The Sword Of Angels (Gollancz S.F.) (23 page)

‘But you knew of my plans for you, Salina. And you knew of my plans for Jador.’

‘Yes,’ Salina choked. ‘To conquer them.’

‘For our own good!’ railed the king. ‘Let Aztar bring them to their knees, that’s what I told myself. Do you not see the value in any of this?’

Salina finally raised herself up. ‘You always deal with the northerners. Look at this room!’

‘Do not raise your voice to me,’ seethed the king. ‘Dare it not, Daughter. I am King! I decide how Ganjor deals with the north, not you. If you would once stop acting like a stupid child, you would see the truth in what I’ve done, the wisdom of it. The northerners come like a plague now, all because Jador has magic. And you try to help them! Madness!’

‘It is not madness,’ said Salina, trying very hard to temper her tone. ‘It is kindness. And I never wanted to be bartered away like old bread, Father. You had no right to make that bargain with Aztar.’

‘No right? You are my daughter. A girl. I decide these things for you, because that is the wish of heaven. Now, you will argue this no more, Salina. You are too old to make up such nonsense. You will not help the Seekers reach Jador, nor will you ever tell the Jadori of my plans again. I will kill all your doves, every last one of them.’

‘Father!’

‘And you will not talk back to me or harm my kingship. Gods and devils, all of Ganjor will be laughing at me when they learn of this.’ King Baralosus looked sharply at his daughter. ‘But you do not care, do you?’

‘Of course I care, Father. Of course I care!’

‘You do not. You would never have unleashed such a thing if you did. This is too big for me to keep secret, Salina. When the rest of Ganjor learns of it, I will be disgraced.’ Baralosus looked heart-broken. ‘Did you ever once consider that?’

Salina had to look away. The pain in her father’s eyes humbled her. Perhaps she never really had considered him in all her plans, or how badly her actions might affect him. Perhaps she had never really thought she would be caught. About that, he was correct – she really was a child.

‘What can I say to make this better, Father? There is nothing,’ said Salina. ‘Nor would I change things if I could. I am not ashamed of helping the Seekers. They are ill. If there is any magic in Jador, then they are in need of it.’

‘And the Jadori? What will they think of me when they learn of my part in all of this? They think Aztar is their enemy. They think he is destroyed,
the danger past. What will happen when they learn Ganjor helped in the attack on them?’

‘I do not know,’ Salina admitted.

‘No, you do not,’ said Baralosus, shaking with rage. ‘Because you have not the mind for these things. Yet stupidly you played with fire, and now I am to be burned.’ The king turned his back on her, thundering across the room. Seething, he came to stand beside the unlit hearth, staring vacuously at the empty pit. ‘The worst part is, I should have seen this,’ he sighed. ‘I thought your defiance was something harmless, something you would soon outgrow. Instead of laughing as if it were a joke, I should have beaten it out of you.’

Salina said nothing. Her father had never laid a hand on her in anger.

‘There will be troubles now,’ her father continued. His tone quieted, as if he were merely thinking out loud. ‘When the Jadori hear of this, they will come.’

‘They will not,’ said Salina. ‘They are not strong enough to harm you, Father.’

Baralosus glared at his daughter. ‘So now you are a diplomat? Or a military man, perhaps? Daughter, your advice is meaningless. It has caused me enough grief already. Without Aztar to fear, the Jadori will come.’

Salina bristled at her father’s insults, and did not know how much to confess. He had said he already knew everything, but he clearly didn’t know that Aztar was still alive. Then, like a magician, he asked the dreaded question.

‘Tell me what happened last night,’ he ordered.

‘You know already.’

‘Maybe. Now I want to hear it from you.’

‘What happened to Kamag?’

Her father went back to his chair, sitting himself down wearily. ‘He’s been arrested. He’s answered most of my questions.’

‘What will you do with him?’

Baralosus ignored her query. ‘He says that you met with a northerner, a young man who came from Jador. Who was he?’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Salina. ‘He has already left Ganjor.’

‘Why did he want to meet with you? Kamag does not know everything. Was it something about Prince Aztar?’

‘Father, you know already,’ guessed Salina. She looked at her father curiously. ‘Is that so?’

‘Kamag says that Prince Aztar is alive. That’s what this boy from Jador came to tell you. Do not deny it, Salina. I already know it is true. I have sent men out this morning to find Aztar.’

‘Why?’ asked Salina. Her father’s decision made no sense to her. ‘Aztar is hurt, Father. He can do nothing more for you.’

‘I must know everything that happened to him. I want nothing more from him, Salina. Only his silence. And if he has needs, I want to help him if I can.’

Finally, there was a glimpse of kindness in him. Relieved to see it, Salina chanced going closer. She took a cautious step toward the hearth where he sat, trying to smile, to somehow ease his rampant anger.

‘The northerner’s name was Gilwyn Toms,’ she told her father. ‘He was heading back north to his homeland, Liiria. I do not know why.’

‘Go on.’

‘He told me that Prince Aztar is alive, Father. He told me that he was burned in the battle against Jador. He’s given up his claim to the desert.’ Salina took two more steps, then dropped to her knees before her father. ‘He loves me, Father. That’s what Gilwyn Toms told me.’

King Baralosus regarded his daughter coolly. ‘Aztar has always loved you, Salina. From the first time he saw you, he wanted you. I am not surprised he wants you still. Does he know how you betrayed him?’

‘Yes,’ said Salina, though it pained her to admit it. ‘And he still loves me. It amazes me, but it is so. Father . . .’ She braced herself. ‘I want to go to him.’

