Angel's Deceit (Angelwar Book 2)

by A. J. Grimmelhaus

  ‘Is the church truly important to you, Kraven?’ Rachel asked. ‘You seemed a less than pious man on our first encounter – more a street urchin than a knight-in-training.’

  ‘People change.’

  ‘Not in two weeks.’

  ‘They do if they meet an angel,’ Tol said as his tired legs led him after Stetch. ‘Kind of gives you a new view on things.’ He frowned, sensing a change, like a whisper in the back of his mind. It had been so long, he had almost forgotten what it felt like. Kalashadria.

  A distant knot of hardened resolve, tickling the back of Tol’s skull, a tightly concentrated awareness that had reawakened like an extra sense newly discovered. Tol stumbled, quickly righting himself as Kartane appeared at his shoulder. Another step, and the tightly bundled knot of emotions grew brighter, clearer. Slowly, steadily, Kalashadria’s presence increased in his mind. It had been there for a minute, he realised, but he hadn’t recognised it as he and Kartane were talking.

  Tol smiled. ‘She’s coming,’ he murmured softly. He cursed under his breath, but realised only Kartane had been close enough to hear. He gave the knight a guilty glance as the presence built to a crescendo, and saw Kartane frown, his forehead creasing in thought.

  A snap of feathered tendon sounded overhead, and they all jerked their heads upwards as a shadow passed over the tops of the trees, a faint shimmering of bone-white wings visible in the dying light. She was gone in a split second, but the gasps from his companions were enough to convince Tol that the others had seen Kalashadria too - seen something at least - and knew what they had witnessed.

  Kartane reacted first. ‘Chatty! Back here!’

  Stetch rejoined them in moments, his gaze scanning the treetops every few seconds as though expecting death to come from above. He heard something, Tol realised, but maybe didn’t get a good look.

  ‘Angel’s here,’ Kartane told Stetch, one finger raised upwards. ‘Kraven here was daydreaming,’ he continued, sparing Tol a disdainful glance. ‘Reckon he got the best view of which way she went.’ Suddenly everyone was looking at Tol. That man is much smarter than he looks, Tol thought. If he doesn’t know the truth of my bond with Kalashadria, he suspects something. Tol had spoken before Kalashadria flew overhead, and the stony set to Kartane’s face told him that the knight knew it, too. At least he didn’t say anything to the others.

  ‘Well? Which way?’

  Tol closed his eyes and concentrated on Kalashadria’s tightly coiled presence. He raised a finger and pointed north-west, a sharp deviation from their current heading. We’d never have found them in time, he realised. ‘That way.’

  43.

  Victoria walked beside Prince Julien on the narrow game trail. Her invitation to join the king’s younger son on a hunting excursion had not filled her with enthusiasm, but to decline the offer might have soured their tentative friendship so Victoria reluctantly acquiesced. The prince had brought only a minimum guard of half a dozen, and with no sycophants or friends for company the pair had spent most of the journey chatting amiably. Victoria knew her father’s secret hope for her visit to Meracia, and suspected Prince Julien knew it also. Still, he wasn’t a bad sort. Prone to an over-exaggerated opinion of himself, perhaps, but you had to expect that kind of thing from royalty. He was attractive, Victoria supposed, in a foppish sort of way, his hair hanging in blond ringlets about his shoulders and a carefully brushed moustache that dangled beneath his nose without so much as a hair out of place – probably, Victoria thought, due to the shimmering sheen of oil holding the whole thing motionless. I doubt even a storm would unseat a single hair.

  Finally alone (the household guards didn’t really count), the prince was a different man; far less formal than either his father or elder brother. On the subject of his family, Prince Julien spoke only indirectly, and Victoria sensed that there was tension in his relationship with his father and his brother. It was something they shared in common: Duke val Sharvina placed duty above his own family, and childhood had been less an adventure for Victoria and more of an extended training session for the battle of life. Likewise, sibling rivalry was a familiar sensation. Katarina could murder our own king and Father would still forgive her. A few days ago word had reached High Mera of events in Norve, and Victoria knew from the vague descriptions that had swept through the palace that her sister had been at the heart of it. No doubt meddling in matters that do not concern us on a whim, she thought. Accounts varied, but she knew in her bones that Katarina had somehow been involved in the drama, and quite possibly either caused it or manipulated it to serve her own ends. The last, she suspected, was more likely.

