The Sword Of Angels (Gollancz S.F.) (70 page)

‘Is that why you’re here, child?’ queried Minikin. ‘Aztar sent you all this way to ask our help?’

‘No, Lady,’ replied the princess carefully. ‘Aztar has no idea that I’m asking this of you. He sent me here for protection. He asks only that you give me sanctuary.’ Her face clouded with sadness. ‘He wants me to be safe.’

‘And you may stay, of course,’ said Minikin gently. ‘We are grateful to you, Princess Salina. Please believe that.’

Salina gave a grudging smile. ‘I do believe you, Lady. And what I did for you was not meant to be a lever. I did it because I believed in it, and I’d do it again. I have no regrets at all.’ Her face darkened deeper. ‘It revealed things to me, about my father and the kind of world he wants. I love my father, but he would make me a prisoner simply because I am a woman! I’ll not live that way.’

Lorn nodded, at last understanding. This wasn’t just the struggle of two lovers. It was a tussle between a father and a daughter.

‘I’m a father, too,’ he told the girl. ‘Imagine just for a moment what it is like for him, Princess. You are young. Maybe you do not yet realize that the world doesn’t change simply because you wish it.’

Salina bristled in offense. ‘You have not lived in Ganjor, King Lorn. You have no idea what it is like to a woman there.’

‘Women have their place,’ Lorn countered. ‘Just as men do.’

‘Is it there place to be slaves?’ Salina asked sharply. ‘Yes, perhaps it is that way in Norvor, too.’

‘Stop now,’ said Minikin, wrapping on the table to get their attention. ‘Princess Salina, it doesn’t matter why you are here. Whatever your reasons you are welcome.’

‘Is she?’ Lorn questioned. ‘Mistress Minikin, you do not speak for Jador.’

Minikin’s face creased. ‘Don’t I?’

‘Your pardon, but no,’ said Lorn. ‘White-Eye is Kahana. It is for her to
decide whether or not Jador grants this sanctuary.’ He turned to his charge with all seriousness. ‘And think hard before you decide, White-Eye. What will you do if her father comes with an army to claim her?’

White-Eye blanched at the question. ‘I do not know.’

‘My father will come for me,’ said Salina dreadfully. ‘And his army will crush Aztar.’ She looked at her three benefactors helplessly. ‘Are all of you just going to let that happen?’

‘We can do nothing to help Aztar,’ said White-Eye. She had already made up her mind on this, a point that Lorn applauded. ‘Even if we wanted to help him we could not. Jador is devastated, Princess Salina. We endured two wars in two years, one of them with your beloved Aztar. How many men and kreels do you think it would take to defeat your father?’

‘But you would not have to fight him,’ insisted Salina. ‘My father fears you. If you would just stand with Aztar . . .’

White-Eye shook her head. ‘We don’t have the strength for it.’ She stiffened. ‘Or the will.’

Salina shrank against her chair. Her eyes wandered from White-Eye to Minikin, hoping for sympathy. Minikin smiled warmly but echoed White-Eye’s words.

‘I am sorry, child, but the Kahana is right,’ she said. ‘Jador doesn’t have the power to stand against your father. If Aztar chooses to fight him, he will do so alone.’

‘But he has changed,’ Salina maintained. ‘If you could just see him, speak to him, you would believe me.’

‘You’re not hearing us,’ said Minikin. ‘It does not matter if Aztar has changed. I believe you when you say this, and I wish no harm to him. But Jador is weak. Another war would ruin us.’

‘It’s true, Princess,’ said Lorn. ‘Believe me, I know.’

Princess Salina relented at last, her hopes dashed. ‘If I cannot change your mind . . .’

‘You may stay in Jador as long as you wish,’ offered White-Eye, trying to console the girl. ‘We will keep you safe as long as you can.’

‘At least until your father comes,’ said Lorn.

Silence. Minikin grimaced at the prospect.

‘Thank you,’ said Salina. She stood, then looked around in confusion. ‘The men that came with me . . . I should talk to them now.’

Minikin volunteered to take the girl away, noting Lorn’s sudden anxiousness. He nodded gratefully to the mistress, bid White-Eye to remain, then said a quick farewell to the Princess from Ganjor. Together they listened to the footsteps disappearing down the corridor, the antechamber returning to its previous silence. White-Eye stared blankly into
space, her face a mask of disquiet. What had started as a fine night had quickly dampened to dismay.

