The Sword Of Angels eog-3

by John Marco

  Finally, when morning broke, Thorin found himself beside a placid lake. Birds sang their songs of dawn, and the trees filled with gentle light as the sun peaked its orange head above the hills. His exhausted horse would go no further, and Thorin guided it to the lake, dismounting and letting it drink. He took the helmet of the armour off his head, holding it in the crux of his arm and gazed out over the waters. Without food his horse would not take him all the way to Koth, but it didn’t really matter. In the armour he could walk forever and never tire. Such was the power of the Devil’s Armour.

  ‘But it does not give wisdom,’ Thorin whispered.

  The rage he could no longer control boiled over, and he slammed the armour into the dirt. His metal fingers came up, clawing his face, and the sobs he had tried so hard to stifle overcame him in a torrent, shaking his body and driving him to his knees. There in the mud of the lakeside he cried, weeping, unable to stop himself until he felt Kahldris’ cold touch on his soul.

  ‘Why?’ he groaned, lifting his face skyward. ‘You could have saved her!’

  Kahldris’ voice was filled with sympathy. I could not. I could only save you.

  ‘You lie!’ Thorin sneered. ‘I know how powerful you are! You could have saved her but you hated her! You wanted her to die, you jealous shit-eater!’

  No, Baron, you are wrong. I know how happy she made you. That is why I left her to you. I could have harmed her any time, but I did not because she pleased you.

  ‘And now she’s dead,’ said Thorin, his hands in the dirt. He shook his head, wanting to blame someone. ‘Why’d they kill her? Who were they?’

  They were mercenaries. You know that.

  ‘Who sent them?’ demanded Thorin. ‘Tell me, Kahldris!’

  Baron Glass, you think too much of me. I cannot be everywhere at once. I do not know who sent them. The demon paused as if he wasn’t telling everything. Who do you think sent them?

  Thorin looked up. ‘What are you saying? Damn you, Kahldris, tell me clearly.’

  Kahldris’ tone grew annoyed. Who has mercenaries to kill the woman you cared about? Who knew you would be in the house alone with her? Who hated the girl because you loved her? Who, Baron Glass? Who?

  Thorin thought for a moment, but the idea seemed impossible. ‘Jazana would never do such a thing!’

  Would she not? After how you’ve treated her?

  ‘She would not!’

  You stupid toad of a man. What is a woman but a warm place to lay? You have no need of any of them, yet you protect and believe their words. Why would Jazana Carr not want her dead, and you rotting next to her? Who else would send filthy mercenaries to burn you both alive?

  It was unthinkable, too much for Thorin to get his mind around. He got to his feet, feeling faint and feeling angry. The demon’s words were relentless, his logic cold and true. Meriel’s tortured face muscled into his memory, and suddenly it made sense.

  ‘Would that bitch do such a thing? Would she do it to me?’

  What have you given her that she did not have herself? She wants to return to Norvor, Baron. She despises Liiria.

  Thorin felt helpless. ‘What shall I do?’

  You can act like a man. These women — they are a distraction to you. Jazana Carr does nothing but hinder you. We needed her once. But no longer.

  ‘No,’ said Thorin desperately. ‘What are you asking of me? Ask me to tear the flesh off my bones, but do not ask me this. .’

  She has killed the woman you loved, Baron Glass.

  ‘No!’

  Thorin hurried away, running along the edge of the lake, trying to escape. But Kahldris clung to him, refusing to let go.

  Why do you run? Will you let that diamond-crusted bitch beat you? Listen to me, Baron Glass — you are a man! I have made you whole again!

  His words drove Thorin back to his knees. Collapsing into the mud, he put his hands to his ears trying to silence the Akari. He hated Jazana suddenly, and hated himself for doing so. But the logic seemed so clear to him. How could he ignore it?

  ‘She is a bitch and a whore and I hate her!’ he cried.

  Good! Now have your vengeance on her!

  Thorin closed his eyes as tightly as he could, wishing for a better way. Killing Jazana would be a horror. He would see her in his dreams for the rest of his life. But he would also see Meriel, lovely, helpless. She had been like a flower, totally innocent, so very fragile. And Jazana had murdered her. He saw that plainly now.

