The Sword Of Angels (Gollancz S.F.) (59 page)

For a long time, neither of them spoke.

Salina let her mind trip through happy memories, enchanted by the days she had spent with Aztar. Like the rainbow kiss, their love had bloomed. She was not a princess anymore. With Aztar and his people,
she was just a woman, young and plain, ready to get her hands dirty tending sheep or cooking meals. It was idyllic, the world that Aztar had created, far from the turmoil of city life or the thousand pressures of being a king’s daughter.

‘I’m right, you know,’ she said finally. ‘It can’t last. They’ll come for me.’

Aztar took his time responding. He continued looking up into the sky. At last he nodded. ‘Yes.’

‘And all this will end.’

‘No.’

‘No?’

He hesitated. ‘I won’t let it.’

‘Even you can’t defeat my father, Aztar.’

‘Can I not? If there were an army, I would defeat them for you, Salina.’

Salina laughed. ‘You would try, my love.’

‘All right, yes. I would try. Speak no more of it. Not today.’

But there were things on Salina’s mind that would not go away. She said softly, ‘This is what you wanted, isn’t it? The peace of the desert.’

‘Mmm, yes,’ Aztar sighed. ‘Glorious. The desert is full of magic.’

‘We can have peace. We can go somewhere where my father will never find us. What do you think of that, Aztar?’

She felt him shake his head.

‘We cannot.’

‘No? Why not?’

‘Because we are not alone, Salina. Because I am not alone. I’m not free to leave. My people need me.’

‘But surely they would understand . . .’

‘No, Salina. Maybe it is you who doesn’t understand.’ Aztar began to stroke her hair. ‘These people who follow me – they aren’t just friends. They’re even more than family. They came to me because they believed in the same things I did – a free desert, unpolluted by northerners or politics. They could have left me when I led them to defeat at Jador, but they did not. They don’t have anywhere else to go, and I would never leave them. Never. Do you see?’

‘Yes,’ said Salina, though it pained her to admit it. ‘I do see.

‘I don’t want power, Salina. I did once, but no more. And I don’t pretend that the desert is mine anymore. Vala has taught me all about folly! Now I know what is important. You’re important. And my people are important.’

Salina closed her eyes. His words were beautiful to her.

‘Salina? Tell me what you’re thinking.’

‘I’m thinking that the sky is very blue today, Aztar.’ Salina took a breath, concealing her emotions. ‘I’m thinking that it doesn’t matter what happens. Today is perfect.’

*

Salina and Aztar spent the rest of the day at the oasis, finally leaving in the late afternoon. It was a race to return to camp before the sun went down. Her belly full from the food and wine Aztar had packed for them, Salina settled onto the drowa, this time sitting in front of Aztar and resting her head against his chest. They spoke very little on the ride back, for there seemed little to say. Salina felt marvelously contented and didn’t want to spoil her mood with words.

By the time they reached the encampment, the sun was sinking below the horizon. A fiery aura lit the western sky. Torches and campfires had come alive in camp and a lull had settled over the Voruni as they made ready for the evening. Salina could smell the cooking fires and the savoury odour of rendering sheep fat. To her, it smelled like home. Voruni men and women came out to greet them, waving casually as they passed. A boy in a ragged desert tunic hurried forward to offer help, taking hold of the drowa’s bridle. Aztar gently shooed the boy away as the drowa sauntered toward Aztar’s pavilion. Then, as they neared the grand tent, Salina noticed a group of men seated around a campfire. Many of them were Voruni, people familiar to Salina. Many of them were not. Aztar slowed his drowa, tensing at the sight of them. Salina felt her heart skip.

‘Jashien . . .’

Her bodyguard had returned, and this time had brought soldiers with him. At least a dozen Ganjeese guardsmen waited with Jashien, looking impatient as they sat near Aztar’s tent. As the prince and princess approached, the Voruni men got to their feet. Jashien turned to face them and immediately rose. Out of the crowd came Harani, looking perplexed.

‘Harani,’ Aztar began carefully. ‘When did they arrive?’

‘This morning,’ said Harani. ‘Not long after you left.’

Salina looked toward Aztar. ‘They’re here for me.’

Aztar nodded. ‘I know.’

‘Aztar—’

‘Don’t worry.’

The prince rode up to the gathered men, greeting his Voruni and barely glancing at his Ganjeese visitors. Jashien was careful not to talk too soon. Aztar got down from the drowa, then helped Salina off its back.

‘Harani,’ he said, ‘take Salina with you.’

‘No!’ Salina insisted. ‘I want to stay.’

