The Sword Of Angels eog-3

by John Marco

  ‘How long have you been here?’ he asked.

  ‘Not long,’ replied Harani. It was a standard answer. ‘You told me to come as soon as Fahren arrived back, but I did not want to interrupt you.’

  They walked together back toward the distant camp, neither of them hurrying. Aztar took his time before speaking again. He did not need to question Harani. He already knew what she would tell him. Whenever the news was bad, Harani’s pretty face sagged. It was a small change, but Aztar knew her well enough to see the subtle creases. She held tight to his arm as they walked, not hiding her affection. He was her master, and she adored him. It was not at all a romantic thing. Really, it was so much more.

  ‘Harani. .’

  The young woman stopped and looked at him. ‘Master?’

  ‘We are alone?’

  The question made her blanch. ‘Yes. Fahren could not convince them, Master. I am sorry. No one else will help us.’

  Aztar nodded. It was the answer he’d expected. Asking for help among the other Voruni tribes had always been a gambit. They had no reason at all to stand up against Baralosus. ‘Do not blame them for it,’ he told Harani, seeing the disdain in her face. ‘I asked too much of them.’

  ‘We do not need them, Master,’ said Harani confidently. ‘We’re still strong.’

  ‘Not so strong,’ laughed Aztar. He kept hold of her, refusing to go further. ‘Harani, the Ganjeese are only two days away. There are at least a thousand of them. Many more, perhaps. When they come they will kill us. You do understand that, yes?’

  Harani’s expression turned serene. ‘I understand, Master. We all understand. We are ready.’

  ‘Ready to die?’

  ‘Ready to go to Vala,’ said Harani.

  Her answer touched the desert prince. He opened his mouth to speak, then stopped himself. It would do no good to tell her to leave him. She would not free herself from the coming storm. Just like the rest of her people, she would stay with him until the Ganjeese came.

  And then she would die.

  50

  Corvalos Chane walked alone through the halls of the forum, certain he would find his king inside. As it was on most days, the forum was deserted, and the animals that were sometimes kept in its many cages had been moved off to other places throughout the city. Chane’s boots scraped quietly across the pebbled surface, not wanting to disturb his lord and master. Since returning to the city from Gilorin Court, Raxor had spent most of his time alone. Chane had barely seen his beloved king in the past week. Still in mourning over the death of his son and shaken by the defeat at the Kryss, Raxor had retreated into a private little hole, and without Mirage around to coax him out of it, the old man had become even more remote. Chane mourned, too. Not for Prince Roland, because he never really liked the red-headed loud-mouth. Rather, Chane mourned for Raxor, because the king he had known for so many years was really already dead. Between the two of them, all they could hope for now was vengeance.

  And that was why Corvalos Chane had come.

  When he reached the end of the hall, Chane stopped behind a pillar, peering around the stone edifice toward the arena. There, in the centre of the vast oval, he spotted King Raxor, standing in the centre of the arena with his two enormous pets. The bears were on their hind legs, prancing around Raxor as the king urged them on with treats. At their full height, the bears were a good deal taller than the big king, yet Raxor wasn’t at all afraid of them. He had raised them from cubs and knew they’d never hurt him. Chane smiled, noting the pleasure on the old man’s face. It was good to see him happy, if only briefly. Chane’s grin sharpened, for he was sure his plan would please Raxor even more.

  Chane did not want to disturb his master, but his news couldn’t wait, and so he stepped softly onto the ground of the arena, making sure that Raxor saw him. The king looked surprised but waved him forward. The bears continued dancing as Chane approached, barely noticing him until Raxor ordered them down. They sniffed at Chane, knowing him immediately, and watched him with their beady black eyes. Varsha, the female of the twins, pawed up to Chane and nudged his hand with her nose in greeting. Chane took the beast’s jaw and gave it a gentle squeeze. He had always liked the bear siblings, and they had always amazed him. Their loyalty to Raxor rivaled his own.

  King Raxor knew immediately that Chane had come for a reason. He looked at his spy expectedly. Chane stopped playing with the bear and greeted his king with a bow.

  ‘My lord, may I speak?’ he asked.

  ‘Tell me,’ said Raxor at once.