‘You want me to say something,’ she sighed. ‘What is it?’

‘I need you to think on what just happened,’ said Lorn. ‘There is a lesson here.’

‘Tell me what it is. Please don’t make me guess.’

‘Will you really let Salina remain here?’

White-Eye turned to him. ‘Shouldn’t I?’

‘What do you think?’ pressed Lorn. ‘What do you think might happen?’

‘You mean with her father,’ groaned White-Eye. ‘I don’t know. If she’s right and he’s afraid of us . . .’

Lorn nodded. ‘Then you are off the hook, Kahana. But I’m a father, too, and I know what it means to love a daughter. If Salina were mine I would not be swayed so easily.’

‘So?’

‘So a ruler must think clearly, White-Eye. A kingdom is a giant game board, and it’s up to you to move all the pieces. If her father’s army comes here, what will you do?’

‘I won’t give her up,’ White-Eye resolved. ‘I won’t.’ She pinioned Lorn with her sightless gaze. ‘Is that what you want me to do? Turn her over to her father after all she’s done for us?’

Lorn laughed and clapped his hands together. ‘You have come so far. You’ve delighted me tonight, Kahana!’

‘What?’

‘Of course you shouldn’t turn her over.’ Lorn got out of his chair and stood over the stunned girl. ‘Sometimes, White-Eye, a ruler simply must do what’s right.’

Mirage sat on her horse in the middle of the deserted avenue, staring at the far-off hill and the gaunt gargoyle of the library perched at its peak. Splayed in moonlight, the sad and lonely place seized her weary gaze. Outlined darkly against the night sky, the library hovered silently over the city of Koth, broken but undefeated. An empty lane meandered up the hill, littered with equipment, the remnants of the workmen who had toiled to bring the structure back to life. A cloud floated past the library’s tower. At the foot of the hill, the capital slept. Mirage felt her eyes blurring from the long day on the road. She stiffened, keeping herself erect in the saddle of her worn out horse. In the bowels of Asher’s prison, she had never thought to look on Koth again or to see its vaunted library climbing skyward once more. A hundred memories crashed against her.

She thought of Lukien, beautiful and bronze, riding out to battle, and of Vanlandinghale, kind and generous, dead under a slab of fallen granite. She thought of Thorin, too, and how he had come to her that last day, looking like a madman, sending her off to rescue Lukien as he lay near death in the street beyond the city. To Mirage, who had spent months in the gentle care of Raxor, these memories seemed a lifetime ago, but now they thrust themselves against her demandingly. Mirage quivered under the force of them, groping for words but unable to speak. Next to her, Corvalos Chane sat brooding on his stallion, scanning the avenue for trouble. Strangling voices reached them along the twisting lanes, but the city slept now and except for a few Norvan soldiers on patrol, the streets were empty. Corvalos Chane slipped his gaze toward the library on its hill.

‘They’ve made progress,’ he commented.

To anyone who had been there during the bombardment, the progress was obvious. Thorin and his Norvan catapults had collapsed huge portions of the library’s roof, but the damage was all repaired now. The improvement heartened Mirage, yet the sight of the library haunted her.

‘It’s strange to be back,’ she whispered.

‘I thought you would be glad,’ said Chane.

Mirage looked around. It was a street very much like this one where Chane had captured her. The little tavern where they’d ‘met’ was nearby, just around the corner, she recalled. He had frightened her very nearly to death that night, and changed her life forever.

‘I was on my way to Thorin,’ she said.

‘Eh?’

‘When you captured me. I was on my way to Thorin that night.’ Mirage scowled. ‘And now I am again.’

Corvalos Chane kept his eyes on her. He had observed her like this throughout the day, knowing they were reaching Koth. It was not a cruel or questioning look, but rather a peculiar gaze that made Mirage uneasy. Never a man of words, Chane had been even more quiet than usual. He merely watched.

‘I was right about you, though,’ he said finally. ‘You made the king happy, at least for a time.’

‘Happy enough for him to ride into battle and see his son slain,’ replied Mirage. ‘Yes, that was a brilliant move you made.’

‘It was enough. I’m satisfied.’

