Angel's Deceit (Angelwar Book 2) Page 35

  ‘I think he’s dead,’ a cracked voice said behind him.

  Stetch turned and saw Victoria, struggling to rise from the bed, her clothes torn and ripped and a multitude of deep scratches etched into her pristine flesh. Her face was battered, purple-black bruises obliterating one eye and disfiguring her left cheek and right side of the jaw.

  ‘Hello, Stetch.’

  Stetch grunted. His eyes darted quickly over Victoria as she struggled to pull her trousers back over her hips. Her shirt, once a forest green, was ripped and bloody, barely even rags. His eyes worked their way up, past the cuts and scratches and the livid rose finger impressions on her neck until their eyes met. Victoria held his gaze.

  ‘You arrived just in time,’ she said quietly. ‘Another few minutes…’ Her voice trailed off to a ragged, shuddering sigh.

  Stetch turned away. ‘Need some clothes.’ He found a dresser and began rifling through the drawers.

  ‘I suppose I must look a dreadful sight.’

  Stetch paused, his back to the bed. ‘Not to me,’ he mumbled. He opened the next drawer and found a tunic that looked about Victoria’s size as a stuttering groan came from the far side of the bed.

  ‘One’s still alive.’

  She had a talent for stating the obvious, just like her younger sister. ‘So fix it,’ Stetch said. He lifted an arm and gestured towards the sound. ‘Sword’s over there.’

  ‘Ah, yes,’ Victoria said a moment later as Stetch opened the third drawer, ‘that could be what’s causing the screams.’

  Stetch heard her land lightly on the floor, felt her approach him. He stiffened, not daring to move. Her hands reached round his waist, fingers tickling their way around the rim of his belt.

  ‘I’ll bring this back,’ Victoria whispered, sliding a dagger from its sheath and stepping away.

  Stetch breathed out slowly and resumed his search of the dresser, but couldn’t find a pair of trousers anywhere. He slammed the drawer shut as a cat-like wail, sharp and high, came from the far side of the room.

  ‘Look what I’ve got,’ an almost unrecognisable voice rasped. ‘It’s a teeny little thing,’ Victoria remarked, ‘but everyone deserves a last meal.’

  The scream was muffled quickly, and Stetch heard the familiar patter of arterial rain a couple of seconds after that. He closed the last drawer of the dresser and stood, working his way over to a wardrobe in the corner. There’s got to be some bloody trousers around here somewhere, he thought as a squelching sound bobbled across to his ears.

  ‘Stetch, I just want to get out of here, I don’t need to look presentable.’

  Stetch tossed the tunic over his shoulder towards the bed. ‘Got company.’

  That silenced Duke val Sharvina’s daughter for a moment. ‘Brothers?’

  ‘No.’

  Stetch heard the door snick shut, the rustle of fabric following a moment later. He finished his search of the wardrobe, concluding that whoever stayed here never wore clothes below the waist. He closed the wardrobe door quietly and stood staring at the grain of the wood.

  ‘You can turn round now.’

  Stetch turned slowly. ‘No bloody trousers.’

  Victoria shrugged, wincing as it caused a twinge of pain. ‘These aren’t too badly ripped.’ She tried to smile, but it came out as a pained grimace. ‘Enough to preserve my modesty.’

  Stetch felt Victoria’s eyes fasten on his face, the full attention of a val Sharvina centred upon him once again. It had never been a pleasant experience. ‘Last I heard, Father was so furious with you he was taking his time in devising your punishment. He mentioned sending you to the Spur, or sending you to teach at Stonepoint, so what are you doing here – he did punish you, didn’t he?’

  Stetch nodded. ‘Stuck me with your sister.’

  ‘Katarina’s here?’

  Another nod. ‘City.’

  ‘Chatty?’

  Victoria turned to the door as the distant shout was repeated. ‘Friend of yours?’

  Stetch shrugged and grunted noncommittally.

  ‘Chatty? You alive?’

  ‘He sounds annoyed,’ Victoria said. ‘Perhaps we should see what he wants?’

  Stetch held out his hand towards her, snorting as Victoria tried to hand over the bloody dagger. Stetch pointed to the sword held in her right hand. ‘Big dagger.’

