Angel's Truth (Angelwar Book 1)

by A. J. Grimmelhaus

  Tol found himself glancing at the darkening sky more often as they approached the junction, and noticed, too, that Katarina and Stetch were acting likewise. They were so close now that he expected the demon to descend upon them just shy of the gates, allowing a sniff of victory before rending it away with tooth and claw. The road was deserted, and the three travelled in uneasy silence, willing the open gates closer. Larger and larger they loomed, and as the road curved to join its siblings Tol saw it head-on for the first time; the city wall was a haphazard edifice of rough-hewn slabs of grey stone of varying sizes and hues. Only at the city’s gates could an order be seen: two slightly misaligned columns of darker stone rose from the earth, an uneven arch bisecting them a third of the way up, and high above them the crenellated battlements continued their unfettered journey around the city. The gates were open, guards leaning against each of the stone columns. Only forty feet separated the columns, but the archway stood fifty or sixty feet high, and the two guards looked like children against the walls which they stood beside. Why so high? Tol wondered.

  Suddenly they were there, passing beneath the vertiginous arch and entering the city proper, sounds and smells permeating the air and drowning out the relieved sighs of Tol and his companions. Safe at last. Well, for a while at any rate.

  They followed the main road deeper into Karnvost, Tol’s attention drawn to the abundance of shops and stores that littered their route: tailors and bakers, potters and swordsmiths, and more than a smattering of alehouses. Urchins and merchants walked the same streets side by side, the wealthy strutting like peacocks in gaudy garments while – much to Tol’s amusement – they tried to keep as far away as possible from the ragged paupers.

  ‘Here is where we must part ways.’

  Tol stopped, reluctantly pulling his attention away from the throng of people passing by. They stood outside a tavern, a wide road branching off to the right. Stetch was two feet along it already, only returning to his mistress when he saw she wasn’t following.

  Tol nodded. ‘Thank you. For everything,’ he added. He shuffled from one foot to the other and adjusted the straps on his pack. ‘I don’t suppose…’

  Katarina smiled gently, and pointed further up the main road. ‘The church lies along this road,’ she told him. ‘Keep to it and you will soon reach your destination. If, that is, you are still intent upon visiting the priests?’

  ‘Seems like as good a place as any to start. What about you? You never said where you’re going.’

  ‘Didn’t I?’ Katarina waved the question away with light laugh. ‘How remiss of me. A hot bath and a warm meal are in order; there are one or two tolerable establishments in the city, all of which are run by my countrymen. Tomorrow, Stetch and I must depart for Kron Vulder, and from there we shall take passage home.’ She bobbed forward and gave Tol a quick peck on the cheek. ‘Take care, Steven, and be careful whom you trust, for I fear you will find few allies in Karnvost; the Duke is ill-disposed towards the Reve – some trouble a few years back, I gather, which has coloured his views – and the court follows the Duke’s lead in politics.’ She smiled mischievously. ‘Still, I would like to see the man’s face when he learns the Band of Blood are knocking on his door. I’m rather tempted to tell him myself.’

  Her eyes twinkled with glee, and Tol found himself chuckling. ‘I’ll remember that. Safe journey, and try not to let Stetch do all the talking.’

  She laughed, and bounced on her toes to kiss him on the cheek one last time. ‘Watch the skies, Tol Kraven,’ she breathed into his ear.

  22.

  Dusk was creeping like a thief over Norve’s second city as Tol wound his way further in towards its heart, a black stone edifice that dominated the skyline like the moon. Wherever he went he could see the castle’s stocky exterior, its four square towers that reached further to the sky than even the city walls, and the worn battlements that, despite stained glass windows and streaming pennants, proclaimed itself a fortress. From what Tol could see, it was a redoubt of cold purpose, either the product of extreme paranoia or some previous Duke’s obsession with building the perfect fortress. If the latter, Tol was fairly sure he had succeeded. If anyone was ever stupid enough to fling an army against Karnvost’s high walls and somehow managed to take the city, the castle was large enough to hold off an occupying force almost indefinitely. Properly provisioned, you could hold that ground against the Gurdal, Meracians, anyone. Unfortunately, though, his destination was a church, and one of the problems Tol had with churches was that they were designed especially to get people inside and not, as he would prefer, to keep people out. If the demon found him in a church things would get really messy, and Tol suspected that the mess would generally be bits of him decorating the walls. He shuddered. Best not think about it. That was a better option, so Tol concentrated on making his way through the dwindling crowds. Maybe when he arrived there’d be knights still around – maybe even one of the Seven. That would be ideal: offload the book and find the nearest tavern. Maybe find Katarina and take ship south. The problem was, things rarely worked out like that for him. His journey here had been anything but easy and if a demon was really after him Tol knew things were more likely to get worse. A whole lot worse.

