Angel's Truth (Angelwar Book 1) Read online

  He was expecting a sharp retort or scathing comment, but Kalashadria seemed to take the news well enough.

  ‘What would you do,’ she asked, ‘if the situations were reversed?’

  ‘I’d have hit us at Bitterhalk,’ Tol said, his foot finding another sizeable pebble. ‘Risky, I suppose. There’s always a chance the locals might intervene, but I reckon it’s a risk worth taking for the extra swords you’d have. It’s not their style, though,’ he said with a shake of his head. ‘The Band of Blood have a reputation for striking in the dead of night, gone before the dawn with no witnesses left but the dead.’

  ‘So what will they do?’ Kalashadria pressed. ‘Knowing what you do about them, what’s your best guess?’

  ‘There’s still at least a dozen of them,’ Tol said, the grey pre-dawn haze lightening as they reached the base of the hill. They had followed the road south, and as dawn now crept over the horizon, they had the ragged mass of the tor hiding them from any watchers in Brokewood. ‘They’ll split their force in two, thinking you’re injured or worse. One group to the north in Brokewood, one to the south here in the village. They just have to hold us long enough for the demon to arrive, that’s what they’ll be thinking; pin us down and keep us there till the demon swoops down and finishes us off.’

  ‘And if you’re wrong? If their whole force is waiting for us?’

  Tol scowled. ‘Then you can say “I told you so.”’

  *

  The dozen houses ahead were clustered together to form a large, open square bisected by the road. At its centre, beside the road, three huge oak trees curled around each other: Three Trees, the last settlement along the East Road before Kron Vulder. A perfect killing ground, Tol thought as he reached the hill’s summit, the ring of houses only yards away. They’ll wait till we’re at the centre, he thought. Swarm out and pen us in near the base of those trees.

  ‘The hardest task is yours,’ Kalashadria said. ‘I will not be able to aid you.’ She hesitated. ‘Are you sure you can do it?’

  Tol glanced over at her and grinned, hoping he looked more confident than he felt. ‘Let’s find out,’ he said, stepping past the first house and into the square.

  They passed the houses, the tiny village silent. Tol felt his stomach tightening as he and Kalashadria followed the road. They were halfway to the trees in a few moments, and still the settlement was silent. A few more yards, the trees looming over them. A third of the way across, Tol thought. Could I have been wrong? Are they all waiting in Brokewood’s marsh?

  A door opened to Tol’s left, just behind his shoulder. I guess not.

  The mercenaries slipped out of the inn as the first rays of dawn slashed across the sky. Half a dozen men, all armed and armoured in boiled leather, strips of crimson cloth tied taut around their right arms. They spread out quickly even as one of their number – Tol recognised him as the Sudalrese fellow who had urged him to surrender the book outside Karnvost – shouted the demon’s name into the sky. Once. Twice. Three times.

  ‘How long?’ Tol asked quietly, drawing Illis’Andiev with a soft hiss of steel.

  ‘Not long.’

  Their eyes met. Maybe for the last time, Tol realised.

  The mercenaries had formed a circle now, slowly closing in on Tol and Kalashadria. Three ahead, three circling around behind them.

  ‘Don’t die,’ she told him, turning so they were back to back. ‘Go.’

  The three men in Tol’s line of sight were close now, only yards away. He sprang forward, veering towards the leftmost man as the trio of mercenaries closed in around him.

  The mercenary stumbled backward, sword raised in a defensive stance. Tol flicked Illis’Andiev into the high guard, scything it down towards his enemy’s shoulder with a roar. The ring of steel rolled across the square, breaking the strange morning silence. Tol attacked again and again, hammering down at the man’s guard with fury. I don’t have time for this, he thought. The demon would be here any moment, and then he’d be alone, six-to-one. Illis’Andiev bounced off the mercenary’s upraised blade again, and as Tol brought it down he thrust his hip out to the left, adjusting the angle of his strike. The sword slashed down in a crescent, its edge narrowly missing the mercenary’s own sword and gouging a deep line across the warrior’s torso.

  One down.

  Tol spun away, catching a glimpse of movement out of the corner of his eye. Stay mobile, the abbot had taught him. When facing multiple opponents you have to keep moving; once they pin you down you can kiss your skin goodbye.

