Kartane glanced upwards, and saw the broken window on the first floor. So someone survived. The grounds had fallen ominously silent, and it didn’t take a scholar to work out the villagers had discovered their courage. Unsure of how many had turned up, Kartane hurried alongside the convent’s side wall and slipped around the corner into the rear garden, breathing heavily. Shouldn’t have had that last ale. He found more footprints, coming from inside the convent and heading towards the south wall. As good a direction as any. He followed them to the wall, heaving himself over the lip and dropping to the ground beyond. Half a dozen or more, he reckoned, which meant some of the nuns escaped, at least for a time. At the bottom of the hill, sets of footprints veered off in separate directions, each shadowed by a larger pair. Which probably means they’re already dead, Kartane figured. He turned south-west and cut through the woodland until he reached the road. There were fresh prints from the village, all heading south, and Kartane followed their course. A few leagues later he saw a junction, a narrow path branching east through the woodland. Probably a village or two down there, Kartane guessed. After that there wouldn’t be anything but forest until the mountain range that speared down from the north, cleaving Norve almost in two. Turn east, Kartane willed the footprints as he approached, any direction but south.
He crouched in the trampled snow of the junction, and was surprised to find that some of the men had indeed turned east into the woods. Most, though, had kept heading south.
South. It had to be south, didn’t it? Of all the places Kartane didn’t want to go, Norve’s second city was top of the list. It was tempting to follow the half-dozen who had gone east but tracks east of Icepeak had led him into the woods and eventually to the five murdered men, three around a long-banked fire and a pair a couple of miles away. All five had the crimson scrap of cloth tied around their upper arms that marked them as men of the Band of Blood, and Kartane knew the reputation of their commander: a man not given to careless mistakes, nor leaving witnesses. The group heading east were almost certainly hunting down the escapees from the convent, he decided, which meant the rest were heading south, rather than back to whatever hole they’d crawled out from. And that meant Kartane’s target was still breathing and, much to his annoyance, heading like an arrow to Karnvost.
He sighed. South it is, then.
15.
Katarina didn’t know what the opposite of loquacious was. She wasn’t even sure there was a word. If there wasn’t a word, then leaving Stetch with a scholar for half a day would no doubt lead to the scholar inventing a word for it. The man was just so damned… frustrating. But frustrating didn’t really do Stetch justice. I slept on the floor for him, but did I get so much as a word of thanks from him? No! And to make matters worse Katarina was convinced he hadn’t closed the inn’s window properly, so while Stetch was nice and snug under her duvet Katarina had suffered on a cold floor with a draught on her back and – even more unpleasant – on her nether regions. It had not been at all pleasant on waking, feeling achy and frosty in places which should never go below room temperature. The damned idiot had remained silent on events at the convent, refusing to allow Katarina to see the carnage for herself, and not even elaborating further on what had happened until they were a league south. And then what did he say? “Demon killed them”! Stetch wasn’t talkative at the best of times, usually avoiding words like they were crotch rot, and when he did talk it was rarely full sentences, as though he just conjured adjectives that may or may not describe his thoughts or feelings. If he had feelings.
To make matters worse, Katarina had been woken halfway to morning as some drunken idiot tried in vain to find his room, staggering loudly down the corridor and noisily trying his key in every lock half a dozen times. Stetch, ever-vigilant guardian that he was, slept through the whole thing.
‘What happened?’ she asked again, hoping that Stetch might actually string a whole sentence together, but resigned to the unlikeliness of this scenario.
‘Dead.’
‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I know they’re dead. I’m asking you how.’
‘Demon.’
‘And is that going to be your report to your brothers? Is that what you will tell the Black Duke? “Demon killed nuns”?’
He nodded, his lip curling in what might have been amusement.
‘Stetch,’ Katarina tried again, ‘I need to know why the demon killed the nuns. Was it bored, doing it for pleasure? Or was there a purpose behind its actions? We need to know the truth.’
Stetch appeared to consider this a moment. ‘Can’t stop it.’
Katarina sighed, resisting the familiar urge to strangle him. ‘I am not proposing we stop the demon, Stetch, I just want to know why there’s one loose in Norve and its purpose here. I think it’s the kind of information the Duke might like, don’t you?’