  As the church bells rang for the evening service, Tol finally saw his destination, the pealing bells loud and low in his ears. A crossroads loomed ahead, a butcher’s on the near left corner and perhaps the most ramshackle tavern he had ever seen on the near right corner. Over the top of the tavern’s precarious roof Tol could see the church’s belltower, the church itself just across the road from the tavern. Just around the corner he would find out whether any knights of the Reve remained in Karnvost. If not, Tol thought as he glanced in through the tavern’s smeared windows, then it’s a suicide run east, and a toss-up between whether the mercenaries or the demon skewer me first. The tavern’s door opened with a creak as Tol drew level with it, the crossroads only a dozen yards away.

  Almost there.

  Tol caught a glimpse of movement in the doorway, someone grabbed him, pulling him off-balance, then shoved him into the dark, musty alehouse. Tol staggered a couple of paces, instinctively spinning to face the dark shape he had stumbled past. He got a hand on the hilt of his sword, but stopped as he felt eyes from all sides peering through the gloom at him. His attacker stood in front of him, a slim, broad-shouldered fellow with greasy dark hair and a sunken, sallow face. The man shook his head fractionally as Tol prepared to draw, and spoke to someone behind Tol.

  ‘An ale for my friend here, Clyde. I think I damned near frightened the boy to death.’

  Tol let his hand slip to his side, wary as the man who’d dragged him in stepped closer. ‘Try not to draw attention to us,’ the stranger said quietly as he clapped Tol on the shoulder, ‘neither of us wants the attention of the Watch, do we?’

  The man gestured to a table in the corner where a lone tankard sat, and headed over to join it, a bewildered Tol at his side. Through the murky window he could make out the church.

  ‘Maybe I do,’ Tol said. ‘Maybe the Watch are exactly what I want.’

  The man sank down onto the bench, sliding along until his back was against one wall, his shoulder propped up against the other. As Tol sat down opposite him, the man shook his head, his eyes darting left to the window and the church beyond. ‘No, not unless you’re a fool. The Watch work for the duke, and the duke’s no friend to the men of the Reve.’ He sighed. ‘Partly my fault, I suppose, but it can’t be helped.’ He fell silent as the barkeep, a surly looking man with deep-set eyes and a bad burn on the right side of his face, deposited two tankards on the table.

  ‘Figured you’d want another as well.’

  ‘Thank you, Clyde, my friend here will see you right.’

  Tol reluctantly parted with a silver ducal, watching suspiciously as the stranger peered after the bartender’s back until it was lost in the smoky gloom. The man seated opposite Tol looked haggard, bone-weary, and a stranger to anything res
embling a decent meal. For all that, his reactions had been fast, and there was something behind his eyes that made Tol uneasy, as if the man was a hair’s breadth from chaos and slaughter at any given moment. The eyes of a hunted man, with little or less to lose.

  ‘I got an idea and if I’m right, you stepping inside that church there might be an idea every bit as bad as me coming back to this damn city – maybe worse.’

  Tol peered at the contents of his tankard hopefully, but if the aroma was anything to go by he was about to be disappointed. He took an experimental sip, and gasped as the ale burned the back of his throat.

  ‘Strong stuff,’ the man warned him, taking a deep swill of his own mug as if to prove a point. ‘Clyde brews it himself, though I’ve never had the stomach to ask what he puts in it.’

  ‘Who are you and what do you want?’

