Angel's Deceit (Angelwar Book 2) Read online

‘Huh. But nothing useful?’

  Tol shook his head, surprised when Kartane laughed. ‘Women are like that: you ask a question, and if you get any kind of answer it brings two more questions. Guess angels are no different.’

  They passed under the last tree into deep grass, the uneven rhythm of the river louder and closer. ‘Just a little way further,’ Suranna announced from up ahead, leading the group along the treeline with the river warbling away on their right. ‘We’re almost at the bridge.’

  The quiet ate away at Tol as he followed the others, a near-silent peacefulness that on another day might have been soothing after days in the crowded Meracian capital. Today, though, the soft rustling of long grass, the muted birdsong, and the dull hum of the river all reminded Tol of what was missing, the silence in his mind where an angel had once nestled. She can’t be dead, he told himself again. By now, though, Tol didn’t believe it. Two demons had attacked her, and he knew how deep the hatred between their species ran. All that remained now was to find her body and see that Kalashadria’s killers never drew breath again. With two demons at the end of his journey, it was looking like another impossible quest. Alive or dead, I’ll find her.

  They marched in a line at the edge of the forest, the river babbling away to their right. Night had come now, clouds obscuring the pale light of Ammerlac far above and leaving a faint orange smear like a candle seen through tears. Somewhere up there, Tol knew, Alimarcus waited and watched, powerless to intervene. He knew exactly how that felt.

  The procession slithered east abruptly, and Tol could just make out Stetch in the gloom, unshouldering a bow and jogging ahead. Stetch ducked down as he crested the low bank of the river, an arrow already at the nock. Tol held his breath, awaiting the arrow’s flight. A second passed, then two more, Stetch relaxing as Suranna and Vixen joined him on the berm.

  Rachel and Berta tensed as they slogged up the ridge to join the others, but bringing up the rear with Kartane, Tol already knew the way ahead was clear. With the mood Stetch was in, he knew the warrior wouldn’t have hesitated whether a lone sentry waited or a dozen. Tol felt much the same.

  Tol felt something brush his hand, and realised he was gripping the hilt of Illis’Andiev. He released it as he reached the top of the berm, Kartane’s hand falling away like a leaf in the wind.

  ‘If she’s alive, we’ll get her back,’ the knight promised.

  ‘They’re going to pay,’ Tol ground out through his teeth. They killed an angel and now they’re going to suffer.

  They kept close to each other now, a ragtag gaggle of women and sour warriors hopping down the slope to the thin wooden bridge. Stetch led the way, the wooden slats creaking under his weight as he stalked across, one hand on his sword. The others followed quickly, and Tol slipped ahead of Kartane, the bridge slender enough that walking two abreast was impossible for all but the thinnest waifs.

  The river spat and gurgled beneath them, damp boards and a foot of air all that separated the group from an icy bath. Tol grasped the handrail as he followed Rachel, but it shook enough to make him think the construction no more than an afterthought. Best be careful, he thought as he approached the halfway point, drowning before I even reach her would be unbe—

  Pain hammered through his skull, burning needles of fire that stunned Tol. A scream escaped his lips, out before he could stifle it. The world bobbed and weaved before him as his legs gave out, voice cracking and dropping to a whirring groan. Tol saw Rachel through the tears, two steps ahead, her cloak twirling as she seemed to topple slowly over.

  Wiry arms grasped Tol from behind, a grunted curse barely audible over the pain raging through his mind. The pain ebbed and flowed with every beat of his heart, so great Tol’s mind couldn’t function. His head lolled to one side, water racing past only inches away. He felt another pair of hands join the others, heaving him up and away from the river’s black waters.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ he heard someone ask, his vision just a blur through the tears. Step by step, Tol was led to the far bank, his strength slowly returning with every step. The pain came in waves, humming through every nerve, every tendon. They reached the bank, firm ground once again under Tol’s feet. The others gathered round as Rachel and Kartane released him. Tol sank to his knees, the pain leaving him panting as he slowly became used to the phantom in his skull.

  Tol looked up at them, their questions drifting aimlessly on the night breeze as tears streamed down his cheeks.

  ‘She’s alive,’ he panted. ‘She’s alive.’

  46.

