The Sword Of Angels (Gollancz S.F.) (94 page)

For a full day more, Baralosus’ army trudged through the burning desert, determined to quickly reach Jador. The king rode at the forefront of his army, abandoning his carriage and all his fine trappings for the chance to be seen and to show his demoralized men that he was not afraid. The memory of Prince Aztar haunted Baralosus as he rode. He saw the imprint of the prince on every shifting dune, and when he closed his eyes Aztar was there, faintly smiling, pleased to be doing the work of Vala. Baralosus knew now that he no longer did the work of heaven. He was a man possessed of a single, selfish mission, and no amount of grumbling from his underlings would deter him.

Minister Kailyr tried in vain to talk reasonably to his friend, working to convince him of the folly of his plan. They had ridden hard the past two days, driven by Baralosus’s insatiable need to save his daughter. After battling Aztar, they had gone ahead to his camp, finding more than a hundred women and children there, all of them frightened and grieving for their fallen husbands and fathers. Kahrdeen, who had taken command of the army after General Rhot’s death, had urged Baralosus to kill them, or to at least burn their meagre tents. Sure that Vala was watching him from heaven, Baralosus had refused, hoping to appease the angry god and gain his favour for the fight ahead.

Night was fast approaching, and in his bones Baralosus knew they were getting closer. The desert had flattened, its sun-baked earth turning hard and rocky. A strange quiet blanketed the world. Baralosus kept his gaze on the horizon, waiting for the first hint of the white city to peak above the sands. His skin blazed from the heat. His tongue ached for the water they had tried to hard to conserve. Behind him, his weary army muttered as they marched, sure that they were too few to frighten the Jadori. Baralosus, who was not a military man, did his best to rally them, but in their eyes he saw their fears. Despite their loyalty, they rued his decision to march on to Jador.

Next to Baralosus, sitting silently atop his drowa, the young Jashien
rode wearily along, careful not to speak unless the king asked him questions. He too had been disappointed in Baralosus, a fact confirmed by his constant silence. Baralosus wondered if the soldier thought him a coward. He had not taken Aztar’s head as Jashien had urged, nor wanted any other trophies from the dead to show the people back in Ganjor. Still, he kept the young man close, valuing his counsel. Like the rest of the disgruntled army, Jashien remained impeccably loyal.

Minister Kailyr spurred his drowa a little faster, riding up to Baralosus. Preferring the comfort of his royal carriage, he rode the beast only because his king had insisted. To Baralosus, every able man needed to be mounted, ready to fight. Long and reedy, Kailyr wasn’t a warrior at all, and his only weapons were quills and ledgers. Still, he carried a scimitar at his side, checking it nervously from time to time. When he rode up to Baralosus, his face looked concerned.

‘We should stop now, Majesty,’ he softly urged. ‘It will be dark soon.’

‘We go on.’ Baralosus gestured toward the horizon. ‘We are almost there.’

‘It can wait until morning, surely,’ said Kailyr. ‘Jador isn’t going anywhere.’

‘No? That’s what you said about my daughter.’

Kailyr grimaced, then fell back a pace. Baralosus ignored him. His advice had been useless, and now he was just one more petty voice, complaining about the heat and the difficult odds. Being reminded of the tasks ahead of them was no use all to Baralosus. And nothing would deter him.

They rode on while the sun began to set, Baralosus sure that Jador was just ahead, hiding itself. Then, at last, he caught the first glimpse of the city. Its ancient spires collected the last of the sunlight and shined it back at them like a mirror. Against the backdrop of the darkening sky, the city’s outline was unmistakable.

‘There!’ cried Baralosus. ‘There, you see? There is Jador!’

His men went from muttering to oddly hushed. Kahrdeen rode from out of the ranks to be with his king. Jashien nodded, and Kailyr let out a low groan.

‘Majesty, we should stop now, make ready,’ said Kahrdeen.

‘No, not yet,’ replied the king. ‘We go on. I want to get closer.’

‘In the morning we can do that, Majesty, when there is light . . .’

‘No. Tonight.’ Baralosus bit his lip in thought. ‘Kahrdeen, bring the woman. I want her to see this.’