‘Maybe,’ he said, turning away from her and trudging along the road south.
Katarina shook her head wearily and hurried along after him. She drew level with her companion but bit back the question on her lips as she saw his expression. The Sworn weren’t known for their skills in polite discourse, so she waited, the sound of their footsteps crunching through the snow her only companion. She sighed quietly, opening her mouth to chide him just as he spoke.
‘Band brought out the nuns,’ he began haltingly, as if trying a new language for the first time.
And? Katarina waited, wondering if he would say more. If not, I swear I’ll strangle him, Sworn man or not.
Stetch’s face clouded over, either in deep contemplation of his memory or pain at having to string more than a few words together. Maybe both.
‘Demon asked a question,’ he said quietly, feet pounding a lazy beat in the snow. ‘Same question to all. Then ripped them apart, one by one.’
Katarina frowned. ‘When you say ripped them apart…?’
He nodded once. ‘Tore off arms. Leg or two.’
Katarina blanched. She thought she understood now why Stetch had been reluctant to tell her. Poor man seeks to protect me even from the truth. It left her feeling guilty; she needed no protection, either from men or words. Strangely, it was also a relief. If one of the Sworn hadn’t guessed the truth about her, then no one else would either.
‘Killed them all,’ Stetch continued. ‘Then shouted at Band’s leader and buggered off into t’ sky.’
‘The question, Stetch, what did the demon ask the nuns?’
‘Asked where the book was.’
‘Which book?’
He shrugged. ‘A rare one?’ he suggested after a moment, the strangled-cat sound emanating from his throat telling Katarina that Stetch thought he was funny. Stupid man. She grinned despite herself, imagining a demon flitting across the continent in search of a good read.
*
The light was failing as they at last approached civilisation, if it could be called that. The town hid behind a stout stone wall built for sieges, though Katarina couldn’t begin to guess why anyone would want to assault the frozen, Prophet-forsaken place. A problem with bears, perhaps? she wondered. Still, it seemed like overkill. I hope they put as much effort into the lodgings as the wall, she thought as they passed the gate guards. The first few buildings tore that hope from her breast, frost-cracked stonework and shoddy thatchwork suggesting that civilisation had once paid a brief visit, but had no doubt been scared off by the smell of the Norvek families living within the squalid town.
Stetch made straight for the first inn he saw, reluctantly stopping shy of the threshold when she tutted loudly.
‘Go ahead, if you want fleas,’ she told him, ‘but there has to be a better place than this.’
He returned to her side, responding only with a forlorn look that reminded Katarina of her first puppy hoping to be fed scraps from the family table. The second inn they came to was in a much better state of repair, and stood out from the neighbouring buildings. The entrance had been swept clean of snow and warm light oozed out from the windows, mingling with
an almost enticing smell of home cooked food.
‘This will suffice.’
Stetch glanced pointedly at the sign, and Katarina followed his eyes. ‘Perhaps less salubrious than I would choose ordinarily,’ she admitted, peering at the unusually large proportion of cleavage threatening to pop out of the sign, ‘but it will have to do.’
Stetch seemed almost happy, and Katarina eyed him carefully as he opened the door for her in an unusual display of courtesy. ‘No fraternising,’ she warned him with a finger. He rewarded her with a ferocious scowl, but as usual kept whatever meagre thoughts he had to himself. No doubt something involving serving girls.
The interior of the inn was a pleasant surprise. Lanterns dangled from the ceiling, bathing the room in soft yellow light. A fire crackled peacefully against the left wall and the floor was not only free of dirt and dust, but also lacked the darker stains that hinted at long-finished bar brawls that had escalated. Seven of the eight tables were occupied and a smattering of customers lingered at the bar, where a middle-aged woman chatted with them. Her eyes flicked to the door as Katarina entered, and after a cursory evaluation favoured her with a smile - a smile that dissipated as she saw Stetch lumber through behind Katarina. She sighed and headed over to the bar to rent a room, deftly ignoring the barkeep’s subtle attempts to learn of their destination and origin. Not even a challenge, Katarina thought as she ordered drinks and a meal for Stetch and herself. Considering her upbringing, stepping around the probing questions was like taking a doll from a baby.
