Angel's Truth (Angelwar Book 1)

by A. J. Grimmelhaus

  ‘Okay,’ he grinned, ‘I get the idea: save the book, save the world, don’t get killed.’

  Kalashadria returned his smile. ‘A small task for my knight.’

  Tol laughed. ‘I can’t believe I’ve made it here. I never thought I’d get past the Maw, let alone make it to the gates.’ He could see the city now, a black smudge against the horizon, high up in the hills and cradled by the base of Mount Vuld.

  ‘You’re not there yet,’ Kalashadria warned him, gripping his shoulder tightly. ‘You cannot assume that the danger has passed; word will have reached the city by now, and that means your enemies will be watching for you.’

  ‘But… the demon’s dead.’

  ‘I do not think it would deal with humans willingly,’ Kalashadria said slowly. ‘Those mercenaries would be an exception. I rather think that it uses intermediaries to convey its orders, and that means there may be more waiting for you ahead.’

  Tol sighed. ‘If something sounds too good to be true, it usually is.’

  ‘Quite,’ she agreed. ‘It is past time I left now, Tol. Thank you for everything. It has been an… interesting visit to your world.’

  ‘I’ll miss you.’ It was all Tol could think of to say.

  ‘And I will miss you.’ Kalashadria’s head darted forward, and she kissed Tol lightly on the lips, a gentle brush that was over before he knew it had begun. ‘Goodbye, Tol Kraven.’

  Kalashadria’s wings spread wide with a soft rustle and she bent her legs and launched herself into the sky.

  Tol watched until she was no more than a tiny speck and then, finally, disappeared from sight altogether.

  Alone again.

  Tol wiped the tears from his eyes, and strode purposefully towards the inn. Ale seemed like a really good way to drown his malaise.

  52.

  Kron Vulder lay atop a series of undulating hills, each one higher and steeper than the last as though the city perched atop a giant’s crudely fashioned staircase. It lacked the ridiculously over-high walls of Karnvost, but was no less a fortress than Norve’s second city. To the north, Mount Vuld loomed over the city like a silent guardian, the city stretching east and west at its feet. Streams of icy water trickled down the mountainside, joining together at the mountain’s base and carving the city neatly in half as they fed into the lake at Kron Vulder’s southern edge. Lake Vulder itself was several miles across, a smooth expanse of icy blue water. Over time, the mountain streams had bloated the lake and eventually a small stream burst from the southern bank, wending its way to the fast-flowing Haldar river as it flowed east, twisting and turning with the curvature of the meandering hills and valleys until it met the ocean. The stream was unrecognisable now, a broad canal connecting the lake to the Haldar River allowing trade ships easy access to Norve’s capital.

  The lake was crystal clear, just as Kartane remembered it. It was also, he knew from experience, bloody cold, even in the sticky thrall of summer. Plenty of men underestimated the lake, swimming out towards its centre in the hopes of impressing some girl, or to win some wager. Plenty never returned, and Kartane had nearly been one of them. So many memories, he thought as he stared out of the inn’s window at the twinkling blanket of icy water. Life had been simpler back then, when he’d first taken the vow of the Reve in the chapel. Unblooded in battle, the world had seemed like an adventure waiting for a brave man to make his name. But that had been before Kartane had been sent south, before the first Sudalrese landings had given Kartane his first glimpse of war in all its horrible, screaming glory. And before he had seen that book lying in his brother’s room, its title too tempting for him to resist. And reading that cursed book changed everything.

  The knock at his door pounded in perfect synchronicity with Kartane’s throbbing head and he winced as he called out for his visitor to enter.

  ‘Morning,’ Katarina said brightly in a voice far too loud for Kartane’s liking. As ever, the Sworn man was lingering in her shadow. They had arrived in the city at dusk, the Sudalrese woman insisted on letting Kartane have one last night of drunken revelry before leaving for the Spur. Not that insistence was necessary.

  ‘How are you feeling this morning?’ she asked, grinning as Kartane winced again.

  He stared at her. ‘Take a guess.’

  ‘I did try and warn you about Meracian firewine.’

  Kartane shrugged. ‘Forgot how strong that stuff is.’ He sighed. ‘Is it time?’

  She nodded. ‘You’ve missed breakfast, but we should just catch lunch. Grab your gear and meet us downstairs.’ Katarina looked Kartane over. ‘And try not to vomit over anyone. Especially me.’

