Angel's Knight (Angelwar Book 3)

by A. J. Grimmelhaus

  The refugees weren’t the only ones with problems. By nightfall Kal learned that they had all run out of water, and Siadendre was – according to Salazar – yet a day and half’s march away. They had continued north for long hours into the darkness until Benvedor had finally called a halt and the group – exhausted, thirsty and covered in dust – struck camp. It seemed to Kal that no sooner had he fallen asleep than Vrillian was kicking him awake, and now here he sat, shivering and trying not to think of how thirsty it was. But not thinking about being thirsty inevitably just reminded him how much he needed a drink, and at this point even smelly, brackish water would be welcome.

  Kal shivered again and thrust his hands under his armpits for warmth. He yawned, and froze as he heard a gentle hiss of sand.

  It’s probably nothing, he told himself, but one hand was already drifting to the sword balanced on his knees. He heard it again, this time sure it was in front of him, somewhere along the faint tracks they had made – the only sign of their escape from Shade.

  It can’t be the Gurdal, Kal told himself. It’s probably just another snake. But, he remembered, most of the snakes in the desert were poisonous. He rose to his feet, disturbing the sand around him as little as possible. His eyes swept over the dark ground, looking for any sign of movement around him. Kal adjusted his grip on the sword as the rustle of displaced sand reached his ears again, this time even closer. He lifted his head and peered out into the darkness. This time the sound was clearer: sand crunching under impact.

  Footsteps? Snakes don’t—

  The figure was suddenly in front of him. Each recognised the presence of another in the same instant. Kal saw a shadowy limb reach down, dimly realising the man was going for his sword. Kal moved to draw his own, and realised as he felt the weight in his hand the sword was already there. He thrust out wildly and heard a grunt as the point struck home and something heavy sank to the ground, trying to drag Kal’s sword with it.

  Two more wraiths appeared on either side of the man as he crumpled. They drew swords as Kal yanked his own free from the corpse. They attacked him together, and Kal heard someone scream as he parried one then the other. He clipped one, but it didn’t slow him down, and Kal found himself falling back a pace.

  No further, he told himself, realising his sleeping companions lay behind him. I cannot let them pass.

  The darkness was retreating to a grey blur as sunrise approached, and Kal saw more figures coming behind the others. He parried another blow and another blow, desperately fighting with all his skin.

  ‘Awake,’ he panted as loudly as he could. ‘Awake!’

  Something drew one attacker’s attention, and Kal slipped his sword under the man’s ribs as an arrow whistled past his nose and bore through the other man’s eye socket.

  Another man was already upon him as Benvedor appeared on Kal’s left, sword in hand. A second later Vrillian materialised on Kal’s right, arriving just as the remaining Gurdal arrived.

  Kal fended off a stream of heavy blows, each one making his arms sing in pain. After a while he stopped trying to kill the man and concentrated on staying alive. Again and again the Gurdal slashed and thrust his blade, but Kal met each strike and turned it aside, somehow knowing each time where the attack would come. His muscles seemed to remember how they needed to move, and Kal began to understand the long hours of boring training had been to prepare him for moments like this when a man was too tired to think straight.

  Another blow, and Kal realised each strike was weaker than the last, just as his own defence was a little slower with each successive assault. Another blow, the man’s cheeks puffing out with exertion, and Kal felt his teeth rattle. The man staggered on the uneven ground and Kal stuck his sword through him before even consciously realising he had an opening. He looked around him, but could see the battle was all but won. Benvedor struck down the last man and gave a satisfied grunt. Catardor and Vrillian moved through the fallen, using their knives to make sure they stayed that way.

  ‘You hurt, lad?’

  Kal looked up from the bodies and found Sir Benvedor standing at his side. Kal ran a hand over himself, but couldn’t find any holes. He shook his head.

  ‘In future,’ Benvedor said, ‘the scream was enough.’

  That was me?

  ‘Better to save your breath,’ Benvedor said, ‘than run out before the battle’s done, and that’s what shouting while you fight will do.’ He smiled in a gentle, almost fatherly way. ‘One warning’s all we need.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘You did well, Kal. Just remember next time is all I’m saying.’

