Angel's Deceit (Angelwar Book 2) Page 16

  ‘I can’t tell you,’ Tol said gently. Then, remembering his friend’s temper, he reached over, and laid one hand over hers. ‘A few days, that’s all,’ he promised, ‘then I can go join my father.’

  The touch seemed to quieten her, and Tol could feel Vixen’s warmth seeping through their tenuous physical connection. He inhaled, and could smell the scent of home on her clothes, on her furs: ice and snow, and the salty sea. Home. It seemed a lifetime ago, and they had both changed since those days when the pair had been inseparable mischief makers. And she has definitely changed for the better. The Vixen of today was striking, beautiful, strong and proud and firm; an unyielding Havakkian woman in her prime.

  The corner of her lip twitched. ‘She knows, though, doesn’t she?’ Vixen slid her hand out from under Tol’s.

  ‘When it’s over I’ll tell you everything, I swear.’

  Vixen nodded, and Tol could see the disappointment writ across her face. ‘There is more,’ she told him. ‘Your father gave me something for you. He said it was only for you, that it was your inheritance.’ She leaned forward, her face inches from Tol’s own. ‘Whatever it is, it’s important. Your father said that it was better to destroy it than let it fall into the wrong hands. He said you must read it then destroy it.’

  She pulled an oilskin package from within her coat, a small, carefully wrapped rectangle little bigger than an outstretched hand. ‘There’s a letter in there, too, but your father said some things are too important to put in writing. He said that if anything happens to him you will find the original in the fire at home.’

  Tol nodded as he took the package from Vixen’s hand, a small jolt racing through his fingers as they brushed hers. The fireplace, he realised, an old, old memory surfacing of his father showing him a loose stone in the hearth and the small hollow beneath it. ‘This is where you will find your inheritance,’ he had said. Tol had taken it to mean that there was no inheritance except a name inextricably linked with betrayal. Now, though, he was beginning to think his father had shown him the hiding place for a reason, might even have planned this all along.

  He placed the package on the table and stared down at the oilskin, a faint whiff of the sea still permeating it. The four corners met in the centre, a great blob of red wax holding them in place. In its middle, someone had carved the letter K. Tol ran his finger over it and smiled; his family had no seal, not with Kur Kraven’s dark deeds, so Tol’s father had stubbornly used the first letter of their name in its place.

  ‘Well, open it then,’ Vixen said, ‘I’ve travelled halfway around the world with that and I want to know what’s in there.’

  Tol glanced across at Katarina but she just gave a miniscule shrug, as if to say do as you will, but don’t blame me when it goes wrong.

  ‘Well?’ Vixen said. ‘What are you waiting for?’

  Tol grinned, whipped out a dagger and broke the seal, the four corners of the oilcloth unfolding like a flower’s petals. Within was a plain, leather-bound journal that still smelled new. Tol picked it up and opened it, a scrap of parchment sliding out from between the pages. He snagged it off the tabletop and unfolded it, a rough, familiar scrawl etched into the pulp. He started reading.

  Son,

  You were too young to be trusted with the truth of our family. Now, though, it is time. Do not let this fall into the enemy’s hands – it is every bit as damning as Valeron’s journal and just as dangerous. The Reve marches to war again, and I lead the warriors of Havak to the Spur. I would have you by my side, knight or no.

  Krom

  Tol stared at the missive for a long time. There was no doubting that his father had written it: the perfunctory manner, the lack of warmth, the brevity, it all pointed to the few dim memories Tol had of his father.

  ‘A book?’ Vixen was peering down at the leather-bound journal. ‘I came all this way to deliver a book?

  Tol slid the note across to her. ‘Not just any book,’ he said quietly. He flipped the book open, and started reading the first page. He was pretty sure, but as soon as he read the word “pigeon-man” all doubt was brushed away. ‘A copy of Kur Kraven’s journal,’ he told Vixen, his mind thinking furiously. Perhaps Kur had reasons for his betrayal. Maybe I’ll finally understand why he killed his best friend.

  22.

  It’s a hard thing, to know your children will grow up believing their father a traitor who murdered his best friend. It’s true enough, but truth ain’t always this or that. Sometimes the truth’s a dirty thing between the two.

