Angel's Knight (Angelwar Book 3)

by A. J. Grimmelhaus

‘Is Duke val Sharvina’s son,’ Tol finished. ‘You need to be sure about this, Kal. We don’t have time to search the rest of the city and we’ll only get one chance to surprise them.’

  ‘I’m sure.’

  ‘We should probably have a closer look,’ said Kartane.

  Tol glanced at his friend but Kartane looked perfectly innocent, which was all the warning Tol needed: Kartane never looked innocent. ‘I hope you’re not planning on that distraction you used in Meracia,’ he said. A naked Kartane stumbling through the city was something he didn’t want to ever see.

  ‘No sense of adventure,’ Kartane muttered, and Tol realised that was exactly what the knight had been thinking.

  ‘Do you think we could circle around?’ Tol asked him. ‘If we could sneak into the back of the church…’

  ‘Good view,’ Kartane agreed. ‘The tower should let us see how the guards outside are arrayed.’ He slapped Tol on the back. ‘Let’s go break into a church.’

  *

  ‘This seems wrong.’

  Tol peeked out over the window sill. ‘You can’t break into your own home,’ he said. ‘This is kind of the same thing.’

  ‘It’s for a good cause,’ Kartane added. ‘We’re trying to save the world.’

  ‘By saving one girl?’ Kal sounded dubious.

  Tol raised the eyeglass and scanned the manor across the road. The wall was easily six feet high, with a single gated entrance at the front. A dozen yards of open space encircled the house itself with not an ounce of cover anywhere.

  ‘It’s complicated,’ Kartane said.

  Tol counted three pairs of patrolling guards in the grounds, plus four men at the gate. There’ll be more inside, he thought, tilting the spyglass up and scanning the windows. Unlike most of the other buildings in the city, this one was built from imported stone that Tol guessed had come from Meracia. There were three floors in total, each with eight large windows. A lot to search, he thought, ducking down below the sill and handing Kartane the spyglass. By the time we’ve search all the rooms, Calderon could already have killed Katarina. They had all misjudged the Meracian lord, but if he really was allied with the Gurdal then Tol thought he’d happily kill Katarina if he was cornered.

  Kartane knelt down and handed back the spyglass. ‘Smaller than the last mansion,’ he said.

  ‘You’ve done this before?’ asked Kal.

  ‘Don’t you worry,’ Kartane grinned as he wrapped an arm round Kal’s shoulder. ‘Me and your cousin are old hands at this. You could say we’re experts in this kind of adventure.’ He glanced at Tol. ‘They’ll be expecting us. Even if we take them by surprise it won’t last long.’

  Tol understood the look perfectly: Kartane knew Calderon would likely have time to kill Katarina before they could reach her. He sighed. ‘If only Kalashadria was here, she could drop me on the roof. I’d be able to sneak in and get to Katarina before anyone knew what was happening.’

  ‘Wishing won’t make it so,’ Kartane said. He ran a hand through his greasy hair and looked out over the sill. ‘Good idea though, lad. Can’t fault that. Right, let’s go see if there’s a back way in; going in through those gates might not be much fun.’

  Tol nodded and crawled away from the window. ‘An archer or two up here might help if we have to go in through the front,’ he said.

  ‘Just what I was thinking,’ said Kartane.

  Tol watched him tiptoe down the rickety wooden stairs. I think like Kartane? He didn’t think it was something to be proud of.

  *

  They were all clustered around a single table, drinks in hand as they surveyed Tol’s handiwork. He put the charcoal down and wiped the dust on his trousers.

  ‘Getting in is going to be the hard part,’ Tol said. He picked up his mug of ale and glanced round at his audience. The nuns were once again in their grey dresses – newly dried in front of the fire – and stood on either side of him. Kal, Benvedor, and the other two Reve knights stood to Tol’s left, while Salazar, Victoria, and the two Sworn men lingered on the right, Isallien looming between them and the nuns. Stetch stood alone directly opposite Tol, his eyes rooted to the charcoal map while his fingers stroked a mug of ale like a favourite weapon. His limited patience seemed to be dwindling with every moment they waited.

  ‘The front of the building is on a broad street,’ Tol explained, pointing to the drawing. ‘It faces a junction, so you’ve got three approaches, and the gate guards will have a good view of anyone coming long before you can close the distance.’