  The women were yammering away, asking inane, pointless questions. Stetch could scarcely believe they knew so little about the man on his knees, but their choice of questions – who’s alive? What are you talking about? How do you know? – proved that women weren’t really as all-knowing as they liked to think. Kartane knew, Stetch could see that plain as day. His lips were tightly pursed, an instinctive reaction to keep the truth from leaking out. The realisation was just beginning to spread across the knight’s face that the truth would come out, that there was no hiding it in the velvet shadows of night. It’s obvious, Stetch thought as Kraven shook with a mixture of pain and relief. Understand what a man believes, Stetch had learned long ago, and you know what drives him. The boy had believed little more than nothing when they had first met, empty except for some remnant of faith instilled in him by the Reve’s monks that had never quite taken hold, yet had never quite shaken either. At the end of his journey across Norve, Stetch had seen the change in Kraven as he hurled himself off the docks and onto the Sudalrese vessel as it left for home: a man whose beliefs – fragile as they had been – were now shattered, leaving a cracked shell, vacant inside. By the time they had sailed from Jhanhar, Stetch had seen the shell filled, shaky faith in a broken church replaced by devotion to the winged creature Kraven had sworn allegiance to. That was what drove him, and that was the only person who could affect him so. Stetch pursed his lips as the women harangued the boy. A man had to have secrets, but this had gone too far: Kraven knew something, and hiding the truth when one of the duke’s family was at stake simply wasn’t acceptable.

  Stetch stepped forward, wrenching Kraven to his feet in one smooth motion and ignoring the protests from the others. He thrust his face right up to Kraven’s nose.

  ‘Explain.’

  The idiot was shaking like he was having some kind of fit, his mouth not yet able to form words. Stetch tightened his grip and growled the word again.

  ‘He can sense her,’ Kartane answered for him.

  Stetch let go, ignoring Vixen as she lunged in close to support Kraven’s body. He stared levelly at Kartane as the others stopped their prattling wave of questions, quietening one by one as the knight’s words sank in. Five seconds passed before Kartane realised this wasn’t a time to give half answers.

  ‘I heard him say her name,’ Kartane said, looking uncomfortable at having to reveal what he knew. Stetch didn’t care.

  ‘It was moments before she passed overhead,’ Kartane explained, ‘that was the first I knew of it.’

  Kraven was pulling himself together, starting to look less like a bawling child and more like a man. Not much, but it was a start. Stetch raised an eyebrow and the boy nodded, a guilty expression on his face.

  ‘It’s true,’ he admitted.

  His face was drawn, tight, and Stetch reckoned he was either in pain or holding back a behemoth of a turd. He thought for a moment, Kraven meeting his gaze like he might find approval there – or maybe he was just trying to avoid the hurt expressions the women were wearing. A muscle in his face twitched.

  ‘She in pain?’

  Kraven nodded. ‘They’re torturing her. We have to go.’

  Stetch sighed. ‘That’s what I’ve been saying.’ He turned and followed the path east.

  *

  He didn’t know what the Black Duke’s daughter saw in Kraven. The boy tended to shift from sullenness to anger with few redeeming features, except for his occasional
handiness in a scrape. The pair were as mismatched a couple as any Stetch had met, but the bigger surprise was that the Black Duke’s daughter was interested in him at all. Could she not see his heart belonged to the winged one, or did she just not care?

  Kartane sidled up to him like a dog that knew it needed punishing, temporarily abandoning his new role as Kraven’s nursemaid. He didn’t say anything, just kept glancing at Stetch like he couldn’t quite make his mind up what he should say. It was worse than talking.

  ‘Should have told me.’

  Kartane sighed, and sounded relieved. ‘You know I couldn’t.’ He paused, as though waiting for some kind of forgiveness, but Stetch wasn’t of a mind to oblige him. ‘Some secrets you have to keep,’ Kartane said, ‘especially if they ain’t yours. That word that brought us together in Karnvost, not a soul had heard it from my lips before then – no lovers, friends, or brothers in arms.’

  Mierlé. That was the word a young Kartane had been told would bring aid from those loyal to Sudalra, a secret code only to be used in the most dire of circumstances. A word the knight – if he was to be believed – had kept to himself for years. Stetch grunted, unimpressed. ‘You thought it a joke,’ he pointed out.