They hadn’t spoken of it since they’d left Hes. During the whole nine-day ride, they hadn’t spoken of anything of consequence. Now that the barrier was down, however, Mirage turned on her companion.

‘None of you had any right to do what you did,’ she said harshly. ‘To treat me like an animal, snag me from the streets . . .’

‘It was war, girl.’

‘Ah, but not me! I wasn’t a spy. I was just a plaything.’ Mirage shook her head, not really clear on what she meant and not really caring. ‘You have no idea how afraid I was of you. And then Asher . . .’

‘Asher is gone,’ said Chane. ‘Forget Asher. Concentrate on what you must do next.’

What was that exactly? Mirage was completely unsure. Back in Hes, returning to Koth had seemed like a good idea. But how could she change Thorin’s heart, really? Did he even have a heart to change anymore? Some said no. Of the people they had met on the long road to Liiria, none of the stories about Baron Glass were hopeful. He was being called a butcher and a demon. At best, he was demented. Could she reach that maddened mind?

‘Lionkeep is far from here,’ said Mirage at last. ‘That’s where Thorin will be.’

Chane nodded. ‘In the morning, then.’

‘What? No . . .’

‘Not tonight, girl,’ argued Chane. ‘You’re tired, and so am I. I mean to
get a room for us and leave you in the morning.’ He glanced ahead. ‘That

tavern isn’t far from here.’

‘No.’ Mirage shook her head. ‘No.’

Chane looked at her askance. They had taken rooms before, most recently the night before last, in a little town called Jorio on the Reecian border. ‘Why not?’ he asked. ‘You can’t go to him tonight, it’s too late.’

She knew he was right, but something about his manners made her skittish. ‘Take a room if you want. I’m going on.’

‘Mirage, you’re being silly. You must rest. Can you go to Glass stinking of the road? How will that help your plans?’

It wouldn’t, and she knew it. Mirage’s only hope was to appeal to Thorin as a woman, and that meant looking her best. Seeing Chane’s logic, she surrendered.

‘All right,’ she agreed. ‘There’s a tavern called the Red Stallion.’ She gestured with her chin toward the corner. ‘That way.’

A gleam lit Chane’s eyes, but he said nothing. Together they steered their horses toward the corner, rounding it and entering the street where the Red Stallion waited, its windows lit with oil lamps. Beyond the greasy glass Mirage could see the silhouettes of patrons seated at tables. Outside the inn, a boy who tended the customer’s horses looked toward them hopefully. As they rode closer, Chane leaned in toward Mirage.

‘They’ll be soldiers inside,’ he whispered. ‘Norvans, probably. Don’t say anything and don’t look at any of them directly. You’re with me, and that should be enough.’

Chane wasn’t afraid of anything, a comfort to Mirage in this rough city. Because neither of them had dressed in anything that would give them away as Reecians, she was confident that no one would ask many questions, yet she remained guarded. Drunken mercenaries were notorious for putting their noses where they weren’t wanted. She kept close to Chane as they reached the inn, dismounting and telling the boy to look after their horses. Chane dug deep into the leather pouch at his belt, producing three coins for the boy.

‘Listen to me closely,’ he said, locking eyes with the child. ‘I swear to heaven that if anything happens to these horses I will skin you alive.’ Then he smiled and added. ‘You can try to run from me, but you’ll only die tired. Right?’

The boy’s jaw dropped and he nodded.

‘Good fellow,’ said Chane, handing him the coins. He stepped aside for Mirage. ‘Let’s go.’

Pushing open the tavern door, Mirage felt immediately swept back in time. Just like that night, months ago, the place was nearly empty. And just like that night, the chubby faced proprietor rushed up to greet her. He began to give his usual welcome, then paused.

‘I’ve seen you before,’ he said with a grin, his eyes narrowing. ‘You’ve been here, yes?’

Mirage glanced at Chane, then nodded politely. ‘Yes. A while ago.’

‘I remember,’ said the man, beaming. ‘I never forget a beautiful woman.’ Then he looked at Chane and his smile diminished. ‘Are you together?’

‘Of course,’ boomed Chane. He feigned hurt. ‘Don’t you remember me, too?’

The chubby man nodded. ‘Yes,’ he replied, not looking pleased. ‘A table, then?’