  Stetch grunted, and pointed to the rear of the grounds.

  ‘The back’s not much better,’ Tol said. ‘There’s a high wall that runs all the way round, plus there’s three pairs of patrolling guards; by the time we kill the first pair, the second will be coming round the corner. The place is bordered on three sides by neighbouring houses, so we could go in over two or three walls at once, but the alarm will be raised before we’re even inside and I think we have to assume Calderon will kill Katarina if we corner him.’ Tol looked up and heard Stetch’s grunt of agreement just as Kartane clambered out of the cellar, his arms laden with a variety of equipment as he whistled My Meracian Lady.

  ‘Don’t you worry about that,’ Kartane said cheerfully. ‘You remember when we broke into Tirian’s castle? I reckon this is going to be even more fun.’

  Tol sighed. I have a bad feeling about this. Kartane looked more mischievous than ever, and there was no way that whatever he had in mind wasn’t dangerous or stupid. Probably both.

  ‘Fat man?’ Kartane turned to Benvedor. ‘Who’s your best archer?’

  The knight ignored Kartane, instead addressing Salazar. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘but we cannot help you in this; we must take word of the Gurdal numbers back to the Reve.’

  ‘I understand,’ Katarina’s brother replied across the table as Tol felt his heart sink. We need them, he thought. Kal and three Knights Reve could make all the difference.

  ‘This is more important.’

  Tol looked up and saw Isallien glaring at Benvedor.

  Benvedor shook his head. ‘I have my orders. Our brothers and the army are depending on the information to plan their strategy. I’m sorry, Isallien, but that’s more important than the life of a Sudalrese noble.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Isallien conceded, ‘but it is not more important than the life of Tol Kraven. We need a figurehead the men can rally around. More than that, we need a man who’s fought and killed demons.’

  ‘Then stop this foolishness. Knock the boy out and we’ll carry him out the city and leave the Sworn to sort out their own mess.’

  A soft hiss broke the silence and Tol saw Stetch’s thumb on the hilt of his sword, an inch of steel flicked from the scabbard. ‘Try it,’ he growled.

  ‘That won’t be necessary,’ Isallien said smoothly. ‘Benvedor will join us on the assault.’

  ‘No. I have my orders.’

  ‘Consider them countermanded,’ Isallien said, ‘by order of the Seven.’

  Benvedor snorted. ‘You? Don’t try and pull that on me, boy, I know who the Seven are and you aren’t one of them.’

  ‘My father is dead. I have taken his place.’

  Benvedor muttered an apology. ‘Doesn’t change a thing,’ he argued. ‘My orders came from one of the Seven, and it’ll take more than one to countermand them.’

  Isallien smiled. ‘Then you are lucky that there are two of us in this room.’

  ‘Don’t you dare tell me Kartane’s one them,’ Benvedor barked, ‘else we might as well offer our throats to the Gurdal right now!’

  ‘It’s me,’ Catardor said softly. ‘Isallien brought news that my uncle was assassinated.’

  ‘And you agree with him?’ Benvedor asked.

  ‘No,’ Catardor said, ‘but I trust Isallien’s judgement. If he believes we need Kraven to lead the Reve against the Gurdal then we must see that he survives.’

  Benvedor grumbled but reluctantly agreed, much to Tol’s relief. For
a moment, it looked like a bloodbath was about to unfold.

  ‘Right,’ Kartane said, ‘so who’s your best archer, fat man?’

  ‘My squire.’

  ‘Kal?’ Catardor asked. ‘Really?’

  Benvedor nodded. ‘Good as any.’

  Tol saw Kartane toss a quiver across the table, a single arrow sticking out. ‘That’s the most important arrow you’ll ever loose,’ he said, ‘because if you get it wrong I’ll gut you.’ He glared stonily across the table for a moment to make his point then spun and strode towards the bar. ‘Right,’ he called over his shoulder, ‘you lot come up with a plan while I see about denying the Gurdal supplies.’

  Salazar, Benvedor and Isallien all spoke up at once, their voices rising to be heard as each tried to take control.

  ‘Shut up!’ Stetch roared, his voice a feral whine. The others quietened and Stetch pointed at Tol. ‘Plan,’ he grunted.

