The Sword Of Angels eog-3

by John Marco

  ‘I’ve come, haven’t I? I know what you expect of me, brother.’ Baraki grinned. ‘And I cannot wait to see his pompous face when you tell him Salina isn’t with you anymore. What will he say, do you think?’

  ‘He will rage like the witch winds,’ said Aztar, ‘because his heart will be broken.’

  There was no glee in Aztar’s statement. Unlike Baraki, he had no real hatred of Baralosus, despite the way the king had used him. But there were things he wanted to say to Baralosus, things that men of honour should say face to face. Thinking of that now, he was glad once again that Baraki was with him. He could not take an army into the presence of the king, but he could take his brother.

  ‘Keep your dagger close, brother,’ Aztar quipped. ‘You might need it sooner than you think.’

  King Baralosus was reclining in his coach when the carriage came to a sudden stop. He opened his eyes, shaking off the daydream he was having of the new young maid he had hired for his staff, and blearily peered out of his open window. The coach was unbearably hot, pulled along the soft ground on wide, giant wheels made especially for desert travel. Outside, he watched as the men of his army — mounted and unmounted — slowly halted one by one. Commanders at the front of the column were shouting orders back to the rear. Behind his own coach, the smaller, less elaborate conveyance of his friend Kailyr also ground to a stop. With almost no light left in the day, Baralosus supposed General Rhot had decided to camp for the night, a notion that suited the king fine. They were less than a day’s ride from the Skein now, and Baralosus wasn’t anxious to face Aztar.

  Then, someone up ahead shouted Aztar’s name. Baralosus’ heart began to charge.

  ‘What is it?’ he called out of the window. ‘What’s happening?’

  His driver shook his head and called back stupidly, ‘I don’t know, Majesty. There’s something ahead.’

  ‘Something?’ sputtered Baralosus. ‘Don’t move! I’m getting out.’

  The driver kept the drowas firm as the king opened the door of his coach, not waiting for his groomsman. Flinging himself to the sand, he raced up to where his driver sat, scanning the dark horizon. The sun setting behind the dunes turned the west pink with its fiery decent. Past the rows and rows of his own weary soldiers, Baralosus saw something unfamiliar in the distance, something not very large but not insignificant either. He fell back at the sight, dread rising in his gut.

  ‘Aztar. .’

  The Prince’s army was unmistakable, staked out atop a large, unmoving hill of sand. With the last rays of the sun lighting their backs, they looked like ghostly silhouettes atop their battle drowas, the tips of their long lances pointed skyward. How numerous they were, Baralosus could not say, though an ugly feeling crept up his spine that they just might have blundered into a trap.

  ‘Majesty?’ called a voice from behind. ‘Is it them?’

  The voice was Kailyr’s, and the Minister sounded troubled as he raced out of his own carriage to stand beside his king. A handful of soldiers were hurrying toward them out of the front ranks, among them Kahrdeen, Rhot’s trusted commander.

  ‘Majesty, you should get back into your carriage,’ said Kahrdeen quickly. His drowa skidded to a halt before the king. ‘That’s Aztar, Majesty.’

  ‘I can see that,’ snorted Baralosus.

  ‘What does he want?’ wondered Kailyr. ‘To talk? Or to fight?’

  King Baralosus studied his enemy on the hill. If Jashien was right, Aztar would be able to field only two-hundred men, maybe slightly more. Even if they were hidden in the dunes, they would be no match for the Ganjeese army. The king thought very hard about his options, blocking out the shouts of men around him. All he really wanted was his daughter. If killing Aztar was the price, it mattered little now.

  ‘Look at him,’ whispered the king. ‘Look how he sits there, so confident, so calm. He knows he has no chance at all. He must know that.’

  ‘He knows,’ hissed Kailyr. ‘That’s why he’s come to face you, Baralosus. He must want to talk.’

  Baralosus agreed. ‘You are right. He is a man of honour, after all.’ The king turned toward the waiting commander. ‘Kahrdeen, get word to Rhot. I want to speak to Aztar myself. Make a drowa ready for me and an escort.’

  ‘You’re going out there?’ screeched Kailyr.

  ‘I have to face him,’ replied Baralosus. ‘I have to get my daughter back.’

  In less than an hour, Rhot had sent word out to Aztar on the hill and Aztar had responded. With only one Voruni as an escort, the Tiger of the Desert rode within arrow range of Baralosus’ army.