The woman, as Baralosus called her, was the only prisoner they had taken with them out of Aztar’s camp. Her name was Harani, a young, pretty thing whose husband had died in the battle. Staunchly loyal to Aztar, she had stood up to Baralosus and his troops when they’d entered
her camp, ready to defend the others. Baralosus had liked her immediately, but not because she was pretty. Amazingly, she had claimed to know his daughter. That, along with her annoying streak of honesty, made her valuable to Baralosus. It had taken three men to drag her out of camp, but since then she had acquiesced. Still far from docile, she had stopped kicking and biting his men and had answered all of Baralosus questions.

Kahrdeen returned with Harani a few minutes later. Having given the woman a drowa of her own, she nevertheless rode tethered to Kahrdeen’s own mount, a precaution Baralosus thought was unnecessary in the inescapable desert. He meant her no harm after all, and fully intended to free her once he was done with her. Harani’s tight face regarded him coldly as she trotted up to the king.

‘Look there,’ he said to her. ‘Jador.’

Harani was unmoved. Just two days ago, she had lost her husband, her friends and her home. Her lips curled in a look of utter disinterest. Baralosus shooed away his new general.

‘Let her ride alone,’ he told Kahrdeen. ‘Let us talk.’

Kahrdeen let go of the rope and let it drag behind Harani’s drowa, falling back so that his king could talk. Harani and Baralosus rode out several paces from the rest of the group, and when they were clear the king smiled at his captive.

‘I want you to trust me,’ he said. ‘Nothing is going to happen to you. Do you believe me?’

‘I believe that you are a devil. A devil cannot be trusted.’

Baralosus controlled himself. ‘You’re very loyal to Aztar. That’s good. But your master is dead now, woman. I am your master now.’

‘Then send me to some slave pit.’

‘That’s not why you’re here.’

‘Why, then?’

‘To talk sense to the Jadori,’ said Baralosus. ‘That is all you need do, woman, and you will be freed. Tell them that I spared your camp. Tell them that your women and children are unharmed.’

‘I will tell them that you killed my master,’ said Harani. ‘I will tell them the truth.’

‘Yes, you Voruni are always so truthful, aren’t you? Good. That’s all that I want from you.’

Angered, Baralosus turned away. Harani remained next to him.

‘May I go?’

‘No you may not. You will stay with me until the Jadori come to meet us.’ The king glared at her. ‘I am not a butcher, woman, whatever your master may have told you. He stole my daughter from me, then sent her to live with the Jadori. He turned her against me, not I.’

Harani grinned. ‘Who are you trying to convince?’

Baralosus sneered, ‘Convince the Jadori, woman. Tell them Aztar is dead but that the women and children were spared.’

‘And you think that will get your daughter back? The Jadori are not weak. They will destroy you.’

‘They will try.’

Harani looked puzzled. ‘No, they will not just try. They will win, King Baralosus, because you do not have enough men to beat them. You must know this.’

‘I know,’ said Baralosus. ‘But it does not matter. What you think of me does not matter, what these men think does not matter. Nothing matters to me now. Only Salina matters.’

White-Eye sat upon a magnificent, emerald green kreel, feeling the power of the beast beneath her. Her long fingers made tight fists around the reins, compelling the creature to stay back. She could not see its fabulous skin, rifling quickly through different colours, but she could feel the reptile’s anxiousness as they waited. Unlike the other kreel riders, White-Eye had no affinity for the beasts. She could not read its thoughts or use its eyes to see the way Gilwyn could. Still, she had practiced with the kreel. Under the tutelage of experienced riders, she had drilled long and hard. She was ready.

For the first time since hearing of the Ganjeese, White-Eye felt afraid. Night had fallen again, and Baralosus had stopped the march of his army just outside the city. From up on the wall, Minikin and others could see the foreign troops, spread out and ready for battle. King Baralosus himself waited at their point. According to reports, the king looked determined. His weary men had ridden long and hard and were in no condition to fight, yet Baralosus had thrown reason to the wind, defying the Jadori to come to him.

