The Sword Of Angels (Gollancz S.F.) (97 page)

‘You were long in your chambers this morning, Aric,’ said Daralor. ‘I would have asked you here to hunt with me, but your mind was elsewhere, I could tell.’

‘Aye, Your Grace,’ replied Aric. ‘I was occupied.’

‘Pensive, I would say. These last few days I’ve seen you only seldom.’ Daralor turned to study the younger man. ‘My wife told you where to find me?’

Aric smiled. He had been caught admiring the lovely Laurena more than once. Surprisingly, Daralor didn’t seem to mind. ‘Yes, Your Grace. She was about the kitchens with the other women when I came to find you. She told me you were on the field with your hawk.’

‘Discovered,’ said Daralor with a grin. ‘That woman gives me up too easily.’

‘I can go, Your Grace . . .’

‘Don’t be silly. I joke with you, is all. I wanted you here. Did she offer you supper yet?’

‘She did, Your Grace, but I will wait first, I think. She is very kind, your wife.’

Daralor gave him a wink. ‘She is that and more, Aric. A fine woman like Laurena should be the goal of every man.’

‘Yes, Your Grace.’

They watched the sky for Echo, who had flown to a great height to circle the field.

‘What about you, then? When will you find a woman, do you think?’ asked Daralor.

‘Me?’ Aric shrugged. ‘Not for some time, I should say. There’s so much to do first.’

‘Your day will come,’ Daralor assured him. ‘Nightmares do not last forever, Aric. In time we wake, and a new day greets us.’

Aric laughed. ‘You are optimistic, Your Grace. Thank you for that.’

‘And you are not optimistic enough, Aric. You have brooded since you returned here. Tell me – what is in your hand?’

Aric cleared his throat. ‘Letters, Your Grace. That is what I was doing this morning – writing letters.’

Daralor smiled. ‘To whom?’

‘This one is to King Raxor,’ said Aric, handing that particular piece of paper to the prince. It was sealed in an envelope of parchment, and Daralor merely nodded at it. ‘I thought it was time for me to tell him that I arrived here safely. He was a kindly man, and I’m sure he thinks of me.’

‘Aric, it is very much past the time for you to have written this letter. I have wondered when you would do so.’

‘I’m sorry, Your Grace,’ offered Aric. ‘I know you’re right. I’ve just been . . .’

‘Pensive?’

Aric nodded. ‘All right, then.’

Daralor handed him back the letter. ‘It is well. You have been through much, and no one here faults you, not after the things you have seen. I will have my messengers deliver your letter to Raxor.’

‘Thank you, Your Grace.’ Aric tucked the letter behind the other one. ‘I have told King Raxor in my letter that I still await Lukien, and that you are ready to ride with us when Lukien returns with the sword.’ He bit his lip uncertainly. ‘It’s been some time now, though. I hope Raxor still believes.’

‘Have more faith than that, boy! You have told me that Raxor is a brave man, and I believe you. He has lost his son, remember. He will not forget, not ever, not even if you take a decade more to ride to him.’ Daralor jabbed the thumb of his wounded hand into Aric’s chest. ‘You’re the one that must believe, Aric. You’re the one whose faith is flagging. I can see it. Raise yourself up, man! The Bronze Knight will come again.’

‘Yes,’ said Aric. ‘I believe.’

Daralor gestured to the letters in his hand. ‘And that other letter? That one is to Lukien?’

Aric’s brows went up. ‘You know? I’m too obvious.’

‘It is time, that is all,’ said Daralor. But he grimaced. ‘You mean to have it taken across the desert?’

‘Lukien will go to Jador and Grimhold first, I am sure,’ said Aric. He looked down at the letter. ‘I know it’s asking a lot, Your Grace. Taking this across the desert won’t be easy.’

‘None of this is easy, Aric,’ said Daralor. He brightened suddenly. ‘This is a great quest, and from all the mortals the gods have chosen us for it. I have come to believe that, truly! The gods have their hands in all of this, for they know the evil your father has unleashed.’

