The Sword Of Angels (Gollancz S.F.)

by John Marco

  ‘Aw, do we have to?’ groaned Ghost.

  But Alsadair was already waving at Lorn, summoning him forward. Lorn put down the boots he was shining and sauntered over to the group. When he heard about Prince Daralor’s meeting, a grin bloomed on his wolfish face.

  ‘What’s it about?’ he asked.

  ‘Just follow me,’ said Alsadair, herding the men out of the food line and guiding them toward Daralor’s tent. As usual, Daralor’s pavilion had been hastily erected at the rear of the encampment, close to the river they had been following north. It took Daralor’s men less than half an hour to erect it, practicing the feat to perfection every night of their journey. A handful of guards milled outside the entrance to the tent, stepping aside as the newcomers approached. Lukien recognized most of the guards, soldiers he had got to know during their journey. Inside, he heard the eager voices of others who had already gathered. Alsadair pushed aside the flap of the tent and stepped inside, revealing the big, stark interior. Though the sun had already gone down, the tent glowed with warm lamplight. A long, flat table had been brought in to accommodate Daralor’s guests, all of them his closest advisors. The men spoke nervously among themselves as they passed along the pitchers of wine and beer. Among them sat Aric, abstaining from the drink. Young Aric brightened when his eyes caught Lukien’s, motioning for him to sit in the chair he had saved for his friend. At the head of the table sat Daralor himself. The prince looked imperious, not saying a word as his gaze jumped from man to man. He greeted Lukien and the others with a cursory nod, his maimed hand awkwardly cupping a tankard. On the right side of Daralor sat Trayvor, his trusted lieutenant. Daralor rarely made a move without Trayvor. On the left side of the prince sat a man Lukien had never seen before. From the looks of him he was not a Nithin, either. As Lukien took his seat beside Aric, he noted the man’s heavy red beard and puffy blue eyes. The man looked exhausted, his grim clothes dirty from riding. To Lukien, he had the dangerous look of an assassin.

  ‘Who’s the stranger?’ Lukien whispered as he sat beside Aric.

  ‘Don’t know,’ said Aric. ‘I just got here.’

  Ghost took the seat beside Lukien. ‘What’s this about?’

  Aric shrugged. ‘Don’t know that either.’

  Lorn found an empty chair on the other side of the table, directly between two of Daralor’s aides. He spied the red-bearded stranger suspiciously, refusing a drink offered by the soldier to his left. The old king looked uncomfortable, as if dreading Daralor’s news. Lukien felt a similar shiver. None of them spoke, waiting for the prince to explain things. At last Daralor cleared his throat and got to his feet.

  ‘You want to know why you’re here. You can probably imagine why. We’re just days out of Liiria now. It’s time to plan.’

  There was steel in Daralor’s voice. Every man around the table straightened.

  ‘By the end of this week we will be at the border. We’ve marched for miles and our journey is nearly ended. We are strong and we are ready to fight, and it’s time for all of us to get right with our hearts and with our heads.’ Daralor looked around the room at each of them. ‘We’re not all coming back.’

  The men nodded quietly. At his side, Lukien felt Malator squirming within the Sword of Angels.

  ‘Horatin, stand up, please,’ said Daralor. He gestured to the stranger with the red beard. The man stood, his arms at ease at his sides. Daralor continued, ‘You’ve all noticed him. His name is Horatin. He’s a Reecian, a member of Raxor’s Red Watch.’

  The prince waited for a reaction. It came quickly in gasps from the men. Lukien reared back a little, stunned. As one who’d fought the Reecians for years, he knew a thing or two about the Red Watch. They were indeed assassins, and the best spies on the continent. At once a hundred questions leapt to Lukien’s mind. Daralor stayed them with a raised hand.

  ‘He came this morning, in secret,’ said Daralor. ‘From Raxor himself. The Reecian King has prepared himself for battle.’ Prince Daralor gave a smile to Aric. ‘He’s kept his promise to us.’

  ‘I knew he would,’ Aric whispered faintly.

  ‘Horatin has risked his life to come here. Others of the Red Watch weren’t so lucky. He’s brought news with him from Liiria you all need to hear.’

  Ghost leaned into Lukien’s ear. ‘He must be a good spy,’ he chirped. ‘I didn’t see him come in. You?’

  Lukien shook his head, hushing Ghost. Daralor turned to the Reecian, bidding him to speak. In his weary voice, Horatin began, ‘My king sends his greetings, and his thanks. He is grateful to brave Nith. My country and king have suffered greatly, and we are grateful to have your help. I left my king three days ago. His army is at the river Kryss, waiting to cross the border into Liiria.’