  Victoria barked a rough, nervous laugh, and reluctantly handed it over. She fixed Stetch with a defiant look that was so very familiar and strode over to the nearest corpse, tugging the sword free from the dead man’s scabbard. Stetch had seen that look on a val Sharvina face before and knew better than to argue.

  ‘Ready?’

  She nodded, but grabbed Stetch’s arm as he moved to open the door. ‘Many people get in your way?’

  Stetch’s shoulders twitched, but he knew what she was asking: if Stetch didn’t make it home, how many needed to be added to his tally in the ledger.

  Not counting the guard Victoria had finished moments ago, fourteen men had died by Stetch’s hand inside the mansion. Before that, there had been a gate guard, another inside the grounds, and the archer on the roof.

  ‘Seventeen, plus two in the woods.’

  Victoria’s grip held him in place. ‘Thank you.’

  Stetch grunted and stared at her hand until Victoria let go. He gave a quick glance at the corpse with a bloody mess stuffed in his mouth and opened the door. Days like this were what he trained for.

  *

  Stetch followed the sound of the increasingly irate shouts along the corridor. He led Victoria out onto the square balcony sitting high above the courtyard, following it round to the opposite side and the open door that marked the rear half of Lord Drayken’s ostentatious mansion. Clustered towards the very back of the building, Stetch saw the three women had survived, although their grey clothes were streaked with pink.

  Stetch grunted in surprise, seeing them all upright and very much alive; it was more than he had expected. He reached them a few seconds later, noticing a fourth woman – this one in a frilled nightgown – sandwiched between the two nuns. She looked like she had run face-first into a door. Maybe more than once.

  ‘These are a little different to your usual female company,’ Victoria remarked, coming up to stand beside him. ‘And since when has the Church of the Maker been arming its nuns?’ Victoria asked.

  ‘Since about two weeks ago,’ one of them said. ‘Right after the Band of Blood and a demon attacked our convent.’

  ‘Are you going to introduce me to your new friends?’

  Stetch gave an indifferent grunt, eliciting a dry laugh from the same nun, the one he had come to think of as the alpha nun. ‘I don’t think he remembers our names,’ she said, introducing herself and her two companions as Kartane stuck his head round the door jamb.

  ‘Found him,’ the knight said, ducking back into the room.

  ‘Found who?’ Victoria said.

  ‘Lord Drayken,’ the alpha nun said, ‘the man who kidnapped you, and whose house we are in.’

  Stetch headed after Kartane, and found himself in a lavish study, a dark mahogany desk in the centre of the room and a bloodied, portly man propped against it.

  ‘Hurt my shoulder breaking the door down,’ Kartane said as if feeling the need to explain the state of the defeated lord. Drayken looked up at that, a bloodshot eye swivelling towards Stetch.

  ‘You won’t get away with this,’ he blustered. ‘Do you have any idea who I am?’

  Stetch stared at him. ‘Yes,’ he replied, hearing a rush of air as Victoria stormed in.

  ‘A dead man,’ she snarled, stepping between Stetch and Kartane. ‘I’m going to enjoy this.’

  Stetch caught her arm as she strode past, and held Victoria in place.

  ‘Let me go!’ She pulled again and again, as if Stetch might just get bored and let go.

  ‘No.’

  ‘We need him alive,’ Kartane said on her other side.

  Stetch felt the full weight of Vic
toria’s pleading eyes, big brown orbs that begged for vengeance. ‘I need him dead,’ she whispered hoarsely.

  Stetch shook his head, not trusting himself to speak. He couldn’t pull his eyes away from Victoria’s face.

  ‘He’s betrayed his country to the Gurdal,’ Kartane said quietly. The knight took a step forward and crouched in front of Drayken. ‘And you’re going to tell the Council of Lords what you did before their vote tomorrow.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Drayken said, but Stetch could see the nervousness in his eyes, the fear dilating his pupils. ‘When the Council finds out about this you’re all dead.’

  Stetch sighed as he recognised the man rebuilding his defences. By the time they got him to High Mera, the lord would no doubt have convinced himself that he was entirely innocent. I really don’t have time for this.