‘Pardon?’ she said.
The woman had asked something, but Katarina’s attention had wandered.
‘I said, what would you like to drink?’
‘Oh. A mug of mead for myself.’ Katarina paused. ‘Stetch?’
‘Ale,’ he grunted.
‘Please?’
He stared at her like his next meal, and Katarina sighed. Manners were, it seemed, too much to expect from the man. Probably used his allotted number of words for the day.
‘And ale,’ she told the barkeep, unshouldering her pack and offering it to her companion. Stetch looked at it like a butcher studying a pig.
‘He’s a terrible manservant really,’ Katarina told the woman, ‘but he was dropped on his head as a child and my father took pity on him.’ She looked back at Stetch. ‘Be a dear, Stetch, and take my pack upstairs.’ He stared at her for a long moment, then took the pack with a scowl.
‘Upstairs, Second door on the left,’ the barkeep told him, pressing a key into his hands.
Katarina slid some coins across the counter but didn’t wait for the drinks. She made her way to the last remaining table and settled in beside the fire, her back to the bar. She kept her expression aloof and stern, aware of the looks she was getting from some of the clients. Judging by some of the customers, she might catch something just by talking to them, and most seemed to have much more than just talking on their minds. The heat from the fire was just beginning to take the chill from her bones when Stetch finally returned, two mugs in his hands – one of which was either a half measure or had been drunk with gusto in the short space between bar and table.
Stetch glared at her, looking pointedly at the door, and Katarina realised he wanted to watch the comings and goings of the inn’s patrons. She smiled sweetly at him. ‘Don’t just stand there, Stetchy, you make the place look so untidy.’
He dropped onto the chair opposite her, muttering something under his breath which Katarina thought probably wasn’t a compliment. ‘The eyes in here are keen,’ she whispered, leaning forward. ‘Try to remember you are just a simple manservant.’ She smiled. ‘A very simple manservant.’ Stetch grunted and resumed his contemplation of the contents of his tankard with singular focus and unwavering determination. Katarina noticed that his hooded eyes never left the shiny surface of the pewter tankard and its myriad reflections. Devious bastard, she thought, but at least he’s my devious bastard.
*
Katarina was just finishing the last of her stew as Stetch’s head swung sharply to his left, the Sworn man peering out of the window. His head swung back towards her a moment later. ‘Stay,’ he grunted, slipping out of his chair and heading straight for the front door, covering the distance in a few long strides. Damn man, she thought. How dare he talk to me like that. Katarina had a good mind to go after him and give him a piece of her mind, but it was nice and warm in the inn, and it seemed a shame to let a good meal go cold. When he comes back, she told herself, we are going to have words. Or at least she was going to talk and he was going to listen. The chances, she knew, of Stetch playing an active part in any conversation were rather small.
A minute passed as the inane prattle of the inn’s patrons droned on in the background, then another minute. Where is he? Katarina wondered as the third minute ticked by. The door creaked open, bringing in a gust of icy air that sent the lantern flames spinning and swirling. Stetch strode boldly into the inn, glanced briefly at Katarina then heading right towards the stairs.
Where’s he going now? Then she saw the second figure, shuffling in after him. He looked much the same as when she had last seen him, though perhaps more tired around the eyes. His eyes swung across the room in the same manner of Stetch and his kind: fast, but missing nothing. They came back to fix on her and he flashed a tight smile before hurrying up the stairs.
Interesting, Katarina thought. He’s still alive. Not a trivial achievement, all things considered.
16.