  The door closed with another thunderclap and Kartane gathered his possessions together, strapping on his sword and slinging his pack over one shoulder. The room seemed to be tilting, but he ignored it and stumbled out into the upper landing of the Sudalrese Ledger. The stairs proved to be a problem, but Kartane let gravity do the hard work, making an inelegant entry into the inn’s dining room that, he was pleased to see, brought a scowl to Katarina’s face. The room was half-full, and the clientele was nearly exclusively Sudalrese. As he staggered over to the dining table, he told himself that was the reason everyone was staring and not because he looked like he’d been dragged from the river, mugged, and left for dead.

  ‘Start with the water,’ Katarina told him as he scowled at the glass in front of him. ‘I’ve already ordered.’

  Even as she finished speaking, a demure-looking waitress glided from the kitchens, a plate in each hand and a third balanced on the back of her upturned wrist. Kartane tried to catch her eye as she carefully placed the stew in front of them, but she studiously refused to meet his gaze. Girl must have warned the staff about me, he decided. She looked positively frightened, he noted, her hands unsteady as she laid the last plate in front of Katarina’s guardian. Of course, he thought as a glance at the barman revealed his discomfort, it might be possible they know exactly who is seated at their table and who her father is. Katarina seemed oblivious to the effect her presence here had on the inn’s staff. Or just doesn’t care, more likely.

  ‘While you were sleeping, Stetch and I made some enquiries,’ Katarina said, a spoon of stew halfway to her lips.

  ‘And?’ Kartane ignored the glare. If I want to talk with my mouth full, that’s my damn business.

  ‘The First Father met with King Tanulf yesterday.’

  Kartane belched, but as a token gesture to his host he covered his mouth. ‘He’s here then. Any idea what happened?’

  ‘No. Only the King’s closest advisers were in attendance. And the First Father’s bodyguards, of course.’ Katarina spooned another helping of stew into her mouth. ‘Today he is addressing the Knights Reve.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘It has already begun, I’m afraid.’ She held up a hand as Kartane staggered to his feet. ‘I’m sorry, I only learned of this minutes before coming to your room.’ She gave a snippy little sigh. ‘Sit down, man, and finish your stew. The Reve won’t be going anywhere without you.’

  Kartane glared at the little demon for the rest of his meal, but Katarina – much to his annoyance – seemed immune to his anger.

  ‘If the Reve sail east, you will see them soon enough,’ Katarina told him as she laid down her cutlery, ‘but I rather think Duke Tirian would prefer you went straight to the docks and boarded the first ship that leaves.’ She smiled. ‘It’s lucky for you that I care very little for the duke and his opinions.’

  Kartane grunted. ‘Now what?’

  ‘Stetch?’ The Sworn man grudgingly slid a purse across the table. ‘I have secured passage for you on the Roving Serpent. It leaves at dawn tomorrow.’ Katarina leaned forward, her expression unforgiving. ‘Be there.’

  Kartane frowned. ‘You’re leaving me alone?’

  ‘You are not a child anymore. You’re supposed to be a knight.’

  ‘That was a long time ago.’

  ‘Not so long,’ she argued. ‘Only a knight would
have followed the boy back to a city where he was bound to be recaptured and killed. And only a fool in love would have broken into the duke’s castle.’

  ‘Fine,’ Kartane snapped. ‘I’ll be on the damned boat.’

  ‘Ship,’ she told him with a smile, ‘they’re called ships out on the seas.’ The smile faded, her expression suddenly serious. ‘I think it’s about time you went and found whichever of the Seven are lurking around taverns and told them exactly what’s been going on, don’t you?’

  Kartane got up, suddenly feeling awkward. And I can’t remember the last time I felt that way. ‘Thanks,’ he muttered, ‘for… you know.’

  ‘You can repay me by killing as many of the demons’ servants as you can.’

  Kartane grinned. ‘Done.’ He gave Stetch a quick glance. ‘Stay sharp, Chatty.’ He turned, chuckling to himself, but stopped a few yards away as Katarina called his name.

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘If you happen to meet our friend, perhaps you could tell him that I leave on the Moontide at dusk?’

  ‘Yeah. Shit name for a boat, though.’

  Katarina’s gaze narrowed. ‘I didn’t choose the ship’s name.’