  That’s bad enough for a man, but now I see the way of things and understand the scale of what we did on the sands of the Spur. Funny, I s’pose, that our success will guarantee my family’s suffering. It ain’t just my children that will suffer for what I done, but their children and their children too. This is for them, those I can’t tell in person. Maybe it will help if you understand the whole thing, maybe bring a measure of understanding. Course, maybe you’ll just hate me more.

  We told a lie, a lie so grand a man might be proud o’ the size. Some of us were, but that’s what happens when soldiers make decisions, we don’t really see the long view. Maybe the pigeon-man knew it, maybe he didn’t, but I reckon he knew all right, just thought it kinder not to tell us. Rest of us never guessed what our actions would do, never realised the lie would hold so well. Problem with lies though is they breed like flies.

  What I’m trying to say is this: I killed my best friend, ain’t no way to soften it. I did it ’cause no other bugger would. Did it because it needed doing. And now you’re going to pay for it, maybe have already. Remember this: it needed doing, and I did it.

  ‘Well?’

  Tol closed the book. ‘Nothing good,’ he said.

  Vixen pouted. ‘Well, I’m sure your father had his reasons.’

  Tol nodded reluctantly, and slipped the book into his tunic. ‘It’s good to see you again,’ he told her, ‘but I can’t leave just yet.’

  ‘He won’t be pleased, Tol.’

  ‘He will understand,’ Tol said, but he wasn’t altogether sure that was true; his father was basically a stranger, a collage of hard memories.

  ‘Two days,’ Vixen told him, crossing her arms and fixing him with that glare she had used when they were six years old. ‘Then I leave for the Spur, with or without you.’

  ‘I will be ready,’ he promised. Or dead.

  ‘Good.’

  Katarina cleared her throat, a delicate yet purposeful sound like the flap of a butterfly’s wings. ‘I don’t recall you explaining how you found us.’

  Tol saw Katarina’s cheeks colour as Vixen ignored the question, instead turning her gaze back to him. Great, he thought, trapped between two iron-willed women. ‘It could be important,’ he told Vixen as delicately as he could. ‘We are trying to, uh, not draw too much attention.’

  ‘Really?’ She sounded genuinely surprised. ‘Perhaps you shouldn’t go duelling Meracian noblewomen. People tend to take notice of things like that.’

  Suranna. Tol sighed. ‘That’s how you found us?’

  Vixen nodded, a playful smile on her face. ‘Can’t say she was too thrilled to tell me where to find you – not at first – but she came round in the end.’ She gave Tol a searching look. ‘Had some interesting things to say about you, too.’

  ‘It wasn’t my fault,’ he muttered.

  Vixen snorted. ‘Way I hear it, you did something right.’ She laughed and waggled a finger in front of him. ‘Not the getting pulled into a duel with a woman part – that was dumb - but what came after… seems you have an admirer there. What I really want to know about though is the angel. You really met one? You’re her knight?’

  Vixen had leaned forward, chin balanced on her hands and her face only inches from Tol’s own. There was a look of rapt wonder and intense concentration on her face, and it reminded Tol of that same focus the young Vixen had applied to building snares in the forests of Havak. ‘Yes,’ he said, unable to look away from those deep blue eyes, �
�but it’s not as great as you might think.’

  ‘I expect that an angel might be more demanding than your usual liege, might expect a bit more from her knight. I was also thinking,’ Vixen said carefully, her eyes never leaving Tol’s, ‘that being declared an angel’s knight might make you a pretty large target.’

  ‘That,’ Katarina said, ‘is why we are avoiding undue attention. Something which the arrival of a large Havakkian warrior seems to have endangered.’

  Vixen shrugged, sparing Katarina only a glance. ‘Let them come,’ she told Tol, ‘I’ll watch your back.’

  He gave her a lop-sided grin. ‘I’d rather it didn’t need watching.’

  Vixen straightened up and crossed her arms. ‘Well, that isn’t really an option, is it? Not the way you like to charge around.’ She flashed a wicked grin. ‘Besides, maybe I just want an excuse to stare at your arse.’

  Tol sputtered, and she roared with laughter, slapping him on the shoulder so hard that Tol nearly bit his tongue off. ‘You buy the first round, and I’ll be back in half a bell; I left my kit in an inn over in the East district.’