  He just managed to bring his sword up into the guard position as another of the mercenaries came at him, the third only a yard behind him. Tol parried another blow, feet shuffling across the frozen ground as he circled left, trying to keep his assailant between him and the third man. He had the inn at his back now, the three trees in the centre of the village off to the left. Tol heard a scream somewhere off to his right, and glimpsed a white blur in his periphery, occuping the remaining three men of the Band. Kalashadria.

  Tol parried another strike, the blade narrowly missing his ribs. He countered, thrusting Illis’Andiev forwards and gouging a chunk out of the mercenary’s shoulder. He backed away as the other mercenary came round, yawing left to give himself more time before facing two swords at once. I have to end this quickly. The abbot had a lot to say on fighting outnumbered, none of it helpful.

  The injured mercenary came at him again and Tol swung, sheer force sending the blow wide of his body and unbalancing his opponent. He felt the edge score along his own weapon and Tol grunted with effort as he redirected Illis’Andiev, the angel-forged steel rising in an arc over the man’s torso before he could recover his balance. Tol didn’t feel the sword meet any resistance, but he glimpsed a red line over the man’s torso, leather armour cut clean through. The sword fell from the mercenary’s fingers as he crumpled to the ground. Two down.

  Tol drew in a ragged breath, fending off a flurry of blows that forced him back as the last man launched himself at him. Somewhere above the din, he heard a scratching creak, fast and loud. Klanvahdor.

  I’m running out of time.

  The distraction nearly cost him dearly, and Tol felt a line of heat along his arm as he parried awkwardly - poorly enough, he knew, the abbot would be ashamed. His opponent pressed his attack and Tol backed away towards the three trees at the centre of the square. Kalashadria had heard the wingbeats too, he realised as he glimpsed her over the mercenary’s shoulder, a foot snapping out to launch her opponent – the Sudalrese warrior – and send him hurtling across the square, rolling several times before coming to a halt near the houses. Two men were already dead at the angel’s feet, Tol saw as he fended off another strike. He saw the Sudalrese warrior pull himself up onto hands and knees. Two left.

  Tol focused on the man in front of him, ignoring the dull, concussive roar ahead and the black shape looming in his peripheral vision. I have to finish this, he thought. His arms were tiring now, half-numb from the repeated clash of steel against steel that rattled his bones. I will not let her die.

  He launched a counter-attack, swift, economical strikes pushing the mercenary back towards Kalashadria and the demon as the chime of steel against steel rang in his ears like a choir of angels. He grazed the mercenary, a second strike barely parried. Another note rang, and another. Tol slipped Illis’Andiev through his opponent’s guard on the third attempt, nicking the mercenary’s side.

  Tol glimpsed the Sudalrese warrior to his left, the man rising unsteadily to his feet. I have to finish this, he thought. I can’t let him reach her. He renewed his attack, exchanging a nick on his arm for a deeper wound in the mercenary’s shoulder as the demon and Kalashadria locked blades, stepping into each other like lovers.

  Tol feinted, saw the mercenary’s blade dip - his wounded shoulder hampering movement - and Tol saw his opening. ‘Never commit to the killing blow until you’re sure they can’t do the same for you,’ the abbot had told him once. ‘Often the dying man’ll
take you with him, though you might not realise for a few minutes.’

  So be it, Tol thought. A few minutes is all I need.

  He lunged past the man’s guard, taking a slash to his side as he pierced the man’s chest with the tip of Illis’Andiev. He heard a gurgle deep in the mercenary’s throat, and felt a weak blow strike his thigh as he withdrew Illis’Andiev and struck again, driving the sword’s edge deep into the man’s neck to finish him.

  Tol pulled the sword free, panting as he stumbled towards Kalashadria and the demon. The last man, the Sudalrese warrior, was staggering towards them too, trying to put himself between Tol and the pair. Their swords were held aloft, faces strained with effort as the two foes glowered at each other, only inches apart. Tol heard the demon snarl as he stumbled towards them. He saw it spit in the angel’s face and as she flinched the demon snapped back its head and headbutted Kalashadria.

  No!