After pulling the bark and splinters from Tol’s neck and cleaning the wounds the innkeeper, who had introduced herself as Maddy, left Tol to soak in the water. She returned a short while later with soup and a hunk of fresh bread which was as good as any he had tasted. He ate in the bath, spilling out his tale between slurps. Maddy listened with a worried frown that deepened as Tol described his escape from Icepeak, his suspicions that the knights and monks were slaughtered, the cold journey to Rickron’s Elbow and his arrival at the convent of St. Helena. The tiny tattoo of the Reve’s emblem on the sign outside was one Tol recognised, indicating help could be found within, and Tol found himself feeling lighter as he finally had someone he could talk to about his quest, even if he couldn’t reveal all the details of the book, its history, and the secrets it contained. He told Maddy of the task placed upon him, and revealed the belief held by the Reverend Mother and Father Michael that the Knights Reve had been betrayed from within. His meeting with the Sudalrese traveller Tol kept to himself, along with the names of the Seven that had been entrusted to him.
‘There’s nothing you could have done,’ Maddy said as Tol told her about the nuns’ screams. She patted him on the shoulder, drifting from the room with his empty bowl and returning moments later with a fresh change of clothes.
‘You need to rest,’ she told him kindly. ‘Get some sleep in your room and we will talk this afternoon.’
Tol protested, but Maddy was firm on the matter. ‘If the Band of Blood arrive I shall see they do not find you. Rest, or you will never complete your journey.’
‘It’s only a day,’ Tol muttered as she passed him a towel.
‘It isn’t that simple,’ Maddy told him. ‘The First Father has journeyed from Meracia to Kron Vulder and the Knights Reve have gone to see him. They expect to be called to war, Tol, and few knights if any remain in the west. Finding the Reve in Karnvost may not be so easy as you think.’
She slipped through the doorway before Tol could ask anything else, the thump of the closing door reminding Tol of how he had gotten into this mess to begin with. When one door closes, another one hits you in the face, he thought. He clambered out of the tub, changing his smallthings and donning the unfamiliar clothes Maddy had left him; plain, but comfortable.
Maddy was waiting outside and led him along the corridor to one of the guest rooms. ‘Get some sleep and we will talk later,’ she promised. Too weary to argue, Tol entered his room and flopped onto the cot. No knights in Karnvost? Did the abbot know how imposs
ible this was when he sent me? As his eyelids closed, he briefly imagined the old man chuckling with mirth, sitting at his desk and rubbing those ink-stained hands in glee at the trial he had thrust upon his student. The laughter followed him into sleep.
*
Dusk was heaving its last mournful breath as Tol returned to the Maiden’s Watch. The crowds had thinned, and now only those journeying to or from the town’s taverns roamed the streets. He shivered, breath misting in front of him as he passed the alley alongside the inn. He took a couple of steps then paused, the entrance a few yards away. With the weather so cold, why is someone peering in? He took a look through the nearest window himself. The inn was busier than Tol had left it, but of all the customers one stood out. Katarina. He turned back, and walked back past the mouth of the alley, this time allowing his head to turn and scrutinise the man-shaped shadow, face illuminated by the candlelight escaping the window. I know that man. His mind went back to the inn on the North Road where he had met Katarina, but all he kept seeing was her face and bouncing bosom as she threw herself at him. Stop it, he told himself. She had led him to her table, past the men hanging around her like wolves. Yes, he thought, his heart sinking. The man in the alley was one of the Band of Blood. I can’t abandon her, Tol thought, not after she saved me. If even one of the nuns told the Band what I look like… Bugger it all, I was hoping for a hot meal and warm bed tonight.
A quick glance showed no one else around, and Tol ducked into the alley, creeping along on his toes and silently thanking Maddy for having one of her staff sweep the alley clear of snow. He had to be quick. Once the mercenary identified Katarina he would be off to his brothers and Tol couldn’t afford to let that happen. He moved swiftly and surely in the darkness, covering the ground quickly. The man, now wiping the mist from the window with his sleeve, turned at the last second, but Tol was faster, wrapping his arm around the man’s neck and thrusting his knife into the man’s torso. It bounced off a rib going in and Tol winced at the sensation, but thrust again and buried the dagger as far as it would go. The mercenary struggled, the two of them collapsing to the cold ground in an awkward embrace. Come on, Tol willed him, die already. Seconds passed, the mercenary’s resistance slowly weakening, his ragged breaths coming further and further apart. Come on, Tol thought, if anyone passes by…
Angel's Truth (Angelwar Book 1) Page 10
