The Sword Of Angels (Gollancz S.F.)

by John Marco

  ‘What have we built, Thorin? Nothing! Your mad dream has only emptied my coffers and emboldened bastards like Elgan. He thinks Lorn is coming back. He’s waiting for him right now! What happens if Lorn does return? What will you promise to do then?’

  ‘Lorn won’t ever return,’ scoffed Thorin. ‘He’s gone forever.’

  ‘And so is Carlion. It’s gone, Thorin. Do you hear? My capital, gone!’

  ‘I won’t let you leave me, Jazana,’ said Thorin evenly. He felt the power of the armour roiling through him, angering him. Then, in a calm voice, Kahldris was there to advise him.

  No, Baron Glass. Sweet talk.

  Thorin caught himself. Jazana was starting at him, looking afraid. He smiled.

  ‘My love, listen to me,’ he crooned. ‘I know I’ve ignored you. I’m sorry. But Mirage isn’t what you think. She’s just a girl! While you . . .’ He put his arms around her waist. ‘You’re a woman. The only woman for me.’

  Jazana squirmed a little in his grip but soon relaxed, losing herself in his eyes. ‘Thorin, stop,’ she pleaded. ‘I have to go.’

  ‘No, Jazana, no,’ he whispered. He kissed her. ‘No . . .’

  She bent to him, falling to his kisses, resisting only a little, giving off a string of whimpers. Her hands dropped limply to her sides.

  ‘Stop it,’ she sighed, turning her face away. ‘You’re in love with her.’

  ‘I’m not,’ Thorin promised. ‘Just you, Jazana. Just you.’

  Jazana gave herself to him, collapsing against his warm cheek. ‘Take me away, Thorin. Take me somewhere else. Be alone with me.’

  ‘Yes, my love, anything.’

  ‘Just us, Thorin, all right? Just me and you. Just listen to me this once.’

  ‘We’ll go away, Jazana,’ Thorin told her, pressing her close. It was real love he felt, he was sure of it. ‘Just us.’

  In the back of his mind Thorin glimpsed a flash of Kahldris, nodding happily.

  45

  The rains had come to Torlis, turning the sky to soup and the winding path up the mountain to mud. Through the steady drizzle of the day the sun struggled to light the way, up into the thinning air of Sercin’s giant house. The morning had come and gone, dragging along a grey afternoon. A chilly breeze spun the clouds along the top of the holy mountain. Out of breath but determined, the four climbers paused to look up toward the peak, capped with snow that made rivers down the mountain’s rocky face. Lahkali, dressed in red silk, led the way, her fist clenched around the katath the legendary Aliz Nok had made for her. She spoke not at all as she climbed, lost in doom-haunted thought. Behind her, Karoshin the priest and Niharn the fencing master kept pace, exchanging a few whispered observations. Far in the rear walked Lukien. Keeping his distance from the other three, the Bronze Knight watched Lahkali through the steady rain, admiring the courageous girl and considering the daunting task ahead of her.

  They had left the palace the previous afternoon, riding for the mountain with a host of priests and warriors, all of whom remained camped at the bottom. Karoshin, Niharn and Lukien had been handpicked by the Red Eminence to accompany her the rest of the way. It was a great honour, Lukien knew, but really just a ceremony. Soon Lahkali would leave them, breaking off to make the rest of the trek up the mountain alone. Alone, she would face the Great Rass.

  It had not been hard for Lukien to stay. Karoshin had shamed him into seeing the truth. He had made a promise to the young leader, and in his life he had broken too many promises. This one, Lukien was determined to keep. He had done his best, and for that Lukien was pleased. Lahkali had turned into quite a scrappy fighter, good enough perhaps to join Jazana Carr’s mercenaries. She lacked the instinct to kill, of course, but her body had been toughened and her mind focused, and as she silently climbed the mud-slicked mountain Lukien could tell that she had changed. She had been a girl when he’d first come to Torlis, but now she was truly the Red Eminence.

  And today, she would almost certainly die.

  Lahkali sensed this with a kind of reserved melancholy. Before leaving the palace, she had called the three of them to a special ceremony where tea was served and prayers were said, and where Karoshin had blessed her with the sign of Sercin. Like the priest himself, Lahkali now bore a serpent tattoo along her neck. According to practice all of her line before her had got such a tattoo before their first time facing the Great Rass. But more than the tattoo, all of her line had enjoyed the gift that Lahkali lacked, the one real weapon they took into battle against the serpent god. These days, Lahkali never spoke about the gift. She could do nothing to control the rass, and so had only her training and perfectly made katath to keep her alive.

