The Sword Of Angels (Gollancz S.F.)

by John Marco

  ‘You’re so beautiful!’ said one of them.

  ‘Beautiful,’ the other quickly agreed. Together they touched her dripping hair, playing with the strands.

  ‘Child, look here,’ said Laurella. She had walked to the other side of the room, near a small bed beneath a window. She picked up a dress from the bed and showed it to Mirage. ‘This is for you.’

  The twins cooed at the garment. It was unlike anything Mirage had ever worn, the kind of dress only princesses put on, with a skirt of emerald ruffles and white silk ties for her waist meant to accentuate her womanhood.

  ‘You’ll be the prettiest thing in the castle,’ said Laurella. ‘Like it?’

  ‘It’s very nice,’ said Mirage modestly. She had never been the prettiest thing anywhere.

  ‘Your skin is so lovely,’ said one of the girls, studying Mirage’s face with envy. ‘Like cream.’

  ‘Your hair, too,’ said the other, still twirling it between her fingers. They were both younger than Mirage, though not by much. Even so close, it was easy for Kirsil to work her magic on them, and Mirage had no fear at all that they might see through to her burned skin. Laurella came closer, studying Mirage in the mirror.

  ‘Two hours, then I’ll be back for you,’ said Laurella. ‘Sela and Meleni will take care of you.’ She put her hand on Mirage’s shoulder, gave it a reassuring squeeze, then turned and left the chamber. Mirage looked blankly at the twin maids.

  ‘What now?’

  ‘Sit and be at ease,’ the girl on her left directed. ‘We’ll make you ready for the king.’

  By the time two hours had passed, Mirage could not believe her transformation. The two vapid girls had made her into a beautiful lady. In her dress of emerald silk, Mirage twirled along the floor, studying herself in the mirror with amazement. Sela and Meleni nodded, pleased with themselves. Starting with a raw canvas, they had made Mirage into a masterpiece. Mirage stuck her face close to the mirror, studying the exactitude of her makeup and the way it made her shine. She was, in fact, the prettiest thing she had ever seen, reminiscent of her long dead mother. Pleased with their handiwork, the two maids beamed. They had brushed and curled Mirage’s hair, painted her face like artists, and dressed her in the expensive gown. Now the twins looked weary and satisfied. Leaning over the vanity table, Mirage stared down into her cleavage in disbelief. In Grimhold, she had always felt like a child. Now, with her own womanhood staring back at her, her girlish fac¸ade fell away.

  Then in the mirror Laurella appeared, pushing open the door to the chamber and peering inside hopefully. When she saw Mirage, she brightened at once.

  ‘Splendid,’ she declared. The compliment made Mirage soar. ‘How do you feel, child?’

  She wanted to say that she felt beautiful. Instead Mirage replied, ‘Afraid.’

  ‘Of course you’re afraid.’ Laurella came to stand before her, taking her hands. ‘But I promise you, no harm will come to you. You must believe me. King Raxor is not a brute. Forget what you might have heard about him.’

  ‘I’ve heard nothing of him,’ said Mirage. ‘Nor has anyone told me anything.’

  Sela and Meleni quickly agreed. ‘See Laurella? We told her nothing.’

  ‘It’s time for her to find out, then,’ said Laurella. ‘Are you ready to go? It’s time.’

  Mirage took a breath. ‘Then I’m ready.’ She turned back to the two girls. ‘Thank you for what you’ve done. Will I see you again?’

  ‘Of course,’ laughed Sela. She added, ‘We’re not going anywhere,’ implying that Mirage wasn’t going anywhere either. Mirage acknowledged her with a little wave, then followed Laurella out of the chamber.

  They were in the eastern tower of Castle Hes. According to Sela and Meleni, it was the tower of the king himself, where the royal family resided. Despite their claim that they had told Mirage nothing, the gabby maids had talked incessantly, explaining proudly how they were ‘east tower’ maids, and obviously thought themselves the betters of their west tower sisters. Mirage had seen very little of the eastern tower, but as she stepped out of the dressing chamber she got her first good look at the stunning place. Following Laurella down a wide hall, she marvelled at the paintings hung along the walls, great portraits of dead kings and their ladies, and of violent battles fought on bloodied landscapes. The walls themselves had been papered in velvet, textured gold and scarlet. Brightly polished sconces tossed dancing light across the amber floor. Maids and servants Mirage had yet to meet passed them as they walked, smiling politely or entirely averting their eyes. Self-conscious in her expensive gown, Mirage felt a blush of embarrassment at their deference.