  ‘I have news, my lord. From Koth.’

  Raxor perked up. ‘Indeed?’

  ‘Baron Glass is going to the old estate at Richter. He plans to leave in two more days. He’s making ready for the trip, my lord. And he’s taking Jazana Carr with him.’

  Raxor was old but his mind was as sharp as ever. He seized on Chane’s meaning at once. ‘Interesting,’ he mused. His hand rose to his mouth, rubbing his lower lip. ‘How many are going with him?’

  ‘Not many,’ said Chane. ‘That’s the key, my lord. Baron Glass is having trouble with Jazana Carr, more so since Mirage went to him.’

  ‘Jealousy?’

  ‘So it seems. Glass means to make amends with her,’ said Chane. Not all the details were in place, but he told his master what he knew. ‘This comes from Jaron, my lord. From inside Lionkeep.’

  ‘Then this is reliable? You’re sure?’

  ‘I think so, yes,’ Chane answered. Raxor had spies everywhere, and Chane had his own connections. Of all of them, Jaron was among the best. He had posed as a mercenary to gain access to Jazana Carr. Later he had managed to work his way into Lionkeep itself, working as an outside guard. Jaron had a gift for small things, an uncanny ability to put puzzles together out of the barest scraps. ‘He sent the news as quickly as he could,’ Chane continued. ‘But it’s five days old, at least. Jaron says that Glass is planning on traveling with only a small contingent. He wants to be alone with his queen, no doubt.’

  Raxor laughed with satisfaction. ‘Mirage has had the same effect on him, no doubt! Jazana Carr is wise to be worried.’ He looked at Chane. ‘What of her? Anything?’

  ‘Of Mirage? The same, my lord. She is well, that’s all I can tell. She spends time with Glass. A great deal of time from what I’m told.’

  A shadow of envy crossed Raxor’s face. ‘Baron Glass has everything a man could want, then,’ he grumbled. ‘He has taken my son and my woman both. He loves Mirage. I always knew it.’

  Chane avoided looking straight at his king. He had not confessed his drunken advance on Mirage, that moment of weakness in Koth. The guilt of it gnawed at him. He said, ‘Mirage is well, my lord. You should not worry about her. And this news is worth acting on.’

  ‘Agreed.’ Raxor sidled closer to Broud, the huge black male of the bears, and dug his fingers deeply into his thick fur. The bear responded with a grunt of pleasure. ‘I have been to Richter,’ said Raxor, ‘years ago. That was when King Akeela was alive, when there was peace.’ He thought for a moment, summoning the memory. ‘It’s very small. Not many staff. There are mountains around it, and I remember a lake. It’s very high up. Secluded.’

  ‘My lord, I’ve already sent some people there,’ said Chane. ‘Horatin and Kaprile of the Red Watch. A few others. They’re already making plans, watching the layout. I had some ideas for them to take with them.’

  ‘What ideas?’

  ‘As you said, it’s a small estate, my lord. And Glass isn’t taking many men with him.’

  ‘He doesn’t need many men. He has the armour, remember.’

  ‘Aye,’ said Chane, ‘I remember. But nothing is indestructible, my lord, and he can’t wear the armour forever. Not to bed, certainly.’

  Raxor looked intrigued. ‘You mean to assassinate him.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Chane. Assassination was a specialty of the Red Watch. Chane had trained them himself. ‘Six or seven of us should be able to get it done.’

  ‘If
Glass sees you, he’ll kill you,’ said Raxor.

  ‘He won’t see us, my lord. I don’t intend to climb though his window.’

  ‘What then?’

  ‘I plan to burn him,’ Chane replied. ‘I’ve thought about this, my lord. If the doors were barricaded, no one would be able to escape. And if someone did manage to get out alive. .’ Chane shrugged.

  ‘You mean to murder them all?’

  ‘Baron Glass and Jazana Carr at least,’ said Chane coolly.

  King Raxor turned away, considering the plan. Chane stood very still, giving his master time to think. It would not be as easy as he’d hinted, but he desperately wanted Raxor’s blessing.

  ‘A chance like this won’t come along again soon,’ he said. ‘Consider, my lord — both Glass and the Diamond Queen in the same small space. Not even the armour can protect Glass against an inferno. And if it does, we’ll be there to finish him — all of us.’

