Angel's Knight (Angelwar Book 3)

by A. J. Grimmelhaus

  You had no need of guidance, Irrin’Orlif whispered. The shock, the sheer surprise of having surpassed her sword’s teachings lowered Kalashadria’s guard. Pain came rushing through a forgotten link and she suddenly remembered the world around her. Tol!

  She spun away from the corpses, springing towards her remaining foe as it towered over him, sword raised ready to deliver the final blow. It was already falling, and she knew that even with the superior speed of the High Anghl it was too late.

  ‘No!’

  48.

  The blurred blobs in Tol’s vision began to resolve themselves into distinct shapes at precisely the wrong moment. The demon loomed large over him, its square jaw twisted in a savage grin.

  This is the end, he thought.

  The demon took another step forward, its thick, powerful legs within a few feet of Tol’s prone body. Breathing was difficult, his shirt stuck to his chest by sticky liquid which was already cooling.

  I’ve failed, Tol thought. He tried again to sit up, and this time managed to get himself up onto one elbow. His vision blurred again as a new wave of pain coursed through his body.

  A face appeared unbidden in his mind’s eye, its perpetual scowl judging his failure. I love you, he thought, and I’m sorry. The demon took one more step towards him, its black sword rising. Tol’s final thought was of Katarina. Life together would have been wonderful. He was tired. Tol closed his eyes.

  Darkness slowed time, the moment before his death stretching on and on. The sound came first, a grunt of effort as the demon put its arms to work. Death was coming for him, coming at last. It took its time, Tol’s skin crawling as he waited for the final blow to reach his battered body.

  Another sound reached him, close as the first: a sound not of death but the scrape of steel against a hard surface. Again it came, and again, and twice more in quick succession. A strange, atonal sound that set the teeth on edge. A familiar sound. The sound of a sword against a demon’s hide. The grunt he had heard had been accompanied by that discordant sound: a grunt of surprise, not effort. He knew it was true, knew because he wasn’t yet dead.

  Tol opened his eyes.

  A knight stood to his right, sword moving in a quicksilver blur. The human-forged steel passed the demon’s guard again and again, sparks flying as the steel scored along the dark hide.

  The knight edged away from Tol, circling around the demon and backing away. The demon took a step away from him, following the knight and launching an attack of its own.

  Tol blinked, his vision clearing. He saw the knight’s long, wavy hair, his proud chin tilted in defiance at the demon. Valeron. The knight fell back another step under the demon’s furious assault and took the demon another stride away from Tol.

  He knows he can’t kill it, Tol thought. Valeron – the last knight he would have expected – was sacrificing himself so Tol could survive. He pushed himself up into a sitting position, a tidal wave of pain sweeping through his abdomen. He drew a ragged breath, his chest burning with the movement. Or he’s trying to redeem his family’s name. Tol knew what that was like.

  He rolled onto his right hip, one hand planted in the sand. It couldn’t last, human-forged steel was no match for the weapons of the demons. Tol got himself onto his knees and grabbed the hilt of Illis’Andiev. Valeron and the demon were half a dozen paces away. The demon launched a mighty slash across Valeron’s body, every ounce of its strength behind it. The black metal sliced through Valeron’s sword, leaving the knight holding a hilt with a foot of sheared steel. Tol watched as Valeron stared dumbly at the broken sword, his mouth forming an O. The demon cackled and swung again as Tol got his left leg out from under him. Valeron launched himself backwards. Not quickly enough, Tol realised as he heard a cry and saw blood bloom on Valeron’s white tabard.

  The demon began hawing with dark malice and took another step towards the injured knight, as Tol put a hand on his knee and tried to force himself upright. He grunted with effort, but still couldn’t get himself standing. The demon fell silent.

  Tol looked up, and saw the demon was again looking at him, ignoring the injured Valeron as he stumbled away, a bright red stain spreading across the front of his tabard.

  Oh, bugger, Tol thought as the demon took a step towards him, its easier prey forgotten. Tol picked up Illis’Andiev, reversing the grip and using it as a crutch to help him stand. He rose an inch as the demon took another step towards him, the distance between them halved. Too late, he thought as the demon towered over him.

  A large figure burst into view, thick legs propelling her across the open ground. She reached the demon – its red eyes rooted on Tol – and swung a huge mace into the demon’s path. The head-sized lump of spiked steel slammed into the demon’s face, the force of the blow knocking it back a step.

