The Sword Of Angels (Gollancz S.F.)

by John Marco

  Katath still in hand, she writhed blindly in the serpent’s coils.

  Lukien floated. Without a body, he swam effortlessly through a dark, warm sea, searching the endless horizon. Beneath him, somewhere in the world he had left, Karoshin and Niharn stood over him, watching with worry as the shell that had held him breathed its last, shallow breaths. But Lukien knew that he was dead, and the realization gave him peace. He had died once before, and now no longer feared it. To him, death was bliss.

  Because he had no feet, he could not walk like a normal man, but could will his mind to take him anywhere, and so he moved through the darkness, searching for Cassandra. She would come to him, he was sure. Death had been the only way for them to be together, and now death had finally claimed him. He was a spirit now, like an Akari, living forever in a place without strife or the pain of physical bodies. Now he had two eyes again. Now he would be whole.

  He imagined the orchard where they had made love, and where Cassandra had died. In her death place she had come to him when he himself lay dying. As he imagined it, the orchard bloomed around him, real and perfect in every detail. The sun was high and warm, filling the trees with its orange fingers. Apples fell gently to the mossy ground. In the distance sat Lionkeep, the way it had been on that wonderful day, unpolluted and filled with children, the flag of Liiria snapping overhead. But here in the orchard the noise of the castle was a world away. In the orchard, peace reigned.

  Lukien walked the lanes between the apple trees, smiling at the creation his imagination had wrought. He had only to wait, he knew, and Cassandra would find him. Pulling a perfect apple from the nearest tree, he took a bite of the fruit and smiled at its freshness. It was fine to be dead.

  Lowering himself against the tree trunk, Lukien sat and patiently ate his apple.

  Lahkali screamed against the burning pain, thrashing in the rass’ iron grip as the venom raked her eyes. Angry tears flooded down her face. She could feel the hot breath of the rass as it watched her, pulling her closer. She had somehow managed to hold tightly to the katath, but working the weapon was impossible now. Bound by the snake and unable to see, she could barely keep the katath in her failing hand. On her breast she could still feel the Eye of God, growing hotter and hotter, burning her skin as much as the venom. Her wet garments seemed to catch fire. The rass held her confidently in its tail, toying with her, but no longer squeezed the life from her. Lahkali, refusing to face the end, concentrated on the steady power of the amulet.

  The heat grew around her. Even through her acid-laced eyes, she could see its dazzling light. A great burning filled the cavern. The rass hissed against it, shaking her in its grasp. Lahkali cursed the beast, letting the power of the amulet fill her. The pain of her wounds ebbed as hot blood pumped through her body. She could fill Sercin’s disbelief. The glow was everywhere now, red like the sun, beating back the green light of the cavern’s gems. As fire filled the chamber the water below began to hiss and bubble. Sercin tossed her back and forth.

  ‘Amaraz!’ called Lahkali. ‘Bring your fire!’

  She was strong again, strong enough to keep her breath and fight. Sercin swayed, falling back as the magic fires shook the cavern. As she struggled she felt his tail waver, then loosen. Gradually she brought up her katath, inch by inch, hoping blindly for one clear shot.

  ‘More!’ she cried.

  Amaraz obliged, and the shock of his power stunned her. Fire leapt from her hair and dangling feet, burning but not harming her. The scaly hide of the serpent’s tail scorched as it tried to hold her. A burst of flame and smoke erupted off Lahkali’s body, sizzling the reptilian hide. Sercin jerked back, at last opening his coils, dropping Lahkali. She tumbled, blind and on fire, crashing against the flooded earth. Her hand opened and the katath skidded away. Nearby she could hear the serpent’s anguished keen.

  Water filled Lahkali’s mouth. She raised her head out of the muck, then desperately began cupping the water with her hands, washing out her stinging eyes. The world was a blur, a cauldron of mist and fire. The flames that had burned away Sercin’s grip had gone out now. Her body was hers again.

  Find your weapon, said a voice in her head.

  This time the voice was not the serpent’s. Lahkali knew it to be Amaraz.

  ‘Where?’ she asked. ‘I can’t see!’

  Just ahead of you. Find it quickly. I cannot make the fire forever.

