.’

  ‘He’ll die if he does.’

  ‘Yes,’ Jashien agreed, as if there was no question of the outcome.

  ‘So? Is he insane? He has no chance at all. If I have to kill him, what will Salina think of me? He is a fox. He has played me into a corner.’ Baralosus frowned in frustration. ‘And what will you think of me, Jashien?’

  ‘Me, Majesty?’ Jashien laughed. ‘What should that matter?’

  ‘I want to understand. I want to know why men love him. They follow him, you see, and not just the Voruni. You admire him, Jashien. I can see it when you speak of him. If I kill him. .’ Baralosus closed his eyes. ‘I’ll be the villain, not him.’

  ‘You’ll be the king,’ said Jashien. ‘Majesty, make no mistake — you are the King of Ganjor. No one hopes for Aztar to best you. He is like a myth, but that’s all. He is a good story to tell. You worry what the people will think of you? If you do nothing, you look weak.’

  ‘And if I come back with Aztar’s head on a pole?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Jashien. ‘That’s what you must do! Take his head and hang it from the palace door. Then you will show the people who is the king and who is the brigand.’

  ‘What? Really?’

  Jashien nodded seriously. ‘Yes, Majesty. Nothing less will do. Prince Aztar has offended you. When he is killed, go to him yourself and cut off his head. Take it back with you to Ganjor. Then show it to everyone. Show it like a trophy.’

  ‘But Salina. .’

  ‘Majesty, you came for my advice, yes?’

  Baralosus nodded. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good. Now you know what you must do. It doesn’t matter what your daughter thinks of you after this. You will have her back, and you can lock her in her room forever if you like. But Aztar has to die, and the people have to see that he is dead. If it turns your stomach, Majesty, then you should not have come here.’

  Baralosus should have been offended, but he was not. ‘I have a gaggle of advisors who tell me what I want to hear,’ he said. ‘I wrote poetry when I was younger. Sometimes I would read it to Kailyr. Always he told me how wonderful it was, but I was a horrid poet. Now he is doing the same thing.’

  ‘Minister Kailyr is a friend, Majesty. He believes what he tells you, but he is wrong. Aztar will fight. So Aztar must die. You are ready for this?’

  Baralosus tried very hard not to let the wine speak for him. He said in a clear voice, ‘I am ready, Jashien. I will take Aztar’s head myself. And when I have it I will show it to everyone, and they will know that I am king.’

  With nothing left to say, Baralosus sat and looked at the moon.

  Across the Skein, Prince Aztar knelt beneath the same giant moon. Atop the hill where he always went for prayer, he communed with his god, Vala, asking him for guidance. The Great One’s voice was quiet but Aztar’s heart was open, ready to hear anything the god might say. Alone and not speaking to anyone, he had neglected his evening meal so that he could talk to heaven. The hour had grown late and Aztar’s body ached. The pains that followed him everywhere since the fire plagued him especially when he prayed, but he considered this a reminder of the things he had done wrong, and accepted his discomfort with grace. Aztar liked the solitude of the hill. Mostly, he went to it in the mornings, greeting the sunrise. Tonight, though, he needed Vala’s presence. The Tiger of the Desert whispered his prayer aloud.

  ‘. . and I will do as you ask, Most Holy One. I will not flinch from it. Whatever you send to me, I will embrace it. Whatever your fate for me, I will take it.’

  Aztar kept his eyes closed as he waited for Vala’s reply. When the Great One spoke to him, it was not by words but with a simple touch on the heart. It was not easy for Aztar to describe this to others, but among the Voruni they understood. It was what made them devout. Aztar unclasped his hands and put them face down on the warm rock. Craning his neck, he looked up at the moon, and past it, toward the heavens. Why did Vala dwell in the sky, he wondered? Why not in the sand or in the life-giving plants? The answer came to him instantly, and he smiled.

  So that He can see it all.

  Tomorrow or the tomorrow after that, the hill would be taken from him. Very soo
n, he would go to face Vala. Aztar knew this with certainty and was unafraid. Living in his scarred body had become an ordeal. Living without Salina had torn his soul apart. Still, Aztar worried. He had sent Salina away to Jador, and so far she had not returned or even sent word to him of her welfare. She was well, though, and this he knew because his men had returned without her. The Witch of Grimhold had agreed to protect her, as had Jador’s blind Kahana. For that, Aztar was grateful. For that, he had spent the night in prayer, thanking Vala. But there were others that Jador could not protect, and for them Aztar was frightened.

  ‘Not for myself, Vala. Never for myself.’

  He kept his eyes on the stars, desperate for wisdom. Not one of his people had fled the camp, not even now, when the Ganjeese army was so close. They would die, Aztar supposed, because he had spat on Baralosus and the king would have no mercy in his heart. But Aztar knew he deserved no mercy, not for himself. He had slain too many innocents for that. Now, Vala made him suffer for them.

  ‘If they stay they will die. Shall I make them leave, Great One? Shall I face the Ganjeese myself? Salina will have no chance at all, then. I must take some with me to your presence. Yes?’

  He waited, and the answer seemed obvious.

  ‘Yes,’ he pronounced. ‘That is what we will do. For your glory, I will protect her. She is your servant, so much better than I ever was. And the people of Jador, your favoured. I will protect them, too.’

  Was Vala satisfied? Aztar waited for the touch, and when it came it was good. With Vala’s help he had made his decision.

  Finally, Aztar lifted himself off his knees, stretching his knotted spine as he rose to his feet. The burns along his body screamed but he ignored them, smoothing down his robe and taking a deep breath of the good desert air. He loved the desert. All he ever wanted was to protect it. Did Vala understand that? He hoped so. It was not good for a man to die being misunderstood.

  At the bottom of the hill, Aztar glimpsed a silent figure, waiting for him patiently in the moonlight. He took his time looking at her, admiring her and all she had done for him. She might have been there for an hour or more. Harani was loyal and never interrupted his prayers. With a slight wave he greeted her, then started his decent down the hillside. Because of his many aches he moved slowly, but when he reached the bottom Harani came to offer aid. Aztar took her arm gratefully, letting the young woman guide him toward smoother ground.