The Sword Of Angels (Gollancz S.F.) (64 page)

‘Maybe I should muzzle you,’ Asher suggested. ‘Like any wild bitch.’

Mirage replied by spitting in his face. The saliva running into this drooping eye made her smile.

‘When King Raxor finds out about this he’s going to skin you alive, Asher. He’s going to gut you and hang your ugly pelt over his throne.’

Asher wiped his face on his sleeve. ‘When his Majesty returns you will be dead, child, and I will have the means to defeat Baron Glass. I think that will ease his mind a bit.’ He nodded to his men. ‘Let’s go.’

As Asher left the room his burly guards dragged Mirage after him, lifting her by her bound arms toward the door. Fighting them was impossible – they were far too strong, and all Mirage could do was scream. Out in the hall, she let out the loudest cry she could, begging someone – anyone – to help her. But the halls were empty, and only silence met her echoing voice.

‘Where’s Laurella?’ Mirage demanded. ‘What have you done with her?’

‘Don’t worry, child. The old woman is fine.’ Asher laughed as he sauntered down the corridor. ‘She’s been subdued, though I must say she’s a tiger!’

‘If you’ve hurt her—’

‘Yes, yes. Save your strength, girl,’ said Asher. ‘It’s going to be a long night!’

The anticipation in his voice told Mirage of the awful danger. He meant what he said – he would torture her, then he would kill her. With a renewed vigour she struggled against the guards, but they were unmovable to the slight girl, who could only allow herself to be dragged through the corridors and down the long, curving stairs. Her mind filled with images of horror, of Asher’s ghastly prison and the cell there she had so narrowly escaped. She had thought she had left it behind forever, but like a recurring nightmare Asher had returned.

Down the in castle’s main hall, porters and stable boys and a few of Laurella’s own maids had gathered, looking stricken as Asher’s men
dragged Mirage along. A handful of Raxor’s large, mostly nameless family were there as well, along with the caste’s own guardians, none of whom moved an inch to stop the determined Asher. Mirage shouted at them, begging them to help her, but all they did was look shamefully away, too afraid or too filled with hate to come to her aid. She stumbled out of the hall and through the huge oak doors of the castle, spilling out into the courtyard where Asher’s carriage waited, surrounded by more of his men on horseback. The crowd that had gathered in the hall did not follow them outside. The wardens stared down at her from atop their horses, looking pityingly at her, knowing her plight.

‘Get her inside,’ Asher ordered, climbing the steps of the beat-up carriage and opening the door for himself. He sat himself down inside and watched with satisfaction as his men stuffed Mirage through the small portal, seating her on a hard bench opposite the prison master. The door closed noisily behind her, and Mirage found herself staring into Asher’s monstrous face.

‘Don’t do this,’ she told him, trying one more time to convince him. ‘I don’t know anything more. And King Raxor will be back soon. He will, Asher, and if you harm me he’ll kill you.’

‘I’m willing to gamble on that,’ replied Asher. Because it was a warm night, both windows on the sides of the carriage were open. Asher stuck his head outside one of them and called out to the driver. ‘Get going!’

The carriage lurched forward, pinning Mirage back against her seat. The stout metal cuffs bit into her flesh as she squirmed to get free. Asher watched her struggling, licking his lips.

‘Look at you. You’re as limber as a cat.’

Mirage groaned, ‘You’re sick. You don’t know what you’re doing.’

Asher waved off her comment and settled back for the ride to his prison. He looked smug, like a boy who had captured a firefly, beaming with excitement to get his new pet home. Mirage raced through the possibilities, trying to think of anyway to free herself. She needed Raxor, and he wouldn’t be back for days yet. By then she would be dead.