  ‘He doesn’t know about us yet, not for certain at least,’ Daralor piped in. ‘But news of our army coming north has reached Liiria.’

  ‘Right,’ said Horatin. ‘We heard about you not even a week ago. My king sent me down to find you, and to find out if you were really coming north.’

  ‘King Raxor has been waiting for us, apparently,’ said Daralor, a bit ruefully. ‘And not very patiently, either. Horatin has told me that his king is . . .’ The prince hesitated. ‘Let’s say he’s unwell.’

  Horatin grimaced at the description. ‘King Raxor has lost his son. And thousands of other men, too. The people of Reec demanded he move against Baron Glass. They love Raxor and have rallied to him. He’s ready to die for them, but now he waits to see if the rumours of Nith coming to help are true.’

  ‘So he’s ready to fight?’ Lukien asked.

  Horatin looked at him, then at Daralor. The prince said, ‘You can answer him.’

  ‘Yes, my king is ready,’ said Horatin to Lukien directly. ‘What is your name, sir?’

  Lukien stood. ‘My name is Lukien of Liiria.’

  Recognition flashed on Horatin’s face. He grinned wildly. ‘I thought as much.’

  A charged moment passed between the two old adversaries. Daralor put himself between them quickly, saying, ‘I’ve told Horatin about all of you. Even you, King Lorn. But we will get to that. More importantly, Baron Glass has been making ready for us. He has his armies dug in around Koth, especially around the old library.’

  ‘Glass is obsessed with the library,’ said Horatin. ‘He’s making every effort to protect it this time.’

  ‘That makes sense,’ said Lukien. ‘Library Hill is better fortified than Lionkeep, and a lot higher. Aric and I have fought from Library Hill. It’ll definitely give Thorin an advantage this time.’

  Aric nodded uncomfortably. ‘That’s right. Horatin, how many men does my father have?’

  ‘It’s hard to tell,’ replied the Reecian. ‘We’ve had spies in Koth, but too many of them have been captured or killed. Not many Liirians have come to Glass’ banner. They’re Norvans, mostly. And there’s a new man with Thorin, a duke from Hanging Man named Cajanis.’

  Lorn grunted in disgust. ‘I know him. He’s loyal to Jazana Carr.’

  Horatin said, ‘He’s brought an army of at least three thousand with him, and more are on the way.’

  ‘And what about Jazana Carr?’

  The question, of course, came from Lorn, who could not contain himself any longer. Horatin turned to Lorn, seeming to recognizing him. Daralor nodded as if to confirm the Reecian’s suspicions.

  ‘You are King Lorn,’ said Horatin. ‘Then you most of all will want to know this. The rumour you have heard about the Diamond Queen is true. She is dead.’

  Lorn sat frozen in his chair. ‘Dead. You are sure?’

  ‘There is no doubt of it. I myself was sent to kill her at Richter, along with Baron Glass. But the queen wasn’t with him, and Baron Glass discovered our plot. Two good men of the Red Watch died that night by the baron’s own hand.’

  ‘And Jazana Carr?’ pressed Lorn. ‘What of her?’

  ‘A few days later she was dead,’ said Horatin. ‘When Baron Glass returned to Lionkeep he beat her.
I don’t know why; no one knows why. After that she killed herself.’

  ‘You’re sure of this?’ asked Lukien.

  ‘There is no doubt of it, Sir Lukien.’

  The news left Lukien strangely empty. In the years he had spent in Jazana’s service, she had always been kind to him. Her conceits were legion, but her heart was bigger than her brain. Seeing Lorn’s glee over her death angered Lukien.

  ‘This is great news,’ said Lorn, sighing as though he had slipped into a warm bath. ‘Without Jazana Carr, Norvor has no leader. They will welcome me again.’

  Lukien gritted his teeth, holding back an insult. Daralor steadied Lorn’s excitement.

  ‘Your Norvans follow Baron Glass now, King Lorn. Until he is gone, you still have no kingdom.’

  ‘Excuse me, Prince Daralor, but Baron Glass is not a Norvan, and I think I know my people a bit better than you do. Baron Glass has the bitch-queen’s fortune, no doubt, but not her blood. The people need a rightful ruler.’

  ‘Maybe,’ said Horatin sharply, ‘but Baron Glass won’t let go of Norvor easily. The dukes of Norvor flock to him still, because he is powerful and they are afraid of him. Listen to me, all of you – not one of you really knows what we are up against.’

  ‘I do,’ Aric spoke up. ‘I’ve seen my father close up, Horatin.’