  Stetch released Victoria’s arm and took a single step forward. ‘One chance,’ he told Drayken. ‘Confess.’

  ‘I – I’ve done nothing wrong.’

  Stetch spun on his heel. ‘Stay,’ he told Victoria, and marched out of the study, returning a moment later dragging the lord’s wife by the hair. He led her up to her husband, kicking her in the back of the knee and forcing her down to the floor so she was at eye level with her husband. He glanced at Victoria then drew a knife across the throat of Drayken’s wife, watching as her blood decorated her husband’s face. When the man’s whimpering finally died, Stetch shoved the corpse away. ‘Talk,’ he told the lord.

  ‘The others are dead,’ Kartane added. ‘Nobody can help you now.’

  ‘I had no choice,’ Drayken said, hanging his head. ‘You can’t say no to a demon.’

  ‘Tell the king,’ Kartane told him. ‘Maybe he’ll show you mercy.’ He turned to Stetch and Victoria. ‘We need some rope to bind him.’ Kartane frowned and looked carefully around the room. ‘Where’s the prince?’

  Stetch shrugged. In truth, he had forgotten about the kidnapped prince altogether.

  Kartane cursed. ‘Well, I’m not telling the king we lost his son.’ Both men looked to the doorway at the same time. ‘Better to come from the church,’ Kartane said thoughtfully.

  51.

  Tol stopped, an echo of pain reverberating through his skull.

  ‘What is it?’

  He shook his head to clear it. Something was different, but it took him a moment to pinpoint what it was. ‘I can’t sense her any more.’ He felt panic rising within him like a summer squall: fast, ferocious and undeniable. ‘She’s gone.’ Tol tried to breathe, but his chest was tight as though wrapped in iron chains. ‘She’s gone,’ he repeated.

  He started as Vixen gripped his shoulder. ‘Breathe,’ she said. ‘We can still find her.’

  Tol bent forward, sucking in great gulps of night air. She can’t be dead, he told himself, she can’t be.

  ‘We’re on the right path,’ Vixen tried to assure him. ‘We just have to keep going.’

  Tol stood up straight, shaking his head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘She’s somewhere in there,’ he pointed south into the crowded forest. Tol hooked a finger into his sword belt, cursing his stupidity for not leading them in a straight line through the trees. ‘I figured it would be quicker sticking to the road then turning south.’ He shifted his weight nervously, a restless left hand alighting upon Illis’Andiev’s hilt. ‘I’m a fool.’

  Tol’s palm tingled, his head filling with a strange, sibilant voice. She lives, the voice hissed. He started in surprise, his hand slipping from the sword.

  ‘Tol?’

  He stared down at the angel-forged steel. Could Kalashadria have been right about the weapons of her people? Could there really be an intelligence inside that flawless blade?

  Tol gripped the hilt anew, the results instantaneous as his palm prickled like a thousand tiny needles caressed his skin. ‘How do I find her?’ he murmured.

  Unlike his connection with Kalashadria, a demarcated presence that nestled in a corner of his consciousness, the voice came from all around, a whisper rippling through every inch of his mind. The connection remains, the voice told him. Find the sleeping mind within your own and follow it home.

  ‘Tol? What’s wrong?’

  He ignored the voice, closing his eyes and concentrating, trying to clear all thoughts of fear and loss from his mind. She lives, he told himself, repeating it as a mantra until, at last, peace descended. He breathed in slowly, trying to find that part of him that belonged to another. She’s not here.

  Calm, Illis’Andiev told him. Kalashadria still lives yet.

  Tol exhaled slowly, his mind finally quieting. There!

  He opened his eyes and grinned. ‘She’s still alive,’ he said. Tol enfolded Vixen in a hug then stepped back. ‘Later,’ he said, gripping both her shoulders, ‘I promise I’ll explain everything later, but we have to go.’ Tol turned and left the road, striding into the deep darkness of the trees. A moment later he heard Vixen follow, a string of muttered Havakkian curses in her wake, some of which he hadn’t heard before.