  Lahkali scrambled, searching for her weapon. Her fingers moved through the water, feeling the rocks and mud for the katath. Through her reddened eyes she could just make out the rass, hissing and thrashing as fire fell upon it. On hands and knees Lahkali hurried forward, spreading her arms wide so not to miss the weapon.

  ‘Where is it?’ she cried.

  Straight on. Move, child.

  ‘I am!’ Lahkali shouted, then found it. With a victorious yelp she raised the weapon and got to her feet. ‘I have it!’ she said. ‘What now?’

  Now kill the beast.

  ‘Amaraz, I can’t see. How can I?’

  I will guide you. Go to it now.

  ‘Amaraz . . .’

  Go, now!

  Lahkali gripped her katath, prepared herself, then charged forward. Ahead of her she could barely see the flailing body of the rass, raging as it struggled against the fires. Heat and smoke choked Lahkali. The wet ground grabbed her boots. But she continued, faltering all the way, running headlong toward the serpent.

  And then, her body lightened. Lahkali tried to pause, yet kept on going. Her hands flew forward, her legs filled with vigour, and suddenly she was launching herself, not knowing how, leaping through the air toward the rass. Sercin’s wounded face turned to her. Seeing her attack he once more unfurled his tongue. The appendage stretched out, unspooling from the snake’s mouth, reaching for the girl. Lahkali knew what to do. With Amaraz part of her, she brought her katath through a slashing cross, easily slicing through the pink muscle. The tongue fell away, the stump recoiling with a cry. Katath was falling now. Through the haze she felt the serpent beneath her, trying to escape. There was a moment left.

  ‘The hearts!’ she cried. ‘Find the hearts!’

  Amaraz became her eyes, guiding her. The giant body of the snake moved to evade, but Lahkali was already on it, fighting her way quickly towards the hood. Beneath the hood were the hearts, she knew, and the twin blades of her katath sniffed for them, gleaming hungrily. Blood spattered across Lahkali’s face as Sercin spat and tossed, reeling back against the cavern wall. His wounded eye, his severed tongue, the two deep rents along his good, none of these had killed him. But the blood was everywhere, gushing from the creature, mingling with the mud and water.

  Then, as Lahkali climbed his flexing body, Sercin stopped. The wide hood folded back and the chest swelled with air. His good eye watched her blackly, urging her forward. Lahkali squinted through the pain, barely glimpsing the beast. What little she saw spoke of surrender.

  You have won, child. The voice was Sercin’s again.

  He could have struck her, but did not. He could have quickly coiled away, but he stayed. Stretching out his hood again, the Great Rass lowered and showed its breast to the girl.

  Slowly, he urged. No more fighting.

  Lahkali paused. The glamour of Amaraz began to fade. As it did the enormous pain of the serpent’s venom took hold again.

  ‘I am the Red Eminence!’ she cried.

  The Great Rass hovered closer. Weakened, bloody, it closed its ruined mouth. You are the Red Eminence. Take my hearts. Drink my blood.

  Amaraz was gone. Searching her mind for him, Lahkali found no hint of the Akari. But still he sustained her, giving her strength. Lahkali put out her hand, wishing for all the world that she could see the face of the defeated god. When she touched him, Sercin did not pull away. His cool scales coloured at the graze of her fingertips. There was blood on her hands. Lahkali drew her finger through it then put her finger to her lips. At once her mouth filled with bitter heat, a fire that spread quickly from
her mouth to all the tendrils of her body. She blinked, and her eyes began to clear. The sizzling pain of the serpent’s venom eased from her skin. Slowly her sight returned, blurry but true. The face of the Great Rass waited in front of her.

  Lahkali could not speak. There were no words for what she was about to do. Sercin’s black eye gleamed with understanding.

  It is our secret, he told her, the secret of your line. I give myself to your people, Eminence.

  And then she understood. She had not really beaten him. He had surrendered. The katath felt unreal in her grip.

  ‘I have to do this,’ she said shakily. ‘I am sorry.’

  Both hearts, said the serpent.

  Facing death, he looked serene.