  ‘Where are we going?’ she asked in a whisper.

  Laurella, walking quickly, replied, ‘To the drawing room.’

  ‘Drawing room? What’s that?’

  ‘The withdrawing room,’ Laurella explained. ‘Where guests go after a meal. You’ll learn all this in time.’

  Mirage wanted to protest, because she had no intention of staying Raxor’s woman that long. ‘Will there be others?’ she asked.

  ‘Just you, child. Tonight it’s all about you. Come. It’s not much further.’

  They passed more of the same elaborate paintings, turning down labyrinthine halls. Luckily, none of Raxor’s family seemed to be at home, or if they were they were otherwise engaged. Mirage put the daunting prospect of meeting them out of her mind. First, she had to meet Raxor, and if he wasn’t pleased with her . . .

  What? Back to Asher?

  ‘Here.’

  Laurella stopped in front of a pair of lacquered wooden doors. They had passed through a huge dining room to reach the portal, the table set but empty of food. Mirage felt a swell of nervousness.

  ‘The drawing room?’ she asked. ‘Is he inside?’

  ‘Child, the king doesn’t wait. You wait for him.’

  Opening the doors, Laurella revealed the dark and spacious chamber. Like the halls of the tower, it was decorated with oil paintings and bright tapestries. A fire had been lit in the hearth, and near the hearth two chairs sat, looking like miniature thrones. A small table with finely-turned legs sat beside one of the chairs, sporting a decanter of wine and two pear-shaped, crystal goblets. A musty collection of books lined the wall opposite the hearth, the shelves burdened with trinkets. The chamber smelled of age.

  ‘Should I sit?’ Mirage asked, stepping inside.

  ‘There,’ said Laurella, pointing toward one of the chairs. Near it stood a wooden veil painted with vines and roses. Like a signpost, the veil sat atop a pole. Mirage went to the chair and studied the veil.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘To block you from the fire while you sit,’ said Laurella. ‘It will keep your makeup from running.’

  Mirage thought the contraption remarkably silly. ‘You mean it will melt?’

  ‘It’s what fine ladies do, child,’ said Laurella, guiding Mirage into the chair and arranging the veil. ‘You’ll learn these things. I’ll help to teach you.’

  ‘Laurella, you’ve been kind and I’m grateful. But I don’t intend to be here that long.’

  Laurella blanched. ‘Ease your tongue. You mustn’t let the master hear you talk that way.’

  ‘I can’t be his woman,’ Mirage protested. ‘I’m no slave.’

  ‘Nor am I,’ said Laurella. ‘Now hush yourself. Behave and all will go well. I’ll see you when the king is done.’

  ‘Wait . . .’

  Too late. Laurella was already gone, closing the great doors behind her and sealing Mirage into the chamber. Mirage shifted in her plush chair, looking around. There were a thousand mementos to interest her, keepsakes from a long lifetime of battles and politics. Over the hearth stood a portrait of a handsome warrior – perhaps Raxor himself in long ago days. Mirage admired the painting, featuring the soldier on a broad white horse and holding an axe in his hand. A green flag with a snarling lion – the symbol of Reec – unfurled behind him. He was, Mirage admitted, a fetching figure. Her eyes shi
fted to the books on the shelves, then the carefully preserved trinkets. A golden goblet encrusted with sapphires twinkled by the firelight. Porcelain statues of deities watched her lifelessly from the shelves. Mirage looked away, then glimpsed something interesting on a table near her chair, opposite the wine decanter and glasses. Leaning closer, she noticed it was jewelry, a long necklace with a cameo and a matching silver bracelet. The carefully made cameo featured the profile of a striking young woman, with long hair and graceful curves to her nose and chin.

  Curious, she got out of her chair to better inspect the cameo. She picked it up, cradling it carefully in her hands, noticing its lightness and delicacy. The figure of the woman had been expertly carved into some milky, translucent stone, like alabaster.