‘Near the fire,’ directed Chane wearily, and didn’t wait for the proprietor to agree. Guiding Mirage by the shoulder, he went to the little vacant table near the hearth and sat himself down. Mirage, uncomfortable, sat down beside him. ‘Bring us food and drink. Any drink you have that’s cold and any food that’s hot. And a room.’

Mirage bristled at this. Taking two rooms would have caused too much attention, and although Chane had always been a gentleman she had a bad feeling about tonight. The inn-keeper rushed off to bring them their orders, leaving them alone to survey the room. Only a handful of patrons occasioned the Stallion, all of them military men from the looks of them. Mirage couldn’t really tell the difference between a Norvan or Liirian, but she knew that none of them wore the garb of a Royal Charger. From their unkempt, unalike ‘uniforms,’ she supposed them all to be mercenaries.

‘Don’t stare,’ Chane cautioned her softly.

Mirage turned her eyes to the hearth instead. ‘Norvans?’ she whispered.

‘That’s right.’

They didn’t speak again until the proprietor returned with their drinks, two large tankards of beer overflowing with foam. ‘The food will be just a few minutes,’ he said with a smile. When he put down the beers he waited for their approval. Chane nodded.

‘Very good. Thank you.’

The proprietor cocked his head curiously. ‘You’re not from around here.’

Chane looked up. ‘What?’

‘That’s what you told me last time,’ said the man, grinning at Mirage. ‘I don’t forget a pretty face like yours. I remember you said you were here in Koth looking for someone. Did you ever find him?’

Mirage wasn’t sure how to answer. ‘No,’ she tried.

The man sighed. ‘I’m sorry. The war?’

‘Yes, the war,’ Mirage feigned, not really remembering her old conversation with the man.

‘You have family here?’

‘What’s with the questions?’ Chane barked.

The proprietor backed off. ‘Sorry,’ he offered, then left them alone again. Chane picked up his tankard and began to drink, not taking a breath until the mug was halfway done. Mirage watched in awe of his capacity, sure that something irritated him. Across the room, a pair of prostitutes were laughing as they sat on a patrons lap, his hands around their waists. Chane stared at the trio, simmering.

When the inn-keeper returned, he had two plates with him, both piled high with steaming food. He set them down with a proud smile, setting off a memory in Mirage about how good the cooking was at this little tavern. Her mouth began to water at the sight of it.

‘Another beer,’ croaked Chane, pushing out his tankard. ‘And when you see me empty, don’t make me wait.’

His bad mood curbed Mirage’s appetite. With all that she already had on her mind, trying to figure out her brooding companion was an unwanted chore. Chane didn’t help her unravel the riddle, either, stabbing at his food with his fork and filling his mouth with beef and potatoes so that he could barely grunt, much less carry on a conversation. And each time he swallowed he washed it all down with mouthfuls of beer, keeping the surprised inn-keeper busy with refills. Mirage ate slowly, picking lady-like at her meal, watching Chane suspiciously. He would be drunk tonight, and that unnerved her. In all their time together she had never seen him drink.

‘What’s wrong with you?’ she finally asked. ‘Why are you drinking so much?’

He didn’t answer her, but shrugged as if the question was of no importance. Mirage returned to her meal, eating more quickly now, eager to be away from him. When she had her fill she pushed aside her plate and rose from her chair. Chane looked up at her, surprised.

‘Where you going?’

‘Up to the room,’ she replied.

‘Already?’

The proprietor, seeing her rise, hurried over to the table. ‘Is everything all right?’ he asked.

‘Fine,’ said Mirage. ‘I’m just tired. Could you take me upstairs now?’

Eager to please, the little man pulled out her chair. ‘This way,’ he directed, then took her by the arm and led her from the table. Mirage looked over her shoulder at Chane’s sour face, refusing to explain herself.

Mirage was asleep by the time Chane came upstairs. She had no idea how much time had passed, but her head was thick with slumber and her eyes struggled to open when she heard the door open. Corvalos Chane stood in the threshold, wavering, watching her. Mirage sat up slowly, remembering her worries.

‘Close the door,’ she directed softly.

Chane’s mouth was open a little. He stepped inside and closed the door clumsily. He was more than just a little drunk, confirming her worst fears. Mirage prepared herself, unsure what he was like when he’d been drinking. With that in mind, she hadn’t even taken off her boots.

‘Lay down,’ she told him. ‘You need sleep.’