  ‘As have I,’ said Lukien. ‘Your words are well meaning, Reecian, and I respect them. But I don’t need to be taken to school about Baron Glass or what he has become.’

  ‘And the rest of you?’ queried Horatin. He scoffed in their faces. ‘Be cocky at your peril.’

  ‘We are Nithins, Watchman,’ chastened Daralor. ‘We do not frighten easily.’

  ‘That is good,’ replied Horatin, ‘because once you see Baron Glass in his armour, you will know what hell looks like.’

  ‘Baron Glass is near his end,’ predicted Lorn. He pointed at Lukien. ‘The Bronze Knight holds the means to his undoing.’

  ‘Fate above, who knows?’ said Lukien, shaking his head. ‘I have the Sword of Angels. You’ve heard of it by now, Horatin. Whether or not it can beat Baron Glass, even I cannot say.’

  Daralor appeared disappointed. ‘Lukien, you will not be alone. We will all be fighting to beat Baron Glass.’

  Aric shrank at this. Lukien put a hand on his shoulder and said to him, ‘And some of us will be trying to save him.’

  ‘Baron Glass is our mutual enemy,’ said Lorn. ‘I have no problem with that. When he is done, I will return to Norvor as king.’ He looked pointedly at Lukien. ‘And then I will send for my family, just as I promised them.’

  The barb bounced off Lukien, who was wholly disinterested in the argument. ‘Horatin, tell us what else you know,’ said Lukien.

  Daralor took up a rolled parchment leaning against his chair and laid it flat across the table. ‘With what Horatin knows we can start planning our movements.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Prince Daralor, that’s not what I meant,’ said Lukien. ‘I have a personal question, if I may.’

  ‘Personal?’ said Horatin.

  Lukien leaned forward. ‘It’s about Baron Glass and Koth. There was another of us from Jador who went to north to Liiria, a boy named Gilwyn Toms. Have you heard anything about him?’

  ‘Ah, the boy!’ Horatin laughed. ‘He is Glass’ obsession.’

  ‘He’s alive?’ asked Lukien.

  ‘He is. Baron Glass protects him. He’s given the boy the library to run. He’s like a son to the baron. From what our spies have told us, the two of them are inseparable.’

  ‘I knew it!’ crowed Lukien. ‘I knew Gilwyn would still be alive!’ He clapped his hands together gleefully. ‘And if Gilwyn is alive he’s been trying to reach Thorin. Aric, there’s hope for your father yet.’

  Aric smiled grimly. ‘Maybe. But if there’s not and he must die, then that is how it should be.’

  But Lukien was in too good a mood to think such dour thoughts. Just hearing about Gilwyn had lifted his spirits out of the doldrums. Daralor continued to speak, tracing his finger over his map and quoting figures to his aides. The back and forth continued for nearly an hour. Lukien listened to all of it, satisfied that the prince had done his best. They would likely be outnumbered when they got to Koth, and Thorin would have the advantage perched high on Library Hill. Still, the Nithins had the heart and the charisma of Daralor to lead them. The Reecians had something even more powerful – a thirst for vengeance.

  Finally, when Daralor had said his peace, he glanced across the table at Aric, who had listened to the back and forth without adding a word. ‘Aric,’ said Daralor gently, ‘it’s time you went back to King Raxor. Horatin will be leaving in the morning. I want you to go with him.’

  Aric nodded, giving no complaint. ‘If that is best, Prince Daralor.’

  ‘We’ll need to ride fast,’ said Horatin. ‘My king still doesn’t know for certain that your army is coming north to join him. He has to have this news quickly.’

  ‘I can ride fast,’ Aric assured him.

  ‘Good,’ said Daralor. He gave Aric a warm wink. ‘We’ll be behind you, just as quick as we can. The rest of you, make yourselves ready. In a few days, we’ll be at war.’

  They were being dismissed, and Daralor’s aides knew it first. The Nithin officers got to their feet and began filing out of Daralor’s tent. Ghost and Aric did the same. Lorn lingered a bit longer, catching snippets of conversation on his way out, as did Lukien. Horatin took his time, still talking with Prince Daralor as the meeting broke up. Lukien watched the Reecian, hoping for an opportunity to speak with him. There was still one question pressing in his mind, a matter even more personal than that of Gilwyn. Deciding not to be rude, Lukien left the tent to wait for Horatin outside. Ghost and Aric had already headed back to the food line, while Lorn had cornered two of the Nithin officers, peppering them with questions. The camp had fallen silent as most of the army had settled down for a night’s rest. Daralor’s bodyguard’s outside the tent eyed Lukien but did not shoo him away.

