Angel's Deceit (Angelwar Book 2) Read online

  A soft scuffle sounded to his left, and Stetch turned his head to find Rachel returning, the other nun and Kraven’s Meracian friend flanking the blood-spattered woman. Stetch withdrew one hand from his bow and gestured at the trio to wait. As an afterthought, he raised a finger to his lips. Sound travelled far on a quiet night like this and they were so close that he could almost feel Victoria’s presence; all in all, better not to be discovered by some foolish woman’s nervous prattle.

  Stetch turned his head back, surveying the grounds carefully. Ten seconds passed, then twenty. He remained motionless, surprised that Kartane also held to his position. Thirty seconds, and the women started getting restless. Forty seconds, and a faint sound reached his ears. A quick glance to Kartane earned a swift nod; the old knight had heard it too, a soft murmur like a distant stream or a hushed conversation. They waited, eyes searching the soft darkness laid out in front of the entrance.

  There.

  Two guards, patrolling the estate on a circuit. The pair were coming from the east, passing right to left and entering Stetch’s limited field of vision. Kartane had already seen them, his eyes flicking from the men to Stetch and back, waiting for the signal. Stetch had positioned himself so that Kartane had the easier time: less than a half turn would bring him round to face the enemy. Stetch, with the wall at his back and leading off to his left, would have to turn further, completing a three-quarter turn before he could even sight the guards. That, he knew, was why Kartane was waiting for him to make the first move.

  A quick glance into the grounds showed the men drawing level with the main entrance. Stetch nodded, stepping out and spinning on his heel as Kartane raised his bow and turned to face the enemy.

  The arrows flew simultaneously, each finding their target with well-practised precision. Stetch pulled another from the quiver and fitted it to his bow as the bodies hit the ground. He drew back the bowstring and let fly a second arrow, watching the gently sloping roof as a patrolling guard walked a counter-clockwise circuit. Two seconds later a shape dropped to the tiles. Stetch waited, worrying for a moment that the body might roll, tumble off the roof and announce their arrival with an earth-tickling boom. Another couple of seconds passed and Stetch exhaled softly, relieved as he realised the body had stayed where it belonged, the only change being how alive its owner was.

  ‘Didn’t see him,’ Kartane whispered beside him, slowly moving to the centre of the gateway with another arrow ready. Stetch couldn’t tell whether the knight was impressed, or just irritated with himself. ‘Watch left,’ he told the knight, fitting another arrow to his bow and advancing into Drayken’s grounds. There were people that needed killing, and Stetch was of a mind to increase his tally in the Sworn’s ledger. He smiled. Tonight was a good night for murder.

  49.

  Stetch grasped the door handle and glanced at Kartane. The knight nodded, an arrow at the ready and three pale-looking women clustered behind him like frightened ghosts. Stetch yanked the handle down with his left hand and gave the door a firm kick with his boot. The door swung inwards, and the guard propped against the wall obligingly stuck his head round into the empty space. Stetch thanked him by driving his sword through the guard’s throat, releasing a satisfying arterial fountain as the gurgling man twitched his way to the polished floor.

  Good start.

  Stetch paused as he saw a servant coming down the corridor towards them, a perfect target for Kartane’s bow. The woman stopped, and Stetch could see her pupils, wide like plates and wet with fear. He moved aside, allowing the others a clear view through the doorway.

  Quickly, he silently urged Kartane. He glanced over his shoulder and saw the former knight tossing his bow aside as the servant screamed, a high-pitched whine that set Stetch’s teeth on edge.

  ‘She’s not armed,’ Kartane said as if it was some kind of justification for pissing all over their plan.

  So much for surprise. Stetch stepped over the threshold and found himself in a wide reception hall, a single broad corridor leading deeper into the mansion. To his right, a wooden staircase, varnished to the point of rivalling a mirror, burrowed upwards to the first floor.

  ‘Move,’ Stetch growled, striding across the hall and into the corridor. Kartane’s plan – which had lost them nearly two minutes of time Stetch could have been killing – had been to sneak in, murder everyone in the barracks first and then clear the house methodically. It had all gone to shit now, and Stetch figured their best bet was to find a narrow point between them and the barracks where he could wade through the guards at will; waiting around in the hall would be as useful as duelling with a feather.

