A sharp kick to her ankle brought Katarina’s attention back to the study’s occupants. She glowered at Stetch, but as usual it bounced off him, ineffectual. The duke, she saw, was looking at her expectantly.
‘Your pardon, Duke Tirian, my mind was elsewhere.’
‘I said, thank you for bringing me your news, unpleasant as it may be. If you will excuse me, Lady Katarina, I must question the witnesses and learn the truth of what happened at my gates.’
‘Your Grace… if you will permit it, I would hear what they say of those events.’ The words stuck in Katarina’s mouth a moment, unwilling to come forth. ‘I would consider it a favour.’
Those cunning eyes were studying her carefully, and Katarina was careful not let any hint of emotion cross her face. Even so, he still had an inkling of the bond she had formed with the Havakkian boy-knight.
‘You have an interest in the fate of a peasant, one whose family is so blackened?’ The duke grinned. ‘You have feelings for him?’
Katarina did her best to look indignant. ‘I do not fraternise with such uncouth louts, Your Grace, and am deeply offended you think so little of me.’ The duke’s face remained stuck in a disdainful sneer, and Katarina found her face colouring as her words failed to sway the man. Perhaps I’m losing my touch, she thought. ‘I saved the fool boy’s life,’ she said, allowing her anger an outlet. ‘I would be most affronted if he had the temerity to get himself killed days later. It would be frighteningly unappreciative of my efforts, small though they were.’
‘And such news would be welcomed by your father upon your return.’
‘There is that,’ she conceded.
‘Very well,’ the Duke sighed, ‘I suppose word will reach your spies soon enough anyway.’
‘My thanks,’ said Katarina, bowing her head in an unfamiliar gesture of deference.
Another knock on the door from without announced the arrival of the gate guard and the young woman, ushered into the room by the selfsame captain who had only just evaded the sharp punishment of his liege. A prudent man would have sent another in his place, Katarina thought as the captain followed the pair into the room. But I cannot fault his temerity. Although, she thought, it is more likely further evidence of the stubborn stupidity of these Norvek savages.
Twisting in her chair to view the newcomers proved to be uncomfortable, and Katarina moved across to the third chair, leaving an empty seat between her and Stetch. She turned the chair slightly and saw Stetch do the same, although his efforts didn’t create a din or generate a flicker of anger on the Duke’s face as he called the witnesses forward and demanded an explanation.
The stubby little guard lurched forward, his thick arms supporting a young Sudalrese woman who looked to have run headlong into a wall. Several times. Her clothes and hair were in disarray – though Katarina suspected they hadn’t been that orderly to begin with – and a third of her head was smeared in half-dried blood. She peered at the duke with glassy eyes, and Katarina thought that if the guard let go the girl would crumple to the cold stone floor. But even so… There was something wrong here, her instincts told her. The guard started talking, his puckered face and beady eyes reminding her of a vole as he described hearing a distant scream and his brave rescue of the girl. Katarina couldn’t put her finger on it but there was something off, beyond what might be expected of an audience with the mercurial duke. The girl’s head jerked as the guard described injuring the man, and Katarina’s suspicions deepened. The peasant girl’s face twitched as if in pain, and Katarina’s eyes darted over her body. There. The guard’s grip was too tight, fingers pressing deep into the flesh of the girl’s arm. There’s something more going on.
Katarina listened silently as the guard then described the arrival of five men beyond the gate, crossing paths with some simple-minded boy who was leaving.
‘There was more men comin’ from one of the taverns on the plaza,’ the guard explained. ‘Mercenaries or caravan guards by the look of them. The boy took one look at them,’ the guard laughed, ‘then started shouting at the sky.’
The man’s description of what followed was short, staccato, equal parts fear and reverence as he described the arrival of the demon, the demon’s advance on the fleeing youth, and then the arrival of an angel who stood between boy and demon.
‘Forced it right back, she did,’ said the guard, ‘kicked the bloody thing off the plateau then buried the boy’s head in her big bouncin’ titties – your pardon, m’lady – and buggered off into t’ sky.’