  The king himself had picked Rhot and Jashien to accompany him to the talks. Night had fallen by the time they rode out of camp, protected by a dozen other men bearing arms and torches. Baralosus waited on the back of his personal drowa, a beast of impeccable bearing and breeding with golden cloth draped across its flanks and hammered, iron armour. He watched curiously as Aztar approached, the breeze stirring his long black garments. Neither Aztar nor his escort bore a lance. Instead, both men kept their scimitars safely at their sides, riding casually toward the much more heavily armed Ganjeese. Baralosus felt a twinge of fear, not really sure what he would say. He had nothing left to offer Aztar. Only the threat of death might convince the Tiger to let his daughter go. It was how things had to be, he told himself. He simply could not return to Ganjor without Salina. And Aztar’s severed head.

  If Aztar knew these things, his gait did not show them. He looked as fearless as ever as he rode forward, his face not obscured by his usual Voruni wrappings. Baralosus squinted for a good look at him. He had not seen the prince since his maiming, but according to Jashien he had suffered badly in the fire. It surprised Baralosus that the man could ride at all. His pain must have been enormous.

  General Rhot kept his hands on the reins of his drowa. Mounted beside the king, his expression remained contemptuous. Slightly behind the general, Jashien waited with an uneasy grimace. The young soldier had been surprised by his king’s invitation to join the party, but had not wasted any time at all riding forth. He was, Baralosus knew, the only man among them who could talk to Aztar at all. Twice he had managed to leave the Tiger’s camp alive.

  At last, Aztar was close enough to see clearly. Baralosus gasped a little under his breath. Even in the darkness he could see the terrible scars that had clawed through Aztar’s once handsome face. His skin had a smooth quality, as if all the wrinkles had been burned away. The pain that Baralosus imagined showed now in Aztar’s eyes, but the prince managed to tame it. Still, Baralosus could not imagine that Salina — a perfect rose of a girl — could love a man so damaged. As Aztar neared the king’s party, he reined in his drowa, spinning the beast around a little to show its broadside. Next to him, his escort did the same. Baralosus recognized the man at once. He had thought that Baraki had abandoned Aztar.

  For a long moment, Aztar and Baralosus glared at each other. Once, they had been allies, conspirators in a mutual game against Jador. They had eaten the same food and spoke the same rhetoric, and they had enjoyed each other at least a little. Now, though, the wall between them rose up high and fast. To Baralosus, there seemed only one thing to say.

  ‘I’ve come for my daughter,’ he pronounced. ‘Give her to me.’

  Aztar’s face was firm. ‘I cannot. She is not mine to give you.’

  ‘Then why have you come?’ asked the king.

  ‘To speak with you,’ the prince replied. ‘To tell you that I cannot let you pass.’

  General Rhot gave a throaty laugh. ‘Who will stop us? You? That rabble on the hill? You forget yourself. . Prince. You have no chance at all. Release Princess Salina to us and by the king’s grace go on your way.’

  ‘Princess Salina is not with me,’ said Aztar. He spoke directly to Baralosus, ignoring Rhot completely. ‘She has gone to Jador. They are protecting her now.’

  Baralosus’ jaw dropped. ‘You lie. .’

  ‘Salina has not been in my camp for more than a week,
’ said Aztar. ‘She is already safe within the White City, and they have vowed to defend her. As have I. You may be her father but-’

  ‘I am her king!’ Baralosus thundered. ‘And I am yours! You filthy mutt, bring her to me!’

  Aztar remained frustratingly calm. ‘She is in Jador,’ he repeated. ‘I sent her there to be free of you. You are a serpent, Baralosus. You used me and locked up your daughter as though she were a slave. Once I was like you, but I have seen the warm light of truth. Vala is with me now. He has spoken to me, and this time I hear clearly.’

  Baralosus could not believe his ears, or the audacity of the man before him. ‘I’m here to talk in good faith,’ he seethed. ‘And you have sent my daughter away? You spit in my face, Aztar! I offered you everything!’

  ‘You offered me slavery,’ said Aztar. ‘You meant only to make me one of your puppets. But Salina’s love is not yours to grant. It is the only thing I want, and she has already given it to me.’

  ‘Aztar, hold your tongue,’ cautioned Jashien. He drove his mount forward a little to confront the prince. ‘Don’t you see? I warned you of this. Look at the army massed against you! Have you any chance at all? You do not. Call the princess back from Jador. Do it, please, and spare yourself.’