  Ten yards down the corridor, Stetch reached a crossroads, a narrow passageway intersecting with the central hallway. He stopped a moment, listening as the thunder of footsteps echoed off the walls. Surprise was most definitely no longer on his side. Still, the Sworn were used to that.

  Stetch looked over his shoulder and saw the others catching up, Kartane first among them. ‘Plan’s changed,’ Stetch barked. He lifted the tip of his sword towards the three women. ‘Watch our backs.’ He hesitated a moment as the tattoo of footsteps increased, conscious that the intersection of a corridor wasn’t a great defensive position. On the other hand, the women looked like they might bolt at any moment. It seemed like one of those moments when they needed some kind of encouragement. He thought for a moment. ‘Don’t fuck up,’ he said.

  Stetch took the left fork, his footsteps hammering the polished wood as Kartane came up alongside him. ‘You any problem with killing armed guards?’

  ‘Just innocent women,’ Kartane snapped, his sword already out as guards poured into the corridor at the far end, some thirty yards away.

  Stetch strode towards the clot of guards as they slowed. It looked so comical as they tried to slow down and the men behind them tried not to barge into them that Stetch barked a laugh. A door to his left opened, a servant stepping under the lintel before she realised what she was walking into. She froze, mouth half-open as her eyes took in the scene. Stetch punched her in the face as he strode past, hearing the body fall backwards into the room. His good deed for the day done, Stetch raised his sword as the first guards slowed to a crawl, edging towards him and Kartane. The corridor was narrow, only wide enough for two men to attack at once. Stetch looked over the shoulders of the first row. Another ten fools were crowding in behind them. Time to fatten the ledger.

  The first row shuffled forwards. ‘Drop your weapons,’ the idiot facing Stetch said. He spoke with the confidence of a man who didn’t yet know what he was facing, the confidence of a man who wasn’t expecting to see his blood decorating the walls. Stetch moved forwards, teaching the man a lesson in humility by severing his windpipe.

  Four.

  A second later Kartane darted forward on his right, taking advantage of the other man’s surprise to neatly skewer him through the chest; the second row of guards now looked a little less confident, Stetch was pleased to see. As his opponent juddered like a marionette, Stetch stepped forward and gave the dying man a shove. The guard behind him hurriedly moved his sword wide to avoid stabbing his companion, which turned out to be singularly stupid as Stetch rammed a foot of steel through the man’s left eye, twisting the blade and yanking it out with a slight flick to take out the one he’d shoved. He scythed the blade to his right with a grunt, cutting deep into the neck of Kartane’s next target before the knight himself struck a second later, delivering the finishing blow.

  Seven.

  Stetch stepped forward again, the next rank of guards looking like they’d like to change careers. He parried a clumsy thrust, directing it into the space between him and Kartane, a flick of his wrist snapping his sword forward into the guard’s exposed torso.

  Eight.

  Stetch stepped over the falling corpse, building up speed as he found his rhythm. Parry, parry, thrust, and another fell.

  Nine.

  A lazy flick of his sword to the right distracted Kartane’s o
pponent and allowed the fallen knight to deliver a steel message to the guard.

  Another step, the blood pooling around his feet now, and a quick feint left. The guard’s sword darted in that direction, but Stetch had already pulled the strike so the man’s sword thumped into the wall. By the time he pulled it free it was already too late.

  Ten.

  A step over the gurgling corpse and Stetch was at the last row. He shifted his weight, feeling his footing slip. A quick parry, then another as Stetch recovered his balance, fast, economical strikes retaliating and beating his enemy back. Stetch shuffled forwards, his blade an extension of his arm: the steel bobbing and weaving a complex pattern, strikes and thrusts that echoed the rhythm of chaos: strike, pause, slash, slash, feint, pause, strike, feint, arterial spray.

  Eleven.

  Stetch’s flicked his blade towards the last man’s face. He flinched, the last moment of his service to a traitorous lord as Kartane lunged forward and showed the man his insides.

