The Sword Of Angels (Gollancz S.F.) (22 page)

The young man’s words made Salina blush. She had spent an entire night being admired by men, and was surprised by her reaction to Gilwyn’s compliment.

‘I hope we see each other again someday, Gilwyn Toms. And thank you for my message.’

‘Good-bye, Princess Salina,’ said Gilwyn. He rose and walked her to the beaded doorway. ‘And good luck.’

Back out in hall, Salina let the beads shower closed behind her. Quickly she covered her face with the wraps, then scurried down the stairs to make her way home.

The next morning, Gilwyn breakfasted in the shrana house, sitting alone at a table near the back and enjoying his last bit of friendly comfort. Being close to dawn, the house itself was empty, allowing Gilwyn precious quiet in which to think and plan his long trip north. Now the Desert of Tears was behind him, he felt closer to Liiria than he had in years, but he knew that he still had weeks of travelling ahead of him. The black stallion that Aztar had given him waited for him outside. His few possessions had been packed and his pockets bulged with gold the desert prince had provided for his journey. It had already been weeks since he had left Jador, and Gilwyn had spent most of those in a ghastly, feverish slumber. Now, though, he was refreshed from his time in Aztar’s camp and his brief sojourn in Ganjor, and he was anxious to at least be on his way. As he sipped at a hot cup of shrana, he wondered what had become of Baron Glass over the past weeks, and whether or not Kahldris had corrupted his old friend. Considering the possibilities made Gilwyn fearful.

Finishing his food, he left some coins on the table and headed for the beaded doorway. He had already said his good-byes to Kamag the night before. As he stepped outside, the desert air greeted him warmly. Gilwyn took a deep breath of it. In the cobblestone street outside the shrana house, the great black horse waited for him, easily shouldering the packs strapped along its flanks. With his clubbed hand and foot, it was difficult for Gilwyn to mount the stallion, but the intelligent beast had already grown accustomed to his handicaps and so stayed very still while his master mounted.

By the time Gilwyn had ridden an hour, he was already on the North Trail, the well-worn trade route connecting Ganjor to the rest of the continent. Ganjor itself fell away behind him, looking smaller and smaller as the vast Desert of Tears seemed to devour it. Gilwyn tossed a look over his shoulder to say farewell. He could see nothing of the shrana house where he had spent the night, and could not know that men from King Baralosus had come that morning – shortly after he’d departed – to arrest Kamag.

The next morning, Salina awoke later than usual, stretching out in her soft bed as if nothing had happened the night before. When her eyes fluttered open, she saw bright sunlight flooding through the numerous windows of her bedchamber. A basin of water and a steaming urn of tea had been laid at the table near her bedside. Nourah had already been here, she supposed. From the height of the sun, Salina could tell it was already mid-morning. But the night before had been Oradin, and she had already feigned the perfect excuse for remaining in bed. She sat up, coughed loudly and dramatically, and tried to look as sick as possible. It had been cramps that had supposedly driven her to bed. She rubbed her stomach and groaned in case anyone was listening.

No one came to check on her.

Salina relaxed. Her father and his many wives were still in bed themselves, no doubt. There seemed no reason at all to hurry. Salina listened to the quiet of her chambers, which consisted of many attached rooms and a fine bank of windows over-looking the palace grounds. Usually, Nourah came in to see her when she woke. She had a strange clairvoyance that always notified her of Salina’s needs. Salina wondered how the rest of the night had gone. By the time she had returned to the palace, most of her father’s guests had finally gone. She had managed to spirit her way into her wing of the palace without being seen, a small miracle that still made her sigh with relief.

‘Nourah?’ she called, careful to make her voice sound weak. When no reply came, she tried again. ‘Anyone?’

Puzzled, Salina stepped out of bed onto the warm floor. The deep-piled rug tickled her bare feet. Still in her sleeping gown, she went out of her bedchamber into the main room. It too was filled with sunlight. Salina heard voices in the connecting hall. A man’s brusk tone startled her, followed by the plea of Najat, her body servant. Startled, Salina hesitated before going forward. It was unheard of for a man to be in her chambers, unless it was her father. Salina listened closely. It was not her father.

‘Najat?’ she called.

The voices momentarily stopped. Salina went toward the hall and saw Najat there, arguing with Ghaith, one of her father’s advisors. Ghaith’s old eyes looked dark and troubled as he turned to Salina. Seeing her in her sleeping gown, he blushed.

‘Najat, what is this?’ Salina asked. ‘What’s wrong?’

Najat was no younger than Ghaith, but she fiestily stood in his way, blocking him from going further. She had been like a mother to Salina for years, and now protected her like one.

‘Princess, your father wants you to come,’ said Ghaith. ‘He sent me here to bring you.’

‘What?’

‘Princess, go back and get yourself dressed,’ Najat ordered. She glared at Ghaith. ‘You – back into the hall.’

‘What’s wrong?’ asked Salina. ‘What’s happened?’

‘Your father wants to see you,’ said Ghaith. ‘Quickly.’

‘Salina, get yourself dressed,’ said Najat. She looked as troubled as Ghaith. ‘Go.’

‘There’s no time,’ said Ghaith. ‘Princess, fetch yourself a robe.’

A horrible realization dawned on Salina. She looked around, but there were no other of her servants about. ‘Where is Nourah?’

Najat’s face tightened. ‘Salina . . .’ The old woman shook her head in defeat. ‘Do as Ghaith asks. Go with him. I’ll get your robe.’

Najat walked past Salina, avoiding her eyes as she disappeared into the bedchamber. Ghaith grimaced apologetically at the princess, who had suddenly lost the need to argue. She was in trouble and she knew it, and it terrified her to wonder how much her father had discovered. In moments Najat returned with her robe, a long gown of golden silk which the old woman draped over her as Salina absently held out her arms. Ghaith gestured down the hallway.