  ‘The inn appears full,’ Katarina said, ‘and the proprietor tends to favour guests from her homeland. You may not be able to rent a room here.’

  ‘If he’s staying here,’ Vixen jabbed a finger at Tol, ‘then I’m staying here, it’s as simple as that. And unless I’ve misjudged your influence, you might want to tell the innkeeper that. It’ll save on a whole lot of broken furniture.’ She got up and her finger arced in Tol’s direction again. ‘Half a bell, don’t get in any trouble before I get back.’

  Vixen strode away, and Tol found himself watching the way her hips swayed; a warrior’s gait, but somehow with something extra, a little nod to femininity.

  ‘Another paramour, Steven?’

  Katarina wasn’t smiling.

  ‘My oldest friend,’ Tol corrected. ‘We were inseparable as children.’ He sighed. ‘Then my father sent me to Icepeak nine years ago and I haven’t seen Vixen since.’

  ‘She could be a problem.’ Katarina brushed back a strand of loose hair, her expression serious. ‘That is a woman who likes to know things,’ she explained. ‘You will have to decide whether to tell her the truth of your purpose here or suffer constant questions.’ A smile creased her ruby lips. ‘Possibly backed by the threat of violence.’

  Tol pulled a face. ‘I know.’

  Katarina studied him, her head bobbing slightly as realisation dawned on her. ‘But that is not what is troubling you. What’s really in that book?’

  Tol slipped the book out of his tunic and dropped it on the table between them. ‘I don’t know, but the way it starts I’m thinking that I’m not going to like what I find. More secrets, more bloody lies that my father never saw fit to tell me.’

  ‘Pish! You were how old when you left – eight? Nine?’

  ‘Nine.’

  ‘Nine year old boys are incapable of keeping secrets, Steven, and the bigger the secret the harder it is to keep. Your father is not to blame for this.’

  Tol nodded, humbled. ‘Thank you.’ He slid Kur’s journal across the table. ‘I have to go out this evening. Would you keep this safe for me?’

  ‘It is extremely foolish to leave something so valuable in the possession of someone in my profession,’ Katarina scolded, ‘even an ally.’ Her face turned suspicious. ‘Unless you know I can’t read Norvek runes?’

  Tol shook his head.

  Katarina smiled. ‘Then I would be honoured to look after it for you.’ Suspicion creased her forehead. ‘Where are you going?’

  Tol slid his chair back. ‘I’m meeting Kartane.’

  ‘Ah. And you’re not going to wait for your friend to return?’

  ‘If Kartane finds out someone – even a friend like Vixen – has managed to track me down, he’ll be mad as a Pit hound.’ Tol shook his head. ‘Half a bell of swearing and cursing my stupidity, carelessness, and general unsuitability to be a knight, would be my guess.’

  ‘Hmm, that man is rather free with his invective, I suppose. I expect you will be wanting me to tell your friend you have abandoned her?’

  ‘Well, you don’t have to use those exact words.’

  ‘I rather think I will, Steven. Yes, I think I might enjoy my next conversation with your Havakkian friend.’

  I definitely don’t want to be here for that meeting. ‘I’ll probably be back late,’ Tol said. ‘I don’t think Kartane has ever left an inn that he hasn’t drained of ale.’

  ‘Yes, I suspect avoiding your friend until the morning might be a good idea,’ Katarina said with a quick smile. It disappeared just as swiftly. ‘While you are getting drunk with Kartane I will visit Lord Calderon again. It may be that he has learned more.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Tol stood up. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow?’

  ‘Assuming Kartane doesn’t get you killed,’ Katarina sniffed. ‘And, Steven?’ she asked as he turned to leave. ‘Try not to start any more duels with women.’

  *

  Tol figured that with a city as rich as High Mera there would be plenty of fine drinking establishments. The Ninety-Third Passage was quite nice, as was the other Sudalrese tavern where Suranna dol Carasiddio had found him. The Feral Badger was nothing like either one. It was small, dingy, dirty, and smelled stale like overripe cheese. Kartane, nestled in one grimy corner, seemed positively at home. Perhaps, Tol thought as he gingerly lowered his frame onto a creaking chair opposite the fallen knight, the ale is why he is so cheerful. There was a slight glassy look to Kartane’s eyes, and a tankard that had not always been empty in front of him. More than one, judging by the smell.