  ‘The first ain’t one I’m inclined to answer right now,’ the stranger replied, his gaze scanning Tol’s face before settling on the tankard’s cloudy contents as he swilled it around. ‘The Black Hand’s a hive of villainy where few questions are asked but,’ his gaze swept across the gloom, ‘ears are always listening.’

  Tol glanced over his shoulder and a dark outline two tables away turned in its seat. A half dozen candles illuminated the inn, but with dirt-stained windows and a heavy fog of smoke, Tol could make out very little of his surroundings. To his left was the door through which he had been dragged, while behind him against the opposite wall he could discern the dim outline of a bar, the broad-shouldered shape of Clyde behind it. Here and there shadows sat at tables alone or in pairs, hunched over their ale as though discussing murder or treason, and Tol noticed more than one or two furtive glances cast in his direction.

  ‘The second question,’ the man continued as Tol turned in his seat, ‘well, that’s a better one.’ He paused, drinking deeply from his tankard again and smacking his lips noisily. ‘You’ve done well, lad. I must admit, I never thought you’d make it this far, and you’ve left quite the trail of destruction in your wake: five mercenaries in the north woods, an entire convent of nuns, and I’d hazard a guess that you’re the only one that made it out of that frozen fortress.’

  ‘Ice—’

  Tol grunted as the man kicked him in the shin.

  ‘What did I say, boy? Listen.’ The man took another gargantuan slug of his ale and slammed the tankard back down with a resounding thud that made Tol start. ‘It’s not about what I want,’ the stranger told him quietly, ‘if it was, I’d never have come back.’ He shook his head slowly. ‘I’m here because of a promise to a friend. I’m here because Michael asked, and because I owe him.’

  Tol frowned. Michael? Then it dawned on him. ‘You know the A—’

  Another kick, this no more gentle than the last, and Tol cursed under his breath. ‘Don’t be a lackwit, boy,’ the man warned him tiredly, ‘and yes; him.’

  Tol peered at him with fresh suspicion; there was much, he was sure, that the man wasn’t telling him, but how much was the truth? Was any of it? The memories of Katarina’s deception were still fresh in his mind. I won’t be caught like that again, Tol promised himself. ‘How did he ask you when he didn’t know what was coming for him?’

  ‘Aye, so you’ve some sense,’ the stranger nodded. ‘A letter, sent by raven with the Order’s seal in red wax. Satisfied?’

  Tol’s face scrunched up as he tried to think back to Father Michael’s study. His old hands had been covered in ink, but that was no strange occurrence, and not proof enough that he could trust this man, not without knowing more about him. ‘Tell me about the art in his study.’

  The man smiled sadly. ‘That old tapestry of the Seven’s stand?’ He shook his head with a wry smile. ‘That was there when I was no older than you, and I can’t imagine the old man would ever change it.’

  Tol snorted. ‘Still there – at least when I left it was.’

  ‘You trust me now?’

  ‘I believe you,’ Tol said slowly, ‘but trust you? No.’

  ‘Good,’ the man said, slapping the table emphatically. ‘It’s just a shame you didn’t think as carefully about stepping into that church over there.’

  ‘Fine,’ Tol sighed, ‘why shouldn’t I go in? The Maker going to strike me down or something?’

  ‘You heard the bells for evening prayer?’

  Tol nodded.

  ‘How many times?’

  ‘I don’t know; what difference does it make?’

  ‘Maybe all the difference in the world, boy. They rang six times.’

  Tol shrugged. ‘Sixth bell, near enough; what’s the problem?’

  ‘Did you learn anything at I—at the place in the mountains? Always the bell tolls seven times, one for each knight that stood the Angel’s Defence. Even,’ he added, ‘the one they like to forget about.’

  ‘What’s the problem? One more or less is neither here nor there.’

  ‘But it is,’ the stranger insisted, ‘any priest would know that – most of the students at your place, too,’ he added pointedly.

  ‘I had more important things to do,’ Tol said, more defensively than he had intended. ‘So there’s a halfwit priest in the city; hardly news, is it? The more you talk, the more you get wrong: I took three men down in the woods, not five; the nuns… well, that wasn’t my fault, and I tried to warn them. Now you start jabbering about some priest that can’t count – I could understand if it was gold he couldn’t count, but how many times he rings the bell?’ Tol leaned forward. ‘I saw a dog looked just like you once, right after he bit a child and realised he wasn’t much longer for this world. I’m thinking you’re hanging on to your mind by a thread, and maybe that thread’s snapped but you haven’t realised it yet.’

