Angel's Truth (Angelwar Book 1)

by A. J. Grimmelhaus

  Old Cobb nodded as he hobbled over to the fireplace. ‘Aye,’ he said, ‘found her right enough. Found the armed men searching for you, too.’

  He lowered himself to the hearth and starting adding the last of the wood. ‘They done found her before Old Cobb did.’

  Dog barked, the sheepdog’s head turned towards the door.

  Might just have found you, too, Old Cobb thought as he clambered to his feet, joints protesting. Must want you girls real bad.

  He heard the rickety old gate creak as he neared the door. Treasure, he thought. Only reason that makes sense.

  Old Cobb opened the door. ‘Thought there was only three of you,’ he said as another waif stumbled into his tiny shack.

  The woman managed a single step over the threshold, then her legs gave out and she dropped to the floorboards.

  ‘Morafin!’

  Now she finds her tongue, Old Cobb thought. ‘Don’t they teach you girls how to count no more? Four ain’t three.’

  ‘She’s hurt!’

  Old Cobb laughed. ‘And what gave you that idea, girl? The keeling over or the coat of blood she be wearing?’

  *

  ‘Are you sure you know what you’re doing?’

  Old Cobb coughed, releasing the needle until the tickle subsided. ‘Only way I could make things worse is if I stuck her in the heart.’ He cleared his throat, spitting phlegm onto the cracked wooden floorboards. ‘An’ maybe that’d be a kindness.’

  Morafin groaned softly. Mercifully, she had passed out some time ago, and after taking one look at her bloodied arm, Old Cobb had figured she should already be dead. Still, after enduring much mewling from his visitors he had put his shaky old hands to work, attempting to repair the damage to the nun’s arm with a suitably low expectation of his patient’s survival.

  ‘She’s bleeding worse than when she came in,’ Rachel said as he fumbled with the needle again.

  ‘Calm yourself, girl, Old Cobb knows his way around a wound. Stitched up me own leg once.’

  ‘But you walk with a limp!’

  Old Cobb chuckled as his patient groaned. ‘Other leg.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Bleedin’s worse,’ Old Cobb said conversationally, ‘because the cold stopped her blood leaking out. Cold was killin’ her though, so it’s either stitch her up afore she bleeds out or let her freeze in the forest.’ His hand trembled and Old Cobb cursed as he pricked himself with the needle. ‘Shouldn’t have sent nuns on a man’s job anyway.’

  ‘There was no one else,’ Rachel said quietly.

  ‘No, I s’pose not. It be a poor nunnery with men in it,’ Old Cobb said. He laughed. ‘My kind of nunnery.’

  Rachel’s cheeks coloured and she shuffled on the spot. ‘Will she live?’

  ‘Maybe. Maybe not. Won’t be for lack of trying on Old Cobb’s part.’

  ‘Thank you. We are in your debt.’

  ‘That you are, girl, and Old Cobb means to collect as soon as he’s finished stitching your friend here. You can start,’ he said through a toothless grin, ‘with the treasure they was after.’

  *

  Old Cobb closed up the wound, his patient pale and still. ‘Good as new,’ he said, nodding in satisfaction at his handiwork. Dog barked once, and Old Cobb jerked his head up in surprise. Dog had got up from his place by the fire, and stood on all fours, his head facing the front of the shack, and the path that led to the village.

  ‘Quick,’ said Old Cobb, ‘pass me that hare hanging up, and then the both of you get down and out of sight; we got company.’

  The prettier of the nuns moved quickly, snaffling the hare from the rusted iron hook by the fireplace and stumbling over to Old Cobb, pressing it into his hands with shaking fingers. The one he had stitched up, still lying on his kitchen table, moaned, and Old Cobb swore. ‘Keep her quiet,’ he told the nun. He picked up a bent paring knife, the hare in his other hand, and hobbled towards the door. ‘Good boy, Dog.’

  Old Cobb got the door open on the second attempt, his rheumatic fingers struggling with both knife and door handle. Trusting the instincts of Dog, he opened the door halfway and stepped under the lintel, leaning against the frame and peering into the failing light as the faint sound of feet churning leaves reached his ears and a shadow approached along the path.

  ‘Can’t a man live in peace?’ he said gruffly, recognising a Sudalrese brigand from the group who’d been searching the village for the nuns.