  ‘He’s hardly experienced,’ Benvedor began, falling silent as Stetch glared at him.

  ‘He’s more experience at breaking into fortresses than anyone here,’ Kartane shouted from the bar. ‘Except me.’

  ‘We don’t have time to spare on arguing,’ Salazar said. ‘Dawn will be here soon and the Gurdal not long after that.’ He looked to Tol. ‘Stetch trusts you and that’s good enough for me. What would you have us do?’

  Tol looked down at the sketched map of the house and its grounds. ‘The main force will go in through the front gate,’ he said, one finger tapping the table.

  ‘Need a distraction,’ Kartane called. He ambled over towards the group, a mug of ale in his hand.

  ‘Not again,’ Rachel said firmly. ‘There will be no half-dressed women in this plan,’ she told Tol.

  ‘I wouldn’t suggest that,’ Kartane said, feigning a hurt look. ‘I put a lot of time into thinking of something suitable on our voyage here.’

  Rachel didn’t look convinced, but Tol asked anyway. ‘What’s your idea?’

  Kartane grinned. ‘I like to call this one the Kissing Lady Distraction. What we do is get two of the girls and—’

  ‘No,’ Rachel said. ‘Forget it.’

  ‘I put a lot of time into that plan,’ Kartane said. He sounded genuinely disappointed as he looked to Tol. ‘They’ll be so busy watching the nuns kissing the lads will be able to sneak up and kill the guards in seconds.’

  ‘Don’t have time for this,’ Stetch growled.

  Tol nodded; every moment they waited left Katarina in danger. ‘I’m sorry, Kartane, but it won’t work, there’s just too many guards to sneak up on all of them.’ He jabbed at the map again. ‘Salazar, you’ll lead your men over the back wall. Once the alarm is raised, attention will be on the main force at the front gates so if you time it right there should only be a few at the back. Your job will be to kill the guards at the back as quickly and quietly as possible. While the others are drawn to the front, you should be able to sneak in up the back stairs.’ Tol looked him in the eye. ‘If Kartane and I fail, it will be down to you to get to her before Calderon does.’

  Tol stabbed the front entrance with his finger. ‘The second group will be nearly everyone else, and your job will be the most difficult.’ He looked up and met the eyes of the others, knowing that some he might not see alive again. ‘They’ll be expecting an assault from the front. You have to get through the gate quickly, before they can pin you down.’ Tol moved his finger down. ‘Kal will be up here in the church tower with his bow.’ He caught a glimpse of Stetch’s malevolent glare, the barest twitch of his eyes towards Victoria. ‘There’s several floors,’ he continued, feigning thought. ‘Yes, two, I think.’ Tol looked up. ‘Victoria will be on the floor below Kal.’

  ‘No,’ she squeaked, ‘I’m going with the others.’ She glared at Stetch. ‘This is your idea!’

  ‘No,’ Tol said, ‘it’s mine. I know the capabilities of the others, but you’re still recovering from your own capture. It’s too risky to let you go in with the others.’

  Victoria was about to say something, her mouth parting then closing again as she frowned up at Tol. ‘The others? Where will you be?’

  Tol stabbed the crude map. ‘Kartane and I are going to try something really stupid.’

  Stetch nodded, a slight smile on his lips as he realised what Tol was planning. ‘Going with you,’ he grunted.

  Tol shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, but I need you to lead the main group.’ He held up a hand as Stetch opened his mouth. ‘If everyone charges in at once the alarm will be raised long before you reach the gates, but a single man might walk right up to the gates…’

  Stetch nodded, a wild grin spreading across his face.

  Tol almost felt sorry for the guards waiting at the gate. Almost.

  17.

  I am Death.

  The trick, Stetch knew, was to appear like just another drunk wastrel staggering through the streets one last time before the city fell and the Gurdal most likely murdered anyone they saw. Some of the Sworn were good at things like this, pretending they were someone else, acting like they liked you when really all they wanted to do was ram a foot of steel through your chest, or generally not looking like the most dangerous animal in the human food chain. Stetch never bothered with things like that, he liked life nice and simple: if somebody needs killing then take the shortest, most direct path to them and murder anyone who gets in the way.