  Catardor strode over. ‘Interesting technique there, Squire. Not many men would just wait an attacker out like that.’ He chuckled. ‘Never thought I’d see it,’ Catardor muttered as he wandered off to check another body.

  Kal found Benvedor studying his face. ‘Hard to know whether any man will stand or run, or just stand plain still,’ the knight said quietly, ‘but now you know, and what a man’s done once he can do again.’ Benvedor smiled. ‘Maybe try attacking a bit next time, eh?’

  10.

  Tol sank slowly onto the rough wooden bench beside Isallien. The Meracian looked every bit as ill as Tol felt while the others just looked miserable. Opposite him, Stetch grinned broadly, and he looked no different to usual; if the Sworn man was suffering any ill effects from the previous night’s drinking they were well hidden.

  The ship listed to one side and Tol snatched at his bowl before it slid from the galley’s table. He peered into it and spooned some gruel experimentally. It had the consistency and appearance of milky water. Maybe I should have let it fall.

  ‘Porridge,’ Kartane explained cheerfully. His own bowl, Tol noticed, was already empty.

  ‘Are you sure?’ There were some lumps in the liquid but Tol couldn’t tell what they were.

  ‘Fairly.’

  Tol tried a mouthful. It tasted like milky water, too. He ate it – though there was more slurping than actual chewing involved – and hoped the weak mixture would satisfy his rumbling stomach. By the time he’d emptied the bowl he had noticed that the galley was now empty except for the corner table where he sat with his companions. It had been silent, he realised, for five minutes.

  Tol slid the bowl away and looked up. ‘We’re going to Siadendre.’

  ‘Do you have to shout?’ Isallien whispered, the fingers of one hand rubbing the side of his head.

  ‘Sorry,’ Tol whispered. Kartane was grinning more than ever, he noticed. Tol leaned round Isallien and peered down the table. ‘The Gurdal are on their way there, too,’ he told the others.

  ‘Where else would they go?’ Victoria snapped. Some of her bruises had begun to fade, but the woman’s temper hadn’t softened.

  Tol bit back a retort and took a slow breath. ‘They will likely be at the gates when we arrive,’ he said quietly. Everyone stopped, and for a moment Tol though they were all frozen as in a painting. ‘Stetch and I are still going,’ he said, ‘but our chances… you should maybe think about staying on board.’

  ‘That,’ Suranna announced from the table’s far end, ‘is an even worse rallying speech than the last one, Sir Tol. You should really end on something positive, try and generate some enthusiasm.’ Her face was pale, but Tol caught the hint of a nervous smile.

  ‘That was the positive version,’ he muttered.

  Kartane laughed, the sudden outburst startling the women. ‘Told you it would be a grand adventure,’ he said. ‘Storm into a city under siege, rescue a maiden – albeit a grumpy, sour-tongued one – and make our escape before the city’s lost. Now if that ain’t an adventure to echo through the ages then I don’t know what is! What do you say, Isallien? A daring rescue like that’ll make us legends!’ Kartane leaned forward. ‘A tale like that might mean we never have to pay for a drink again.’

  Isallien had been cringing at Kartane’s loud enthusiasm. He opened his eyes and peered across the table. ‘A rescue like that,’ he whis
pered hoarsely, ‘will make us dead.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ Kartane half-shouted, snorting a laugh as Isallien clutched his head. ‘It’s a story that’ll live down the ages. Children will beg their mothers “please, mother, tell me the story of how Kartane the Drunk, Kraven the Clumsy and the Chatty Man saved the dusky maiden from savages?”’ A sharp snort of outrage from Victoria stopped him in his tracks a moment. ‘Okay,’ Kartane held up his hands with a grin, ‘so perhaps she’s not strictly a maiden-’

  Victoria hurled herself over the table with a high-pitched cry, crashing into Kartane and sending him toppling backward off the bench. Even as Tol saw the pair tumble, Stetch twisted in his seat, somehow untangling Victoria and scooping her up as he rose to his feet, the bench sliding back with a grinding groan.

  Tol heard Kartane hit the floor with an oomph that only briefly interrupted his braying laughter.