  Lukien knew they would not be enough.

  He walked in silence, breathing hard like the rest of them, battling the rocks and mud and altitude. Beneath his damp coat and shirt, the Eye of God warmed him. Lately he’d been thinking long and hard about the amulet, and how it had kept him alive, sometimes against his will. When Minikin had given him the amulet, he had been staring death in the face. That was the first time he’d faced it, after his battle with Trager. The second was barely a year ago, when he’d fought Thorin. That was when the miracle happened.

  Lukien trudged along, and as he did his thoughts were of Cassandra. Soon, if things went as he hoped, he might see her again.

  Karoshin and Niharn had stopped talking by the time another few minutes passed. The old fencing master – who had become a friend to Lukien – looked back in surprise, urging Lukien to keep up. Lukien nodded and sped up a bit, though not enough to catch up with them. Master Niharn, who had taken over Lahkali’s training while Lukien mourned for Jahan, had not changed his mind about the young Eminence’s chances. He still put them at nil. Nevertheless, he had done his best, showing Lahkali all his tricks, staying up late with her to drill in the courtyard or in the forests beyond the palace. Because she respected him, and because she was grateful for his help, Lahkali had asked Niharn to join her on the mountain. The honour was not lost on the old man, who brought his own katath with him and vowed revenge on the Great Rass when it inevitably killed his ruler.

  For Karoshin, though, it was a day of great joy. He was a priest of Sercin, after all, and now his mysterious god had taken form, coming to life as a serpent somewhere up on the mountain. As Karoshin climbed he seemed oblivious of the hard trek, never complaining, always bearing a peculiar smile. Unlike Lukien or Niharn, Karoshin refused to believe that Lahkali had no chance at all. He was oddly confident in the girl, or at least pretended to be. Lukien supposed his confidence was for Lahkali’s benefit, and for that reason he no longer questioned it.

  But in his heart he knew the truth, and that was why he had made his decision. Lukien fingered the amulet beneath his shirt, touching its smooth gold and feeling the heat from its throbbing ruby. Because of the Eye he had survived against the rass that killed Jahan. Because of the Eye, he was immortal. But the artifact had done nothing to help him find the Sword of Angels, and the strange god within its metal remained silent and unhelpful, leaving Lukien to search like a blind man for the sword. For that, Lukien hated Amaraz more than ever. He would not miss the obstinate god at all.

  At last Lahkali came to a stop. She turned to Karoshin, and the two shared a knowing look. Lukien quickly caught up with them. The land had flattened a bit, leaving a small trail winding up ahead. Above them lay a ridge, but beyond that Lukien could not see. At their feet the rivers of melting snow ran fast, swelled by the rains that had finally slowed to a stubborn mist. Niharn seemed to know why they had stopped. His face slackened. Lukien looked at him, then to Lahkali, who nodded at him.

  ‘This is as far as any of you may come,’ she said. Her voice remained remarkably steady. The katath in her hand did not tremble at all, yet in her eyes Lukien caught a faint hint of dread. ‘Stay here. Wait for me.’

  ‘We will wait, Lahkali,’ Karoshin promised. ‘We’ll be the first to see the river turn. It will be wonderful.’

 
Niharn was rueful. ‘Eminence, do not forget to drink the blood.’

  Lahkali nodded. ‘Of course.’

  ‘Quickly, though,’ added Niharn. ‘Don’t wait. Drink the moment the rass is dead.’

  ‘I know,’ said Lahkali impatiently. It was very unlikely she would ever get the chance to drink the serpent’s blood, and being reminded seemed to irk her. ‘If I can, I will.’

  ‘You will,’ said Karoshin. ‘Just do not forget.’

  Lahkali looked up into the sky, toward the spirit-like clouds still spinning around the mountain’s pinnacle. They had all climbed so far, yet the clouds still remained tantalizingly out of reach. Lukien was grateful that the climb had finally ended. Much further and the cold would have made the trek more difficult.

  ‘How much higher?’ he asked.

  Lahkali pointed to the ridge. ‘Just up there.’

  ‘How do you know the rass is there?’