  In his dream, Lukien had fallen asleep against the tree. Just as if no time had passed, the sun was in the same spot in the sky when he awakened. He looked around, sure he’d heard his name called. He searched the orchard for Cassandra. Getting to his feet, he peered down the lanes of perfectly trimmed apple trees. Lionkeep was just as before, distant and contented. The rows and rows of trees stood at rapt attention. But Cassandra was gone, or had never been there, leaving Lukien to puzzle.

  And then he heard the voice again, like the voice of an unseen angel, very far away and calling to him. And he knew.

  ‘Oh,no . . .’

  It seemed impossible. He was dead. He had to be dead.

  ‘No!’ he cried, staring up into the sky. ‘I won’t go back!’

  The darkness came again, sweeping him away.

  Lukien opened his eyes. When he saw Lahkali’s face, he sobbed. He was glad for her, glad she was alive, but the pain of his wounds had gone and that meant only one thing.

  ‘I’m back.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Karoshin brightly. ‘You are alive, Lukien!’

  Lukien realized he was laying on the ground. Glancing at his chest he saw the Eye of God. He put a hand to his mouth to stifle his sobs.

  ‘Don’t be afraid, Lukien, you’re all right,’ said Lahkali gently. ‘I have killed the rass. Look, Lukien, look at the water . . .’

  Around them the melting snow was the colour of blood, rushing down from the mountain to feed the valley far below.

  47

  Within hours Lukien had fully recovered from his wounds, but he spent the next few days in the palace, alone, wondering why Cassandra had not come to him. He was glad that Lahkali had defeated the Great Rass. All of Torlis seemed to be celebrating. It was a kind of miracle that he had witnessed, watching the holy river turn to blood and feed the lands around the delta. But he had been too shocked by what had happened to him to pay the miracle much attention, and now, though everyone else in the palace had taken the time to go to the river, Lukien had remained by himself. The great tear of flesh along his back had healed, leaving a scar that looked like it had been there forever. There was no more pain from his missing eye, either. All was just as it had been before he gave the amulet to Lahkali. Apparently, his cursed Akari was once again protecting him.

  On the long trek back to the palace, Lukien had listened intently to Lahkali’s tale. She was still horribly weak from her encounter with the rass, her face reddened from the serpent’s venom. But she was so excited about what had happened that she refused Karoshin’s orders to rest. Amaraz had spoken to her, she told Lukien. He had actually conversed with her, even guiding her hand in battle. To Lukien, this was the most amazing – and frustrating – part of all. How many times in his life had he asked, even begged Amaraz to speak to him? And always the spirit ignored him, coming to him only once to chide him. It was one more of the great mysteries Lukien could not unravel, and by the time three days had passed he was sure he had made the right choice.

  It really was time for him to go home.

  Lahkali didn’t need him anymore. He had managed to keep his promise to the girl and she had done the rest, slaying a god to save her people. Thinking about her heroics brought a wide grin to Lukien’s face. He stopped what he was doing long enough to conjure a picture of her, katath in hand, facing down the beast with Sercin’s face. She was every bit the Red Eminence, every bit the leader her people needed. And with good men like Karoshin and Niharn around her, Lukien was sure she would succeed.

  ‘And without me,’ he said, looking around the room. There was very little he had accumulated during his stay in Torlis, and nothing he really wanted to take back with him. More than anything, he wanted to return Jahan’s body back to his village, but that was impossible. His widow would have to settle for a story instead. He would hire a boat to take him back down the river, he had decided, just as he and Jahan had done to reach the fabled city. He would have to wait until the red tide receded, of course, but after that he would make haste across Tharlara, and with luck would reach Jahan’s village in three weeks or less. From there he would trek back to Kaliatha, perhaps making contact again with Raivik, the dead Akari. Raivik loved stories, he remembered, and now he had so much to tell! It would be a fine reunion, Lukien imagined, but a brief one. It was time for him to get back to Grimhold.