  ‘She is a woman who must be taught a lesson,’ he rasped. ‘When I return to Koth, she will feel the hand of Baron Glass.’

  56

  Through the blowing sand of a morning dust storm, King Lorn the Wicked bent low along a dune, his body pressed against the hot earth. Peering with squinting eyes, he saw the first signs of the Ganjeese army, slowly marching west toward Jador. Behind him, the kreels of his party kept hidden from view, warming their bodies in the sun and chittering nervously about the coming foreigners. King Lorn stretched his neck for a better look, his face peppered by wind-borne sand. From the looks of them, the army had camped for the night and had only recently resumed its march. Caravans of drowa burdened with supplies plodded unhappily behind the rows of fighting men. Baralosus’ flag, clearly visible among the ranks, snapped vigourously as the dust storm tore at its fabric. In the east the sun was rising, painting the army with an eerie glow. Lorn strained for a better view. It had been a long night of riding, but their kreels had performed magnificently, seldom needing rest and spiriting them like winged horses across the desert. To the men who had accompanied Lorn, the feat was commonplace. But to Lorn, who had always harboured trepidations about the beasts, their speed was magical.

  ‘How many, do you think?’ Lorn asked Noor, the leader of the kreel riders. The question was rhetorical. Noor did not speak the language of the continent at all. Still, the Jador seemed to understand Lorn’s meaning.

  ‘Khaln a balin,’ he replied. Crouched next to Lorn against the dune, his face covered with a gaka to shield away the sand, he looked at the king to share his meaning. Lorn read his expressive eyes and nodded.

  ‘That’s what I think,’ he said.

  He leaned back and contemplated the scene. Baralosus’ army was smaller than they’d feared. Lorn put their numbers at just over a thousand. It was a goodly number, actually, because their own forces in Jador were so depleted, but Lorn had expected far more of the Ganjeese to come across the desert.

  ‘Aztar. They must have beaten him.’

  Noor nodded. He looked sad. ‘Aztar.’

  Princess Salina had promised them that Aztar would do his best to stop her father. Apparently, his efforts had failed. Lorn had no doubt that Aztar was dead, and most of his men with him. The Jadori all fell silent, honouring the Voruni’s sacrifice. They had come with Lorn because time was growing short, and because they wanted to defend their homeland. Lorn had done all that he could to help rebuild Jador’s suffering army, and to train its blind Kahana. Now, all that remained was to wait. And when the time came, to fight.

  The blowing dust growled intensely. Lorn rolled over and covered his face with his hands until the worst of it had passed. At the foot of the hill the other scouts waited quietly for word. Noor signaled to them to be still, then looked expectantly at Lorn, who blinked hard to clear his eyes.

  ‘Not too many,’ he said to Noor. ‘But don’t be too happy, my friend. All that means is that Baralosus is determined.’

  Noor grimaced, confused.

  ‘He wants his daughter back,’ Lorn tried explaining. ‘He should have waited after he defeated Aztar. He should have brought more troops with him, but that doesn’t mean they won’t come.’

  Noor made a fist and shook it. Lorn smiled.

  ‘Maybe we can beat them. I don’t know.’

  White-Eye had done a remarkable job of rallying the city. Lorn was proud of her. The Night Queen, as the Jadori called her now, had asked every able-bodied man within the white wall to make ready for the fi
ght. They had nearly a thousand men themselves now, and almost four-hundred kreel riders. Once, in Jador’s glory days, that number had been far, far greater. Under White-Eye’s father Kadar the Jadori army had been a force to reckon with, but two recent wars had decimated them, and without a proper king to lead them. .

  Lorn stopped himself. Jador didn’t need a king. It had a queen. It had White-Eye, and she was strong. But what should he tell her when he got back to Jador? She was waiting for word about Baralosus, and had vowed to protect Salina from him. With the forces under her command she could probably defeat the Ganjeese. Noor, who had carefully been reading Lorn’s expression, pointed out across the desert to the coming army. He looked sharply at Lorn and said a single, powerful word.

  ‘Lhat.’

  Lorn knew very little of the Jadori language, but had picked up bits of it during his time in the city. In Noor’s tongue, the word lhat meant death. And to Noor, their path was plain.