‘Please come,’ he said.

Not really sure what to do, Salina followed him out of the room, forgetting her bare feet.

‘Wait,’ said Najat. ‘Sandals.’

She raced back into the bedchamber and returned with sandals for the girl’s feet. Salina slid into them, looked hopelessly at Najat, then proceeded through the hallway with Ghaith. When they were out of Najat’s earshot, the old man paused, leaning against a tapestry hung on the velvet wall.

‘Princess,’ he began in a whisper, ‘forgive me for this. I had no wish to bring you this way. It is your father’s order.’

Salina nodded, not really understanding. She knew only that Ghaith was a kind old man, too afraid of her father’s wrath to do anything but his bidding.

‘Where is he?’ she asked.

‘In his salon, waiting for you.’

‘Is he very cross?’ Salina touched Ghaith’s arm. ‘Did he tell you what is wrong?’

Ghaith’s expression seemed heart-broken. ‘Princess, talk to him. He will tell you himself.’

Ghaith then turned and went out of the hall, leading Salina close behind. The palace stood nearly deserted, with most of its residents still sleeping off the night’s events. As they moved through the halls, servants stopped to see the princess coming toward them, quickly averting their eyes and scurrying in the opposite direction. It was unimaginable that she should walk about in such undress, even in the palace’s vast apartments. Ghaith gruffly shooed them away as they approached, snapping at them to look away.

Salina remained quiet as the old man led her to the king’s salon. Not far from her father’s own vast rooms, the salon was Baralosus’ favourite place to retire and read, a large but comfortable chamber furnished in a northern style, with upholstered chairs and rich wood panelling on the walls and ceiling. When Salina was a child, her father would read to her in the salon, telling her tales of northern barbarians or genies that lived in bottles. As they approached the salon, those fond memories came flooding over Salina. She had lost her innocence, and a sickening feeling of betrayal made her shudder. Ghaith stopped at the door of the salon, took a breath to steady himself, that knocked on the oiled portal. A moment later, King Baralosus’ muffled voice sounded behind the door.

‘Come.’

Ghaith slowly pushed the door opened, revealing the fabulous salon. There were no windows in the chamber, but a giant chandelier with a hundred burning candles lit the paneled walls like fire. Alabaster pillars veined with colour stood along the left side of the room, framing giant oil paintings of Ganjeese kings in battle. A mosiac archway tiled with countless bits of blue and amber glass glistened to the right, where a pair of throne-sized chairs sat imperiously near an unlit hearth. Stout beams of dark mahogony lined the ceiling, holding up the spidery chandelier. A collection of books stood like soldiers on a shelf above the hearth, preserved like heirlooms. As Ghaith enterered the salon, Salina followed meekly, spotting her father in one of the chairs. The other chair sat empty. King Baralosus did not look at his daughter. Instead his steely eyes impaled the girl slumped before him, weeping. Salina’s breath caught when she realized it was Nourah.

‘Great One, I have brought her,’ said Ghaith softly.

King Baralosus nodded, but would not take his eyes from Nourah. Salina had never seen her father look so furious. His skin, normally dark
and lovely, seemed to pulse an inhuman red. His fingers gripped the arms of his chair so tightly she could see the veins popping on his hands. He looked exhausted, no longer with the happy expression of a man enjoying Oradin. Instead his whole face clenched in an expression of bitter rage.

‘This one has told me everything,’ said Baralosus finally. ‘Do you hear me, Salina?
Everything
.’

Nourah’s weeping eyes turned painfully toward Salina. Her lips twisted as she tried to speak. ‘I am sorry, Princess. Forgive me.’

Salina could not speak. Her hands froze at her sides. King Baralosus sat shaking in his chair.

‘Ghaith, take her away,’ he said, barely able to lift his hand. Ghaith rushed forward, took Nourah by the shoulders, and led the girl out the salon. As she passed Salina, Nourah shook her head as if there was no hope at all. Salina watched her go, then felt the heavy door close shut, sealing Salina alone with her father. An awful silence filled the salon. The paintings on the wall haunted the air. King Baralosus’ laboured breathing made the only sound. He lifted his head to look at his daughter, his gaze full of wrath. Salina could not bring herself to approach him. The memories of the little girl she had once been – running to be with him – fled from her mind.

‘What a terrible thing you’ve done,’ said the king. ‘What a horror.’

Salina’s mouth dried like the desert. There was no way she could explain herself.

‘I’m sorry, Father,’ she managed, and that was all.

‘You think so little of me?’ the king asked. ‘Is that what drove you to this madness? To embarrass your family this way? To ruin me?’

‘No,’ Salina gasped. ‘No . . .’

‘What, then?’ Baralosus barked. ‘Tell me!’

It was like standing in the wind, and Salina could hardly bear it. Under her father’s withering gaze she groped for an explanation, but it all seemed ridiculous now.

‘To help them,’ she said. ‘The way I always told you . . .’

‘The northerners? Nourah has told me what you’ve done for them, Salina, giving them gold, directing them across the desert. That man Kamag – he helped you, too, that traitorous frog. You were seen in his shrana house last night.’ Baralosus shuddered in disgust. ‘How could you? Crawling through the streets like a harlot.’

‘To save people, Father,’ said Salina. ‘Because you would not help them yourself.’

‘It’s my fault, then?’ The king rose from his chair and stalked towards his daughter. ‘I’m to blame for this disgrace? No, Salina. You are the one that gave the Seekers comfort. And I know how you warned the Jadori,
too. You betrayed Prince Aztar. You betrayed us all. What I want to know is why.’

Salina could not help herself; she began to cry. ‘Father, I didn’t do any of this to hurt you. I only wanted to help those poor people.’