The Sword Of Angels (Gollancz S.F.) (13 page)

The Jadori looked around, confused, then quietly approached her, beaming smiles at the adored mistress. They asked if she was well and why she had not told them she was arriving. Minikin smiled at the men, explaining that she had come to speak with King Lorn and that she was very tired. She did not want the people of the township to know she had come. Both men nodded, understanding her concerns. She was always swamped with questions by the Seekers in the township, people from the north like King Lorn who had come across the desert in search of healing magic.

‘King Lorn; is he in the palace?’ Minikin asked in Jadori.

‘No, Mistress,’ replied one of the guards. ‘Lorn is at the gate. Shall we take you to him?’

Realizing that riding near the gate would expose her arrival easily, Minikin politely shook her head. She loved the Seekers and admired them. They had all gone through remarkable hardships to find their way to Grimhold, and she had been forced to refuse them, making them live outside Jador’s white wall because there was simply no room for them in the city, and no way to cure their ailments. They had come to Jador on a rumour, calling it Mount Believer, sure they would find magic in the city to straighten their bent limbs and clear their sightless eyes. And they had overwhelmed tiny Jador. Without meaning to, they had stretched the city and its meagre resources to the breaking point.

‘I will wait for King Lorn in the palace,’ said Minikin. ‘His child, Poppy – she is well?’

The warrior nodded. ‘Yes, Mistress, the baby is well. She grows stronger. The woman who tends to her is with her now in the garden. We can take you to her.’

‘Yes, that would be fine,’ said Minikin eagerly. She had never spoken to Eirian before, but knew it was her chance to find out how Lorn was faring. Lorn was deeply fond of Eirian, a woman from the north like himself though far younger than the deposed king. She had even taken to raising Lorn’s daughter Poppy, feeding her from her own breast and seeing to her every need. ‘I will await King Lorn with the girl.’

‘Lorn may take his time,’ the warrior warned. ‘He spends much of the day working.’

‘Does he?’ asked Minikin brightly. ‘I have heard complaints about him. I have heard that he is working everyone else too hard, but not himself.’

The warrior’s expression grew embarrassed. ‘Forgive me, Mistress, it is not my place to speak against Lorn.’

‘But you have, yes?’

The man nodded. ‘Yes. He is a foreigner.’

‘Gilwyn was a foreigner,’ Minikin reminded the man.

‘Yes, Mistress, but Gilwyn was regent,’ the guard replied.

‘Yes, regent,’ his companion agreed. ‘He was chosen by Kahana White-Eye.’

‘And Lorn has been chosen by Gilwyn,’ said Minikin. By now the warriors who had escorted her were listening intently. Minikin looked at each of them. ‘I do not mean to scold you, truly. I wish only to know what is happening here.’

The guards became sheepish. Finally, the first one to speak nodded. ‘Lorn works as hard as any man. Harder than most, even.’

‘To defend us,’ added his fellow guardian. ‘That is what he claims.’

‘And you believe this claim?’

The guards looked at each other, wondering what each was thinking. None of the palace guards had ever been comfortable speaking frankly with the mistress, not in all the years she had been coming to Jador. The boldest of the pair shrugged and confessed what he was thinking.

‘Some say he is building a new kingdom for himself,’ said the man, ‘because he no longer has his own.’

The other Jadori remained silent at the accusation. Minikin supposed they were equally as suspicious. She saw it in their eyes.

‘I will have words with King Lorn when he returns,’ she said. ‘For now, take us to the garden, please.’

The guards bowed, then turned and walked off, leading Minikin and her companions back toward the palace and the lush, quiet gardens bordering the barren desert.

*

Along with the setting sun, the ache in Lorn’s back told him it was time to quit.

He had spent the day the way he had spent so many since coming to Jador, laying bricks and digging holes. It was difficult work, even for a man half his age, but Lorn attacked it with vigour, renewed by the challenge Gilwyn had given him to look after the city and thrilled to be useful again. Two battles, both in the space of a year, had set Jador back on its heels. There were shortages of everything and only meagre defenses to protect the city. Manpower was scarce, horses were almost nonexistent, and the people of the township – northerners like Lorn himself – lived in comparative squalor to the Jadori themselves, secure behind their gleaming white wall. Because most of the Seekers who had come to Jador were not able-bodied, they were of little use to Lorn’s rebuilding efforts, though they tried gamely to help by bringing water and supplies. It was the Jadori themselves who did most of the toil.