  Stetch paused a moment, but there were no more guards coming; they had emptied the barracks. He glanced at Kartane, and found himself thinking of a rabid dog, but an older dog, maybe one that couldn’t run as fast as it used to but hadn’t yet realised that simple fact. The man’s tongue was hanging out in exactly the same way as an overtaxed dog’s might.

  It was quiet behind them, and both men turned to see what was waiting for them. A trail of bodies – less than their own red path, but impressive for three untrained women – led back the way they had come, five in total. All three women were still standing, which was more than Stetch had been expecting. Not only that, but none of them were screaming so it looked like they might survive. At least for a few minutes longer, and that was all he cared about.

  ‘You three. Search downstairs.’ He turned to Kartane. ‘Upstairs?’

  The knight nodded, still trying to get his breath back. ‘Lead the way,’ he panted.

  They traced their way back along the corridor to the main hallway, sounds of running feet permeating the air.

  ‘Stay together,’ Stetch heard Kartane tell the women. ‘If you run into trouble you can help each other out.’ A greedy gulp of air followed as Stetch turned right back towards the entrance. ‘Don’t go into the courtyard till we’ve cleared it out,’ the knight added.

  ‘How will we know?’ one of them asked. Stetch thought it was the Meracian noble.

  ‘There’ll be bodies there,’ he called over his shoulder.

  *

  Stetch took the stairs two at a time, launching himself onto the first floor landing as a guard stepped into view. A flick of his wrist dropped the man – twelve – and Stetch marched past without breaking his stride. He started kicking open doors as he went, but apart from the lone guard the floor seemed deserted. Kartane had caught up by the time he had cleared a sitting room and a dining room as large as the Ninety-Third Passage. Stetch didn’t know why anyone would need more than a single dining room, but he was more concerned about finding no sign of Victoria.

  He reached a crossroads in the hall, a mirror of the one on the ground floor. He gestured left to direct Kartane – the knight looked sober enough, but smelled as fragrant as a brewery – and took the right hand fork. Four small rooms – by the standards of Meracian nobility – all refused to yield his prize, and Stetch stalked back to the intersection, worry tickling his balls like an exuberant hedgehog.

  She has to be here. Kraven was a fool, but he wouldn’t mislead him on purpose, not with Katarina’s sister at stake.

  Kartane came strolling back, a shake of his head indicating that he hadn’t found Victoria, and Stetch cursed under his breath, stalking deeper into the house with a growing sense of desperation in the pit of his gut. Stetch searched two rooms on the right, Kartane checking the ones on the left, and then they came to the end of the corridor, a wooden door ahead with a stained glass window filling its upper half. Through the mist of colours something moved, a subtle interplay of light and dark suggesting someone on the other side. Stetch took two quick steps forward, wrenching the door open and plunging through onto the courtyard balcony, a four foot balustrade of pale beech providing cover for the archer leaning over. He turned at the last second as Stetch jammed his sword through his ribs, staggering the man into the balustrade with enough force to make the wooden barrier groan. Stetch dragged his blade free as Kartane came through the door, his sword flicking expertly out and severing the man’s jugular. Stetch shoved the dying man over the side. Thirteen, he decided. A sword through the torso would have killed the guard in moments; Kartane just moved things along a little quicker, is all.

  Stetch saw a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye. He grabbed Kartane and yanked him down behind the balustrade as an arrow whined across the courtyard. Kartane’s eyes drifted to the arrow quivering in the door frame behind them. ‘Could use a bow about now,’ he said.

  Stetch froze as he heard a scream, his head twisting towards the noise. Top floor.

  ‘Shame it went over the edge with the archer,’ Kartane added.

  A solid thwunk next to them made the knight start in surprise. A half inch of an arrowhead had pierced the beechwood panel they were hiding behind.

  ‘I don’t think that’s going to hold out much longer.’

  Stetch ignored him, his eyes on the door leading back inside. ‘Maybe you should kill him,’ he said absently, adjusting his stance. Two paces, he figured, and he’d be safe inside. Kick the door closed and stay low and the archer wouldn’t be able to touch him – even if he sent an arrow through the stained glass panel.

  ‘And where are you going?’

  Stetch raised a finger upwards.

  Kartane grabbed his sleeve. ‘I can’t take an archer down from here. Distract him while I circle round.’

