Angel's Knight

by A. J. Grimmelhaus

  39.

  Kartane tried an experimental slurp of what the innkeeper claimed was ale. Judging by the look on his face he wasn’t impressed. Tol was certain a moment later when Kartane leaned over the flimsy bar and dragged the innkeeper towards him so that the innkeeper’s fingers dangled over the lip of the bar and the man’s head hovered just above the surface, uncomfortably close to Kartane’s mug.

  ‘I asked for ale, not water,’ Kartane said, his voice flat and cold.

  ‘It’s all we have,’ the innkeeper said. ‘There’s a war on, you know.’

  ‘I’d heard,’ Kartane said. ‘So, where’s the proper ale?’

  ‘There isn’t any. I swear!’

  ‘Sure there is,’ Kartane said. ‘There’s the cask you’ve been saving for when it’s over – the one which hasn’t been watered down.’ He stared down at the innkeeper, ignoring the man’s ineffectual struggle to free himself. ‘The victory ale.’

  The innkeeper gave a tremulous shake of his head. ‘Don’t know what you mean. Besides, we haven’t won yet.’

  ‘The thing about victory,’ said Kartane, ‘is that you have to be alive to really appreciate it. We just survived an adventure in Obsidian so, in a very real way, you could say we won.’

  Tol saw the dark look building on Kartane’s face, and heard the innkeeper gulp. ‘That’s all the ale I have,’ the innkeeper said in a small voice.

  ‘You know the problem with building in the desert?’ Kartane continued, his voice low and menacing. ‘It’s hot. Turns out that fires start real easy in cities like this.’ He smiled. ‘Reckon that might put a dent in your trade.’ Kartane looked round at Tol and the others. ‘Anyone got a flint?’

  ‘Kartane,’ Isallien warned, ‘that’s enough.’ The Meracian knight took a step towards the bar but Tol stopped him with a hand. ‘I want to see where this is going.’

  ‘You’re Kartane?’ The innkeeper’s voice was barely more than a choked whisper. His eyes were wide as he realised who he was facing.

  Kartane raised an eyebrow. ‘You’ve remembered about a cask of ale lying around that had previously slipped your mind?’

  The innkeeper nodded and Kartane released him. ‘Might be time to go find it before we die of thirst.’ He turned and grinned at the group as the innkeeper scuttled away. ‘Right, I’ve done all the hard work so you lot can sort out the bill.’ He stalked towards a table at the back.

  Same old Kartane, Tol thought as Isallien and Catardor argued over who should pay. He heard his name and realised everyone was looking at him. Oh, bugger.

  *

  The innkeeper was glowering at them across the room, empty but for their small group. They had marched from dawn through the day, wending their way north up the narrow stretch of sand bordered on both sides by saltwater. Dusk had come and gone but the survivors had continued marching long into the cold night. It was now, Tol reckoned, past midnight with the dawn of a new day not far away. Shade, fourth of the Desolate Cities, had fallen first. Then Siadendre, its streets overrun as Tol and his companions had fled with Katarina. Now Obsidian – the stoutest, most defensible of the Desolate Cities – had fallen too, and only Galantrium remained. If the city fell the Gurdal would have an open route up through the last few leagues of the Spur and into the rolling plains of south-eastern Meracia. Kartane, though, was happily slurping his ale as though the Reve and their Meracian allies had sent the Gurdal scuttling back across the desert.

  ‘It doesn’t feel like a victory,’ Tol said.

  ‘Victory all depends on your point of view,’ Kartane said. Tol was sure he’d heard the abbot say the same thing once.

  ‘Certainly,’ Katarina agreed. She and Stetch had joined Tol, Kartane, Isallien and Catardor in the taproom, emphasising heavily that she would not be staying long. ‘I have often heard that surviving a battle is, in itself, a great victory.’

  At some point in the march north Sir Patrick’s son had joined them, and he offered a grunt of disbelief. His face was bright red, burned almost to the colour of his hair and the newest member of the Seven was probably wishing someone else from Vrond had inherited his father’s place.

  If only he knew, Tol thought. It’s much worse than he thinks.

  ‘Lady Katarina is correct,’ Isallien said, fixing his attention on Patrick. ‘It is true we lost many good men in Obsidian, but we hurt the Gurdal and their losses far outweighed our own.’ Patrick remained silent, eyes fixed on his ale, and Isallien continued, ‘We have slowed them down and bought ourselves more time to shore up Galantrium’s defences. And,’ he said, ‘reinforcements from Meracia are likely on their way. With a few thousand more men we might be able to hold the Gurdal back and the delay at Obsidian could make all the difference.’