The king’s expression was incredulous. ‘Salina, you are not going anywhere. Most certainly, you are not going to Aztar.’

‘Father, please, I must set things right with him,’ Salina begged. From her place at his feet, she reached to touch his knee. ‘If you are sending others to him, why not me?’

‘Have I been talking to myself? Have you heard nothing? Salina, what you have done is a crime. You may not leave this palace. You will not even leave your chambers.’

‘What? For how long?’

‘For as long as it takes for me to clean the mess you’ve made. For a month, at least, while I decide what else to do with you. You are to be punished, Salina. What you did was betrayal, not just to Aztar but to me and all your family. If you were not my daughter you would be beaten for it.’

Salina reared back, shocked by her father’s words. ‘What will happen to Nourah? Will she be beaten?’

‘Indeed she will,’ said the king.

‘No!’ cried Salina, jumping to her feet.

‘It is already happening,’ said Baralosus. ‘Or it is already over.’

Terror seized Salina then, not for herself but for her innocent friend. Nourah had always been innocent, blithely following Salina’s orders, because she was the princess’ handmaiden and could do nothing else. Now she would be beaten. And Kamag? The same or worse. Salina slumped on her knees, feeling the tears come again. First she had ruined
Aztar, and now her friends. To Salina, it seemed the world had simply ended.

‘I didn’t want this,’ choked Salina. ‘I didn’t want any of this to happen.’

King Baralosus let his daughter sob, watching broken-hearted from his imperious chair.

The first thing Lukien noticed was the farmland. Lush and green, it spread out from the banks of the river all along its winding length. Beautiful, fragile, the farmland ended again where the desert took hold, but near the river it flourished, sending up sprouts of grass and hearty crops. Lukien let the vision wash over him, nourishing his depleted spirit. His eye scanned the horizon. From atop the rugged hill he could see for miles. The small village below beckoned him with its simple homes. Near the river, men and women toiled with chores while children played along the banks, their chatter barely perceptible above the stirring wind. Homes of mud and stone stood squat against the bright horizon, dozens of simple buildings with the same weathered exterior. A path ran from the village toward the mountains where Lukien waited, standing alone in the breeze. He had crested the mountain to see the horizon, wondering if he was at last getting close to Tharlara. When he saw the village, it had taken his breath away.

Lukien waited at the end of the high hill, looking down on the peaceful village, unnoticed. His horse waited for him at the base of the hill, exhausted from the long trek. For days they had followed the river the way Raivik had told them, leaving the dead Akari city to continue their lonely journey. And they had not encountered another soul along the way until now. Lukien listened, trying hard to hear the laughing children far below. They were beautiful to him, playing some imaginative game in the sweltering sun while their parents worked the soil and washed clothes in the river. A great sense of happiness welled up in Lukien, crushing his loneliness. It seemed like an eternity had passed since he’d said good-bye to Raivik, leaving Kaliatha to quest for Tharlara. In the days of endless riding that followed, he had missed his friends in Grimhold desperately. With only his horse and the river for company, he had watched the land slowly change from dead and rugged to the pretty valley now below him.

By now the river had widened into a remarkable body of water, slowly flowing eastward. Oxen lowered their huge heads to drink from its banks,
while fishermen in little boats cast their nets, far from the village. Drying clothes waved like white flags, and barefoot women sat in happy circles, husking vegetables. Lukien carefully picked his way back down the hillside to where his horse waited, nibbling at the meagre grass.

‘You’ll be eating better than that soon,’ he told the beast. ‘We’ve found something at last.’

Lukien led his horse back the way they had come, then scooted around the hill to its northern face. The range of hills gave way to a great expanse of flat earth. Lukien looked around, then noticed the best place to cross. The weary horse perked up at the sight of the moderate terrain. Together they walked the grassy plain toward the path, which Lukien now noticed disappeared into the mountains toward the west. Eastward, though, the path was distinct, leading directly toward the village. He and his horse stepped onto the path and walked quietly along the river bank, toward the villagers and their modest homes.

With sunlight splaying across his face, Lukien cupped a hand over his brow. Cooking fires spiraled into the blue sky. The smell of the river and its loamy shore filled his nostrils. The river beside him moved sluggishly, like thick wine. Up ahead, a group of children played near the bank where the river had flooded the field, splashing in the mud. Lukien squinted for a better look. They were not dark-skinned like the Jadori, but fairer, like the Akari, but without that race’s peculiar, pointed features. The eyes of the children were vaguely almond shaped, their skin the colour of honey. Both boys and girls played together, too busy with their games to notice Lukien.

‘Hello?’ he ventured, coming to a stop near the field. The boy nearest him, standing ankle-deep in mud, looked up from his playmates. Lukien quickly held up his hands. ‘Don’t be afraid,’ he said. ‘I’m a friend.’

The boy got the attention of the others, all of whom blinked up in confusion. They were a fair distance from the adults in the village. One young girl called helplessly to her far away parents.

‘Haka!’

‘No, don’t,’ Lukien repeated. He lowered himself as he met the girl’s gaze. ‘I’m just looking for a place to rest.’ He stroked his unkempt beard. ‘I must look frightening. I’ve been on the road a long time.’

Lukien looked at the children. Except for one tiny boy too preoccupied with the river to bother with him, they all stared in awe. Past them, back in the village, none of the adults had heard the girl’s shout.

‘I wish you could understand me,’ he said.

The boy who had first sighted him cocked his head. ‘We understand you.’