  ‘Because the Great Rass is always there,’ said Karoshin with reverence. ‘That is its lair.’

  The statement chilled Lukien. He craned his neck for a better view, but the ridge remained mostly out of sight, without the slightest hint of the rass. He paused, wondering how he should say good-bye to Lahkali or present his gift to her. He needed to prepare himself, yet the end had come so quickly.

  ‘Rest first,’ suggested Niharn. He glanced around for somewhere they could sit. ‘I’ll make a place for you, Eminence.’

  Lahkali shook her head. ‘I don’t want to wait, Master. Now is the time.’ She smiled at Niharn. ‘Thank you for what you’ve done for me. I hope I was a worthy student.’

  Master Niharn bowed, keeping his eyes to the ground. ‘An old man has few such honours, Eminence.’

  Next was Karoshin, who smiled warmly at Lahkali. Instead of bowing, he embraced her, kissing both of her cheeks. ‘Remember,’ he said as he traced his finger over her tattoo. ‘You are the Red Eminence.’

  Lahkali nodded, filled with emotion. She croaked a simple thank you to the priest, then turned finally to Lukien. Her pretty eyes sparkled.

  ‘Lukien, I don’t know what I can say to thank you,’ she told him. ‘You were a stranger. And now you are a friend.’

  She was so young, and so willing to meet death. Lukien admired her.

  ‘Wait,’ he said. ‘I have something you’ll need.’

  Reaching beneath his water-logged shirt, he pulled out the Eye of God. The others inhaled when they saw it, dazzled by its shining light. Lahkali shrugged, confused, studying the amulet spinning on its chain.

  ‘Your amulet? I don’t—’ Then she gasped, understanding. ‘Lukien, no.’

  ‘It’s the only way,’ said Lukien. ‘You can’t defeat the rass without it, Lahkali. You know it. We all know it.’

  Lahkali looked him in the eye. ‘You’ll die without it.’

  ‘Maybe.’ Lukien shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I’ve never taken it off before.’

  ‘You do know,’ Lahkali argued. ‘I can’t let you give it to me.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter if I die,’ said Lukien. He gave a pleading smile. ‘I haven’t found the Sword of Angels, Lahkali. I’ve failed. And I’m tired. But if you fail then everyone else will die. The land will suffer and all of you will starve. You told me so yourself.’ Still keeping the chain around his neck, he reached out for the girl’s hand and placed it against the amulet. ‘Please . . . let me do this.’

  Lahkali angrily drew back. ‘No! I know what you’re doing, Lukien. You want to die. Jahan told me about your woman. You want to see her again.’

  ‘And what if I do?’ Lukien laughed. ‘Don’t I deserve it? Haven’t I served enough gods and their whims? If I die I won’t regret it, Lahkali. I’ll have served you and your people and can go to death in peace.’

  ‘Lukien, think a moment,’ said Karoshin. ‘What about your friends back across the desert? What will happen to them?’

  ‘They don’t need me, Karoshin. I’ve already failed them. Without the sword there’s nothing I can do, and I can’t find the sword.’ Lukien spoke gently to Lahkali. ‘Eminence, I was wrong about you. I thought if I helped you I could get you to break your vow and tell me where the sword is hidden. I’m sorry. You are made of much stronger stuff! I’m ashamed I even thought it of you. I’m not giving you this amulet for any other reason but to help you. I don’t want a reward. You’re right – by the time you come back I’ll probably be dead.’

  ‘And that’s what you want?’ asked Lahkali breathlessly. She was near tears now, her tall, strong wall finally crumbling. ‘To die?’

  Lukien grinned. ‘No man wants to die, Eminence. But it’s been so long since I’ve really lived. And I’m so tired of being alone.’ Again he took her hand, gently placing it atop his amulet. ‘I want you to take it . . .’

  A thunder clap shook Lukien’s mind. He staggered back, stunned, as an angry voice cried out in his head, splitting his skull in rage. Through his one good eye he saw Lahkali and the others staring at him. Lahkali was speaking, asking if he was all right. Lukien tried to keep his footing, but all at once he felt his body being lifted. The world turned orange, then a bright, sweeping white. Blinded by the glow, Lukien shouted, suddenly realizing he was being taken away. The violence of the light tore at him. His ears roared with noise, and for a moment he felt his insides coiling with pressure, as if a great, unseen fist had snatched him to carry him away. The others were gone, and all he could see was the rushing tides of light and wind, swirling up around him and pulling at his skin. He was flying now, up and into the great spreading light of his amulet.