The carriage moved quickly out of the courtyard. Through its left-hand window Mirage could see the gates of Castle Hes, open wide and waiting for them. She heard the clip-clop of the horsemen accompanying them, precisely guiding them. Her breath quickened as hopelessness closed like a noose around her neck. The carriage bumped along the rocky path, picking up speed. Castle Hes fell away behind them as they neared the looming gates. Mirage watched as the lead horseman approached the gate, and then saw another man riding past them, paying no heed to the carriage or Asher’s entourage. For a moment Mirage did not recognize him. Her thoughts clouded with fear, it took long seconds for her to realize the man was Corvalos Chane.

‘Oh, gods,’ she whispered. Then, exploding off the bench, she stuck her head out the little window and cried, ‘Chane! It’s me! Help me!’

Asher was on her instantly, cursing and pulling her back. Mirage continued to scream. Corvalos Chane paused for a moment, looking toward her, and just before Mirage lost view of him she saw recognition flash across his face.

‘Drive on!’ Asher yelled, his head out the window. He looked back toward Chane, then hollered at his driver, ‘Faster!’

The carriage bolted, knocking Mirage to the floor. Rolling to her feet, she fought to reach the window, but Asher fell on her, pulling her away. A small man, he had trouble with his own footing and stumbled badly, and when Mirage glimpsed his open thighs she fired her knee up into him. Asher writhed in agony, doubling over and falling against the opposite wall. His nimble hands clawed the air, reaching for her as she made it to the window. Chane was pursuing.

‘Chane!’ she called. ‘It’s Asher!’

‘I know!’ the bodyguard growled. His whole face reddened with rage. ‘Hold on!’

He caught up quickly to the last, lagging horseman, drawing his sword even before the man knew he was there. Chane’s blade moved like lightning, puncturing the man’s back. As the warden fell from his horse the others drew their weapons. Chane sneered and rode them down. Mirage fit herself further out the window, then felt Asher’s hand on her nightgown, pulling her backward.

‘You wretched whore!’ He spun her around and struck her face hard. The blow stunned her and she collapsed. Wavering on his feet, Asher leered down at her, his face twisted with pain. ‘He won’t save you,’ he grunted. ‘I won’t let him.’

‘You can’t stop him!’ spat Mirage. ‘You’re a weak little toad.’

Enraged, Asher reached down and grabbed hold of her hair, pulling her screaming to her feet. He shoved her face out of the window and called out to Corvalos Chane.

‘Is that what you want, Chane? This whore? This traitor? Is that what you think the king wants?’

But Chane was too involved to answer or even look at them. He had run down another of the guards, leaving his corpse in the road. Two more of the wardens were battling him back. Chane’s sword was up and parrying their assaults. He moved more quickly than any man Mirage had ever seen. Asher noticed this, too, and grunted out a string of curses.

‘Why save her?’ he roared. ‘She’s an enemy, Chane! A slut of Baron Glass!’

But his taunts only enraged Chane, who drove his horse ever faster and put his blade through the eye of a warden. The carriage went over
a rut in the road, tossing Mirage back from the window. She landed on her rump and kicked out to avoid Asher who fell next. Together they squirmed on the floor of the cab as the carriage careened along. The noise of the battle outside reached Mirage, and she knew that Chane was getting closer.

‘You hear that?’ she trumpeted. ‘He’s coming Asher!’

Asher looked stunned as he managed to find his footing. He went back to the window and peered outside. And what he saw – or didn’t see – made his face go blank. Mirage was on her feet again and threw herself against him, knocking him aside. Still weak from the blow to his groin, the prison lord collapsed. Mirage fought to locate Chane, but saw only his empty horse quickly falling back. The wardens were gone.

‘Chane!’ she called. ‘Chane!’

But the bodyguard didn’t answer. She thought of him laying dead in the road, wondering if one of the distant corpses was his. Up ahead she saw the remaining riders, looking perplexed as they pointed backward and shouted. The driver looked over his shoulder and screamed.