  Julien is a refreshing change, Victoria thought as the trees opened up ahead of them. Most of the noble sons her father had tried to match her with were dull, boring individuals who cared for nothing more than their own opinions and the sound of their voice. To them, Victoria was a trophy, a status symbol to be brought out for special occasions. And, of course, to continue the illustrious line. Julien was different though. He seemed genuinely interested in Victoria’s views, and was the perfect picture of a nobleman at ease in her company, almost as though they had known each other for years and had no need for the veneer of etiquette. Victoria was beginning to suspect that Prince Julien was also smarter than people gave him credit for. Once or twice since their first meeting she had caught him staring off into the distance, as if preoccupied by some weighty matter. Victoria had asked once what troubled him, but Prince Julien merely smiled and waved the matter away, apologising for his wandering mind in such beautiful company and attributing it to matters of statecraft.

  This afternoon had confirmed her suspicions though. Prince Julien was reputed to be a skilled bowman, yet had twice missed deer in their path. Simple shots, Victoria knew, for a good bowman. The prince had led the party deeper into the forest, following the trails until the light began to fade. Then, as a doe bounded between the trees ahead of them, he calmly unshouldered his bow, drew in one smooth motion, and felled the racing creature with a single arrow. A shot so impressive that Victoria knew he could only have missed the easier targets on purpose. All so he could spend more time with me. It was sweet, really, and Victoria took the prince’s refusal to try and impress her at the first chance as a good sign. A man confident in his own abilities.

  They were returning to High Mera via a different trail, and Victoria stepped out into a long, almost rectangular clearing that sloped gently down, a narrow brook crossing their path as the slope levelled out at the clearing’s far end.

  ‘This is one of my favourite places,’ Prince Julien said beside her. ‘I always find it soothing when I’m troubled.’

  Two of the guards walked ahead of them, ambling down the slope. Two more had followed close behind her and Julien, and as Victoria entered the clearing the pair increased their pace, flanking her and Prince Julien. The remaining two guards dutifully brought up the rear, the day’s prize dangling from a stout pole they held on their shoulders.

  ‘It’s lovely,’ Victoria said. ‘Very tranquil.’

  Prince Julien led her down the decline, lightly grasping Victoria’s hand as if she might stumble. He’s clearly never climbed the stairs of Jhanhar, Victoria thought. A mountain goat’s more likely to slip than I.

  ‘A good place to think,’ Prince Julien agreed.

  The lead guards reached the stream, striding over it with ease. The two men were only feet away from the trees when Victoria spied a flash of movement at the far left and right edges of the clearing. The two guards flanking her and Prince Julien crumpled to the ground, an arrow buried in each chest. Even as they hit the soft grass, five men charged out into the clearing with swords drawn. Victoria heard the whine of two more arrows. The guards flanking her and Julien dropped to the ground, open space between them and the five men emerging from the forest.

  ‘Julien, do something!’

  The prince gripped her hand tighter as the attackers hurdled the brook and raced up the slope towards them. ‘
There’s too many,’ he said.

  Victoria heard the thump of a carcass crashing to earth behind her. It’s probably not the deer, she realised, releasing the prince’s hand as the men coming towards them slowed and approached at a walk. There are men behind us, too.

  ‘They must want us alive,’ Prince Julien said quietly. ‘They could have killed us if they wished.’

  That might have been better. Victoria slid her family ring off her finger. She let it fall to the ground and covered it with her foot. Father is not going to be happy.

  There was a moment’s pain as something struck her from behind, and the world went dark.

  *

  ‘That way.’ Tol pointed west.

  Stetch was already moving before Tol lowered his arm, taking off at jog in long, loping strides. For a moment nobody moved, then the women set off after Stetch as they realised that he wasn’t going to wait.

  Kartane hesitated a moment and gave Tol a hard look. ‘You and me are going to have words when this is over, boy.’ He turned and jogged off after Stetch.