  ‘Yeah, right. See you around.’ Kartane glanced at her companion. ‘You too, Chatty.’

  Kartane strode towards the entrance, ignoring the stares he garnered and whistling My Meracian Lady. Somewhere in the city Korwane and the other members of the Seven would be making plans. And that means searching the taverns for them. Could take me quite a few attempts to find them. Kartane slipped out of the inn, closing it behind him with a vicious kick and smiling as he heard something hit the floor and shatter. Life, he decided, was definitely looking up.

  *

  The first tavern was utterly bereft of knights, but Kartane felt obliged to buy an ale from the proprietor because, well, it was just rude to leave without buying anything and a man had to have standards. He ambled across town to a second inn, this one on the main avenue from the west gate. There, too, there was a notable deficit of knights, and the place seemed to now cater for an altogether less interesting clientele. A lot’s changed in four years, Kartane thought as he stepped into the hazy afternoon sunshine. Something had been bothering him for some time now, and it wasn’t the hangover – now curbed by a second pint. He stood on the stoop and glanced down the road to the plaza and the gatehouse beyond it, nestling against the city wall. The feeling was stronger now, an itch he couldn’t quite reach. The road was fairly quiet, most folk about their business with odd ones and twos criss-crossing the city. I’m just not seeing it. Kartane closed his eyes, waited a couple of seconds and opened them again. There. He looked away quickly, his gaze settling on the tavern seated at the end of the road on the plaza’s eastern edge. Suddenly he felt thirsty.

  Depending on which way you were travelling the Fat Badger was either the first or last watering hole in Kron Vulder. Kartane stepped inside, the bar empty but for a couple of old men nursing drinks that looked to be nearly as old and infirmed as themselves. There’s always a town drunk, Kartane thought as he sauntered over to the bar. I guess a city needs more than one. Maybe that was the difference between a town and a city, the number of ne’er-do-well drunkards it could successfully support.

  He ordered an ale from the barkeep, a young man who looked faintly familiar. Too young to be anyone I remember. He slid a coin across the bar and gave the beer an experimental sniff. Better than the slop they served in the Black Hand, but that was hardly a recommendation.

  ‘What’s with all the gate guards?’ Kartane asked in his least belligerent voice. The guarded expression that stole rapidly across the barkeep’s face was enough to convince Kartane that four years in Westreach had done little for his social skills.

  ‘What about them?’

  ‘There seem to be more than usual,’ Kartane remarked as casually as he could. And this is the nearest tavern to the gate, which means this will be where they drink when their shift is over. ‘Any idea why?’

  ‘No. What’s it to you?’

  Kartane resisted the urge to beat the man to a pulp with the tankard he was holding. Instead, he let a silver ducal appear between thumb and forefinger, then danced it across his knuckles. Once, twice, then Kartane let it flip off his little finger onto the bartop. ‘Just curious,’ he said, watching as the barkeep’s eyes darted towards the coin. They only lingered on it for a moment, swinging back to regard Kartane with cool indifference.

  ‘Can’t say as I recall,’ he said.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  The barman nodded and Kartane slid the ducal halfway across the counter. ‘For your trouble,’ he said as amiably as he could. He took his finger off the coin, sliding his hand slowly back across the wood. Wait for it…

  As the barkeep reached for the coin, Kartane’s hand shot forward, grabbing the man by the wrist and pulling him tight to the bar. He pulled the wrist harder still so that the barkeep was leaning forward, torso tilting towards Kartane.

  ‘Struggle,’ Kartane hissed, ‘and I’ll cut you ear to ear.’ He gave the wrist another jerk to let the man know he was serious. ‘You’re Harald’s lad, ain’t you? Torm?’

  ‘Tomas.’

  ‘Well, Tomas, I’m going to ask you a question, but now I know your name it seems I have you at what people call a bit of a disadvantage. I think it’s time you knew who you’re speaking to, lad. Tell me, did your father ever tell you how he got that half-moon scar on his cheek?’

  The boy nodded, his face paling with recognition. Kartane grinned and leaned in close, whispering his name in the lad’s ear.

  ‘I thought you were dead,’ the boy stammered.

  ‘No, just in Westreach for a few years,’ Kartane said, still holding Tomas’ wrist tight. ‘And let me tell you, it did nothing for my patience. So,’ he added brightly, ‘you were just about to tell me about the Watch and why they’re swarming over the west gate.’