Lorn stepped away from the bricks he had laid and admired his handiwork. In Norvor he had been a king, but Jazana Carr had reduced him to poverty and sent him fleeing from his homeland with only his daughter and the clothes on his back. Along with Eirian and the others, he had eventually found himself here in Jador, seeking the protection of the city and its healing magic, magic he had hoped would cure Poppy of deafness and clouded, nearly useless eyes. Instead, he had found only excuses in Jador, a thousand unfathomable reasons why his daughter could not be healed. But Lorn had not been angered. Though Minikin claimed she could not heal his daughter, she and the Jadori had welcomed him and his fellow travellers, thanking them for their help in defending the city by allowing them to live in the palace. Now, with Gilwyn gone, the palace was Lorn’s to protect – just like everything else in the ancient city.

So Lorn began by building walls.

While others worked hard to construct housing for the Seekers, the refugees who had come across the desert, Lorn had decided that the township itself needed a wall, just like the one its big sister Jador wore. He had enlisted the help of every able-bodied northerner and Ganjeese trader willing to help, and so far they had made commendable progress. It surprised Lorn how ill prepared Jador had been for Aztar’s attack. They were amateurs at defending a city, all of them, and though young Gilwyn had tried gamely he had been a very poor regent by Lorn’s reckoning. The Jadori were slack. And the township, a huge, sprawl of houses that had sprung up over the decades for Ganjeese travellers, had almost no defenses at all. Not even a wall.

‘But not for long,’ said Lorn, clapping the dust from his hands. He had finished the fifth course for this section of the wall, using brick made in
the township and washed the same, gleaming white as the wall around Jador. It would take months to finish, he knew, but it didn’t matter. The wall was needed. More importantly, it gave the desperate Seekers of the township something useful to do.

Lorn ran a dirty hand through his matted hair and wiped the sweat from his brow. He had worked longer than almost anyone else. With night falling, most of the others had gone back to their families to eat and rest. The rumbling in Lorn’s stomach told him it was time for him to eat, too. Satisfied, he took a breath and listened to the still desert air. Amazingly, he was growing accustomed to the heat and dryness.

‘Enough now,’ he called, signalling his fellows workers to stop. Three men had remained with him at the site, all of them brothers from Marn, and all of them afflicted with a blood disease that weakened their bodies and made their bones brittle. Yet despite their ailments and the hopelessness of their plight, they had worked tirelessly alongside Lorn, because their father had been a brick-layer in Marn and had died from the same inexplicable disease. ‘We can start again tomorrow, but right now my back aches like I’ve been stabbed and if I don’t get some decent food I’m going to collapse.’

Tarlan, the nearest of the siblings, slung a dipper through a bucket of water and offered it to Lorn. Grateful, Lorn drank, then handed the dipper back to Tarlan. The brothers had sprung from the same womb at the same time and all had the same blonde, cow-licked hair. They were much younger than Lorn, too, barely half his age, though their desperate ailments meant they could only do half the work, as well.

‘Come back to our house tonight, Lorn,’ said Harliz. The most ill of the triplets, Harliz stooped considerably even when he walked. He liked to joke that he had the perfect position for laying bricks. Whenever Lorn looked at him, he could see the considerable pain on his face. ‘It’s late and you look about to die. Our house isn’t far.’

‘
I
look about to die?’ countered Lorn. ‘You should get a mirror for your home.’

‘We have a mirror,’ said the third brother, Garmin. ‘Harliz loves to look at himself.’ He went to his stooped brother and playfully mussed his hair. ‘See? He’s the prettiest of us all!’

‘And I have a prettier one still, waiting for me back at the palace,’ said Lorn. ‘I would rather spend time in her bed than with any of you mutts.’