  ‘You’re right,’ said Lorn. ‘We’ll kill them.’

  That’s what he would counsel White-Eye. They had enough men and kreels for the job. There could be no other course. They would fall like death on the men from Ganjor, and they would slaughter them. And Minikin? She was always counseling peace, but this time she was wrong. This time, war was the answer. He would have to convince White-Eye of its rightness.

  ‘Let’s hope the little lady stays out of my way,’ grumbled Lorn, then slid down the hillside toward the waiting kreels. Noor did the same, and the two stood to face each other. ‘We go,’ said Lorn to his guide. He pointed east. ‘Back to Jador.’

  Princess Salina heard of Aztar’s death from a man with a serving tray. She had been sitting alone in the garden of Jador’s palace, occupying her troubled mind by counting the hummingbirds that came to the rose bushes. Behind her, hidden by a vine-covered trestle, a servant was talking in a loud whisper, oblivious to her presence. He spoke hurriedly, as if he knew his gossip was taboo, his voice strangely clear, the way one hears one’s own name spoken in a crowd. Salina froze in her seat and remained there long after the man had gone.

  Lorn had returned. King Baralosus and his army were nearing Jador. And, to Salina’s great sorrow, Prince Aztar was dead.

  The servant seemed to have no proof of this, but spoke of it as though it were clearly a fact. His voice dithered nervously, sure that he and his fellows would soon be called to defend the city. Salina held her breath, trying to stem the awful feeling twisting in her stomach. She should have expected the news, and yet it struck her like a thunderbolt.

  For long minutes — Salina did not know how long — she remained in the garden, paralyzed among the flowers. Her mind skipped through images of Aztar. She remembered his touch, how soft his calloused hands had been on her body. She remembered his face and hoped the memory would never fade. But mostly she remembered his courage. He had sacrificed himself for her, for all of Jador really, and for that he had surely ascended to heaven. Salina managed to rise from her chair, lifting her face toward heaven. In the endless sky she felt him, and knew that he had died happy.

  But guilt clamped down on Salina, forcing her out of the garden in search of White-Eye. Driven to find the blind Kahana, Salina searched the usual places in the palace, asking everyone she passed where she would find White-Eye. Most gave her apologetic shrugs, but after a while she found the young Jadori woman, massed with some Jadori soldiers in a large, darkened chamber near the palace’s great hall. Surprisingly, no one stopped Salina as she skidded into the room, embarrassing herself with her clumsy entrance. The oil lamps along the long rectangular table had been dimmed; Kahana White-Eye always craved darkness. Among the handful of soldiers with her stood King Lorn, stooped over a map of some kind he had obviously drawn himself. The soldiers all looked at Salina, disturbing Lorn’s attention. He shot the princess an angry glance.

  White-Eye, seated at the head of the table, turned in Salina’s direction. ‘Who is it?’

  Salina’s voice constricted suddenly, looking into the anxious faces of the Jadori. The room filled with the awkward silence caused by her appearance. Caught off guard, Salina stuttered.

  ‘Kahana White-Eye, it is me — Salina.’ She went no closer to them. Her face felt hot. ‘I am sorry. . I was looking for you. I. . would speak to you, please.’

  King Lorn came forward, looking weary but not unsympathetic. ‘Princess, now is not the time.’

  ‘My father is coming, King Lorn? You saw him?’

  Lorn nodded. ‘Yes.’

  ‘And Prince Aztar?’

  It was the king who faltered this time, searching for the right words. But it was White-Eye who spoke up, saying, ‘Princess, you are right. You should hear this. Come ahead.’

  The men in the chamber backed away from the table as White-Eye stood to greet the princess. King Lorn guided Salina to a chair, but she did not take it. She looked into White-Eye’s blank stare, confused and afraid. The kahana seemed to sense this, and firmly asked her men to leave.

  ‘Take them to the parlour,’ she told Lorn. ‘Let me speak to Salina alone.’

  Amazingly, the gruff king did as White-Eye asked, gathering up his map from the table and herding the soldiers out of the chamber. Salina watched them go, leaving through one of the many archways and turning a corner, leaving her and White-Eye alone in the echoing space. The feeble lamplight looked strange against the Kahana’s blind eyes. To Salina, White-Eye looked steely. She waited until her men had gone, listening to their footfalls disappear before softening her expression, just a little.