  Jashien’s plea surprised Baralosus, but he did not object. He looked hopefully at Aztar, but the prince was steadfast.

  ‘I can’t do that. Nor can I let any of you pass. Salina is blessed by Vala because she is righteous, as the Jadori are righteous. They are beloved by Vala, all of them.’ Aztar looked mockingly at Baralosus. ‘For once I am on the right side, Majesty.’

  ‘Is that why you came to talk? To make your little speech?’ hissed Baralosus.

  ‘I wished to see you one more time, my old benefactor,’ said Aztar. ‘After all, it’s all about politics, isn’t it? That is why you are here — to kill me and keep your honour. So — I do what a man of honour does. I come to you, face to face. This is my threat, Majesty. I cannot let you pass.’

  Baralosus felt his hope fade away. Like grains of sand, the last of it slipped through his fingers. ‘I love my daughter,’ he said. ‘Whatever you may think of me, know that, Aztar. And she loves me. If you had not filled her mind with sweet talk and lies, she would be with me now, safe in Ganjor. She would be fed and clean and uncorrupted.’

  ‘She would be your slave, dancing when you clap,’ said Aztar. ‘She is free of you now, Baralosus. As am I.’

  ‘You are a dead man,’ said the king. ‘And I do not speak to dead men.’ Baralosus spat at the ground then wheeled his drowa around and headed back to camp. ‘Go back to your hill,’ he called over his shoulder. ‘Pray to Vala with all your might, Aztar. Very soon, you will see him face to face.’

  52

  Aztar and his brother had barely reached the hill by the time he heard the horn sound. Behind them, Baralosus’ General was calling his troops to battle. Aztar urged his drowa up the hill, then swung it around to see the advancing army. His Zarturks hurried to his side. Baraki began calling out to their warriors, preparing them for the assault. The Ganjeese army came alive like a great, unified mass, spreading out across the desert as they took up their positions. Aztar watched them from the top of the dune, wondering about their tactics. He had riled Baralosus, surely, but he wasn’t sure it would be enough. The king was angry but not stupid.

  ‘They’re coming,’ said Rakaar excitedly. ‘Look!’

  The spreading stain of the Ganjeese army swarmed out toward them, moving slowly but perfectly to encircle the dunes. The hills were high and would protect them, Aztar knew, giving them a much needed advantage. With the sunlight gone, he would have a chance — if Baralosus made the hoped for mistake. Aztar continued to watch them as Baraki positioned their own troops. Most had already taken up positions in the dunes. Because of the size and arrangement of the hills, even Aztar could not see most of them, but he knew that his mounted bowmen had hidden themselves in the front, ready to fire at the advancing enemy.

  ‘They’re coming,’ said Rakaar. ‘We should retreat to the centre now, Aztar.’

  Aztar agreed, and with a shout to his brother spun his drowa toward the undulating middle of the hills. There he passed the others who had already gathered, ordering them to spread out through the dunes and get ready for the fight.

  ‘Be ready for them,’ he called. ‘They may come in the dark if we are lucky. If not they will wait until morning.’

  ‘Baralosus isn’t that stupid,’ said Fahleen, the eldest of the Zarturks. ‘He’ll surround us until the sun rises. Then he’ll come for us.’

  There was arguing back and forth among them, Rakaar sure the Ganjeese would attack, while young Adnah sided with Fahleen. But they all had their own men to command, and their wagging tongues angered Aztar.

  ‘Get to your men,’ he snapped. ‘Rakaar, fire on anyone who comes close enough. They may test our front. If they do, kill them. Go.’

  Rakaar nodded and went back the way he’d come, riding quickly toward the front of the dunes. He was the one with the most bowmen, the one who would take the brunt of the attack if the Ganjeese advanced as predicted. As for the flanks, they belonged to Fahleen and Adnah, each with barely fifty men. Aztar himself would remain in the centre with Baraki, commanding the battle from a tall dune until he could himself ride into the fight. He had already selected his position, and rode toward it now with Baraki and a handful of Voruni warriors. The ground yielded like mud beneath the hooves of their drowa, making the climb a chore. When at last they reached the top, Aztar looked out over his dark position and smiled.