‘Is that why you’re willing to help us, Prince Daralor?’ It was the one question Aric had never really got answered, at least not to his satisfaction. In all the time they’d spent together, it was a subject Daralor rarely broached. ‘I have wondered this, is all. You have more faith than I do sometimes, and it bewilders me.’

‘Does it? It should not. The answer is all around you, Aric.’ Daralor held out his falconry glove. ‘Put this on.’

Aric did so without question, slipping the heavy leather glove onto his left hand.

‘Good. Now hold up your hand,’ directed Daralor. ‘That’s right. Just the way I did.’

With the two remaining fingers of his right hand, Daralor gave a
powerful whistle, watching the sky for his hawk, Echo. Hearing the call, the bird wheeled around and spotted its master beside the stranger with the outstretched hand. Aric braced himself, knowing what was coming.

‘Steady,’ laughed Daralor. ‘I told you, she won’t hurt you. Just keep your hand strong for her. She’ll land on it like a butterfly.’

The hawk bore down on them, folding back its wings to dive. Aric grimaced.

‘A butterfly? The biggest damn butterfly I’ve ever seen.’

‘Oh, they get bigger,’ said Daralor. ‘Steady . . .’

Despite his trepidation Aric kept the perch out for the bird. Gaining speed, the fabulous hawk drove through the air, making a perfect line for Aric. Then, when it was only yards away, its great wings flared out, striking Aric’s face with their breeze. The talons stretched, the head reared back, and the beautiful bird lilted gently onto Aric’s hand.

‘Beautiful!’ Aric exclaimed. Exhilarated, he raised the hawk above his head, turning his face slightly from the fierce wings. ‘Echo, you are fabulous!’ Aric turned to Daralor, who was smiling at him. ‘That was amazing. Can we do it again?’

‘I can teach you, if you like. We’ll have time, I think, until that letter of yours reaches Jador.’

‘Time? Oh, yes, Your Grace, a great deal of time.’ Aric looked at him hopefully. ‘Then you will have your messengers send my letters for me? Both of them?’

‘Of course.’ Daralor grinned admiringly at his prized hawk. ‘This is a fine place, don’t you think?’

‘You mean Nith? Yes, a very fine place, Your Grace.’

‘It’s worth saving, isn’t it?’

‘Certainly.’ Puzzled, Aric held the bird aloft. ‘I’m happy here. It’s a fine country. Peaceful.’

‘Raise your hand quickly,’ said Daralor. ‘Like this . . .’

He made a fast gesture, snapping his hand upward the way he had before. Aric mimicked the act, sending the bird skyward again. Together the two of them watched Echo reach once more for the sun.

‘I think I have answered your question, Aric,’ said Prince Daralor.

Aric nodded grimly. ‘Yes, Your Grace,’ he agreed. ‘You have.’

For now, it was enough just to watch the sky.

With Thorin away at Richter estate, Jazana Carr spent most of her time alone, drinking too much wine and pining for the love she knew she had lost. Lionkeep seemed to shrink without Thorin’s enormous presence. The halls were too large, the tables too empty, and the faces of the many servants were just too damn unfriendly for Jazana to care. She had lost the man she loved to a woman who was much younger and prettier, and for Jazana Carr that was the worst of it. She had done her best to keep herself beautiful, sparing no expense in the care she lavished on her face and body. But the girl called Mirage had cast a spell over Thorin, stealing him, and Jazana knew she had lost him.

Still, she considered things while Thorin was away, hatching plans to win him back. Whatever the cost, she intended to please her lover again. It was her fault that Thorin had turned away from her, she decided. She had come to this realization over an expensive bottle of wine, sipping it alone in her private chamber as she counted the diamonds in a golden urn near her bedside. The urn overflowed with the gems, jagged little reminders of her life in Norvor, lost to her now. She had been a shrew to Thorin. Picking up the diamonds, she dropped them slowly back into the urn, counting all the times she had nagged and needled him. She talked incessantly about Norvor. She nagged him constantly about regaining her throne. And she had threatened to leave him. No wonder he sought refuge in Mirage’s tender arms. She had driven him to her.