‘And this is what you saw also?’ Duke Tirian asked the girl.
This time Katarina was watching and she saw the faint flex of the guard’s fingers as they dug deeper into the young woman’s arm.
‘She is almost dead on her feet,’ Katarina said, her eyes fixed on the guard’s face. ‘Stetch, help her into that chair.’
‘I got her,’ the guard protested. ‘Ain’t no trouble, the little thing’s light as a feather.’
Stetch was already on his feet, and glanced at Katarina. She nodded, and he stepped over to the pair, taking the girl from the guard’s hands and growling as the guard proved unwilling to give up his prize. With a gentleness that Katarina had never suspected him capable of, Stetch guided the girl into the central chair, dropping back into his own with a dry thump.
Katarina slid off her chair and knelt beside the girl. ‘It happened as he said?’
The girl nodded.
Katarina took the girl’s hand and enfolded it in her own. ‘He cannot hurt you,’ she said softly. ‘I will ask you again, but this time you should know to whom you speak.’ The girl looked up at this, fear and confusion warring for control of her slack facial muscles. Katarina lowered her eyes to where she held the girl’s hand within her own. The girl’s own eyes dutifully wandered after them and she gasped softly as she saw the ring encircling Katarina’s left middle finger, her family’s crest carved upon a square of black onyx.
‘Lady val Sharvina.’
‘Speak the truth, child.’
The girl lowered her head, her voice wayward like a drunkard’s gait. ‘He walked past as it happened,’ she told Katarina between quiet sobs. ‘It seemed like forever… but he came back, he saved me.’ Another sob, then the girl raised her head, staring at Katarina with puffy eyes. ‘He said his name was Tol Kraven… I thought it silly, m’lady; everyone knows they’re all traitors and cowards.’ She wiped another tear, though there were so many Katarina thought it a pointless exercise like locking the cage after the bear’s escaped.
‘He spoke truly, yet I think a man may be more than his lineage – that man at least.’
‘He took me to the gate and left me with the guards,’ the girl said. ‘The rest happened as the guard said.’
‘The angel took him?’
‘Yes. I – I think she was injured. They didn’t fly very far; I think they crashed into the apple orchard beyond the plateau’s rim.’
‘Lying to your leige is a heinous crime,’ the duke roared.
‘Not you,’ Katarina whispered to the girl as she saw her stiffen.
‘Admit you lied,’ Duke Tirian growled, ‘and I will spare your life.’
‘We just wanted the reward for catching him,’ the guard stammered, ‘not a big lie as they go, I’m sure there’s many in the castle told you plenty bigger. And we did bring word of the demon to the captain.’
The duke’s face hardened. ‘Captain, take the girl to my physician then find this miscreant’s fellow guard. There’s a recent vacancy at the mines of Westreach. They always have need of miners.’
The captain hesitated and Duke Tirian sighed. ‘I’m sure Lady val Sharvina’s companion here can keep an eye on this one. And, Captain? Get him out of my sight as soon as you can.’
*
Duke Tirian leaned across the desk and poured them all a generous measure of brandy, the decanter now all but empty. He eyed the dwindling contents and sighed. ‘All good things must come to an end, I suppose.’
Katarina laughed, covering her mouth as Tirian glanced up at her sharply. ‘Your pardon, Duke Tirian, but that is only a passable brandy. The finest barrels never leave our shores.’ As thunderclouds threatened his forested brow, she added quickly, ‘but I will see my father sends you a case.’
‘Thank you,’ he said gruffly, ‘it has been a rather trying evening.’
‘Ah, yes, the man who broke in with young Kraven. I heard that he saved Lady Sarah’s life.’
The duke grunted. ‘Still an escaped convict.’
‘Lady Sarah looked most pained that her saviour is to be executed.’
‘He’s supposed to be dead. Damned man should have died years ago. Thought he was.’