  Tol blinked and Bruna stood in front of him, a broken haft in her hands. She tossed it aside as the demon staggered back, shaking its head. The nun drew a heavy broadsword and Tol heard three blows crash against the demon’s rough hide. He levered himself upright as a dark shape exploded out of Bruna’s back, accompanied by a low moan. The broadsword fell from her hands and the demon withdrew its sword. It leaned forward and backhanded her across the face. Tol heard a sickening crack as Bruna’s feet left the ground, the nun skidding sideways across the sand and landing in a motionless heap twelve yards away.

  Tol straightened up as the demon stepped forward, its mouth twisted in a cruel sneer. White spittle flecked its jaw, reminding him of a rabid dog, and Tol felt something icy grip his stomach. He could barely stand and the demon was angry and uninjured. Not, he thought, a good combination.

  The demon’s arm flicked out in a casual swipe, and Tol parried, his arms shaking from the impact. It’s toying with me, he realised, testing my strength before it—

  The demon slid forward, arms raised high. It brought the sword down in an overhead swing and Tol lifted Illis’Andiev to block. The demon’s sword crashed against his own, but didn’t retreat. The demon leaned forward, trying to drive its sword down through Tol’s own. He groaned under the force, Illis’Andiev held above his head. Inch by inch the demon slowly brought its sword down, further and further. The edge slowly descended, less than a foot from the top of Tol’s skull. He tried to force the sword away, but the demon’s strength was too great. It descended further, and Tol felt his knees buckle under the pressure. He began to sink to the sand, each miniscule motion giving the demon greater leverage.

  Tol growled, and tried to force Illis’Andiev higher, tried to turn the demon’s blade aside. To the right of the demon, he could see Kalashadria some twenty yards distant. She slipped between her opponents, sword moving in a blur, and Tol knew she was only moments away from victory.

  She won’t make it in time, he realised. His eyes darted left, flicking along the edge of the circle where knights and Sworn battled against a tide of Gurdal warriors. He picked her out easily, just ahead of him at the very edge of the circle, Stetch beside her. Katarina glanced over her shoulder as Tol sank down another inch, his legs burning with pain as the demon tried to drive its sword through his skull with brute force.

  Their eyes met and Tol felt his heart beat faster, a new strength settling into his limbs. She held his gaze, heedless of the battle raging around them. Tol caught a glimpse of movement, saw the Gurdal warrior taking a step towards her, sword glinting in the sunlight as it rose.

  ‘No!’

  Tol thrust his arms with the last of his strength, twisting Illis’Andiev so the demon’s blade slid down its length. He brought Illis’Andiev to the vertical, folding it over the demon’s sword as it slashed past his left shoulder. He felt a stab of pain as it took a chunk of his shoulder with it, but Tol was already moving, left hand reaching for his belt. He sent the dagger on its way with a flick of his wrist and glimpsed its flight towards Katarina. He brought Illis’Andiev up, knowing that half-second he had used to the dagger would cost him, would give it time to recover. Tol flicked the sword point ahea
d of him, extending his arm and driving the tip through the demon’s chest as the demon’s arm twitched, fire licking Tol’s left side. A cry escaped Tol’s lips as agony burned through him, the demon’s jaw falling open. Something flashed past in a blur, and suddenly the demon’s head was rolling from its neck, Kalashadria standing behind it.

  Tol forced his eyes back to Katarina, and saw the Gurdal in front of her struggling to drag Tol’s dagger from his throat. He smiled. Illis’Andiev fell from his fingers as Tol dropped to his knees.

  I saved her, he thought as the world swam in and out of focus. Blood was pouring down his side and he felt cold. It was worth it.

  *

  The headless corpse dropped to the sand, giving Kalashadria an unobscured view of her knight. His legs and arms were slick with blood, adorned with numerous shallow cuts. A flap of skin was hanging from his shoulder, three small pools of blood sat in the centre of his chest, a smear of sand beneath them. A footprint, Kalashadria realised as his glassy eyes tried to focus on her. Talons made those cuts.