  Kartane drained his ale and called for another, apparently either ignorant of the innkeeper’s dark look or just not caring. Probably, Tol thought, the second one.

  ‘Besides,’ Kartane said, his finger stabbing towards Patrick, ‘if you really need something to get red-faced and angry about we’ve got bigger problems.’Kartane chuckled quietly. ‘Red-faced, get it?’

  Patrick lifted his head up. ‘What do you mean, “bigger problems”?’

  Tol saw Isallien and Catardor frantically gesturing for Kartane to stay silent, but the knight ignored them. ‘Might as well tell him,’ he said as the innkeeper deposited a fresh mug of ale and made a hasty retreat. ‘There’s no way it could be Patrick here, because he wasn’t one of the Seven when it all kicked off in Norve.’

  ‘This is neither the time or the place to discuss this,’ Isallien said with a pointed glare at Katarina.

  ‘One of the Seven is a traitor,’ Tol said, earning a groan from Isallien and a sigh from Catardor. ‘The demons sent mercenaries to Icepeak Abbey. The abbot knew when he saw them why they had come. They had been sent to retrieve the book, Valeron’s book. Angel’s Truth.’

  Patrick gave a nod of understanding, and Tol went on, ‘The abbot told me that when they didn’t find it they’d go next to St. Helena’s, where the book actually was. They did,’ he said quietly. ‘I only just escaped with the book before they arrived.’

  ‘I’ve heard rumours of the book since my father and I arrived on the Spur,’ Patrick said. ‘Knights wondering whether it exists, thinking maybe it might tell us how to defeat the Gurdal.’ He shrugged. ‘Things like that. People always talk.’

  Tol nodded. ‘But they knew the places where the Truth was likely to be. They also knew that whatever was in it could destroy the church, and only the people who’ve read the book know that.’

  ‘Only the Seven are allowed to read it,’ Patrick agreed. He rubbed his sunburnt jaw, wincing as he did so. ‘I can’t believe one of the Seven would betray us.’

  ‘The Seven ain’t perfect,’ Kartane said. ‘They’ve got the same flaws as the rest of us. Or do you reckon you’ve never made a mistake?’

  ‘No,’ Patrick said quietly. Tol saw his mind working, the young man’s eyes flicking uncertainly towards Isallien and Catardor.

  ‘We three are all new to the Seven,’ Isallien said as he watched Patrick. ‘The traitor is someone who was already in the Seven at the time Icepeak was attacked.’

  Patrick nodded, looking relieved. ‘Do you know who?’

  ‘No. But we have lost your father, Sir Benvedor, and Krom Kraven; he wasn’t one of the Seven, but after General Convin’s death he was the most experienced commander. Now only three of the Seven remain: Valeron, Balvador, and,’ Isallien paused, his eyes darting towards Kartane, ‘Korwane.’

  ‘Not my brother,’ Kartane growled. ‘It’s that little shit Valeron, has to be.’

  ‘So what do we do?’ Patrick asked.

  ‘Be careful,’ Catardor said with a wry grin.

  ‘Catardor’s right,’ said Isallien. ‘The loss of your father and Krom Kraven to assassins is worrying. It might be the traitor—’

  ‘Valeron,’ Kartane said.

  ‘The traitor,’ Isallien continued, ‘could
be directing the assassins who struck at the Seven. It is best we travel in pairs or more to make it more difficult. And you,’ he pointed at Tol, ‘I’m inclined not to let you out of my sight as you’re always getting into trouble. We’ll need you and the angel when the Gurdal come.’

  Tol shrugged. ‘I can look after myself.’ He pretended he hadn’t heard Katarina’s snort of derision.

  ‘Even if one of the Seven’s a traitor,’ Patrick said, ‘why would they try and kill the rest of us?’

  ‘I should have thought that’s obvious,’ Katarina said. ‘If there’s only one man left he can choose the rest of the Seven and suddenly your little band of knights is led by seven Gurdal spies. So, even if the Gurdal lose the battle they still win.’

  Oh, Tol thought. That’s why.

  ‘Oh,’ said Patrick.