  ‘Let me go!’ Victoria screamed, struggling as Stetch held her firmly, her legs swinging wildly into the bench. ‘How can you let him say that? Let me go, damn you!’

  ‘Enough,’ Stetch growled, in a tone that caused Tol to jump in his seat and even quietened Victoria.

  ‘But… you heard what he said, Stetch.’

  The warrior lowered Victoria gently until her feet touched the ground, although Tol noticed he didn’t release his arms. ‘Useful in a fight,’ Stetch grunted.

  ‘But he said—’

  ‘You want your sister alive?’ Stetch hissed in her ear, just loud enough for Tol to hear. He watched as the back of Victoria’s head bobbed in muted agreement. ‘Then we need him,’ Stetch growled.

  ‘He’s a drunkard and a letch.’

  ‘Killer,’ Stetch corrected, his tone softening. ‘What we need.’

  Tol saw Victoria sag in Stetch’s grip, her anger fading to embers. ‘I understand.’ Her voice was a faint whisper like breath in a breeze. Stetch released her a moment later, and Tol watched as Victoria strode briskly around the table and back to her seat with perfect dignity as though nothing untoward had happened at all.

  Just like her sister, Tol thought as Stetch held out a hand to Kartane and hauled the knight to his feet. Tol heaved a sigh of relief then started as Stetch boot’s shot up to kick Kartane square in the plums, dropping him to his knees. ‘Friendly warning,’ Stetch declared, turning his back on Kartane and sliding back onto the bench. Stetch didn’t look back as Kartane hauled himself upright, and Tol knew there weren’t many people who would take such a risk with a man of Kartane’s reputation.

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Sorry?’ Tol glanced down the table to Rachel.

  ‘How do you know the Gurdal will reach Siadendre first?’ Rachel explained in the tones a mother might use with a particularly dim-witted child. Judging by the dark expression, Tol figured the nun already knew the answer.

  ‘The angel told me.’

  Suranna gasped in surprise, and even Bruna looked shocked, but Rachel just nodded. ‘We would have liked to meet her,’ she said, ‘but you already knew that.’

  Tol nodded. ‘She came when I was alone. Had anyone else been there she would have left.’ It was true, Kalashadria had avoided being seen by other humans as much as possible, but Tol knew that deep down he didn’t want anyone else to see her; he wanted his time with the angel to be just them, and not shared with anyone else.

  Kartane cleared his throat. ‘Not very sociable is our angel.’

  ‘You’ve met her?’ Rachel’s voice was a high whine that hurt Tol’s ears.

  ‘I met her that night outside Drayken’s estate,’ Kartane said. He frowned. ‘You wouldn’t have wanted to see her like that.’

  ‘Will this creature help us rescue my sister?’ Victoria asked.

  ‘No,’ Tol sighed, ‘not with the Gurdal so close; it is too much of a risk and we cannot lose her.’

  ‘Some sense at last,’ Isallien muttered beside him.

  ‘So,’ Rachel said, drawing out the word like a death rattle, ‘you don’t know where in the city your friend is being taken, nor whether the Gurdal will already be within the walls, and you intend to go in anyway – alone – and then hope for the best that you can get out again alive before the Gurdal skewer you.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘It’s a grand adventure,’ Kartane declared, ‘we’ll live on for centuries in legend!’

  ‘I should think,’ Rachel said, ‘that we will be lucky to live for a day.’ She looked to Bruna opposite her then added, ‘but we swore an oath; we will accompany you.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Do not thank me,’ Rachel snapped. ‘You are too stupid and stubborn to see how foolish this is, and we will most likely die in the first five minutes.’

  Kartane threw up his hands. ‘Did you all not hear when I said this was an adventure? It’s going to be fun – just like the last one.’ He ignored the derisory snort from Stetch.

  Their last adventure, Tol remembered, had seen his best friend die in his arms. He bit his tongue and remained silent.

  *

  The Sea Crow’s rear deck was almost deserted when Tol stepped out into the mid-morning brightness. He leaned against the port rail next to a heavyset mercenary pretending to be busy with some rope while surreptitiously watching the spectacle unfolding. Occasionally he stopped to snigger.