‘Yet now it is known that he lives,’ Katarina said carefully. This was a subtle dance, she knew. Few subjects were as like to spark a rage in the duke as the fallen knight, discovered in Lady Sarah’s bed by the duke himself some four or five years past. A stain upon his pride and dignity, Katarina’s father warned her that even uttering the man’s name had been known to bring fast and vicious punishment within the castle’s cold walls. ‘I fear hope may already have been born anew in the Lady Sarah.’
‘He should already be dead,’ the duke said, ‘an oversight on my part. One that I will rectify tomorrow morning.’
‘Of course,’ Katarina said, keeping her expression and voice grave. ‘My father told me about the difficult decisions those in power must face, but until now I did not realise how difficult those decisions could be.’
‘Difficult? It’s the simplest thing in the world, woman. What else would I do?’ He stopped, and Katarina saw suspicion cross his ruddy face. ‘Why would you not think the decision simple?’
And now I have him. ‘Pardoning a man sentenced to Westreach after he has broken out and broken into your home, none but a fool would release him, and I cannot imagine anyone would question your decision…’
‘But?’
‘But Lady Sarah seems like a very determined and very vengeful woman.’ Katarina shrugged. ‘Some women are like that, remembering every slight, every perceived affront. Living in the same house as a woman like that… I do not envy you, Your Grace, but I applaud your devotion to justice.’
The duke grunted, still looking suspicious as if Katarina had played a joke at his expense and he hadn’t figured out what it was yet. ‘Kartane dies tomorrow.’
‘Of course,’ Katarina agreed. ‘Execute the man, or placate your wife’s sister; it does not seem possible to do both.’
The duke’s gaze narrowed. ‘Enough games,’ he barked, ‘and make your point.’
Katarina smiled. ‘Why, Your Grace, all you have to do is have him die in such a way that Lady Sarah has no cause to blame you.’
‘An accident in the dungeon? I’ve already thought of that; she’ll see through it straight away.’
‘Oh, no, not that at all. I had something a little more intricate in mind, a game that may take longer in the playing yet will still yield the desired result.’
‘How much longer?’
‘A while,’ she shrugged, ‘though how long is difficult to say. But a delayed death in exchange for some much-needed peace? A small price, I would think.’
‘Fine,’ he grunted, ‘tell me what you have in mind.’
36.
The angel led Tol south-east through the fields. They soon left the road far behind, and turned eastward, the faint glow of Karnvost at their backs. Through most of the night the dim vista remained stoically monotonous, fields of long grass and bare fields unbroken by hill, dale, or tree. Twice Kalashadria assured Tol they approached small settlements and led him safely around, though he saw nothing ahead - neither lights nor the tell-tale outlines of buildings. Exahustion soon took hold of him as the angel maintained a relentless pace, her long legs never faltering. An hour or two before dawn they finally left the farmland behind, their passage easier as the wheat gave way to the soft grasslands of central Norve. Just as the sun poked its head up above the horizon, Kalashadria spied a small copse, and the pair stumbled into its heart, collapsing side by side against a naked elm.
‘Read to me,’ she commanded as Tol let his head fall against the trunk.
‘I need to sleep.’
‘Then read quickly, and I will watch over you while you sleep.’
Tol fumbled inside his tunic for the book, sliding it out on the second attempt.
*
The Gurdal fled back into the desert furnace, a ragged mob of butchers who had seen their god humbled and defeated. General Grenellian watched them flee, barking orders left and right as he stood over the fallen angel. He looked from the angel to the horde, and I could see the nature of his thoughts; glory in battle against a weakened foe, or conversation with a saviour sent by the gods. It came as no surprise that the general chose to pursue the Gurdal and glory, and despite myself and my comrades owing him no allegiance, the old dog roared at us in fury, calling us cowards and motherless whores until Kur knocked him flat, telling the general’s adjutant to get the general away from us or he would ‘cut him till he’s more holes than a fisherman’s net.’ The adjutant, at least, still had a measure of sense and hurriedly dragged the general a safe distance away before my friend made good on his promise.