  She fell backwards, stunned, blood streaming down her nose as she crumpled to the ground. The demon stepped around her legs, a look of satisfaction blooming on its ebony face. I won’t make it, Tol realised as the Sudalrese warrior reached the demon’s side. The Sudalrese warrior looked down at Kalashadria, his brow creasing in a frown. He glanced at Tol, and as their eyes met the mercenary smiled. He spun to his side, thrusting his sword deep into the demon’s exposed thigh where Kalashadria had wounded it outside Karnvost. The demon howled, back arching in pain as its sword lashed out, a fountain of blood spurting from the Sudalrese warrior’s neck as he collapsed to the ground.

  It was enough. Tol had closed the distance, the demon a few feet away. ‘Hey, ugly,’ he shouted, ‘what’s the matter, you afraid of me?’

  ‘You.’ The demon smiled, and Tol saw it glance at Kalashadria, unwilling to leave its prize. Remove the greater threat first, he thought - another of the abbot’s lessons. The demon raised its sword, ready to deliver a killing blow, and Tol sprang forward, lashing out with Galandor’s sword to deliver a perfect killing blow.

  It moved impossibly fast, parrying Tol’s attack before it did little more than scratch the demon’s tough hide. The demon growled, a low, feral sound, one finger tracing the line of the small wound on its stony torso. The finger came away with a smear of dark ichor on its tip as the demon parried Tol’s next strike one-handed. Its eyes flicked to the weapon in Tol’s hands and Tol thought he saw understanding cross its hideous face. Yes, he thought, an angel’s sword, something that can actually penetrate that thick hide. Tol struck again and again, but each time the demon flicked his blade aside as easily as a knight fighting a child armed with nothing but a twig. Stronger and faster than a man, Tol thought. Just like an angel.

  ‘I’m going to enjoy this,’ the creature snarled, its sword flashing towards Tol’s face. He fell back as the demon attacked again and again. Still fighting one-handed, the beast was grinning from ear to ear, its movements painfully fast yet somehow looking unhurried. It’s toying with me, Tol realised as he fell back another pace. The demon’s jagged sword licked his arm, fire racing along it as Tol was pressed back. It wasn’t even trying, but its strength even one-handed was more than a match for Tol’s own. It nicked his other arm, then his thigh as Tol retreated further, small, shallow cuts that brought fresh pulses of pain and weakened him with every passing moment. The blows were coming faster now, and Tol struggled to keep pace as he retreated, the bare boughs of the oak tree now appearing over the demon’s head. I cannot fail, Tol told himself, deflecting a lazy thrust to his heart.

  ‘Having fun yet?’ the demon crowed. The sneer was too much, and Tol felt something snap inside him, anger boiling through his veins and scouring the pain away. He yelled, a primal roar of anguish, and struck at the demon for all he was worth, Illis’Andiev dancing around the demon’s blackened blade. Twice he grazed the demon, his attack furious enough that it finally switched to a two handed grip. His attack slowed, Tol’s last reserves fading as the demon fended off each blow, the damned thing cackling with glee. Tol retreated another pace back, and felt his heel hit the root of the tree’s trunk. There was nowhere left to go.

  Still cackling, the demon’s blade came at Tol from every angle, the fiendish thing enjoying every moment. Its blows seemed so random, so fast, a blur of black steel coming for Tol again and again, grazing his ribs and nicking his thigh. Something shifted in his mind, and he saw it: a terrible pattern emerging, a style of sword-fighting he’d never seen before. Never seen, but somehow recognised.

  Diverts sword out left, Tol thought even as the demon swung its blade across. Withdraws quickly. He knew it, even as the demon’s sword-arm retreated with lightning speed. The next blow, Tol knew, would be straight for his heart, the final killing blow. He tried to bring Illis’Andiev to bear, but the demon was too quick, and Tol knew he’d never get his sword back into guard position in time. It unfolded in his mind in one perfect moment, and Tol let his left hand slip from the blade, jerking his body to the right and twisting his left side away from the black point as it arrowed towards him. His shoulder hit the tree trunk as the demon’s blade went wide of the mark, missing Tol’s heart but ploughing through his shoulder and into the tree behind him, pinning him in place as he screamed with pain. Sometimes, to win, you have to also lose. Another lesson of the abbot’s, sounding in his ears like it was only yesterday as spots danced before Tol’s eyes. The pain brought tears to his eyes as the demon shuffled closer, twisting the blade in Tol’s shoulder as it laughed.

  Often the dying man’ll take you with him.