  Finally, Horatin emerged, looking haggard and hungry. He walked past Lukien without noticing him until the knight hurried up behind him.

  ‘Horatin, wait,’ called Lukien. ‘I have a question.’

  The Watchman paused and turned toward him. ‘Yes?’

  Lukien was careful to keep his voice low. ‘It’s about your king. Aric Glass told me about a woman he keeps, a foreigner. Her name is Mirage.’

  Horatin drew back. ‘What of her?’

  ‘Do you know her?’

  ‘I know of her,’ said Horatin. ‘Why?’

  Lukien decided to tread carefully. ‘Horatin, I know she is your king’s woman. Aric told me about them. I just want to know how she fares.’

  ‘She is a friend of yours?’

  Lukien nodded. ‘Yes.’

  ‘I see.’ Horatin averted his eyes. ‘Sir Lukien, the woman Mirage is not in Reec. She left my king some time ago to be with Baron Glass.’

  ‘She did?’ Lukien was stunned. ‘But I thought King Raxor was in love with her.’

  ‘He was indeed,’ lamented Horatin. ‘That did not stop her. Nor did my king stop her, either. He gave her leave to go the baron.’

  ‘So what then?’ asked Lukien. ‘Have you had any word from her?’

  Horatin’s discomfort grew. ‘We have had no word from her, no. Sir Lukien, I did not tell you all of my story about our attack on Richter. Jazana Carr was not there. We were mistaken.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘The woman Mirage was at Richter with Baron Glass, not Jazana Carr. I’m sorry, Sir Lukien. Mirage is dead.’

  Lukien stared at Horatin, his breath stopping in his throat. ‘Dead?’ He swallowed, feeling his legs grow wobbly. ‘Mirage is dead?’

  Horatin’s blue eyes filled with pity. ‘She died in the fire. No one made it out of Richter alive. Only Glass.’

  ‘A fire.’ Something inside Lukien crumbled. ‘A fire . . .’

  He turned, walking off and shaking his he
ad. Horatin was saying something, but Lukien heard none of it. All he could think of was Mirage, and how she had burned to death. She who could control flame, who had given up that gift for a mask of beauty.

  ‘Just so I would love her,’ said Lukien, and went numb with horror.

  75

  Since the arrival of Duke Cajanis, Library Hill had become an armed camp.

  Gilwyn hardly recognized his beloved library any longer. The emptiness – the solitude he had come to worship – had been replaced by the constant clang of metal and the shouts of armoured soldiers. Nearly every room of the place had been turned into barracks for the Norvans and Liirians who poured through the great doors, all of them bearing weapons and provisions and other things for the siege ahead. Books, scrolls and manuscripts had been carefully laid aside, packed into the cellars while the shelves were lined with swords and the oiled book cases burdened with clothing. Even the fabulous entry hall had been stuffed with bunks and bed rolls, so that the men lucky enough to sleep there for the night could look up at the magnificently painted ceiling as they fell away to sleep.

  It had taken nearly a week for the transformation to take hold, but now it was nearly complete, leaving Gilwyn bewildered and displaced. Surprisingly, Duke Cajanis had been kind to Gilwyn during the changes, even sympathetic. The Norvan noble was careful not to upset the young librarian too much, and made sure that Gilwyn always was consulted when books were moved or rooms commandeered. It was in fact an orderly transformation, done with military precision, and Duke Cajanis was proud of his quick accomplishment. Now, when one looked out from the library’s many windows, the sight of the road leading up to the hill was fortified with men and battlements and the courtyard filled with weaponry. The library had swelled into a formidable fort under Cajanis’ hand, and the soldiers who milled about its grand halls readied themselves for the coming assault.

  Rumours abounded in Koth these days. Norvan spies returning from the border spoke of Raxor’s army, an impressive force of many thousands said to be waiting to cross the river Kryss. Raxor himself led the forces, just as he had done the first time, determined to finish the job he had started months earlier. Retribution was in the air, said the Norvan spies, and King Raxor was ready to avenge his fallen son, telling all who would listen of his intention to slay Baron Glass. Rumours from the south were no less ominous, telling of the Nithins who marched freely up from Farduke with their fighting hawks and broods of battle dogs. Prince Daralor had summoned every able man in his tiny country, claimed the rumours, and had given orders that none of them were to return home while Baron Glass remained alive. Gilwyn listened to the rumours with interest, frightened and exhilarated by them, but one claim in particular had him galvanized – the Bronze Knight was returning.