The angel was clearly stunned that we eight had leapt to his aid, watching us silently as we escorted him away from the walls, pitching our camp as far from the scarlet sands as we could. Word had already spread through the city of the battle’s conclusion and the manner of our victory, and soon crowds began to flock towards us. We helped the wounded creature into a tent and Kur howled at the crowds until I swore his head would explode from anger. Thinking their saviour gone, the people soon dispersed. Many took time to thank us for our efforts on their behalf as they departed, and one or two even brought food and drink, though from their thin frames and hollow cheeks it was clear they had none to spare. It was the first time I ever saw Kur Kraven lost for words. Myself and the other Norvek knights had journeyed longest in his gruff company and the sight of Kraven so utterly confounded had us howling in the sand with laughter. This, of course, just made him angry which in turn only increased the hilarity of the moment. Soon we were all roaring with desperate laughter as Kraven cursed and swore at us all until he finally gave up and bellowed with laughter alongside us. Eventually none of us could remember why we were even laughing.
The battle was over; we had survived.
*
Tol yawned, the world coming back into a lop-sided view one sleepy blink at a time. The sun was low in the sky, afternoon shadows in the secluded copse deepening. Tol brought his head up straight, wincing as a bone in his neck clicked. He turned his head stiffly, and found Kalashadria’s eyes inches from his own.
‘About time,’ she said. ‘I was starting to think you had died in your sleep.’
‘You should have woken me,’ he said, suppressing another yawn, ‘I only needed a few hours.’ A glance through the trees confirmed Tol’s suspicions. The afternoon was waning, and the last of the daylight would soon be gone; he had slept for nearly an entire day.
‘You needed sleep,’ Kalashadria said, ‘and I chose to spend my time watching over you, but now I must leave your world and return to my own kind, sleeping though they may be.’
‘No, you promised…’
‘I was foolish. Your book,’ she nodded at the Angel’s Truth, balanced on Tol’s thigh, ‘is little more than a history, and a dull history at that. It does not contain the answers I seek, and I can ill afford to delay my return home.’
‘There must be more to it,’ Tol said. ‘The nun who gave it to me said it held the greatest secrets of the Knights Reve, that it had driven men mad. Even Kartane said it got worse.’
‘These Knights Reve – do they have something to do with Galandor?’
‘They’re the knights that fought alongside him. They banded together afterwards and formed the order to protect the church and its people – they’re the ones who t
rained me, who gave me the sword, Galandor’s sword. Please, let me read some more, I’m sure there’s more to it than just the battle they fought; there has to be.’
Kalashadria’s eyes slid to the edge of the copse, staring at the descending sun as if her will alone might make it reconsider disappearing from her presence. ‘Very well,’ the angel told him. ‘You may begin.’
*
A day and a night after the angel’s defence we gathered one last time beneath the stars to share the silence of bitter victory. For the longest time we stood, unknowing of another in our midst. How long he waited I shall never know but as a gust of wind fanned the dying flames of our fire we saw him in the flickering shadows, tall and proud as the king of kings. No words were spoken as he shared our grief until, at last, he motioned us to sit. We gathered around the fire, as if hoping its meagre light would banish the souls of those we had damned, and the angel sank slowly down beside us. The Meracian army had marched at noon in pursuit of the Gurdal, but the eight of us who had fought alongside the angel had remained, watching over the strange creature as fevered dreams marred its pale face. As the firelight licked his face I saw the shadow of those nightmares on that waxy visage, pale now as a bloodless corpse.
We waited in silence, the soft desert breeze punctuated by the angel’s wheezing rasps of breath.
‘I am the High Anghl Galandor, and I would know the names of those who stood guard over me in my time of need.’
Names and clans were exchanged in hushed tones, the truth hanging in the air like the stench of death. The angel had been wounded badly by the demon, but all of us saw the change that had come over it. Little by little, the angel was worsening, its injuries resistant to herbs and poultices. Already, the fresh bandages round its torso were dark with blood. It would die here, and all gathered knew it.
‘Can we do nothing for you?’ I asked. ‘Your injuries…’
‘Didn’t look that bad,’ Kur said in his usual blunt manner, ‘but now I’d say you’re a sunrise from death.’
Angel's Truth (Angelwar Book 1) Page 25