Of all the people left to her in Lionkeep, only Rodrik Varl had remained steadfast. Good Roddy, so loyal and true, the kind of man Jazana wished she could love. She had always fallen for cruel men like Thorin, but Roddy would have been the perfect mate. Drunk, she wondered what her life would have been like with him as her husband. Even now, with all her mercenaries siding with Thorin – mostly because they feared him – Rodrik stayed close to her, always checking on her
welfare, never wandering far. Jazana leaned back in her bed, letting her head sink into the plush pillow, and stared at the dark ceiling. The taper by her bedside had burned down nearly to a nub, but it still cast shadows on the stone walls and tapestries. The hours had slipped away and Lionkeep was silent. Jazana could hear only her own breath and the breeze outside her window. She stretched out her arm, reaching again for the urn full of diamonds, casually letting them slip out of her hand as her eyelids grew heavy.

Sleep did not come easily for Jazana any more. Unused to sleeping alone, she preferred a man beside her, be it Thorin or one of her numerous suitors. And Lionkeep, despite its quiet, had hardly been a relaxing place for her. As she stared at the ceiling she wondered how things were in Richter, and if Thorin and his new woman were laying together even now, under the same dark sky. Like grains of sand, the diamonds slipped lifelessly through Jazana’s fingers, a fortune in gems that no longer brought her happiness. Drunk, sullen, she rolled over and blew out the candle, encasing herself in darkness.

‘I have no children,’ whispered to herself. ‘No lover to share my bed. I have no family, no kin, no one to carry on after I am gone.’

The words made Jazana feel hollow. Her father’s face came to her in a flash, haunting her. He had been a vicious man, single-handedly teaching her to hate his gender. While she grew to womanhood he took her to his bed, and in her most despairing moments she could still feel his filthy hands on her. But she had shown him, hadn’t she? Hadn’t she made something of herself?

‘The Queen of Norvor,’ she said, then laughed because it meant nothing. ‘Maybe you were right, Father. Maybe I am just a slut.’

When she was a child, Jazana would cry herself to sleep. But tonight she had no tears for herself, and so closed her eyes and hoped that slumber would take her soon. The wine did a good job of salving her, though, and in a few minutes she drifted off, her mind ripe with visions of her father and the mother who had died too young. Lionkeep’s tomb-like silence lulled her as she slept, and the hours tripped languidly away. Eventually, even Jazana’s dreams faded.

Then, a sound awakened her. Startled by the commotion, she shook the sleep from her eyes and sat up. In the hall outside her chamber she heard the noise of heavy feet stomping and a voice barking angrily.

Thorin’s voice.

Jazana struggled to wake herself, fixing the straps of her elegant nightgown, wondering how and why Thorin had returned. But it was him, she was sure of it, and as he neared her room she realized he was shouting. The door to her chamber exploded open. Jazana jumped.

‘Jazana!’ he yelled. ‘Where are you?’

The room with Jazana’s bed was not near the door. Another chamber separated them, though the distance was not great and Thorin traversed it easily. Seconds later he appeared, bellowing over his shoulder for the servants to stay out. When he turned his eyes on her, Jazana saw the rage in them. The Devil’s Armour swam angrily over his huge body, though he had doffed the frightful helmet. He flexed his gauntlets into a pair of metal fists. Jazana tossed her naked feet over the bedside and stood, staring in astonishment.

‘Thorin?’

‘Jazana, you treacherous old bitch,’ he seethed. ‘I—’

Shadows appeared in the room behind him. Thorin whirled to see a pair of maids, concerned and clutching their bedclothes. ‘Get out!’ he thundered. ‘Or I’ll burn you alive!’

The maids went scurrying, slamming the unseen door behind them. Thorin turned back toward Jazana and shook an angry finger at her.