  ‘Lovely, isn’t it?’

  Startled, Mirage nearly dropped the piece. She hurried to put it back on the table as she turned toward the doors. A man stood blocking the threshold, staring back at her. Tall and barrel-chested, his nearly bald head sprouted stubs of wiry grey hair. A finely tailored jacket fitted his wide frame over a white, ruffled shirt that looked as though it had never been worn before, so crisp were its lines. His eyes, icy green and faded like Laurella’s, fixed on her, unblinking.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she stammered. ‘I didn’t harm it.’

  The man cocked his head to study her. He was old, certainly, but hardly enfeebled, with powerful arms that flexed beneath his jacket and a thickly muscled neck. Years of sunlight had roughed his skin. His expression brightened as he watched her, full of wonder. Mirage licked her lips and searched for something to say.

  ‘Are you King Raxor?’

  The man took his time replying, stepping into the room. ‘Remarkable,’ he whispered. Whatever had entranced him escaped Mirage. In his overwhelming presence, she felt unbearably small.

  ‘I am waiting for King Raxor,’ she said timidly. ‘Are you he?’

  ‘I am Raxor,’ said the man. ‘And I am pleased to meet you – Mirage.’

  Mirage shrank back. ‘You know my name. But then, you know a great deal about me, I’m sure. Your man Corvalos Chane must have told you everything.’

  As if finally catching himself, King Raxor shook off his spell. ‘What I know of you I learned from Asher. Everything you told him has been reported to me.’ He smiled. ‘Corvalos Chane was right about you. You are staggeringly lovely.’

  The compliment unnerved Mirage. ‘Your maids have been generous to me, my lord. Thank you for that, and for releasing me from Asher. It was your word that got me out of there, no doubt.’

  ‘And it was my word that put you there in the first place,’ said Raxor.

  Mirage nodded, unsure what he meant. ‘Yes, I suppose that’s so.’

  ‘Please, sit down,’ the king directed. ‘I want to look at you. I was warned, but you are more than I expected.’

  Confused, Mirage took her chair again. ‘My lord?’

  ‘No, nothing,’ said Raxor, waving off his comment. He grinned, admiring her. ‘You’ve gladdened this old man’s heart by coming here.’

  His big, royal shadow fell over Mirage as he loomed by her chair. Because he was a king, Mirage held her questions, though he could tell they were on the tip of her tongue.

  ‘Do not worry,’ he told her. ‘You are thinking I might send you back to Asher. Never mind that. You have already been spared his talents. I would be a beast indeed to send you back there.’ King Raxor went to the decanter of wine on the table near his vacant chair. ‘I want you to be comfortable. My promise is as good as gold. You have nothing to worry about.’

  ‘I want to believe you, my lord,’ said Mirage carefully. She watched as he poured her some wine, than handed her the heavy crystal glass.

  ‘You will be well taken care of here for as long as you stay,’ replied the king. He poured himself a glass then lifted his goblet to toast her. Mirage touched his glass reluctantly with her own, watching him sip but not tasting the wine herself.

  ‘And how long will that be, my lord?’ she asked. ‘I’m confused, you see. I was captured by your man Corvalos Chane. Then I was imprisoned and mistreated. And now . . .’ She shrugged. ‘Now, my lord, I don’t know what I’m doing or why I’m here with you. No one has explained it to me, except to say that I am to be yours.’

  Raxor put down his glass. She expected her words to anger him, but his expression remained gentle, as though she were a little bird he didn’t want to frighten off.

  ‘Corvalos Chane isn’t the same as Asher,’ he said. ‘I trust Chane and always have. I do not trust Asher. There was no way you could have been left in his care and lived. I know that he frightened you, and I am sorry for that. In time, perhaps, you will see the necessity of what happened to you. Do you know why Chane was in Liiria?’

  ‘I think so,’ said Mirage. ‘He’s a spy. He was watching to see what happened there.’

  ‘I have many spies in Liiria, girl. Not all all of them are as good as Chane, however. He was watching to see what your friend, Baron Glass, did in Liiria, and what he might be planning for Reec. Don’t pretend not to know what I’m talking about. You are an old friend of Baron Glass. Asher told me that much already. He also told me that you have more knowledge of the baron and his armour than you’ve yet been willing to reveal.’