  ‘Even so…’

  Stetch nodded reluctantly, hoping that the normally taciturn Kartane might stop prattling. Hope could be foolish like that.

  ‘You can’t blame Kraven.’

  Why not? Stetch was pleased that Kartane managed to read the question in his eyes. He was less pleased with the answer.

  ‘The boy’s an idiot—’ they both ignored a weak protest from somewhere behind ‘—but he hasn’t had much luck in trusting people. A secret that big, well, it’s not just his, is it? I reckon an angel could get prickly about personal stuff like that getting out. Maybe,’ Kartane suggested, ‘it’s the kind of thing the Reve’s enemies would try and use against her. Or him.’

  ‘He can barely hold a sword.’

  ‘After Kraven’s antics the other night, Drayken’s going to be expecting us,’ Kartane said bluntly. ‘We need every warm body we can get, even if it’s just to keep a few of them occupied while we set to cutting them down. And,’ he added, ignoring another feeble protest from the end of the line behind them, ‘a sword that can penetrate a demon’s hide could be pretty useful about now, don’t you think?’

  Stetch shrugged, so irked with his own failure to recognise Kraven’s secret earlier that he couldn’t quite admit the fool’s sword hand – limp and flaccid as it was – might be useful in the fight that was coming.

  ‘We know where they’ve gone,’ Kartane continued, with the persistence of a man who seemed to want a dagger planted through his left eye, ‘and a few minutes rest won’t make a difference. Let the boy get his breath back.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Kraven left Drayken for last because it’s the most heavily guarded compound. He did have the sense to scout it out beforehand though – aren’t you interested in the layout and the numbers arrayed against us?’

  Stetch stopped, cold eyes boring into the fallen knight. ‘That’s all you had to say,’ he growled. ‘Should have led with that.’

  Kartane shrugged, a blade-inviting grin smeared across his face like he’d been toying with Stetch all along. ‘Where’s the fun in that?’

  He truly is insane, Stetch thought. He knew how dangerous Stetch was – killers knew killers – and he angered him anyway, like he didn’t care. Or wants to see who’s faster. Stetch knew the answer, and tempting as it was to prove it, he turned away from Kartane, waiting as Kraven and the women caught up.

  ‘Five minutes,’ Stetch said. He locked eyes with Kraven. ‘Defences?’ He drew a dagger, flipped it over and held the hilt out. ‘Map.’

  Kraven lowered the angel’s naked sword, plunging it tip-first into the dry earth and kneeling beside it. He took the offered dagger and began sketching in the soil. He had his breathing under control now, his face tight but the pain which Stetch could see Kraven felt was well hidden.

  He watched in silence, the women and Kartane standing back to give Kraven space.

  ‘How bad?’ Kartane asked, saving Stetch the effort.

  ‘Bad,’ Kraven said quietly, finishing the child’s rendering of Drayken’s estate. ‘The design is clever: a series of squares inside each other, funnelling attackers through killing zones and wearing them down.’ He held the knife over the outer square. ‘The first barrier is the outer wall. It’s tall and well-protected. A postern gate round the side and heavy wrought iron gates at the front.’

  ‘Guards?’

  ‘Two.’ Kraven gestured at the space within the square. ‘You’ve got a large garden to cross to reach the manor itself. There’s some cover, a few trees and such, but mostly it’s open ground. Once you get in, you’ve got three floors of rooms to search. Somewhere round here,’ he pointed to the south-west corner, ‘is a guard barracks. Security was tight two days ago, and I reckon the barracks will be full after what happened to the other lords.’

  Stetch grunted at the obvious conclusion. He pointed to the last square, a small box in the centre of the house. ‘This?’

  ‘A courtyard,’ Kraven said. ‘I couldn’t get close enough to see the detail but there’s probably a balcony on the upper floors stocked with patrolling guards.’

  ‘Why do you think that?’ the pretty nun asked.

  Stetch shook his head in despair. This is what I have to take the manor? I’d trade them all for two brothers. He looked the assorted rabble over. One brother.

  ‘It’s a perfect kill-zone,’ Kraven explained. ‘Put an archer on each side of the square and any intruders crossing the courtyard are pincushions before they even realise what’s happening.’