  Tol swayed, and she could feel how much it cost him just to stand before her. The chest wound was more than just a scratch from talons: she could feel his pain, the sharp ache of flesh where the foot had impacted his chest. Broken ribs, she guessed. Maybe worse. It was bad, but that wasn’t the worst of it. A fresh wound was spilling blood down his left side, a deep cut where his latest opponent had nicked him even as he had skewered it with Galandor’s sword. It started underneath his armpit, curving round his body and across the left side of his chest. Not too deep, she thought as she looked closer, but bad nonetheless. She sighed as he blinked, his face pale. And the worst of it is he knew what he was doing. She had seen the tiny missile fly away and dart into the press of bodies. That moment’s delay in bringing his sword to bear had earned him the wound, although its force was blunted by his enemy’s sudden death. From what she had sensed through their bond, Tol had known he was leaving his side unprotected and thrown the dagger anyway. She hadn’t bothered looking to see where the blade was bound; she already knew.

  ‘I killed it first.’

  His words were slurred slightly, his voice desperately tired, but he still managed a weak grin.

  Kalashadria shrugged, a tiny smile forming on her lips. ‘It might have survived,’ she said. She gestured at the corpse with her sword. ‘Cutting its head off made sure.’

  She expected him to grin, or maybe make some argument, but Tol remained silent. His gaze, she noticed, had slid past her, and he was peering north towards the city gates.

  ‘Is that…’ His voice was a hoarse croak. ‘Is that Demmegrahk?’

  Kalashadria turned. A large black shape was skimming over the crowds of human warriors, its shadowy wings spanning a fearful distance. A grinning maw was jutting from the monster’s head, its blazing red eyes fixed on her. It swept over the crowd, arrowing straight towards them.

  ‘No,’ she said, suddenly feeling cold. ‘Something much worse.’

  49.

  ‘Much worse?’

  Tol stared at the black outline, rapidly growing larger as it hurtled over the Gurdal towards them. What’s worse than the lord of demons?

  He licked his lips, but his tongue was dry as the sand. ‘What could be worse?’

  ‘Vidrikan.’ Her voice was small, like a child’s.

  ‘And he’s more dangerous than Demmegrahk?’

  ‘His general,’ Kalashadria confirmed, her eyes fixed on the demon. ‘The last battle here,’ she said, ‘Galandor killed his sister.’

  Oh. Tol studied the fast-approaching shape. It looked bigger than the other demons he had fought, its wingspan far greater. Taller than even Kalashadria. ‘He’s probably angry, then?’

  Kalashadria snorted, the hypnotic spell broken. She turned her head. The angel’s face was expressionless but Tol could sense an undercurrent of anxiety through their bond.

  ‘You should leave,’ she told him. ‘I doubt even Galandor could stand against him. Go live your life, Tol.’

  She turned away, as if that was the end of the discussion, simply expecting Tol to flee. That’s not who I am, he thought. He glanced at Katarina, busy in the press of bodies with Stetch fighting alongside her. She’ll probably never forgive me.

  Tol took a deep breath, watching as the demon swooped out of the street, wings flapping to a fast march. ‘Think I’ll stay,’ Tol said. ‘We’ll face him together.’

  A soft sigh escaped the angel, relief flooding through their bond. ‘Thank you,’ Kalashadria whispered.

  Tol grunted. ‘You can best him, I know you can.’ It wasn’t, he knew, the most rousing speech in the history of warfare. Better than nothing, though.

  The demon swooped over the edge of the circle, its dark, leathery wings flaring out as it dropped to the sand. It landed smoothly, wings folding behind its back as it bounced off the ground, long-legged strides eating away the distance between them.

  It’s huge, Tol thought as the demon bounded towards them. Its chest was hard, chiselled muscle, black as night. Arms and legs were far longer than the other demons, but large loaves of muscle clung to its thighs and upper arms. Looks like a black angel, he thought. But faster, he guessed, beautiful in a horrific way. And much more deadly. He swallowed.

  Kalashadria sprang forwards, and the two met in a clash of blades, sparks flying. The two swords moved in a dizzying blur that Tol could barely see, just a shimmering haze of black and white.

  Vidrikan fell back a step under the assault, the demon’s face a grim scowl. Tol held his breath as the two alien creatures fought, moving faster than he had thought possible. Kalashadria pressed her attack, the demon falling back another step.

  Tol’s throat was dry. He needed to help her, needed to face the terrible thing that opposed her, but his legs wouldn’t move.