  Mirage looked down into her wine. ‘I have my secrets, my lord. Things have passed between us that I cannot reveal, not even to you.’

  ‘Glass is called the Black Baron here. Did you know that?’

  ‘I have heard that, yes,’ said Mirage. Asher had called Glass that many times.

  The king dragged the chair away from the heath so that it faced Mirage, then sat down with his glass of wine. ‘You are a gift to me, Mirage. I know you don’t understand that yet, but that is why you were spared from Asher’s prison. Corvalos Chane saw something in you.’

  ‘Something that his king would enjoy, you mean,’ bristled Mirage. ‘Am I your type, my lord? Is that why I’m to be your concubine?’

  ‘Corvalos looks out for my needs. And you are very lovely, Mirage, a great prize. No doubt he thought you would fill an emptiness in my life.’

  ‘My lord, you are the King of Reec. Surely you can have any woman you desire. What is special about me?’

  The king nodded toward the jewelry on the table. ‘That cameo – pick it up.’

  Mirage did as he asked. The piece felt heavy in her small hand. ‘It’s very lovely. Who is this woman? Someone special to you?’

  ‘Special? Yes indeed, pretty Mirage. That was made for my wife, Helea, when she was about your age. That’s her image in the stone.’ Raxor chuckled. ‘Haven’t you guessed yet? When you turn sideways, you look just like that cameo.’

  Mirage looked hard at the image. ‘You mean I look like your wife?’

  ‘My dead wife,’ Raxor corrected. ‘And you are the perfect picture of her, almost her twin. There are paintings of her all over this castle. That’s how Corvalos Chane knew how much you look like her. It’s why he brought you to me.’ The king relaxed in his tall chair. ‘I am an old man. I’ve lived a very long time, and Helea was the love of my life. When she died I died with her. But I’m still alive, and that is the hell of it, you see.’

  ‘No, my lord, I don’t see,’ argued Mirage, alarmed by the turn of the conversation. ‘I am not your wife, and I am sure I could never replace her.’

  ‘Corvalos Chane thinks otherwise. You’re a gift to mend my broken heart, Mirage, so that I can be strong again, a leader. Reec needs a leader. The world around us is caving in, and I can’t do anything to stop it. Your friend, Baron Glass – he has yet to threaten Reec directly, but he will in time. No doubt he and his bitch-queen Jazana Carr have already laid designs on my country.’

  ‘No,’ said Mirage. ‘That’s not true. I know Thorin Glass, my lord. All he ever wanted was to go back to Liiria.’

  ‘As a conqueror? You were at the great library. You saw what Baron Glass and his armies did to it, and to the rest of Koth. And Ja
zana Carr has an appetite like a dragon. To think she is satisfied is foolish. She has her greedy eyes on Reec, have no doubt of it.’

  ‘That’s why you have your armies stationed on the border,’ Mirage surmised. ‘I saw them when Chane brought me across.’

  ‘Sooner or later they will come, and we must be ready for them. I must be ready for them. But I am old and weak and my heart is broken. I have spent my life in war, and I haven’t the stomach or steel for it any longer. That is what my advisors fear, Mirage – that I will not be ready to defend Reec when the time comes. Corvalos Chane most of all fears this, for he knows my heart like no one else.’

  ‘And that’s why he brought me to you,’ said Mirage, finally understanding. ‘To replace your wife.’

  ‘To make an old man feel young again, yes.’ King Raxor slumped, forgetting his wine, ignoring everything but his comely guest. ‘You do make me feel . . . something. Memories, perhaps. Better days. My wife was much like you, Mirage. Even your voice reminds me of her. Do you sing?’

  ‘No, my lord,’ replied Mirage. All she wanted was to leave.

  ‘That is a pity. Helea had a nightingale’s voice.’

  ‘I have a voice like a rusty hinge, my lord. I could never replace your wife.’

  She expected Raxor to agree with her. He did not.

  ‘Baron Glass was an enemy of mine for many years. Do you know your history, Mirage, of the days before the peace?’