  ‘Even you won’t be enough to stop Baron Glass, Corvalos. If you had seen him at the Kryss you would know what I mean. He’s not just a man anymore. It’s like Mirage said — he is possessed of a devil. And devils live in flames.’

  ‘Then at least we will kill his queen,’ Chane countered. ‘My lord, there isn’t much time. I have to get to Richter quickly and join the others. There are things I’ll need to arrange. Baron Glass will have the jump on me either way.’

  ‘I hear you, Corvalos, I do. But there are risks.’

  ‘To myself and the others alone,’ said Chane. He brought his lanky body closer to the king. ‘Please, my lord, let me do this for you. Let me kill the man who killed your son.’

  The bears had stopped ambling around. As if sensing the seriousness of the conversation, they looked up earnestly at Raxor. The king remained silent, his eyes glazing over.

  ‘I’m not mad,’ he said softly. ‘I’ve heard others talking, Chane, the things they’ve said about me. But I’m not mad. I’m simply. . troubled.’

  ‘Yes, my lord,’ said Chane gently. ‘I know.’

  The old man turned his eyes on Chane, full of love. ‘Baron Glass must not know it is us. Do nothing to betray Reec. Dress as mercenaries. Make him believe it is Norvans, even. That upstart Elgan perhaps. But nothing must lead him back to us. We cannot have him march against us. Not yet. Not when we are so weak.’

  ‘Of course, my lord.’

  Raxor reached out and gripped Chane’s shoulder. ‘You have been so good to me for so many years. Let this be your last mission, Corvalos.’

  ‘My lord?’

  ‘We are old, my friend,’ said Raxor with a grin. ‘No one has served me better or longer than you have. You have given up everything for me. Even your birthright as a man.’

  ‘I have not minded, my lord.’

  ‘Haven’t you? I have eyes, Corvalos. I saw the way you looked at Mirage, how you craved her. No, do not be embarrassed! She was a splendid woman.’

  The revelation stung Chane. He dropped his head and sank to his knees. ‘My lord, I’m sorry,’ he sighed. ‘In my heart I lusted for her. Forgive me.’

  ‘There is nothing to forgive, my friend,’ said Raxor, looking down. ‘You’re not a eunuch, after all. No man can expect to be without hungers if he is truly a man.’

  ‘But she was your woman, my lord. .’

  ‘And you brought her to me and made me happy. Rise.’

  Chane got to his feet but could not bring himself to look at his king. In his heart, he had betrayed Raxor. He had even tried to bed Mirage. Would his king be so forgiving if he knew that too?

  ‘Let me show you my devotion, my lord,’ he begged. ‘Let me kill Baron Glass and his bitch queen. Say the word, please. .’

  ‘You have your leave, Corvalos. Do it and be well. And when you are done and Baron Glass is dead, your service to me will be over.’

  ‘My lord,no. .’

  ‘It’s time for you to live your life, Corvalos,’ said Raxor easily. ‘While you are young enough to enjoy a woman, you must find yourself one. Have children. Know that joy before you die. That is how you can serve me best.’

  The offer overwhelmed Chane. Since he could remember, he had been in Raxor’s service, first as a soldier, then as a bodyguard. He had devoted his whole life to the king and had never regretted it until he’d been alone with Mirage — when his own stupid drunkenness had made him forget his vow.

  ‘My lord, I promise you — Baron Glass will not return from Richter. Let him call his demon. Let him summon all the devils of hell. They will not save him from me.’

  51

  In the waning sun of twilight, a tiny mass of two-hundred men wound their way through the dunes of the desert, watching the eastern horizon for their unseen enemies. They had ridden for most of the day, leaving behind loved ones in the Skein and the meagre homes they had made for themselves among the brush and blowing sands. Mounted on drowas, the men had dressed for battle, bearing scimitars at their sides and carrying the long lances they would use for the charge. Around their faces they wore dark wraps. Black gakas draped their bodies. They had no long bows for distant combat, but some brought smaller, nimble bows with them, the kind that could be fired quickly from the back of a galloping drowa. The mass moved with purpose across the soft earth of the desert, determined to meet their foes by sun fall, sure to a man that they would not see the morning.