  The boy was shaking in Kartane’s grip, but he had enough about him to look towards the window, the last act of a desperate man.

  ‘Best not, lad. They won’t reach you in time. You call out and all you’ll get for your trouble is a new smile and a long sleep. Might be easier to tell me what I want to know.’

  He talked. Kartane had always known he would. Because only an insane man threatens an innkeeper two hundred yards from a dozen men of the city watch. He finished his pint before he left. After all, a man needed standards, and a man who couldn’t finish his pint wasn’t much of a man.

  *

  Kartane found them in The Seventh Blade. Much to his disgust, the face on the sign wielding the weapon looked very much like one of the Valeron whelps. But when he stepped inside the tavern everything was just as he remembered it: small, dirty, and infused with the faint aroma of stale beer. They were in the snug, Kartane saw: seven or eight of them in the small room at the back that had long been a favourite of the less savoury Knights Reve. He made his was across the open floor, a moderate crowd already clogging up the tables. Kartane made it to the wall, stepping through the five-foot gap and finding a sword at his throat even as the knights at the table rose and drew their own weapons. Ah. Looks like I miscounted.

  Kartane grinned. ‘Well that’s a fine way to greet your brother. I am on your side, you know.’

  ‘Kartane?’

  The look on Korwane’s face was priceless. Kartane enjoyed it for a long moment. ‘What’s with Stabby?’ He gestured towards the man holding the sword. ‘Don’t they teach knights manners anymore?’

  Korwane laughed. ‘Like you’d know anything about manners.’ The smile faded quickly. ‘An assassin struck at the First Father today. Sir Istador got between them.’ Korwane shook his head. ‘Poisoned blade, he didn’t stand a chance.’

  ‘The old man wasn’t the target,’ Kartane said. ‘They’re after the Seven.’

  ‘And just how would you know that?’

  ‘Icepeak and St Helena’s have fallen. The Truth is in peril.’

&
nbsp; This time Kartane smiled broadly at the men standing before him. One or two looked bemused, but his brother, Sir Balvador, the Valeron whelp, and a young Meracian knight all looked utterly horrified. Four of the Seven. ‘Of course,’ Kartane said brightly, ‘I know who has it and where it’s going.’ His smile stretched even further. ‘And the good news is we get to kill some people and save the church. Doesn’t that sound fun?’

  53.

  I’m a fool.

  Tol had been so busy gawping at Kron Vulder’s skyline that he didn’t see the danger until it was far too late. By the time he realised the city watch were paying too much attention to him, he was already inside the city walls, half a dozen guards stepping out from the shadow of the wall to cut off his escape while another six stepped into the road ahead of him, the plaza and freedom behind them.

  ‘Lord Hafferkey requests the pleasure of your company,’ one of them had told him as they surrounded him. Tol had tried reasoning with them and told the guards he was a knight, on business for the Reve, and that, too, had been laughed away. Now they were hauling him deeper into the Kron Vulder, the few people wandering the city moving swiftly aside as the guards dragged Tol along, a man on each arm with two forging ahead and another two behind. Another had gone on ahead, racing towards their destination with word of their prize.

  Kalashadria was right, Tol thought. Word of the battle in Three Trees had reached the city, but Tol didn’t think he was being taken to this lord that commanded the watch to receive congratulations. No, he thought, the man who sent them is no friend of the Reve. And that could only mean one thing: the demons had allies within Kron Vulder. And nobody knows I’m here.

  The procession turned left off the main road, the narrow side street pointing north towards the rich heart of Kron Vulder that nestled in the shadows of Mount Vuld. I have to do something, Tol thought, desperately trying to think of some way to escape. I must find the Seven and deliver the Truth. He stumbled on the cobbled slope, tired from a full day’s march. Maybe I should have stopped at that inn after all. The sun was low in the sky now, dark shadows criss-crossing the narrow lane as it curved upward to the squat grey edifice of the king’s palace. Tol glanced over his shoulder and saw the city rolling down to the shore, a haphazard patchwork of stone and thatch roofs sundered by the sparkling waters of the mountain waterway as it raced down to the vast expanse of Lake Vulder. Dozens of masts poked over the top of the patchwork blanket, the harbour brimming with pennants too small to identify. Somewhere down there were men of the Knights Reve. So close, but I’ll never make it.