Corvalos Chane descended out of the darkness, running along the roof of the cab and falling on the driver with his sword. Blood splashed against Mirage’s face and she cried out, clearing her vision to see the driver dumped aside and Chane taking the reins of the racing horses. He jerked the steeds to a halt, bringing the carriage to a sudden stop. Asher’s wardens wheeled their mounts around to face him. When the carriage halted, Chane jumped to his feet, sword in hand. Standing on the driver’s seat, he bid the wardens to come.

‘Fight me and die,’ he said, ready to spring. ‘Or lower your weapons and live.’

The wardens – perhaps eight of them – waited cautiously, none of them moving to attack. From inside the carriage Mirage could see them eyeing Chane, sizing him up. Asher muscled his way past her, quickly opening up the carriage door. With one hand he grabbed hold of Mirage and pulled her down the steps and onto the road.

‘I have her, Chane,’ he warned, dragging her toward the front of the vehicle. With his hand in her hair he violently shook her head. ‘Look at her. She’s the reason the army was defeated. She’s the reason the prince is dead!’

‘She’s mine to protect, Asher,’ said Chane. Slowly, he got down from the carriage and stood before Mirage and her captor, careful to keep his distance. ‘I can’t let you have her. You know that.’

‘She has secrets! She knows about Glass’ armour.’

Chane nodded. There was reluctance in his eyes. ‘It’s not up to you to decide what happens to her. Only the king can release her.’ The bodyguard lowered his sword. ‘Undo her binds.’

Asher glanced at his wardens. Mirage felt his fingers tighten against her head. He was calculating, she could tell, wondering about his chances.

‘I’ll kill them all if I have to, Asher,’ said Chane. ‘And then I’ll kill you.’

Asher’s hand began to tremble against Mirage’s scalp. She tried to pull away, but his grip tightened instantly.

‘Don’t you move until I say so,’ he rumbled in her ear. ‘You should be
mine.’

‘In hell,’ cursed Mirage. With only a moment to act, she snapped back her head and smashed it against Asher’s nose. He let go instantly, screaming, letting her bolt toward Chane, who quickly grabbed hold of her and pulled her behind him. Asher came up hissing. He ran for her, but Chane’s quick sword halted him, coming up to catch his chin.

Asher stopped, raising his hands in surrender, the tip of the sword pricking his skin. His bruised nose dribbled blood.

‘Corvalos Chane, you are an idiot,’ he sneered. ‘All of this – what will it get you? When the king returns she’ll be mine again.’

‘When the king returns, then,’ said Chane with a nod. ‘Unlock her chains.’

Asher stepped back, then ordered one of the wardens off his horse. The man came forward with his jangling keys, quickly loosing Mirage’s manacles. When she was free Mirage rubbed at her wrists, glaring at Asher, who returned her gaze with a perverse leer.

‘Be on you way now, Asher,’ ordered Chane. ‘And don’t come to the castle again. If I see you again I will kill you. I swear it. To whatever devil you worship I swear.’

Asher’s face sank, for he knew he was defeated. He gathered his wardens around, looking back along the road at the litter of bodies. His driver was dead. So were at least four of his men.

‘You’ll hang for this, Chane. You will. And it will be on my very own gallows.’

Chane laughed. ‘A grand dream, little man.’

Asher ordered one of his men to drive the carriage, then limped back up the steps and closed the door of the vehicle. Chane and Mirage waited until Asher and his party were on their way before turning back toward Castle Hes. The darkness had thickened, and they had no horse to ride back.

‘We’ll have to walk,’ Chane told her. He looked at her, his expression concerned. ‘Can you walk?’

‘I’m fine,’ said Mirage. ‘Just shaken a bit.’

It was a lie and Chane realized it. He put his arm around her. ‘Lean against me. We’ll go slow.’

Mirage did as he asked, sinking into his strong embrace. ‘I’m not safe,’ she said. ‘Chane . . .’ She looked at him. ‘I’m afraid.’

‘No one will harm you now,’ he assured her.