  Tol smiled, and with the last of his strength brought up his sword and thrust the point through the demon’s chest. It stood there for a moment, a surprised expression on its face. Something bright and silver flashed in front of Tol, the demon’s head tumbling from its neck a moment later. The blackened slate of the demon’s body crumpled to the ground a second later, its sword still pinning Tol in place to the tree. It was the only thing keeping him upright.

  ‘That’s how you kill a demon,’ he heard Kalashadria say. She was a white and red smear in front of him, tears of pain streaming down his cheeks.

  ‘I killed it first,’ he croaked.

  50.

  Honestly! Of all the stupid things… Here they were, standing over the beast’s bloody corpse, and the fool was arguing over which of them had killed it. Arguing, while pinned to a tree with a sword through him. His pain was a burning needle in the back of Kalashadria’s mind, yet the boy was still grinning like an idiot. She cast her gaze over his frail body, numerous cuts conspiring to make his clothes appear red. Most were superficial, but there were so many she was surprised Tol was still conscious. By the look of him, he won’t stay that way for much longer.

  She was about to reprimand him for lying when her eyes passed over Galandor’s sword, Illis’Andiev on the point of slipping from bloody fingers, its tip already resting on the earth. A purple-black smear of gore was sliding down the eloran steel to the ground, and Kalashadria bit back the words. She rolled the corpse over with one foot and, sure enough, saw a ragged wound in its chest. He was telling the truth.

  And not just a death-blow, Kalashadria realised, seeing several shallow cuts on the corpse’s body. Cuts, she knew, that had not been there when she had been knocked to the ground. He had bought her enough time to recover her wits, leading the creature away from her fallen body and letting it use his own frail form as a pincushion. But he still found the strength to kill it. Kalashadria raised her sword, placing the flat of her blade against the crossguard of the sword pinning him to the tree. She couldn’t bring herself to touch the weapon directly, and wouldn’t be surprised to learn that the swords of the Demhoun-el’teri were every bit as feral and malicious as their masters. She found her voice. ‘This is going to hurt,’ she told him.

  He smiled. ‘Worse than it does already?’

  ‘Probably.’

  He bobbed his head weakly. ‘Do it.’

  Kalashadria inhaled deeply, flicking the blade free in one smooth
motion, the weapon landing next to its dead owner as Tol roared in pain, an echo of it reverberating in her own mind.

  ‘I did warn you,’ she said.

  ‘You weren’t kidding,’ he gasped, slumping against the oak.

  ‘We need to get you somewhere where I can tend your wounds,’ Kalashadria said, her eyes searching the square. Humans were coming from the building now in ones and twos, watching the pair of them in the centre of the square. Some stayed in their doorways, but others, with expressions of fear and wonder painted on their faces, came closer, slowly approaching Kalashadria and Tol. ‘An angel,’ she heard more than one of them mutter. The villagers gave the pair a wide berth, milling around as if expecting the end of the world at any moment. Which they might well be, Kalashadria thought. They were allies now, her people and the humans – some of them, at least. And this boy, who had fought his way across a continent, was one of the few who understood the true nature of the war that was coming. She sighed. ‘Kneel.’

  He didn’t hesitate, legs falling out from under him as his back slid down the trunk of the tree. He landed with a soft groan, looking up at her with confusion. He thinks I’m going to kill him, Kalashadria realised as he let Illis’Andiev fall from his red, sticky fingers. She smiled to reassure him, but wasn’t sure whether it registered. His strongest memories were still clear in her mind, and one in particular stood out, some lord’s hall in the middle of winter, a grizzled warrior kneeling before his lord. The words, though, didn’t feel right. If anyone can change them, she thought, it’s me.

  She lowered the flat of her blade onto Tol’s right shoulder, lifting it over his head and brushing his injured left shoulder.

  ‘Tol Kraven,’ she said in a loud, clear voice that swept across the square, ‘I name you Knight of Angels.’ She couldn’t help the moue of distaste as she used the human’s word for her people, but Kalashadria didn’t think any would remember it. ‘I name you my representative here on this world. When you speak, it shall be with my voice; when you act, it shall be by my will.’ A quick glance showed she had the attention of everyone in the tiny village. ‘I charge you with aiding your brothers of the Knights Reve in protecting the church and its followers from all enemies, at home and abroad. Do you accept this honour and this burden?’