  ‘On the good side,’ Kartane said helpfully, ‘me and Kraven can just sit by and wait till there’s only one of the Seven left and we’ll know who the traitor is.’ He scratched his chin. ‘Course, might not be much comfort to you three.’

  ‘No,’ Isallien said, ‘not much.’

  ‘Where are the others anyway?’ Patrick asked. ‘Do they know there’s a traitor among us?’

  ‘One of ’em does for sure,’ Kartane said. ‘Valeron.’

  Isallien rolled his eyes and tried to ignore Kartane. ‘We dare not share our suspicions with them,’ he told Patrick. ‘We cannot be sure who it is and if we tell any of them there’s the chance we’re just warning the traitor.’ He gave Tol a hard glare. ‘Until tonight only three of us knew. Now, it seems, we are telling anyone, even if they’re not a knight.’ His eyes drifted to Katarina and Stetch.

  ‘It’s Valeron,’ Kartane repeated. ‘You said yourself he was supposed to be guarding that stretch of wall in Obsidian Kraven here burst through. If it weren’t for him, the Gurdal would have swarmed through and hit us from behind.’ He pointed his mug at Isallien. ‘It’s Valeron.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ allowed Isallien. ‘Valeron said he had to reinforce one of the defensive lines. It seemed a poor excuse for leaving that alley unattended but at the time I just thought he was trying to make a name for himself.’

  ‘I saw him on the march,’ Catardor added. ‘Seemed to be making new friends with some of the captains from back home. I heard them talking about how he stopped one of the lines from buckling,’ he shrugged, ‘so maybe there’s a measure of truth to what he said.’ Catardor shrugged again. ‘Haven’t seen him since then though.’

  ‘Where’s Korwane?’ Tol asked. ‘I thought he was with us when we came into Galantrium?’

  ‘He went to find Balvador,’ Isallien said. ‘Balvador should be able to tell us what’s been happening in the city and whether any reinforcements have arrived.’

  Katarina yawned loudly. ‘As exciting as all this talk of betrayal is, Steven, I think it’s time I returned to Kenzin’s ship. I expect my sister is wondering whether I am alive.’ She smiled. ‘You may accompany me.’

  Tol drained his ale and stood. ‘I’ll be back in a while,’ he told the others, ignoring Isallien’s protest of returning unaccompanied. It was largely irrelevant anyway as nobody, it seemed, was keen to move from the inn.

  ‘Why’s she call him Steven?’ Tol heard Patrick ask as he reached the door.

  Kartane laughed. ‘You ever tried telling her she’s wrong?’

  40.

  ‘You don’t have to go back to the ship,’ Tol said as they stepped out into the night. ‘You could stay at the inn. With me,’ he added.

  ‘With you? Yes, I had rather guessed what you meant, Steven.’ She smiled. ‘You’re not very good at subtlety, are you?’

  Tol shrugged. ‘You could send Stetch to let your sister know you’re safe. Then you wouldn’t need to go back; you could stay with me.’

  Katarina linked her arm through his as Tol heard Stetch snort behind him, the Sworn man keeping just close enough to make Tol’s shoulders itch, as though a particularly violent wind was preparing to scour him at any moment.

  ‘There will be no fornication before we are married,’ she said.

  ‘Before we’re married?’

  There must have been a note of surprise in his voice because she gave him a sharp look. ‘Yes, Steven, that is generally how these things work. I am a duke’s daughter, not some tavern wench who you can tumble with only a smile and a few sweet words.’ She looked up at him with a puzzled frown. ‘You did not seriously expect me to meekly follow you to bed just because you declared your love, did you?’

  ‘No, I guess not.’ Tol scratched his chin. ‘I hadn’t really thought about it,’ he said. ‘I’m still getting used to the idea that you feel the same as I do.’

  ‘How sweet,’ she said, patting his arm. ‘Mistaking me for a common tavern wench would not have been an auspicious start to our relationship.’

  ‘Never that,’ Tol said, hearing the note of warning in Katarina’s voice. ‘Never that.’ He sighed. ‘So how does it work in Sudalra, marriages and such?’

  ‘Our custom is a little different from your own. We tend to favour betrothals between a man and a woman rather than simply bashing someone on the head and dragging them home.’

  Tol laughed, and saw Katarina was smiling too. ‘I’ll try and restrain myself,’ he said.

  ‘Oh, don’t worry,’ she said. ‘Stetch is right behind you.’