  The demon grunted, surprised, and Tol thought he saw Kalashadria’s sword scrape its tough hide. She’s winning, he thought.

  The demon snarled, unleashing a powerful drive. Their swords clashed and the demon stepped forward, his snarling face inches from Kalashadria’s own. Tol saw the hideous thing grin as it jerked forward and headbutted the angel. The demon twisted suddenly and slammed a shoulder into her, the force of the blow sending Kalashadria flying backwards. She cried out as she sailed through the air, bouncing to the ground at Tol’s feet and sliding back past him.

  ‘No!’

  Tol realised he had moved, a single side-step to his right, placing himself between Kalashadria and the demon.

  Maybe that wasn’t such a—

  The demon surged forwards, a cruel smile twisting its maw. The black sword flashed towards him, Tol’s arms moving by habit, despite the bone-deep weariness he felt.

  ‘No,’ he growled, Illis’Andiev harrying the demon. I will not let her die.

  The demon fell back, and Tol felt the pace of the battle change as it re-evaluated him. He held it at bay, dimly aware of Kalashadria’s muddy thoughts behind him. He slid back a pace, the demon wounding his arm. Tol ignored it, but he could feel himself slowing down. Hurry, he urged Kalashadria.

  He held his ground, and the demon twice breached his guard, new wounds opening up beside the old. It’s toying with me, Tol realised. Anger boiled up within him and he saw the opening, saw the deadly dance unfold within his mind. He was moving before he realised there was even a choice.

  Illis’Andiev bounced off Vidrikan’s sword as the two swung like pendulums, clashing at the nadir of their respective arcs. Tol slid his right foot forward as the swords bounced away, grunting as he stilled the sword’s path and flicked it upwards, leaving his body exposed as Illis’Andiev scored a deep gash up the left side of Vidrikan’s chest.

  The demon snarled in pain, spittle flying from its lips. ‘I win,’ it hissed.

  Tol followed the red eyes, and saw the demon’s own weapon held out horizontally. He couldn’t see the tip. It looked like it was somewhere in his stomach. He noticed that the demon’s sword was different to the ot
hers: no barbs, just a two-finger-wide length of black metal. It’s odd the things you notice at times like this.

  The demon twisted the blade slightly, and Tol cried out.

  ‘You killed my soldiers,’ the demon hissed. ‘For that, mortal, you will suffer.’

  Tol felt the blade slide out of him, warm liquid working its way down his stomach. She’s not going to reach me in time, he realised as he sensed Kalashadria moving behind him.

  Vidrikan took a step back and pointed its sword at Tol, the red tip a few inches from his face. ‘When everyone you love is dead,’ the demon hissed, ‘remember that it was by my will.’ The demon spun away, its wings unfurling with a creak as it crouched low. It launched itself into the sky as Kalashadria reached Tol’s side.

  ‘You injured him,’ she said in a tone of wonder as they watched the dark shape fly back north. The demon rose steadily as it flew back over the army and abandoned the Gurdal.

  Tol sank to his knees, Illis’Andiev slipping from his fingers. ‘That really hurt,’ he said.

  The world went dark.

  *

  ‘They’re fleeing.’

  Patrick had that tone of wonder like a boy who’d just seen his first pair o’ titties. ‘Yeah,’ Kartane said.

  ‘But…why?’

  The fool couldn’t get his head round the idea, like he’d seen the teats but couldn’t work out what all the fuss was about.

  ‘Hard thing,’ Kartane said, ‘seeing your god’s chosen killed.’ His eyes tracked the black shape in the sky, slowly dwindling to a dot as it soared higher and higher. ‘Might have held, I reckon, if that last one hadn’t turned and fled.’

  ‘Demmegrahk is no god,’ Patrick said.

  Kartane shrugged. ‘They don’t know that.’

  Patrick was quiet a moment, his expression pained like he’d just been asked to choose his favourite tit. ‘It’s over?’

  ‘It’s never over, lad, not for the likes of us.’ Kartane turned away, and stepped into the circle of space surrounding Kraven and the angel. The Gurdal were in full retreat, a few knights – and plenty of Sworn – giving chase. Most of the men were just standing around, trying to work out how they’d got so lucky, how they were still standing despite the odds. The line of men at the circle’s edge was slowly tearing itself apart, some wandering away while others stared open-mouthed at the angel kneeling over Tol.