  The stranger was silent for a moment, utterly still. Tol was just starting to think he might have gone catatonic when he suddenly slapped his thigh and started braying with laughter. ‘You’ve got spirit, boy, I’ll give you that. And stubborn, too; reminds me of your old man, he’s stubborn as a badger, too.’

  ‘You know my father?’

  The man leaned in close. ‘Yes, Tol Kraven,’ he whispered, ‘I met your father once or twice.’ He leaned back against the wall. ‘I hope you take after him, and Kur, too, else there isn’t much hope for our little band, none at all.’ He whipped out his hand, swiping the half-empty tankard to his lips and downing its contents in one go, slamming it back down and shouting out to Clyde for another. He watched Tol in silence as the bartender drifted out of the gloom and replaced the empty drink. Clyde dutifully waited for payment before leaving, and an uncomfortable moment stretched out as neither man was willing to reach into his purse. At last, Tol stirred and paid the man, albeit grudgingly and with a sour look on his face.

  ‘I found three corpses, right enough,’ the man told him with a last glance at Clyde’s departing back, ‘but after them I stumbled on two more, a mile or so east.’ He leaned forward on his elbows, cold eyes peering hard at Tol. ‘Thing is, if it wasn’t you that put ’em down, who did?’

  ‘Wolves?’ Tol suggested.

  ‘Ever known a wolf kill with cold steel, and a single, precise blow at that? No, someone who knows one end of a blade from another took them down before they reached you.’

  Stetch, Tol thought. Definitely one of the Sworn. He shrugged. ‘Dangerous place, the north. Could have been bandits.’

  ‘Bandits hunting bandits?’ The stranger grunted a laugh, leaning back against the wall and lifting his tankard. ‘Seems more likely it was that Sudalrese woman, don’t you think?’

  Tol tried to mask the surprise on his face. ‘No,’ he said carefully, ‘she was already at the Jolly Roger when I arrived.’

  ‘And her companion? Or has that ale dulled your memory as well as your wits? The innkeeper remembered you all quite well with very little persuading; he said the three of you left together at dawn.’ The tankard thumped down, foam spilling over its lip. ‘Who are they?’

  ‘Just travellers like me. Men
of the Band were already at the inn when I arrived and… they were looking for lone travellers, so we pretended we were a couple and they left us alone.’

  Another grunt. ‘And whose idea was that? Don’t answer that,’ he said with a dismissive wave, ‘I already know the answer.’ His voice dropped, low and menacing. ‘What I don’t know is why you were still travelling with them at Soltre, nor why you killed a man for them. For her.’

  ‘I don’t answer to you,’ Tol growled, ‘and I still don’t trust you. All you need to know is I paid my debt and we went our separate ways. You ask a lot of questions and answer none, and right now I’m not sure whether you’re here to help me, interrogate me, or just send me to sleep with your prattle.’

  ‘To business then,’ the stranger said. ‘You want to see what’s waiting for you in the church? Fine, we’ll do that, but first you’re going to rent a room here and ditch your pack there so you don’t look like some idiot farm boy with fresh air between his ears.’

  ‘Fine,’ Tol snapped, sliding out from the rickety bench. ‘And what are you going to do?’

  ‘I’m going to enjoy my ale, you insolent pup, and curse the stupidity and stubbornness of boys the world over.’ He grabbed Tol’s arm and pulled him in close. ‘Best leave the Truth upstairs, boy, in case we’re making a one-way trip. You do still have it, don’t you?’

  Tol nodded, but the man didn’t let go of his arm. ‘And how much of it have you read?’

  ‘None.’

  ‘A passable liar,’ the man said after a brief examination of Tol’s face, ‘but the Truth changes a man.’ He released Tol’s arm and smiled. ‘Still, seeing as you’re not gibbering like a simpleton I guess you haven’t read that far yet.’