I am ready, White-Eye told herself.

Beyond the wall, her fighting men waited, mounted on kreels and on horses, their bodies trained and rested, their orders clear. Tonight, White-Eye would lead them. Tonight she would finish the bad business between Ganjor and Jador. Behind her waited twenty mounted men, all of them on kreels except for one. King Lorn rode a horse instead. At White-Eye’s side, he waited very patiently and whispered to her gently.

‘Kahana,’ he said. ‘We are ready.’

‘Stay with me,’ said White-Eye.

‘Of course.’

She could not see him, and for the first time in weeks cursed her wretched blindness. He had taught her confidence and courage, and she had learned her lessons well. But tonight, her courage faltered.

‘I can do this,’ she said. Her voice sounded fragile, even to herself.

‘Yes you can,’ agreed Lorn. ‘Give the order.’

Soaring above her, the giant doors of the city awaited her call, ready to open at her signal and usher her forth. She would ride through the gates and then through the outskirts of the Jador, past the shabby homes of the refugees toward her Ganjeese enemies. White-Eye steeled herself, then out of habit turned her blind eyes upward, toward the tower wall where she knew Minikin was watching her.

‘Minikin,’ she cried. ‘Your blessing! Give it to me!’

She waited, desperate to hear the little woman’s voice. It came like soft rain.

‘Go with my blessing, daughter,’ echoed Minikin’s voice. ‘Go and show these Ganjeese the metal you are made of!’

It was all the blessing White-Eye needed. Straightening up, she gave the order.

‘Open the gate!’ she shouted.

She heard the effort of the gate, creaking on its man-sized hinges as the men pulled it open. And then, to her astonishment, a cheer went up. Around her, the hundreds of gathered people cried out in approval, shouting in their native tongue the name they had lovingly bestowed on her.

Night Queen.

White-Eye, the blind Kahana, squeezed her legs and urged her kreel forward, coaxing the reptile through the gates. The noise of the men behind her told her all she needed to know as her troops followed her past the portals. At her side rode Lorn, close enough to hear his steady voice as he guided her along. Having found himself armour and a helmet, his big body bounced along noisily beside White-Eye, ready for battle.

‘Straight on,’ he told her. He paused, and a smile crept into his tone. ‘White-Eye, if you could only see this.’

White-Eye could not see, but she could hear it all perfectly, the rousing voices of the men and women just outside the wall. Like her own Jadori, the northern Seekers had gathered to cheer her. Throngs of them lined the way. Her warriors had all left the city, taking up positions in the desert, but the Seekers would defend their homes as well, and as she passed them White-Eye could hear their boldness as they shook their weapons in the air, promising the Night Queen that they too would vanquish the Ganjeese. White-Eye steadied herself, swallowing the lump in her throat. She had not called these foreigners to help her, yet here they were, swelling the streets and defying Baralosus just as her own people did.

‘I hear you!’ she cried. ‘Thank you!’

She said the words again and again, speaking the language of Gilwyn,
and each time she called to them the cheers grew louder, shaking the ragged homes. Next to her, Lorn laughed gleefully.

‘You are the Night Queen,’ he shouted. ‘You see how they follow you? Because you are strong!’

‘I am strong!’ White-Eye repeated. ‘I am not afraid!’

She was afraid, but suddenly her fear no longer mattered. With Lorn at her side and the teeming Seekers, White-Eye felt truly like a kahana, and somewhere in heaven she knew her father was watching her. She rode on, confidently guiding her kreel while Lorn whispered directions to her, keeping her on course through the narrow avenues. As the minutes tripped away the cheers of the northerners died away behind her, and White-Eye knew she was nearing the desert. The breeze quickened, striking her face. The strange buzz of the Ganjeese army reached her ears like distant insects. Beneath her kreel, she felt the earth soften as the pavement of the city gave way to desert sand. Above her, the sky widened endlessly.

‘Where are we?’ asked White-Eye. ‘Lorn, do you see them?’

‘I see them,’ said Lorn. ‘Steady on.’

‘They are not retreating?’

‘They are not retreating. Steady on, Kahana.’