  ‘I’m not here for any trouble,’ the man said, holding his hands up as he reached the splintered gate that bordered Cobb’s shack. ‘I just wondered whether you’ve had any visitors since we spoke this morning.’

  ‘No. People know better’n to bother Old Cobb.’ He chuckled as the brigand began to open the gate. ‘Most people know better’n to bother a man fond of bear traps an’ snares,’ he said. ‘Them that don’t soon learn.’

  The man stopped at that, gently reversing the swing of the low gate and pulling it shut while old Cobb studiously examined his paring knife. ‘Any more silly questions or can Old Cobb get his dinner in peace?’

  The stranger shook his head. ‘I’ll be on my way,’ he said. ‘The offer still stands: gold if you find my friends.’

  ‘I may be old, sonny, but Old Cobb ain’t stupid; they ain’t your friends any more than I’m the Duke o’ Sudalra.’

  ‘Best you keep that thought to yourself,’ the man said quietly. ‘The world’s a dangerous place.’

  ‘I ain’t afraid of a few robbers.’

  ‘Then you are a fool, old man.’ He hesitated. ‘It’s the man we’re after,’ he said. ‘He has something that belongs to us.’

  Old Cobb remembered the dead nun only half a mile from the inn. He smiled. ‘Unfortunate, that.’

  The Sudalrese fellow peered at the hare in Old Cobb’s hand. ‘I’d rather not find the nuns,’ he said after a moment.

  ‘Aye, well, maybe don’t go looking then?’

  He nodded, still studying the hare. ‘You saw the men I’m with,’ he said. ‘They’re less… tolerant than I am.’

  ‘That so?’

  He smiled. ‘Perhaps they’re just more frightened of Kenzin Morrow than I am.’

  ‘Ah.’ So that’s who they are. Old Cobb cleared his throat. ‘Maybe they ain’t so dumb as I thought.’

  ‘We found his trail,’ the Sudalrese man told him, turning to go. ‘If you happen to see the nuns, keep them away from the inn. We’ll be gone by dawn.’

  I met the Band of Blood and survived, Old Cobb thought as he watched the man walk away, following the overgrown path back to Easthame. Ain’t every man that can say that.

  Nuns, he thought as he closed the shack door. Always more trouble than they’re worth. He glanced down at his hands and saw the nun’s blood, still wet, on both; the paring knife and hare were both pristine. Wasn’t the hare he was looking at, Old Cobb realised. It was the blood.

  He hobbled across the shack, and dropped the hare on the lone table, next to the head of the supine nun. ‘You were wrong about the treasure,’ he said, gazing into the frightened eyes of the young nun crouched the other side of the table.

  ‘What? No!’ Rachel removed her hand from Morafin’s mouth, and rose to her full height. ‘There was no gold, no silver,’ she said, smoothing her skirt with shaking fingers. ‘No treasure.’

  ‘Wrong!’ Old Cobb pointed at her with the paring knife. ‘Bandits attack your convent, and there’s only two reasons for men to do that. Seeing as your sisters are most likely dead, that rules out the first, so that leaves treasure.’

  Rachel sighed. ‘I told you…’

  ‘You were wrong,’ Old Cobb told her with a stern glare, the knife still pointed at her heart. ‘They attacked the convent, then go chasing after some fellow that ran off before they got there. Only reason for that is if the fool in question has the treasure, seems to me.’

  ‘But… he didn’t leave with anything, just what he already carried.’

  ‘That just means it’s
a small treasure,’ said Old Cobb.

  ‘Like what?’ Rachel leaned forward, her fists on the table. ‘What could be worth murdering all those sisters for? A bracelet? Some other trinket? It’s ridiculous!’

  Old Cobb’s face softened. ‘Is it? Seems a sensible explanation for what happened. And as for the treasure, well, I once heard a rumour about a treasure hoarded by the Reve.’

  ‘An angel’s feather?’ Rachel scoffed. ‘The Maker’s true name? I’ve heard dozens over the years, and they’re all twaddle.’

  ‘Most are,’ Old Cobb agreed, setting down the paring knife, ‘but this one tale stuck with me. Not because it seemed more likely’n the others, you see, but because the man that telled it, well, next day when he sobered up he tried to play it down, like he made the whole thing up or something.’

  ‘What was it?’

  The question came from the second nun, the large mousy woman called Bruna who had barely spoken since staggering into Old Cobb’s home.