  Tol watched as Kartane put Suranna and the nuns through their paces in the middle of the deck, slowly correcting their stance and forcing them through a series of standard fighting stances and movements. The women were undisciplined, Tol saw at once, but despite Kartane’s harsh reprimands the women set themselves to the task of following his drill instructions.

  Again and again Kartane corrected each weakness of posture, each lazy stroke. He didn’t hold back in his criticism, but Tol was surprised at how patient the knight was with the women considering, well, considering he was Kartane.

  Tol’s headache was receding, and he stood in the burgeoning sunshine enjoying the gentle noise of the sea around him and the faint smell of home that saltwater always brought.

  ‘Women shouldn’t fight.’

  Isallien’s voice was quiet, and Tol saw he was still suffering from last night’s drinking with Kartane, but there was no mistaking the distaste in the Meracian’s voice.

  ‘Havakkian women fight.’ The memory of Vixen’s loss was still strong in Tol’s mind, and he found himself grinding his teeth.

  ‘Battlefields are no place for women, Kraven. And these three won’t stand a chance against the Gurdal.’

  ‘They’ve earned the right to be here,’ Tol replied hotly. ‘Where were the Seven when I needed them?’

  ‘I do not dispute their right,’ Isallien said, his tone low and measured. ‘I only question their skills. A day of training will make no difference.’

  ‘A day is all we have.’

  ‘Bring them ashore with us and you’ll damn them to death at Gurdal hands – if they’re lucky.’

  Tol bit back a retort and sighed. ‘I cannot deny them,’ he said quietly, ‘not after all they have done. If things are as bad in Siadendre as I suspect, we’ll need every sword arm we can find, and I don’t care who wields it as long as the sword hits the mark.’

  ‘I understand your predicament,’ Isallien said gently, ‘but you know as well as I that it is folly to bring them with us.’

  Tol shook his head. ‘Already I see their strengths emerging under Kartane’s guidance. Look,’ he pointed to the trio as Kartane barked orders. ‘Bruna is stronger than most men and only lacks the precision required to wield a heavy weapon. Rachel is swift as a fox, and only lacks confidence – see how quickly she snaps back into guard? And as for Suranna, I’ve seen her duel and she’s as fast as any man. She took down Drayken’s son, you know.’

  Isallien started. ‘The word in High Mera was that Drayken’s death came at your hands.’

  ‘I took the blame so that his family would not hunt Suranna down, but she killed him and I did for the other two.’

 
; Isallien was quiet for a few minutes, ignoring Tol as he followed the women’s movements while Kartane drilled them again and again. ‘You see much,’ he said finally. ‘Perhaps they would become competent warriors given time, but we do not have that luxury.’

  ‘No,’ Tol agreed, ‘so we’ll have to make do with what we’ve got.’

  Isallien turned away from the sword practice. ‘Did you truly claim the Drayken boy’s death as your own handiwork to help the girl?’

  Tol nodded absently. Rachel’s lips were tightly pursed, and he thought she was only minutes away from attacking Kartane. Surely he can see that? Then again, Kartane wasn’t known for giving a damn what anyone else thought.

  ‘That was a brave thing to do,’ Isallien said. ‘A knightly act.’

  Tol laughed. ‘Yeah, just a shame that I had to get into a duel with a girl to do it!’

  ‘True,’ Isallien said, ‘that was a foolish mistake, but it does not diminish your actions.’ He turned back to the practice session. ‘Perhaps I have misjudged you.’

  ‘I’m still going to rescue Katarina.’

  ‘I know. You realise we will probably die trying?’

  ‘Yes.’ Tol was surprised how easily the word came, but now he thought about it, he had known all along, known since he had seen Calderon’s ship sail from High Mera. Another foolish task for a fool who ought to know better by now. The difference, he knew, was that this was one he had chosen for himself: not a job for the Reve, the Seven, or Kalashadria.

  ‘Where’s the book?’

  Tol grimaced. Angel’s Truth had been nothing but trouble since the day it had fallen into his hands. It seems I’ve been running ever since. Mostly from one enemy or another. He smiled. It made a nice change to be running to something, even if it was his own death.

  ‘Safe,’ he told Isallien.