  Tol watched him go for a moment, half blaming himself for speaking without thinking, and half angry at Kartane. True, the knight wasn’t really a friend, but Tol had been caught up in enough tricky situations with him that he thought Kartane might at least understand. It was, after all, Kartane who told me not to trust anyone.

  Tol took a deep breath and lumbered off after the others. His legs were stiff and aching after his encounter with hanwell root, and his upper chest burned where Morafin’s dagger had penetrated, but a single thought kept him on the heels of the others: Kalashadria is here. Soon they would meet again. It seemed a lifetime had passed since he had last seen the angel and so much had happened. She had ignored him, that was true, but now, when he really needed her, Kalashadria had come to his aid. Tol increased his pace, closing to within half a dozen feet of Kartane and the others. Soon.

  The undergrowth was steadily becoming more dense as Stetch led them through the forest, and the trees seemed to be closing in, crowding round each other as if seeking solace. Tol could feel Kalashadria, her speed taking her far ahead of him and the others. Wings would be really useful about now.

  The others seemed to have forgotten about him. They were caught up in the chase, running at a steady pace as they had no idea how far away their destination lay. Finally, after a few minutes of loud blundering through the foliage, Kartane looked over his shoulder and saw Tol struggling a few feet behind him. Kartane didn’t say anything – and Tol thought he looked a bit out of breath – but the knight slowed his pace fractionally until the pair were stumbling along side by side behind Stetch and the four women.

  Tol felt a shift in the part of his mind that connected him with Kalashadria, a slight change in mood or attitude. She’s there, he realised, puffing along in Stetch’s wake as he led the group through a thicket of dense brambles.

  ‘She’s found them,’ Tol panted as he and Kartane fought their way through.

  ‘How far?’ Kartane seemed to have accepted Tol’s connection to the angel. Or just doesn’t have breath to bark at me right now. That, Tol figured, was probably more likely.

  ‘Don’t know,’ Tol said between breaths. ‘Mile or two. Maybe.’

  They stumbled out of the thicket a few paces behind the others. ‘We’re off course,’ Tol mumbled as he tried to make his legs move faster. Kalashadria was somewhere to the left of the path they were taking. If Stetch kept to his course, they would pass right by her.

  ‘Which way?’

  Kalashadria’s emotions shifted in his mind, the determination changing, augmented by something disquieting Tol couldn’t quite recognise. Anger? Fear?

  Kartane punched him on the arm to get his attention. ‘Which way?’

  A flash of surprise burst through his link to Kalashadria. He gasped as he felt her sudden pain, and then it was gone like a phantom. Tol’s head was empty, lighter, an aching void in his mind where the angel had been. No! He collapsed to the earth, tears in his eyes as pulled himself up onto all fours. Kartane was at his side in a second, peering down on him with concern and holding out an arm.

  ‘What’s the matter?’

  Tol took the offered arm and let Kartane haul him upright. ‘She’s gone,’ he said. ‘I can’t sense her.’

  ‘Which direction? Which way was she going?’

  Gone. Tol remembered how Kalashadria had described their bond to him: blood is a conduit to the soul. She had told him that her link to him was permanent; “until the day you die” had been the angel’s exact words – not something Tol would soon forget.

  Kartane was shaking him. ‘Which way?’

  Tol shoved him away. If Kalashadria’s connection to me lasts until death, the same must be true of my link to her.

  Tol started running.

  *

  Tol passed the nuns first, legs pumping furiously as anger and despair dulled the pain.

  She can’t be dead.

  Tol overtook Suranna.

  She has to be alive. I can’t lose her. It had nearly happened once already; Tol had nearly been responsible for the death of an angel. Not again.

  He passed Vixen, three strides behind Stetch.

  I’m coming.

  Tol ran past Stetch, the fire in his limbs nothing compared to the pain of the void left by Kalashadria’s presence.

  ‘Kraven!’ Kartane shouted.

  Tol ignored him, increasing his pace and veering left, changing his course towards where he thought Kalashadria had been. Ducking under a low branch, he crossed a well-used trail. He altered direction, following the path of flattened grass and dried mud as it curved towards his goal, twisting and turning through the tightly clumped trees at the forest’s heart. The darkness around him was growing as Tol followed the path on instinct, panting heavily as his feet pounded the forest floor. How much further? The pain was gnawing away at him now, seemingly everywhere, and his legs were beginning to slow. I’m coming.