‘But the others, Raxor’s family . . .’

‘Mirage, no one is going to hurt you. Not while I’m with you.’

Gilorin Court came into view past the hedgrows as the barge slipped along the river. Bordered by a tall green forest and acres of hunting grounds, the small estate rested comfortably on the sandy bank of the river, looking squat and ancient in the afternoon sun. A long path of cobblestones meandered from the castle to the shore of the river, flanked by rolling lawns dotted with cherry trees. Horses cantered across the grass, moving with unhurried grace. A small band of men and women gathered at the bank, standing clear of the mud as they watched King Raxor’s barge float toward them. They had dressed for his arrival, the women all in expensive gowns while the men looked smart in tailored jackets and polished shoes. Behind them stood a row of servants. And behind the servants stood the castle, peacefully mute among the cherries.

Aric Glass sat near the king’s dais to Raxor’s left, close enough to enjoy the shade of His Majesty’s awning. It had been a leisurely trip, taking up most of the morning, but Aric had welcomed the change from horseback to boat, surprised by the calmness of the river and lulled by the untouched surroundings. Gilorin Court, King Raxor’s estate, was miles away from Hes, in the wooded north of the same Reecian province. Throughout their long march back, Aric had expected to arrive in the capital, but Raxor had changed his mind just days earlier. Gilorin, he had said, was a place to think. And Raxor had much to think about these days.

It had taken weeks for the defeated army to slog its way home. Aric had passed the time by getting close to the old king. At first Raxor’s grief over Roland’s death had been overwhelming, and he had spoken to no one. But as the days and tedium wore on the king eventually opened up, surprising Aric once more by taking him into his confidence. They had left a good many of the Reecian troops behind to guard the eastern provinces, and by the time they reached the river there were only one hundred of them left. Raxor had spread the word across his territory that Baron Glass and his army of mad Norvans had taken the Kryss. Invasion seemed imminent. Worse, there seemed to be no way of stopping the
baron or his enchanted armour, and as they rode Raxor picked at Aric’s knowledge, questioning him about his father and all he knew about the Devil’s Armour.

Aric watched the gathering on the bank of the river. He had expected there to be servants at the estate, but the sight of so many Reecian royals made him uneasy. Not all of Raxor’s men had greeted him warmly, and even those who had got to know him didn’t trust him. He was Thorin Glass’ son, and to many that made him a blood enemy. He settled back in his seat, forcing himself to relax as the crew guided the vessel toward shore. Raxor’s lovely estate beckoned, easing the creases in the old king’s face. Noting the crowd with satisfaction, Raxor spoke to the advisors who had come aboard with them earlier in the day, talking in whispers Aric could not overhear.

None of them pitied Raxor, and to Aric that was good. He was still their king, still their hero. And while he was with them he gave them a strength Aric could see on their troubled faces.

‘Aric,’ said Raxor suddenly. ‘Come here.’

Surprised, Aric stood. ‘My lord?’

King Raxor patted the empty spot beside him. ‘Sit with me. We must talk.’

Alarmed, Aric took his seat next to the king and looked at him quizzically. ‘My lord? Is there trouble?’

Raxor gestured to the men and women who had gathered on the shore. ‘You see them? I want you to stay clear of them while you’re here in Gilorin. Don’t talk too much to anyone, all right?’

‘Yes, my lord,’ Aric agreed. ‘But who are they?’

‘They have names you’ll need to remember. That one, in the red jacket . . .’ Raxor pointed at the man with his chin. He was only a speck but his scarlet clothes stood out among the crowd. ‘Duke Joric of Glain. That man next to him is Duke Redhorn.’

‘And next to him, my lord? Another duke?’

‘You see my meaning?’

‘I think so. Men with armies.’

Raxor nodded. ‘I have explaining to do, Aric Glass. And better to do it here in Gilorin than in Hes with so many ears around. I have family in Hes, and I don’t care to face them. But I’m still in need of these men. They came because I asked them to come. They need to know what we’re up against, and they have to hear it from me.’