  ‘We’ve got some time before the fun starts,’ Kartane said. ‘Be a good lad and get another round.’

  Tol scowled, the stinging rebukes of Katarina and Vixen still fresh in his mind. ‘Have you forgotten what we’re doing tonight? I think you’ve had enough to drink.’

  It was, he realised as Kartane’s fingers closed around his throat, not the right thing to say.

  ‘I know when I’ve had enough,’ Kartane growled, ‘and this, boy, is nowhere near enough. You understand?’

  A faint gurgle escaped Tol’s purpling lips, and Kartane seemed to interpret that as a “yes”. The scarred fingers retracted, retreating back across the table to their owner. ‘Besides,’ Kartane added brightly, as if nothing had happened, ‘I’m just along for the fun, like a master watching his apprentice as the apprentice…’ Kartane struggled for a moment, ‘…makes his first vat of ale.’ He hiccoughed. ‘You’re the apprentice.’

  ‘You’re not coming with me?’

  Kartane stared at him like he was stupid. ‘Of course I’m coming, somebody needs to stay with the boat and keep watch. Besides, it should be entertaining.’ Kartane jerked his head towards a bow propped against the wall. ‘And if you get caught, somebody needs to make sure you don’t spill your guts about the Reve or your little Sudalrese friend. That’s why I’m drinking.’

  Tol swallowed. ‘I’ll get you another one.’

  ‘Get yourself one, too, seeing as you’re paying.’

  23.

  The seven sat in silence, clustered around the easternmost palm tree and the scant shade offered by its fronds. The sun, ever the desert’s deadliest danger, was nearing its apex, a heat haze smudging the black line on the horizon like a child’s first charcoal line; rugged, insubstantial. The army was approaching in the wake of its scouts, banners jutting upward like rough hairs.

  ‘It looks like they brought their entire nation,’ Sir Catardor said, lowering the eyeglass and passing it to his left.

  Sir Benvedor raised it, grunting assent at his companion’s stark assessment. He passed it to Kal.

  The black line seemed to stretch across the desert like a serpent, constantly shifting as the heat haze distorted the view. Kal lifted the eyeglass, jerking his head back as the distant mirage seemed much closer. He waved his hand in front of the lens, and saw only a blur. Kal looked again,
ignoring the laughter of the knights and the gentle chuckles of Salazar beside him. They were still very far away, too far to accurately assess numbers, but judging by the sheer number of flags protruding here and there, Kal guessed they were facing a city of men – more, maybe. There seemed no end to the shimmering line, and if the ranks of men stretched back a long way, well, it didn’t bear thinking about. He returned the eyeglass to Salazar, muttering his thanks.

  ‘How many would you guess, Sir Benvedor?’ the Sudalrese bowman asked.

  The knight sucked his teeth for a moment. ‘Hard to say; depends how deep they march. Twenty thousand or a hundred thousand, either way they will swarm the walls of Shade with barely a pause.’

  ‘Your church’s tower would offer a good view of the field,’ Salazar said. ‘Good enough to gauge accurately the size of their army.’

  Benvedor laughed. ‘Yes, but by then you’d be close enough to see the whites of their eyes. A little too late in my view.’

  ‘We won’t stay and fight them?’ Kal asked.

  ‘There’s no point, lad. Sure, we’d take a good few of them down before we fell, but not enough to make a difference. Nowhere near enough.’

  ‘But,’ Salazar added, smiling slightly, ‘information on numbers and how they array themselves for the assault, that could save many lives in the right hands. Our course is clear.’

  They’re going to stay in the city? After they’ve just seen what’s coming? Kal glanced at the Sudalrese trio. The Sworn really are as mad as they say.

  Benvedor clapped his hand on Kal’s shoulder, using it to propel himself to his feet. ‘There’s no point in spending our lives without cause, and there’s nothing we can do for the people of Shade, nothing ’cept die alongside them.’

  Salazar helped Kal to his feet as the others rose. ‘Perhaps we’ll meet again, knights.’

  Benvedor clasped hands with the bowman. ‘In this world or the next.’