  With little left to do, Lukien decided to leave his chamber and take a walk through the palace’s grounds. Usually he waited until nightfall to make his excursions, but the palace was quiet and he supposed no one would interrupt him. Karoshin was busy tending to Lahkali, who remained in bed despite her remarkable recovery, and Niharn had returned to his own home days earlier. Lukien was free, he realized, and could at last enjoy all the peace the palace offered. There were still gardens and paths he had yet to explore, so Lukien headed out of his chamber and into the hallway. Not surprisingly, the corridor was empty. A great, soaring ceiling made his boot heels echo on the marble. He made his way past the other apartments where men close to the Eminence resided, all of them grand chambers with multiple rooms and views of the city. Throughout his days in the palace Lukien spent very little time dealing with the men who called these rooms home. He was still a foreigner to them, even after all he’d done for their ruler, and Lukien was sure they would be pleased to see him go.

  Lukien had made his way to the end of the corridor before seeing Lahkali. She had been heading toward his room but stopped when she saw him, giving him a knowing smile. She looked radiant, fully recovered. Her dark hair bounced happily about her shoulders. Around her eyes a bit of redness remained, a tell-tale hint of her encounter with the rass, but otherwise Lahkali looked fine, dressed in a golden royal gown that somehow fit her a little better these days.

  ‘I came to see you, Lukien,’ she said. ‘I have been asking for you.’

  ‘And I you, Eminence.’ Lukien went to stand before her. ‘Karoshin told me you were resting.’

  ‘Karoshin has kept me a prisoner in my bed,’ she joked. ‘I have not even been to see the river! That’s why I have come, Lukien, to take you there to see it.’ She frowned at him with fake anger. ‘Karoshin tells me you have been keeping to yourself again.’

  Lukien nodded. ‘It is time for me to leave soon, Lahkali. I have been making plans.’

  The girl looked sad, but not surprised. ‘There are no boats on the river to take you back now. You will have to wait.’

  ‘I know. But soon.’

  Lahkali took his hand, saying, ‘All right, soon. But first come with me to the river. Let us see our miracle!’

  The river of blood took Lukien’s breath away. Along with hundreds of others, he stood with Lahkali near the bank of the river, watching in awe as the red water flooded the delta and nourished the silt with life. The houses standing nearest to the river had all been temporarily abandoned, the residents evacuating themselves to the tents that had sprung up along the shore to accommodate the milling spectators. For the people of Torlis the coming of the blood was exactly as Lahkali had described it – it was a miracle, and folks had come from miles to witness it and give praise to Sercin, whose blood it was that turned the river crimson. Lukien and Lahkali kept back a respectable distance, though they allowed themselves to step closer to the b
ank than anyone else. They had come with a group of soldiers and priests to protect the Red Eminence from the throngs of onlookers, but a remarkable hush had fallen over the gathering and Lukien knew that Lahkali was in no danger at all. Her people were in awe of her. To them, she was no less of a miracle, and so they did not pester her with questions or requests to touch her garments. Instead they kept their distance, offering only grateful smiles.

  Among the priests accompanying them stood Karoshin, who looked out over the holy river in reverence. Dropping to his knees, he lowered his head in prayer. His acolytes quickly did the same. Lukien watched them, unable to hear their words. Overhead the sky was a brilliant blue, as if Sercin himself had cleared away the clouds just so they could enjoy the view. The air smelled sweet, not of blood but of flowers, and all the ferukas had been taken from the water, resting idle on the beach. Not a single fisherman waded through the scarlet waters. In the distance, the tower mountain that was Sercin’s home had been swept free of the ghostly mists. The red tide that had gushed from its peak had already receded.

  Lahkali was more at peace now than Lukien had ever seen her. She stood proud and tall, no longer like a girl but fully like a woman grown, casting her gaze out over the inexplicable river. To Lukien, who had seen magic in many forms through the years, the river was perhaps the strangest thing he had witnessed. He had not believed the tale when he’d first heard of it, nor any of the other incredible claims Jahan had made. But now, standing on the banks of a river made of blood, Lukien would have believed anything possible. As Lahkali slipped her hand into his, Lukien sighed.

  ‘You were a fine student, Lahkali,’ he said softly. ‘I will miss you when I’m gone. I won’t forget anything that happened to me here.’

  ‘You are happy then, Lukien? You do not seem happy.’

  ‘No, I am happy. I am have just been . . . thinking.’

  ‘Of Cassandra? And why she did not come to you?’

  Lukien grimaced. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Perhaps it was just a dream,’ Lahkali suggested. ‘Perhaps you were not dead at all, not even for a moment.’