  I don’t have time for this. Still, the man had pulled himself away from a bar for long enough to kill a couple of people. Maybe there was some kind of tiny, insignificant debt there.

  Stetch bobbed his head over the balcony, bringing it down as a bowstring twanged. A half-second glimpse, but it was enough. As Kartane scrabbled away, Stetch bounced up, the throwing dagger leaving his hand with every ounce of force he could muster. A cry echoed across the courtyard, and Stetch saw the archer stagger back a step, dropping the bow and presenting a perfect target. The second dagger struck the man in the side of the neck and he fell forwards, body coming to rest on the balcony as Kartane poked his head up to see what the commotion was. Stetch shrugged. ‘Quicker just to kill him.’ He turned on his heel and started running; whatever was happening upstairs wasn’t going to end well, and Stetch needed to make sure it ended badly for all the right people.

  50.

  A muffled cry trickled down the corridor as Stetch crested the last stair. Sword drawn, he started running, ignoring the first doors he came to and following the corridor as it stretched towards the central courtyard. He stopped when he reached the junction – positioned, he knew, above its twin on the floor below. Stetch listened for a moment. A faint noise, somewhere up ahead. He started moving, this time at a slower, more measured pace. The annals of the Sworn were, after all, full of stories where the men of Sudalra were skewered during a moment’s carelessness seconds before snatching victory, dying while knowing they were so close. There was a new sorry tale every few years, but Stetch knew better than that; you ignored the temptation to sprint blindly for the finish, because that was generally what Sudalra’s enemies were counting on.

  He passed a pair of doors, one on either side, and ignored them both. At the next matching pair, he stepped close, and placed an ear to the door: nothing.

  Stetch stepped silently away, a faint scuffle drifting to his ears. His eyes swept along the hallway, picking out the two remaining doors before the exit onto the courtyard balcony. Stetch moved quickly and soundlessly, his worn boots caressing the polished floorboards as he hugged the wall, making his way to the room on the right. He reached the closed door as a cry was quickly stif
led, the feminine timbre pushing him to action. Stetch stepped across, back to the wall and door on his left. He hoisted his sword in his right hand and gripped the door handle in his left. He twisted the handle and gave the door a maid’s nudge, exhaling with something approaching relief as the wood swung inwards an inch. Not locked.

  Stetch flicked the door with his left boot, spinning round the door frame in its wake and into a bedroom larger than most taprooms. He stalked silently into the room, a bed directly in front of him. He caught a glimpse of a leg under two men, struggling mightily with whoever was beneath them. A third man stood a few feet away from the bed, his back to Stetch, and a fourth man was laid out on the floor at his feet, a stain spreading slowly around him. The man standing over him seemed to have a dark patch on the left side of his head, his hand cupping his ear like he had been bitten. Good girl, Stetch thought. He covered the last few yards quickly, time enough to set his feet and really make an entrance, sword lancing through the man’s neck and burying itself in the ear-fondling forearm as the rest of the headless corpse crumpled to the floor.

  Stetch yanked his sword free as one of the men on Victoria heard the body falling. He was trying to scramble off the bed as Stetch reached him, burying two feet of steel in the man’s gut and giving it a good shake. The screams brought the remaining man to his senses, stumbling off the far side of the bed and trying to pull his breeches up at the same time as retrieving a sword belt from the floor. Stetch pulled the impaled guard towards him, thrusting his sword through him until the hilt stopped its progress. Stetch shoved the man aside, releasing his grip on the sword. He sprang forward, hurling himself onto the bed and bounding over the prone girl. Stetch bounced off, landing on the floor as the last man picked up a scabbard and frantically tried to draw. Stetch crashed into him, burying a dagger in his groin as the two crumpled to the floor in a tangle. The guard lashed out, screaming, and Stetch rode the blow, countering with an elbow to the man’s face. Once, twice, and once more for luck. Stetch got to his feet, his vision red as he hauled the rapist to his feet, bodily hurling him across the room. Stetch bounded after him, punching him hard in the gut and once more in the face. He drew another dagger as the guard staggered back against the wall, slamming it through the side of the man’s neck then grabbing him by the hair and slamming his skull into the wall until all he felt was dead weight.