  ‘The knight, he told me the Reve guard a book, and that in this book are the true words of the angel Galandor, spoken to the Seven after Demmegrahk’s defeat on the sands of the Spur.’

  ‘That’s silly,’ Bruna said, ‘the knights serve the church, and even if such a book existed they would not be allowed to keep it.’

  ‘Maybe so—’

  ‘—It makes sense,’ Rachel interrupted. ‘Mother Beatrice told us,’ she said quietly, ‘told us that the men who were coming sought to destroy the Knights Reve, and that if they fell then the church would follow.’ She brushed a strand of hair back over her ear, eyes searching the unconscious face of Morafin. ‘Whatever task the boy faces, it is important enough that men will kill to stop him.’ She nodded to herself, not meeting Old Cobb’s gaze. ‘A book that holds the High Angel’s words, that might be important enough – if it really contains the truth.’

  ‘Truth?’ Old Cobb laughed bitterly. ‘Funny thing, truth; one man’s truth is another man’s lie.’ He peered down at the unconscious nun. Almost looks like she’s sleeping. ‘Always hurts, too,’ he added quietly. ‘Never heard a truth that didn’t.’

  ‘We have to find Tol Kraven,’ Rachel said. ‘Help him, if we can.’

  ‘If he’s even alive,’ said Bruna.

  Old Cobb chortled. ‘Course he’s alive, else why would those fellows still be looking?’ He pulled a battered long knife from his belt, it’s edge pitted and worn, and jabbed the bent tip towards the sword on Rachel’s hip. ‘You know how to use that?’

  She shrugged. ‘We’ve practiced some.’

  ‘Not the same thing,’ he said. ‘Not even close. You two start cooking that hare and when Old Cobb comes back he’ll teach you how to kill a man with that little sticker.’

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘Get some practice sticks. Old Cobb don’t fancy no holes in ’im today.’

  25.

  Tol landed lightly on his feet, cursing inwardly as Kartane broke into a hunched run alongside the wall without so much as a backward glance to see if Tol was following. This is a bad idea, he told himself. I don’t see any way this can end without bloodshed. And probably mine. They had scaled the wall at the rear of the grounds, just by the corner and well away from the rear postern gate, which would almost certainly be manned. The inner grounds – so far – appeared bereft of patrols, but it was the kind of luck Tol felt doomed not to last. Just like always.

  They stayed close to the wall, using the bushes and foliage at its base as cover in case any prying eyes looked their way. It was deathly quiet, and every soft footfall of Tol’s boots sounded like a muted bell, but after half a minute the pair drew level with the castle’s rear wall. Kartane came to a halt, crouching in front of a thorny rosebush. Breathing hard, he pointed towards the castle’s corner, and the two trees that stretched skyward beside it. One of the trees was almost touching the castle’s wall, and Tol couldn’t be certain but it looked like one of the upper branches reached within a foot or two of a first floor window. Surely not? he thought. Between them and the trees was a hundred yards of open ground, not a shrub nor bush in sight. Kartane met Tol’s gaze with a twinkle in his sunken eyes, took a quick glance around then set off at a sprint across the ground. Tol cursed under his breath and ran after him, his sword smacking against his hip with infuriating frequency. Come on, he pleaded, soon catching up with Kartane, almost there; just a few more yards. And just as quickly as they had started, the two men reached the shade of the first tree, Tol decelerating with his companion as they reached the trunk. Both were breathing heavily, but the sound of a twig snapping was unmistakable, and followed a moment later by voices just around the corner.

  ‘Patrol,’ Tol hissed.

  Kartane nodded once, his greasy hair plastered to his face. The former knight took a deep, ragged breath, then propelled himself up the side of the tree, grasping the lowest branch and struggling to find purchase with his feet. His foot slipped, and for a moment Kartane hung there. Tol grabbed his foot with both hands, and heaved it upwards, holding it unsteadily for a second until Kartane grasped another branch and pulled his body upwards. The footsteps were closer, nearly at the castle’s corner, and Tol scrabbled up after Kartane, his heart thumping in his mouth. His foot slipped, and Tol bit back a curse, redoubling his efforts and hauling himself up to the first branch. The footsteps were closer now, and he knew the guards would round the corner any second. In desperation Tol jumped up to the next, thick branch, a dozen feet from the earth. He managed to get his body onto the rough bark, pulling his knees up as two guards came round the corner. He froze in place, sensing Kartane just above him, his back pressed against the trunk. Don’t look up, Tol pleaded. One ponderous step followed another as the two men slowly approached, following the night-black wall of the castle. Tol could see them, coming towards their hiding place at a leisurely stroll. He didn’t dare move, and was only sure he was still breathing by the loud sound in his ears. A few steps more and the men would be under the neighbouring tree, almost level with him and Kartane. Don’t look up. A half-glance is all it would take, and they would be discovered, peppered full of arrows till they fell to the earth.