  ‘When were you going to tell me?’ asked Salina pointedly.

  White-Eye didn’t blink. ‘When I was done here.’

  ‘You’re making plans against my father. I saw Lorn’s map.’

  ‘Aztar is dead.’

  The words struck Salina like cold water. For a moment, she could not speak. ‘You are sure?’ she managed.

  ‘Lorn has seen your father’s army, Princess. He has come across the desert and is no more than a day from Jador. Unless you think Prince Aztar fled from him. .’

  ‘Aztar would never run.’

  ‘No,’ White-Eye agreed. ‘No doubt he stood and fought them.’

  Salina took her meaning. Even without proof of his death, she knew that Aztar had perished. She could feel it, its ugly truth. The hole that had opened in her soul told her it was so. Suddenly, just standing took all her strength.

  ‘He did this for me,’ she said weakly, turning away from White-Eye’s mysterious gaze. ‘It is my fault he is dead.’

  ‘Aztar chose to fight your father, Princess. It was his gift to you.’

  ‘His gift?’ Salina laughed. ‘He is dead.’

  ‘Yes. And soon, others will be dead as well.’

  ‘My father — has he come with many men?’

  ‘Not many,’ said White-Eye. Pleasure flashed across her face. ‘We had expected more. But he is determined. He wants you back, Princess.’

  Salina gripped the back of the chair, her knuckles blooming white. The soldiers who had been with Lorn made the Kahana’s plans obvious. They meant to fight, and from the looks of White-Eye they intended to win. What Salina did not understand was why.

  ‘You’re going to defend me?’ she asked.

  ‘We have promised you that,’ said White-Eye. ‘We are indebted to you.’

  ‘No,’ argued Salina. ‘No, I. .’ She tried to piece her thoughts together. ‘I don’t want your people to die for me.’

  White-Eye grimaced. She said nothing for a time, sitting herself back down at the head of the table. Her blank eyes froze on Salina. ‘You don’t want people to die,’ she repeated.

  ‘Kahana White-Eye, I am sorry. I never wanted things to get this far. I wanted only to go to Aztar.’

  ‘And to teach your father a lesson. Yes?’

  Salina nodded sheepishly. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, now he has come to teach us a lesson. For the second time, he means to destroy us, Princess. First he used Azta
r to bring us to our knees, and now he comes himself. And you have given him the reason.’

  The accusation stung Salina. She lowered her head. ‘I’m sorry. Truly, Kahana White-Eye, I am sorry.’

  Her grief overcame her, and she began to weep. ‘I’ll go to him,’ she choked. ‘He only wants me back. Once he has me it will be over.’

  ‘You are not going to him,’ said White-Eye.

  Salina sobbed, ‘What?’

  ‘Aztar died for a reason, not just for you, Princess. He died to defend Jador because that is what he believed Vala wanted. He knew that he had wronged us and wanted to protect us.’

  ‘But my father-’

  ‘Your father has threatened us. He meant to have our secrets, our wealth, whatever he could take from us. He used your lover Aztar to get these things, but now he has come himself to defeat us.’

  Salina still did not understand. ‘Yes? So?’

  White-Eye sat tall and straight in her chair. ‘Your father has blundered. He has come with too few soldiers. We are not so weak as he thinks we are. Princess Salina, it is too late for you to go to him. If you did not want people to die, you should have stayed in Ganjor.’

  As night fell and White-Eye could at last venture out of doors, she left the palace in search of Minikin, climbing the white wall that surrounded the city and finding the little mistress in one of the wall’s few battle towers. There, among the battlements and lookouts and archers, Minikin leaned against the white stone, her head barely able to see above the crenellations. White-Eye approached the mistress slowly, climbing the stairs as quietly as she could, guided by a Jadori soldier who told the kahana everything. They spoke in whispers, and when she no longer needed the guide White-Eye dismissed him with only a wave, but she knew that Minikin could hear her. The lady’s tiny, elfish ears were uncanny, and White-Eye had never been able to surprise her. As she plodded uncertainly across the tower, she smiled at Minikin, or at least in her direction. Then, out of the darkness came Minikin’s voice.