‘Is that why you brought me here, my lord?’

‘No,’ said Raxor. ‘Not precisely.’

‘No? Why, then, my lord?’

Raxor smiled. ‘You have told me so much. But I still have questions.’

‘I have tried to answer everything.’

Aric waited, but Raxor grew quiet, leaving Aric to wonder at his meaning. They said nothing more to each other as the boat came to shore and the royals smiled with wide greetings. Among them were sprinkled a handful of soldiers. One in particular caught Aric’s eye. A long, lanky man, he looked oddly familiar, and his clothes were unlike anyone else’s. Instead of the usual Reecian uniform, he wore tight leather armour over his body, accentuating his muscular physique. He was older than the others too, though not at all feeble looking. He stood apart from the nobles and their wives, his hands at his sides, his taut face stoic. While the others spoke among themselves, the man in leather remained silent.

‘That one, my lord,’ said Aric, pointing at the stranger on the bank. ‘Who is he? Not a duke, surely.’

‘No, not a duke,’ replied Raxor. He leaned back and let the breeze strike his face. ‘Aric, I should tell you something. There are people who will have questions for you, people who will want to know all about the things you’ve told me already.’

Aric nodded. ‘I understand, my lord. I don’t expect anyone to trust me. That man – is he one of them I should be worried about?’

‘No,’ said Raxor flatly. ‘That’s one of the only men in the world you can trust. And that’s why I brought you here. For your own protection.’

Before Aric could speak again, one of the king’s men reappeared, whispering in his ear. Raxor nodded and ordered the man to make the others ready. The man called to the rest of the passengers, telling them to make ready to disembark. Raxor remained seated, straightening imperiously while oarsmen guided the barge to shore, finally lifting their oars when the boat’s flat bottom hit shore. He gestured for Aric to stay beside him while the servants waded into the mud, pulling the vessel further ashore. A great commotion ensued while Raxor’s underlings eagerly made ready for him. The royals on the shore quieted. Aric heard the old man sigh beside him.

A man with a small trumpet called the king from his seat. Raxor’s advisors lined up behind him as the crew of the barge lined the starboard side of the vessel to help him down. Aric kept close to Raxor as the king stepped off the boat and into the mud, landing with a sucking noise. Aric and the advisors piled out after him, all trudging through the mud toward shore. The man in leathers came forward, striding to the king’s side. Raxor paused to greet the many nobles who’d come.

‘No ceremony,’ he called to them. ‘Be at ease.’

Relieved smiles broke out among the crowd. Servants hurried at Raxor, filling his ears with reports. Raxor nodded impatiently, gesturing for Aric to stay close. Enduring the confused stares of the nobles, Aric remained at the king’s side while he and the leather-clad soldier inspected the nobles. Raxor’s ringed hand came out, bidding each of the nobles to kiss it. The
women curtsied, averting their eyes, their painted lips curled with polite smiles. A few of the dukes embraced the king, telling him solemnly how much they felt his loss. Raxor kissed their cheeks, thanking them for coming.

‘We must talk, old friend,’ he told Duke Redhorn. ‘Later, after I’ve rested.’

Duke Redhorn was a long-necked, elegant man, reminiscent of a swan. He curled himself around Raxor, embracing the king and nodding. ‘You have my loyalty, Majesty. Always.’

Raxor thanked the man before moving on to the next duke, the shorter, serious-looking Joric. Joric took Raxor’s hand in both of his own as he dropped to one knee. ‘We’ll avenge your son,’ he promised. ‘May Baron Glass rot forever for what he has done.’

At that Aric grimaced, trying not to look at Joric directly. Glad to move on, he followed the king the rest of the way toward the end of the line, where Raxor turned to his loyal subjects and thanked them richly for making the trip to Gilorin.