  ‘I’ll hold you to that,’ she said as she drew alongside him. ‘How far?’

  ‘We’re close; less than two miles.’

  Vixen muttered something underneath her breath but Tol didn’t catch it, relief still washing through him and giving him a new purpose, a new-found strength: Kalashadria was still alive.

  ‘Any idea where we’re going or what we can expect to find?’

  ‘A hunting lodge or gamekeeper’s cottage, maybe.’ Tol felt his enthusiasm bleeding away as the truth of what they were about to do settled back upon him. ‘The demons won’t need guards, not with what they’re capable of.’ He swallowed, the image of the last demon he faced coming unbidden to his mind. ‘They’ll want privacy so no-one comes to investigate the screams.’

  They continued in silence, each twig snapping underfoot pealing like a church bell, every footfall deafeningly loud. Five minutes passed until, at last, they saw a faint glow ahead, a watery smear barely visible among the clotted mass of boles.

  Vixen grabbed Tol’s arm as he came to a halt. ‘I have no intention of dying here tonight. Tell me how we beat them.’

  Tol chewed his lip, recalling the mad rush of his battle against Klanvahdor in a Norvek village square. ‘Surprise,’ he whispered. ‘We need to surprise them and strike quickly. If we’re lucky, they won’t realise what weapons we carry until it’s too late.’ He took in a nervous breath, smoky mist flooding from his nostrils. ‘They know human weapons can’t hurt them. They’ll be confident; the one in Norve let me get a few blows in because he thought I couldn’t hurt him. That’s our chance: get in fast and make the first strike count. With any luck we can end it before they realise what’s happening.’

  Vixen nodded, her eyes wide as saucers. ‘And if that doesn’t work?’ Her voice was thin and strained.

  Tol sighed. ‘Attack with everything you have, don’t hold anything in reserve. They’re faster than us, and seem to have almost limitless reserves of strength.’

  ‘Tol, I…’ Vixen stopped, her lips parted as though she had forgotten the words that came next.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I won’t let you down.’

  He smiled. ‘I know. You couldn’t if you tried.’ Tol drew himself up straight. ‘Make as little noise as possible from here on in, they have exceptional hearing.’

  Vixen rolled her eyes. ‘This isn’t my first assault,’ she whispered.

  Tol smiled. ‘One more ill-advised adventure?’

  ‘Always.’

  *

  I was wrong.

  Tol stepped forward silently, the cabin’s lone guard shifting nervously to the side of the twin cellar doors, two huge oak panels opened wide, revealing a maw that descended underneath the wooden building.

  He knows what’s happening in there, Tol realised as he took another step, the sentry only a few yards away. Tol had circled the gamekeeper’s wooden cabin, slithering along with the wall to his back as he tried to p
osition himself directly behind the sentry, a man who – he now knew – had stood by while an angel was tortured. The guard kept glancing into the hole in the ground, and the weak light that leaked out from the cellar. Tol took another crab-like step sideways. The guard’s feet never quite stopped moving, and Tol could see the man’s fear and uncertainty in every twitch, every nervous gesture. Skittish. And that, he knew, was a bad sign. If you were going to kill a man then a relaxed target, unsuspecting of his imminent demise, was always a better prospect. Tense, adrenalin-fuelled men who couldn’t stand still, well, they were more of a challenge.

  Another step sideways, and the guard was almost within touching distance, just three strides in front of him. Tol already had the dagger in his hand. He drew in a slow, steady breath, and sprang forward as he exhaled. One stride, two, then Tol was behind him, left hand sliding round over the man’s left shoulder to cup his chin and tilt it back as his right hand darted in from the other side, edge perfectly perpendicular to the target. One smooth motion and it was done, the guard collapsing back against him as Tol felt the warm liquid spatter against his arm like summer rain, quick and warm.

  Tol let the guard fall against him, edging back and lowering the corpse to the floor as a shadow detached itself from the trees and Vixen emerged from the darkness, sword in hand. Tol unfurled the tabard Kartane had given him, sliding the bright white fabric over his tunic as Vixen approached, her face every bit as taut as his own. True friendship is fighting when you know you can’t win, he thought morosely.