  Prince Aztar rode at the front of the force, sitting tall despite his pain and weariness, proud of the men he was leading to their deaths. They were Voruni, the hard and powerful nomads of the desert, and because he was their master they would follow him to hell. Without complaint, they had followed Aztar throughout the day, kissing their wives and children farewell and mounting their drowas to confront Baralosus’ army. Scouts returning from the desert had told Aztar that the Ganjeese were no more than a day’s ride from the Skein, riding slowly but undaunted toward Aztar’s humble camp. And Aztar, determined to keep the bloodshed as far as possible from the children, had ordered his men to make ready to ride. It was, he determined, as good a time as any to die, and he was not afraid. He had prayed mightily for guidance and Vala had given it to him. This time, he was sure he was on the right side.

  The plea he had sent to the other tribes had gone mostly unheeded, but in the last day before the march some fifty men had come to join him, bringing their own drowa and weapons with them. They had come from each of the five Voruni tribes peppered throughout the area, mostly lawless men who had no standing in their own tribes and who, like so many others, respected Aztar’s stance. They knew that this would be the prince’s last stand, and somehow that moved them. Knowing they would die, they could think of no better place to perish than at the side of a legend.

  Aztar himself had no such illusions. He had already led men to slaughter, and because he had chosen his enemies so poorly Vala had punished him. He was not the myth so many thought he was, but rather just a man with troubles. Still, he rode with confidence in the waning light, eager to glimpse Baralosus’ army. And because his brother Baraki had come he was not afraid at all. Bouncing atop his sauntering drowa, his scarred body burdened by heavy battle clothes, Aztar stole a glance at his brother Baraki, the man who had followed him into battle against Jador. Once, Baraki had been his most trusted Zarturk, but in the aftermath of battle he had fled with the others, sure that Aztar had blundered irreparably and unable to face him. Baraki had been one of the few who had survived the Jadori fire, and the magic had frightened him away. Aztar had never blamed him for that. But now, when Aztar needed him most, Baraki had returned. And Aztar, full of love for him, smiled at the man.

  ‘Not much more,’ said Baraki. He had lowered his wrappings to the cooler air of twilight, revealing his unreadable face. As always, his expression was a mask, but what feelings it hid Aztar could not say. Baraki glanced back at the men snaking behind them, riding quietly. ‘Look how weary they are. We should stop now, Aztar.’

  ‘We go on,’ said Aztar. ‘Before the sun rises again, I will speak
to Baralosus and show him that we are not afraid of him.’

  Baraki nodded tacitly. Only a pace behind him, the other Zarturks rode together, having fallen quiet as they too sensed the closeness of the Ganjeese. Fahleen, the oldest of them, kept his eyes on the east, his gaze unwavering. When Aztar turned to look at him, Fahleen raised his hand. Aztar did the same, then did so to the others as well, urging Rakaar and Adnah on with confidence. Rakaar grinned. Adnah did not. Rakaar was not afraid of anything. Adnah had left a wife behind. Together they would command the little army they had left, each of them taking fifty or so men. Once, Aztar’s army had numbered far more, but the battle with Jador had decimated them. Now, the man who called himself the Tiger of the Desert had barely two-hundred men to face down Baralosus’ much larger force.

  Aztar continued to ride, ignoring the enormous pain racking his body, until his brother Baraki sidled up to his drowa. Baraki’s beast was a large, black drowa, powerfully built with armour across its flanks and a gleaming brass bit between its yellow teeth. The drowa snorted unhappily at Aztar’s mount.

  ‘So?’ asked Baraki. ‘What will you say to him?’

  ‘To who, brother?’

  ‘Who,’ scoffed Baraki. He lowered his voice. ‘Baralosus, of course. What will you tell him? You haven’t said yet. He will want to make a deal with you. He is a snake, remember.’

  ‘He has had his time to deal,’ said Aztar. ‘He has already sent his dogs to me. Baralosus knows I cannot be brought.’

  ‘Ah, but he will try! He will offer you anything for his daughter.’

  Aztar glowered at his brother. ‘I no longer have her to give. Our duty now is to protect her. You will remember that, Baraki, won’t you?’