  Tol let out a low sigh as the guards passed behind the trunk of the other tree, disappearing from his sight. They were talking quietly, and Tol found himself straining to make out the words as they floated up to him. The sounds faded quickly, but Tol didn’t dare move; for all he knew they could have stopped beneath the tree. A boot to his ribs nearly dislodged him from the branch, and he craned his head to see Kartane peering down at him, the man gesturing frantically for Tol to follow him. Tol nodded, pulled himself fully onto the branch, and grabbed the next one up, a thick, straight limb that arrowed towards the neighbouring tree. Kartane was on it, and moving further out, away from the trunk. Tol clambered up behind him, watching in dismay as Kartane took another step out, then broke into a sprint and, just as the branch looked to shatter with his weight, hurled himself off it to a branch on the next tree. Tol held his breath for a second, releasing it as Kartane slammed into the thick branch, his arms looping over its top and somehow holding on. In a few seconds, Kartane had righted himself, pulling himself up and crawling along towards the oak’s thick trunk. Now my turn. Tol mirrored Kartane’s movements, running lightly along the branch and springing off as the thinning branch sagged with his weight. For a moment as he leaped, Tol thought he had misjudged the distance, then his chest slammed into the rough bark, breath escaping in a deafening whoosh. His legs and lower torso kept moving, and Tol felt his weight shifting, but just as his arms – looped over the top like Kartane’s had been – began sliding back over the top, his legs finally stopped their forward thrust. As they returned on the back-swing, Tol fought to get a better grip, sure the guards would return any moment. He pulled himself up inch by inch, quickly moving to the relative safety at the branch’s root.

  Kartane hadn’t waited to help. Like a man possessed he had continued scaling the tree, not once looking back
. Tol took a moment to get his breath back, then started climbing quickly and quietly up the trunk, wondering why he had agreed to this. Because it’s the right thing to do, he reluctantly admitted. But, right or otherwise, the more Tol thought about his predicament, the less he liked it. If we succeed, then the chances of avoiding capture are slim at best. If we fail, the church will be blamed for the assassination. The church will blame the Reve for not stopping it, and the Reve will blame me; it’ll be another example of why the Kraven line is damned beyond any hope of salvation. It’ll probably end with a manhunt. He pulled himself up to the next branch, and was now level with Kartane, who was stepping lightly along its length, his arms out wide. The branch, Tol saw, extended to within a couple of feet of a first floor window. It turned away at the last moment, drooping as its thinning length ran parallel with the castle’s wall.

  Tol stayed still, his gaze surveying the ground below for any further patrols. Kartane inched further along the branch, and as he reached the closest point to the castle, the branch groaned under his weight. The fallen knight stopped, arms windmilling to steady himself. Just when Tol thought Kartane had righted himself, the knight slowly toppled forward, his arms held out in front of him. Just as Tol thought he would fall, Kartane’s hands slammed into the window ledge, breaking his forward momentum. Tol held his breath, saw Kartane’s feet still planted firmly on the branch, his body listing forward like a broken mast and prevented from toppling completely only by the strength in his arms braced against the ledge. Tol heard a soft grunt, and saw Kartane’s coat flutter slightly, one hand darting inside and reappearing with a dagger. Supporting himself with one hand, Kartane pushed the blade’s tip between the two lead frames of the window. A moment later Tol heard the soft snick of a latch. Kartane levered the right hand pane open with the dagger, tossed it into the room and adjusted his position on the ledge to open the other half of the window. With the window fully open, Kartane tensed, and with a grunt threw himself up at the ledge, using his arms to heave his torso over the lip of the ledge. For a moment he hung there, rump sticking out of the window while his legs kicked ineffectually, trying to find purchase. Tol smiled, and it took all his self-control not to laugh aloud at the sight. Then Kartane’s lower half slithered over the window, dropping into the room beyond.