  In the absence of skills in deception and subterfuge – skills which the Black Duke’s offspring seemed to have been born with – Stetch settled for acting like the most foolhardy, ignorant drunkard he had ever met. He staggered along the street in a carefully plotted weave, occasionally slurping from the frothing mug of ale in his hand. The guards had seen him as he stepped from the narrow alley into the wider street.

  What would Kartane do? he thought, one foot intentionally striking a loose stone in the dust. Stetch stopped, swaying as he peered down at the offending rock. He swore at it profusely, sure that Kartane would almost certainly do the same thing. He slurped at the ale again, and resumed his erratic ramble. Stetch could see the church tower in his periphery, looming ahead on the right, but was careful not to look that way; that was what amateurs did, and Stetch took pride in his work.

  This is too slow. She was so close Stetch could almost hear her screeching voice, but between them lay a fortified house and enough guards to make getting to the duke’s daughter interesting. The urge to run headlong into the clot of guards at the front gate was almost overwhelming. There were four he could see, and there’d be more just inside the gates.

  Another noisy slurp of ale, and Stetch started whistling a tune, careful to maul it almost beyond recognition and pepper it with the occasional curse. Exactly what that fool northman would do.

  They were only yards away now, and a brief glance up from the road showed disinterested expressions on the faces of the men. Stetch veered to his right, weaving away from the guards. He tilted his body left and let his momentum take him back towards them as he drew level with the guards and heard one of them sigh at his drunken display.

  What would Kartane do? Stetch thought about it for a second as he tottered past the first guards and stumbled to a halt in front of the open gates.

  ‘I need a drink,’ he slurred. Kartane would probably say something that he thought was funny at this point. Or announce himself, wasting valuable killing time. Stetch looked up as one of the guards stepped away from the wall, and told Stetch to be on his way.

  Fuck that, Stetch thought. He downed the dregs of his ale, and drew as the guard stepped in range.

  ‘One,’ he breathed as the perfect draw severed the man’s windpipe. He slithered forward, taking another by surprise before he could draw.

  Two.

  Another on the right had his sword half-out. Stetch made sure he didn’t need it.

  Three.

  The last man had already drawn, reacting quickly as shapes moved the other side of the wall. The rush of adrenaline had the guard over-extendi
ng his lunge, and Stetch glided past him, opening the man’s jugular on the way; a final lesson as to why calmness was more valuable than enthusiasm.

  Four.

  He passed through the stone arch, deflecting the expected lunge as a shadow loomed to his right. Men don’t die quiet, Stetch reflected as he let his momentum carry him through, shapes closing in around him. A cry of alarm went up nearby as he leaped forward, sliding his sword through one man’s chest on his way.

  Five.

  There were two under the porch guarding the entrance, but Stetch ignored them; they were still twenty yards away. He spun back towards the gate as he sensed the nearest guards reach him, backpedalling as two swords weaved towards him.

  They’re good, he thought as something buzzed over his head. Good girl. A moment later another arrow whistled by in the wake of the first, but Stetch was being hard-pressed by two of the guards, timing their attacks so he had no chance of countering them. I don’t have time for this.

  The big man on his left stepped in close, and Stetch moved to his left, trying to put the man between him and the other one. The impact jarred his teeth as their swords met at neck height, the large mercenary trying to use his weight to force his blade beyond Stetch’s own and into his torso. Stetch grunted as he thrust forward, pushing his opponent’s blade away, just for a fraction of second before it returned. His foot snapped out, straight into the man’s knee. As the guard screamed, Stetch was already moving, disengaging as the second man rounded his fellow and lunged.

  Stetch jerked his body, felt the sword brush his tunic as his own weapon swung in an arc and buried itself in the man’s neck. As the guard crumpled to his knees, Stetch lifted the sword carefully out of his hand as his eyes sought out new targets.

  Six.

  The way to the door was clear, the rest of the guards in a bloody press just inside the gates with the knights and nuns furiously trying to break through.

  Just me, he thought. Fine with me. Stetch looked down at the guard whose knee he had shattered. He flicked his left wrist towards him, an unfamiliar weight in his hand.

  Seven. The balance was quite good. Stetch marched towards the door. I’m coming, girl.