‘Stay and be comfortable,’ he told them. He smiled. ‘Forgive me, but I need rest now.’

The dukes and their wives all gave accommodating nods, appreciating the king’s needs. As they dispersed, Raxor strode up the lawn toward the estate, pulling the man in leather close to him.

‘Corvalos,’ he sighed, ‘I am awake? Or is this nightmare still continuing?’

‘I grieve for you, my lord,’ said the lanky man. ‘I feel your loss so sharply it is though it were my own.’

‘I cannot tell you what happened, Corvalos. It was beyond words. I have never seen the like of Baron Glass before. He is not a man any more.’ Raxor paused, satisfied that they were out of earshot of the nobles. ‘Tell me what has happened. My woman – she is well?’

The man called Corvalos had so far barely glanced at Aric. ‘She is well, my lord. And good that you called us here. I needed to get her away from Hes.’

Raxor’s raised an eyebrow. ‘Tell me.’

‘My lord, you will hear things among the servants.’

‘True things?’

The man grew sheepish. ‘Yes, my lord.’

‘But she is well?’

‘She is, my lord. I have protected her.’

Raxor looked unbearably weary. He turned to Aric and waved him closer. ‘Aric Glass, this man is going to protect you while you are here. His name is Corvalos Chane and I trust him more than any man alive. You’re to do the same. You’re do to everything he asks of you. Do you understand?’

‘I understand,’ said Aric. ‘But why? If I am in danger—’

‘Your name puts you in danger, boy,’ the king interrupted. ‘Corvalos, this is Aric Glass, son of Thorin Glass.’

Corvalos Chane blinked. ‘I’m to protect him as well, my lord? This will be a lot of work.’

‘I will meet with the dukes later. But now I want to see her. Bring her to the gallery, Corvalos. Go now.’

The soldier bowed and left quickly, hurrying back toward the estate. Aric watched him go, confused by what was happening. ‘My lord?’ he asked. ‘Should I not go with him?’

‘He’ll be back for you,’ said Raxor. ‘For now you’ll come with me. There’s someone I need you to meet.’

‘I listened very carefully to the things you told me on our ride home,’ said Raxor as he guided Aric through the halls of Gilorin. They were alone, having passed through the king’s guard chamber and left the throngs of nobles and servants behind. An enthralling mural covered the ceiling of the hall, replete with creamy, textured roses and singing birds. Aric craned his neck to marvel at the art, then quickly turned his attention to the king.

‘My lord? I’m sorry, you’re meaning escapes me.’

‘Everything you said to me about your father and your time in Koth at the library – I listened carefully. I tried to find a flaw in your stories, some kind of inconsistencies, but there weren’t any.’

‘No, there wouldn’t be. I haven’t lied to you, King Raxor.’

Raxor nodded as he led Aric through the hall. He had not yet explained where they were going or why, and the solitude made Aric curious.

‘Remember when I told you there would be questions?’ Raxor asked. ‘Don’t be afraid, but it’s time for some answers.’

He pushed aside a large oak door, revealing another of the court’s splendid chambers. This one, called the gallery, held more of the fine paintings Aric had seen in the hall, all lined up perfectly on the paneled walls. A huge marble hearth stood at the opposite end of the long room, and above the hearth stretched a gigantic, framed portrait of men on horseback. A handful of chairs were arranged near the heath, in one of which sat a young woman. Next to her stood Corvalos Chane. The woman’s eyes widened when she saw Raxor enter.

‘My lord,’ she exclaimed, rising from her chair, her pretty face lit with relief. Aric looked at her, sure that she was familiar to him. He paused a few steps behind Raxor.

‘Mirage?’

The woman shifted her gaze at once, locking eyes with him. Her face fell in surprise. ‘Aric . . . Aric?’

Both Aric and the girl looked at Raxor, who frowned. ‘I thought as much,’ the old king grumbled. He said to Aric, ‘Mirage is from the library at Koth. Yes?’