The brothers laughed, relieved to be done for the day. They had worked hard for Lorn, and he was grateful. Like most of the Seekers, the brothers accepted their lot. There would be no healing for them. Lorn stretched his back and tried to work the aches from his muscles. In Norvor, he had never had to work so hard. While he bent to touch his toes, he heard his name being called from a nearby street. He rose to see a
man hurrying toward him on a kreel, one of the Jadori warriors named Amarl who guarded the palace. In the failing light Lorn could barely make out his dark features wrapped beneath his flowing gaka. The people in the street parted as the kreel loped past them. The brothers from Marn gaped at the beast.

‘Amarl?’ Lorn called. ‘What is it?’

Amarl reined back his kreel. The hot night made the reptile’s skin glisten. Its long tongue darted out to taste the dusty air. Amarl unwrapped the black cloth from around his face. He was one of the few inside the palace who could manage the language of the continent, and that was why Lorn depended on him so much.

‘The mistress has returned, King Lorn,’ said the warrior. He had a throaty, commanding voice. Like most of his race his eyes were black and fierce. ‘You should come.’

‘The mistress?’ asked Lorn. ‘You mean the little one?’

‘She awaits you in the gardens. She is sitting with your woman.’

The news surprised Lorn – and excited him. He had only spoken to Minikin once, when he had first arrived in Jador with Poppy. She had thanked him for his help against Aztar, then promptly denied his daughter access to Grimhold. There were reasons, of course, and Lorn understood them. But he held out hope that his good deeds for the city might change her mind. Lorn turned toward Harliz and his brothers.

‘Tomorrow,’ he told them. ‘Get well rested. I’ll be back in the morning.’

The brothers nodded, watching in awe as the Jadori swept Lorn onto the back of the kreel. Lorn fought for balance then held tightly as the great beast hurried toward the palace.

The sun had gone completely by the time Lorn reached the palace. He stepped carefully into the garden, hiding behind broad-leafed plants and listening for Minikin. Torches had been lit and the garden glowed a pleasant yellow. The flowers and light swayed in a warm breeze. Lorn noticed Eirian first, sitting in their usual spot, a place where they could see the desert beyond the outskirts of Jador. Tonight the desert stretched darkly into nothingness. Eirian held Poppy in her arms, swaddled in white cotton as the baby nursed from her breast. Lorn peered around the plants, then saw Minikin seated across from Eirian. The little woman’s feet dangled like a child’s from her chair. The shadow of her brutish bodyguard fell across her shoulder. She was talking gently to Eirian, admiring the child in her arms. Lorn smiled, proud of Eirian and the way she had handled the interruption. Not even this magical midget could upset his Eirian.

Lorn smoothed down his grey hair and straightened his rumpled shirt. A lane of cobblestones led to the sitting area. Lorn stepped onto the lane
and adjusted his pliant face to greet Minikin. As he approached she looked up at him, a strange grin splashing across her elfish face. She made to rise, but Lorn quickly stopped her.

‘No, do not get up,’ he told her. ‘Sit, please.’ He paused at Eirian’s chair, resting a hand on her shoulder. Eirian greeted him with a smile.

‘You were quick,’ said Eirian. ‘The mistress only just arrived.’

‘As quick as I could be,’ Lorn said. He bowed slightly at the tiny woman. ‘I’m honoured to see you again, my lady.’

Minikin sat back and closed her coat around herself. The coat swam with colour as if alive. Around her neck she wore a golden amulet, most of it hidden beneath the coat’s miraculous fabric. His grey eyes seemed haunted, though happy too that Lorn had come.

‘It is good to see you, King Lorn,’ she said, her voice like music. As Lorn stood next to Eirian’s chair, so too did the giant Trog stand beside his mistress. ‘You have been busy, apparently.’

Lorn glanced down at his filthy clothes. Mud caked his boots. ‘Forgive me, my lady. This is the second time I have not been given time to prepare for you! Did Eirian tell you? I have been working at the township.’

‘I know,’ said Minikin. ‘You have been keeping everyone in the city occupied, King Lorn.’

There was a trace of reproach in her tone. Lorn grinned at her.

‘There is much to do here, Lady Minikin. A lot of work was left undone. I am only doing the things that were left neglected for too long.’