  Then, the noise ended. Lukien felt the ground turn firm beneath him. The light faded. He looked around in awe of his surroundings, remembering the place. Overhead was a ceiling, gigantic and soaring, with spirits in the rafters, looking down on him. The floor was stone, polished and smooth, the walls of the place alabaster. Lights and shadows mingled through the air. Lukien squinted to see ahead of him, bracing himself for what he knew he would see.

  Out of the light formed a towering figure. Eyes of fire stared at Lukien from the ancient face. He was not a man but a deity, alive but long dead, with smoke for fingers and a chorus of lesser angels at his sides. He stood but had no legs, for light and mists obscured him, and when he rose up to his full height the spirits in the rafters fled. He was Amaraz, the spirit of the Eye. And when he spoke it was like storm.

  ‘You’re giving me away,’ he bellowed, staring straight at Lukien through the haze. ‘All my power and magic. To a girl.’

  Lukien stood his ground, secretly delighted to at last be facing the Akari. ‘So I have your attention!’ he crowed. ‘I should have known you’d try to stop me. What took so long, monster?’

  Amaraz, friend to Minikin, looked puzzled and angry both. His enormous face floated closer to Lukien. ‘The Eye of God belongs to you, but it is not yours to give away.’

  ‘Oh, but it is,’ said Lukien. ‘It belongs to me, and as long as I give it willingly your power goes with it. You see, Amaraz? I remember all your little tricks. It’s time for you to protect someone else now, someone who needs your help.’

  ‘Do not give her the amulet,’ Amaraz warned, shaking the walls around him. ‘You are not done yet.’

  ‘You mean you’re not done with me, don’t you? Sorry, Amaraz, but I’m done being your pawn.’

  ‘The Devil’s Armour still lives in your world!’ thundered Amaraz. ‘You must defeat it, and the demon who dwells inside it.’

  ‘Yes, well, that would be very nice,’ Lukien hissed, ‘except that I have no idea how to find the Sword of Angels, and you’re not helping me find it, are you?’

  The great Akari looked regretful. ‘You do not understand. Do you not remember? I said there is a way to defeat the armour, and so there is – you have only to find it.’

  ‘How convenient for you,’ snarled Lukien. ‘Yes, that’s very helpful, knowing there’s a weapon but not knowing where to find it. You sent me here to the Serpent Kingdom. Tell me w
here to find the Sword of Angels!’

  ‘I cannot,’ said the spirit. His face shifted colours. ‘It is yours to find, your destiny alone.’

  The answer made Lukien irate. ‘Do you see why I hate you? You are a cruel and terrible master, Amaraz, and I’m done with you. Lahkali needs your help to save her people. You’re going to have a new host for a while. Get used to the idea.’

  ‘I will not allow it,’ said Amaraz.

  ‘You have no choice! I wear the amulet. It’s the one thing I have control over in my life. I wear it or I don’t wear it. You can’t stop me from taking it off.’

  ‘And when you die, how will you help Baron Glass and the others? Have you thought of that?’

  ‘I won’t help them,’ said Lukien. ‘I haven’t been any help at all to them. They won’t miss me.’ He stepped back from the spirit’s fiery face. ‘Now, send me back.’

  For all his great power, Amaraz could not change Lukien’s mind. His expression soured to remorse. ‘You are not done yet,’ he said.

  ‘I don’t care. I don’t want to be a slave any longer. Send me back, Amaraz. Now.’

  The great face turned away, and as it did Lukien felt the rush of wind and light again. Closing his eye, he waited for the magic to carry him back. This time, the wind was gentler, like the melancholy breath of Amaraz himself, and when at last he felt the ground reappear beneath his feet Lukien looked to see Lahkali just as he had left her. She was staring at him.

  ‘Lukien? Are you all right?’

  Lukien glanced at each of their faces, seeing the same amazement in them all.

  ‘What happened?’ asked Karoshin. ‘You were here, and then you were not, but only for a moment.’

  ‘Like you were asleep,’ said Lahkali. Her face was troubled. ‘Lukien?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ said Lukien. He was still holding out the Eye of God. ‘Take it,’ he told Lahkali. ‘I know it will work for you.’

  46