  Tol stopped laughing. Katarina took one look at him and burst into laughter herself, which really didn’t help. ‘And the betrothal?’ he asked. ‘How does that work? I don’t have to ask your father’s permission or anything, do I?’

  ‘Oh, I think we can dispense with that,’ Katarina replied. ‘A simple promise between two people usually suffices as betrothal.’ She peered up at him, her face suddenly serious, with faint lines of concern sweeping across her forehead in the moonlight. ‘Once betrothed, marriage follows. If you have any uncertainty, now is the time to speak.’

  She’s worried, Tol realised. Just like I am, she’s wondering if this isn’t real, if it’s all a cruel joke. It made him feel better that he wasn’t the only one who felt so strongly. ‘I have no doubts,’ he said. ‘None at all. I love you.’ He gave a lopsided grin. ‘And if the Gurdal or your father don’t kill me I will marry you.’

  Katarina’s smile was radiant. ‘Then we are betrothed.’

  ‘Good. You know, being betrothed is kind of like halfway married, so we could turn round and go back to the inn. We could, uh, half sleep together?’

  Katarina laughed. ‘You mean,’ she said, ‘the half that doesn’t involve sleeping?’

  ‘Well, if you’re suggesting it I guess that would be okay.’

  She gave Tol a playful slap. ‘No fornication,’ Katarina said. ‘This is for your own good really.’

  ‘It is?’ I don’t see how.

  ‘Of course, Steven. How are you supposed to fight the Gurdal if all you can think of is my naked body?’

  Tol choked, but he couldn’t shake the image. ‘I’d manage,’ he sputtered.

  ‘How very brave of you, dear, but my mind is firm on this matter.’

  Tol rolled his eyes. Why did she have to say it like that?

  ‘You may think of it as an incentive to defeat the Gurdal,’ Katarina continued. ‘Perhaps I may reconsider in the wake of victory.’ She waved a hand in some vague pattern. ‘You know, carried along with the buoyant mood of the city and such. A decisive victory might just change a girl’s mind.’ She leaned in close, body pressed tight to his. ‘I’d say that’s a good reason to not get killed,’ she whispered huskily. ‘Wouldn’t you?’

  Tol managed to grunt something which sounded like agreement, but even that was an effort.

  ‘Oh, look,’ Katarina said brightly, ‘we seem to be at the docks already.’ She gave Tol’s arm a squeeze as they approached the Sea Crow. ‘A kiss is, I believe, acceptable between betrothed couples. But,’ she held up a finger, ‘no more.’

  *

  There were some kisses that le
ft you no different than before. There were others that left an impression or left you wanting more. Tol had just found that there was also a kind of kiss that was a promise of all that was to come, that was halfway to the bedroom and managed to hint at the kind of stormy passion that was probably going to give you a heart attack. Maybe even kill you.

  Just a kiss, he thought as he left the docks behind and headed back to the inn. If that’s just a kiss… He tried not to think about the promise it held. The Sudalrese have funny ideas about kissing.

  He was still trying to get his breathing back to normal, but his heart was hammering in his chest like… like a lothario hammering away at a tav—

  The nagging sensation of discomfort resolved itself into the certain knowledge that he was being followed just as two figures stepped out into the street a dozen yards ahead. Clouds were scudding across the sky, reducing the moonlight to a weak glow but Tol saw the weapons easily enough.

  Oh, shit.

  He glanced over his shoulder and saw two more cutting off any escape, a third running up behind them. There was just him and five armed men closing in on him fast. Tol cursed, knowing if he hadn’t been distracted he would have noticed sooner. Tol charged at the two assassins ahead of him. He saw a glimpse of surprise on one of the men, his sudden surge at them catching the men unawares, and then Tol was upon them. He hacked clumsily at the man on his right, but felt the sword make contact. The other man came at Tol with the speed of a man untroubled by a day’s march. Tol parried one strike, his desperation growing as he sensed the other men approaching from behind. He blocked another lunge, forcing himself forward and waving Illis’Andiev like an untutored boy. He swung wildly twice, and connected on the third blow, Illis’Andiev nearly slipping from his fingers under the impact. He jinked to his right, spinning round to face the remaining men while still wondering how they hadn’t skewered him already.

  One was down, a second stood with his back to Tol. Two feet of steel jutting out from underneath his shoulder blades explained why he was slowly sinking to the ground.