  Throughout the dunes his men had doused their torches, leaving them almost invisible in the moonlight. Far up ahead, Rakaar’s men crouched in the dunes, some mounted, some standing near their drowa with bows in their hands. They were the short, quick firing bows, the only kind his men ever used, with small arrows tipped with iron that they carried in poaches on their backs. Rakaar’s men had fanned out along the front dunes, keeping deep within the shadows but also using scouts to watch the approaching Ganjeese. Other scouts from each of the Zarturks took up positions on other dunes as well, so that their actions could be coordinated. Aztar took the time to give a little smile. Even though they had no real chance at all, what he saw impressed them. Any damage they could do would make things that much easier for Jador.

  ‘Aztar, look there,’ directed Baraki, gesturing toward Baralosus army. The great mass had begun to split. ‘They mean to surround us.’

  Aztar knew General Rhot to be a competent man, a leader with enough experience to know they shouldn’t attack at night. Still, the manoeuvres disappointed Aztar. Rhot had obviously talked his king out of a nighttime attack. His men moved cautiously as they began to fan out, unhurried. The bulk of them remained at the front while two smaller groups moved to flank the dunes. Each force contained rows of mounted drowamen with lances, which would probably do them no good. Aztar’s men had already discarded their own lances, taking up javelins instead. But what made Aztar the most curious were the longbowmen. General Rhot, oddly visible in the moonlight, remained with them as they advanced and then halted, readying themselves for the assault.

  ‘They can reach us from there,’ Aztar whispered, studying the archers.

  ‘In the dark?’ Baraki shook his head. ‘No.’

  ‘Baralosus has all the gold he needs for arrows,’ said Aztar. ‘He’ll waste them all night long if he must.’

  Because his men had no shields, the thought of the archers worried Aztar. Even hidden in the dunes and darkness, his men would be vulnerable. He looked around, wondering how best to protect them, and realized that it would only be luck that let the archers find their marks.

  But there were so many of them. .

  ‘We’re vulnerable up here,’ grumbled Aztar. ‘And so are the scouts.’

  It was a stupid mistake, the kind Aztar had expected Baralosus to make. With the bowmen raining chaos on them, it would be impossible for him to command his men
. Aztar determined to wait as long as he could, sure that the barrage would not come too soon. Again he was wrong.

  He heard the shout from the general first, then watched in dread as the archers drew back their longbows. Rows of them, perfectly tilted, aimed their weapons skyward and awaited the order to loose. Aztar called out frantically to his men, warning them of the attack just as the arrows flew. Instantly they disappeared into the dark sky, but against the moon Aztar could briefly see them, like insects quickly flying. At once he and his brother sought cover, riding their beasts back down the hill. A moment later the storm began. The arrows pelted the ground, landing with sharp thuds all around them. Aztar heard his men shout — then scream — as amazingly the missiles found some marks. Though the dunes were fine for hiding them, they did nothing to shield them from the heavens. Aztar galloped quickly from his hill, heading toward the front where the barrage seemed lightest. Turning back he watched as a single arrow fell from the sky and slipped perfectly through a man’s eye.

  ‘A night of this?’ cried Baraki. ‘This is Baralosus’ honour?’

  ‘Up front,’ Aztar called back. ‘That’s where they’ll come at us.’

  ‘Now? They’ll attack now?’

  Aztar waved at his brother to hurry. ‘They’ll try to push us out of here. They’ll try to wear us down. Come, brother! Why should we wait like women on a hill? To the fight!’

  King Baralosus watched from his drowa as General Rhot ordered the archers to continue. Already the barrage had produced happy results, dislodging Aztar from his place on the hill and sending the scouts scattering. Baralosus imagined the chaos in the dunes, the terror as the darkness filled with death. If he listened closely, he could hear men screaming over the noise of his own moving army. The moonlight made the dunes shift with life. Aztar’s men were hidden, mostly, but at the forefront of the dunes some of them peeked out their heads, making ready for the assault. Baralosus tried to calm himself. His words with Aztar had unsettled him, and the thought of his daughter in the hands of the Jadori made him seethe. Such an unimaginable turn of events — why hadn’t any of his advisors warned him? All of them, especially Kailyr, had been wrong about everything. Only Jashien seemed capable of rational thought, and because of that Baralosus kept Jashien close, calling him out of his own regiment to be a personal guard. Jashien kept very quiet as he watched the battle begin. His expression looked peculiar. Near him stood Kailyr, also looking strange. More precisely, Kailyr looked embarrassed, and kept to himself after being proved so wrong. He stole a glance at Baralosus while the spearmen prepared to move. Baralosus smirked at him.