  He burst out into a clearing, slowing down as he saw the first bodies. Tol pushed himself up the slope, stumbling between the two guards, their livery marking them as the elite household guards of the royal family. Dead.

  Tol splashed through the brook, stumbling up the incline towards the top. Ahead he could see more bodies, dark, unnatural shapes barely visible in dusk’s waning light. Please, no.

  His legs felt heavy as he reached the centre of the clearing, eyes straining to identify the bodies. Another guard lay to his left, a fourth on the right. A few feet beyond it, something white caught Tol’s eye. His heart stopped a moment, until his eyes identified the bright smear as a tabard – not an angel. Tol ignored the body, coming to a halt as he saw two more corpses at the clearing’s farthest end. More guards, he realised as something shiny caught his eye.

  Armed men were pouring into the clearing now from left and right with two more stepping out from the underbrush ahead. Tol ignored them, fixing his eyes on the long, straight shape lying in front of him, the steel almost luminescent in the gloom.

  Her sword. He knew what those swords meant to her kind. She’d never leave it.

  Tol screamed as the men approached, a high-pitched wail of anguish that sent birds fleeing from their roosts, their flight a poor homage to the angel’s glorious nature.

  44.

  Tol grasped the hilt of his sword. Two men were approaching from the front, two from his right, and a fifth from the left. He closed his eyes a moment, Father Michael’s words as fresh in Tol’s mind as on the day he had first heard them: Stay mobile. He flexed his fingers, itching to draw the steel at his hip. When facing multiple opponents, you have to keep moving. The itch built and Tol gave in to the desire, drawing Illis’Andiev in one fluid motion and spinning to his right as he brought the angel-forged steel to bear. He opened his eyes as something struck the sword, a metallic clang echoing through the clearing as a thrown dagger pinged off the blade’s flat.

  Tol lunged towards the man who had thrown it, long str
ides taking him towards the knife thrower and his companion. He felt a nagging sense of unease at the impossible block, but he didn’t have time to think anymore. He covered the last few yards, sword striking out to his left and unbalancing one of the men. He followed up with a sweeping cut to the right, knocking the freshly-drawn blade from the knife thrower’s hand. Tol grunted as he reversed the swing, Illis’Andiev sweeping up across the man’s chest.

  He spun on his heel, narrowly deflecting an incoming strike from the first of the others to close in. He parried another blow, this time guiding the sword aside while his own darted into the man’s chest, piercing his heart. He turned again, catching a glimpse of two more men crossing the stream as Tol’s feet kept him moving. Stay mobile.

  Seven in total, two down.

  The first attacker had recovered, and Tol stepped past him as the clumsy strike came towards him. Tol let Illis’Andiev trail in his wake, and as he passed the swordsman Tol brought his arms round and across his body as he pivoted on one foot. He felt the momentary resistance as Illis’Andiev swept through the man’s jugular.

  Tol heard a whistle as he completed the full-circle turn to find the fourth and fifth men waiting for him. The remaining two, rushing up the slope towards him, had turned at the sound, and Tol caught a glimpse of Stetch sprinting towards them. His own opponents came at him together, trying to flank him. Tol moved uphill towards the one on his right, two swift strikes forcing him back. Tol reversed his direction, catching the second man’s strike on his sword. Tol shifted one foot and stepped in close, both men’s swords held high. He shifted his hips and threw his shoulder into the man, the swordsman falling away as he lost his balance.

  Tol sensed movement and he turned back to face the first man, now recovered. He hacked at him once, twice, three times, substituting skill for strength as he struggled to kill the man before his fellow murderer got to his feet. The third strike unbalanced him, and Tol followed up quickly with a lunge to the chest which struck true. He turned, breath coming fast as the last man’s sword reached its apex, ready to hammer down into Tol’s collarbone. Tol tried to bring Illis’Andiev up to parry the blow, but knew it was too late. His sword came up so slowly, the last attacker’s blade losing its inertia and gathering pace. Time seemed to stop, the sword halting mid-descent as its wielder twitched. He stared at Tol for a moment then the sword fell from his fingers and he crumpled to the ground, an arrow buried deep in his back.