  ‘Clever,’ Kartane agreed.

  Kraven looked up at the women, concern on his face. ‘This is what we’re facing,’ he said. ‘It’s not too late to turn back.’

  ‘How many men?’ the nun asked quietly.

  Kraven shrugged. ‘Eighteen, maybe two dozen.’

  Shouldn’t have told them that, Stetch thought sourly. Telling the women they didn’t have to do this was bad enough, but letting them know they were severely outnumbered? That was just stupid. Surprisingly though, none of them elected to flee. Stetch felt a grudging kind of respect for that. Doesn’t mean they won’t turn once the blood starts running. Stetch retrieved his dagger from Kraven. ‘Let’s go.’

  The women started protesting, but Kraven agreed. ‘No,’ he said, ‘Stetch is right: the longer we wait, the more they could be suffering.’

  Maybe he’s not a total idiot.

  47.

  It was quiet as they followed the dusty road east. Fields of wheat flexed and swayed to their left, stretching deeper into Meracia and away from Drayken’s estate. The stalks were already tall and heavy with bulbous, heavy spikelets that would soon be ready for harvest. Bordered by rivers on two sides, Drayken’s estate had some of the most fertile land in the area, and the orchard Tol had explored days earlier had been home to some of the largest apples he had ever seen. On their right lay scrub land populated with thick heather, the orchard beginning somewhere beyond it in the invisible blanket of night.

  The party had fallen to a nervous, tense silence after Tol had shared his grim news of what awaited them. It was better, he felt, to have been honest with them but he had seen the resentment in Stetch’s eyes. Tol knew Vixen wouldn’t desert him, but the refusal of Suranna and the nuns to abandon the mission was a pleasant surprise – and a relief; he suspected Stetch wouldn’t have been timid in expressing his displeasure had they turned around and gone back to High Mera.

  He stumbled along between the others, his mind a vortex of pain and suffering. Somehow, knowing that whatever Kalashadria was experiencing would be so much worse just left Tol feeling angry at himself for not being able to shut out the pain and carry on. He did his best, but the others could see it in his face and in the faint tremors that coursed through his body. Soon, he promised himself
. Soon I’ll be with you. They would kill her, Tol had realised, but not before the demons had their sport. All he could do was hurry to Kalashadria’s side and hope that he reached her in time. The alternative didn’t bear thinking about.

  The scrubland gave way to sparse woodland, near-naked birches giving each other a wide berth like malodorous neighbours. Tol pushed himself harder, increasing his pace as another wave of pain caused his shoulders to spasm. Rather than a constant assault, the attacks were intermittent, stopping and starting with visceral unpredictability. With no warning of when another assault would start, Tol found it far worse than a relentless beating. Every time the pain had subsided enough for him to stop gritting his teeth it began anew, wearing his already frayed patience as he trudged along the featureless road. He felt the blow to Kalashadria’s head, and was momentarily stunned in sympathy as the bond between them trembled like a reflection in a disturbed pool. Tol pushed himself faster, knowing the angel couldn’t have long left. Soon, he knew, the demons would grow bored with her. Once the entertainment is gone, they’ll kill her.

  A smear of weak light appeared beyond the trees to their right and Stetch brought them to a halt, peering back over his shoulder to make sure none of the women had abandoned their foolish quest. And perhaps to make sure I’m still walking, Tol thought, a coppery taste flooding through his link with Kalashadria.

  Stetch jerked his head towards the smudge beyond the copse. ‘There.’

  Tol tried to focus on the patch of weak light that drifted up from Drayken’s estate. It didn’t look far away; less than a mile, maybe.

  ‘Everyone ready?’ Kartane asked. The knight sounded perfectly calm, as though about to undertake nothing more difficult than an evening stroll. Tol saw Suranna and the nuns straighten, as though Kartane’s composure engendered confidence. He stared harder at the grey smudge, something bothering him. A brief spark of pain struck his kidney like a phantom. Tol grunted, his head instinctively turning towards the source. He froze as the others checked their weapons, realising with terrible certainty why his gaze had been turned. He closed his eyes, shutting out the quiet scuffs of blades eased in and out of scabbards. He turned his head slowly left and right, trying to pinpoint the sensation. There.