Aztar grimaced, but relented quickly. He glared at Jashien. Beside the bodyguard lay a chest, sitting closed near the campfire. Salina spied the chest, wondering what kind of bribe lay inside. She stood beside Aztar.

‘I’m not going back,’ she told Jashien. ‘No matter what’s inside that chest.’

Jashien was not a villain, at least Salina had never thought him one. His face filled with concern at her defiance.

‘Princess, your father worries about you. He cares for you deeply and wants you to come home. That’s why I’m here.’

‘Is that why you brought soldiers with you?’ Aztar asked pointedly.

The guardsmen were all on their feet and looking at Aztar. Though they were surrounded by Voruni men, they seemed unafraid. Salina knew they were seasoned fighters, all of them, meant to intimidate Aztar. Jashien smiled diplomatically.

‘Last time I came here I was alone, with only one other man to help me,’ said Jashien. ‘You’re right, Prince Aztar – these men are here to make a point. King Baralosus wants you to know he is serious.’

‘Serious?’

‘About getting his daughter back.’

Aztar gestured toward the chest. ‘And that?’

‘The same thing,’ said Jashien. ‘To show you how serious the king is.’

‘A bribe,’ Aztar sneered.

‘An offering, Prince Aztar. A gesture of goodwill and friendship.’ Jashien shrugged. ‘A gift, if you like.’

‘What is it?’ Salina asked crossly.

Jashien turned to his one of his men, a soldier close to his own age. Producing a key from his pocket, he tossed it to the soldier and said, ‘Open it.’

The guardsman worked the key in the lock, took the bolt from the clasp and slowly opened the lid of the chest. What Salina saw dazzled her. Every imaginable treasure sparkled inside the chest, gleaming in firelight. Twinkling golden jewelry, ruby encrusted goblets, chains of silver and ropes of pearls lay atop each other, piled high inside the chest. Coins of every size slipped between them like sand.

‘A fortune,’ said Jashien. ‘Enough to start your own small kingdom, I would say.’

Salina was speechless, as was Aztar. She looked at him for any sign of weakness. The prince stared at the riches in the chest, but his expression was unreadable. She could not tell if he was enamoured or offended by the offering.

‘This isn’t all, Prince Aztar,’ Jashien continued. ‘There’s more.’

Aztar finally pulled his eyes from the chest. ‘What more?’

‘King Baralosus knows of your love for his daughter. He honours it. He also knows the cravings of your heart, Prince Aztar.’

‘What? No man knows my heart.’

Jashien shrugged. ‘Call in a sense, then. Once you sought recognition from the king. You wanted the desert to be yours, to set up a kingdom of your own here. That can happen now. If you’ll do as the king requests.’

Salina tightened her grasp of Aztar. ‘My father wants me back. That’s it, Jashien, isn’t it?’

Jashien nodded. ‘Yes, Princess.’

‘No,’ said Aztar quickly. ‘That will not be.’

‘Prince Aztar, please,’ cautioned Jashien. ‘Think on what the king is offering. A place at his table. A voice in decisions! And your own kingdom, recognized by Ganjor.’

Aztar gave a bitter laugh. ‘The desert is no man’s to grant,’ he said. ‘Or to claim. I have learned that the hard way.’

‘King Baralosus can grant it,’ Jashien argued. ‘He has the power and the riches to make it happen. You know that, Prince Aztar. If the king says you too are a king, than it shall be. And those treasures in the chest can all be yours.’

‘And Salina? What of her?’

Jashien hesitated a moment. ‘Prince Aztar, there are realities, things to consider. As I have said, King Baralosus honours your love for his daughter.’

‘Yes?’

‘But what you have done has harmed him. It is kidnapping.’

‘No,’ Salina protested. ‘I came to Aztar. He did not take me against my will.’

‘Some don’t see it that way, Princess. Some say that Aztar has stolen you, and that your father is weak. Not all the people think this, but enough. And after what you did . . .’

Salina felt herself shrink. ‘Yes.’ She nodded. ‘I’m the one who harmed my father. Not Aztar.’

‘So?’ Aztar pressed. ‘What does he offer us?’

‘You may marry Princess Salina, but not quickly. Time, Prince Aztar. That’s what the king is asking of you. Time to let things relax, time to let his enemies forget.’

‘Enemies? You’re talking politics.’

‘That’s right. We’re both men, Prince Aztar. We understand these things. You do, certainly. You knew the risks when you let the princess stay with you. And now you have a chance for all the things you ever wanted! You just have to be patient.’

‘And return me to my father,’ said Salina. She considered the possibility of it, and it filled her with dread. ‘Aztar?’

‘You’re afraid, Salina,’ said Aztar. ‘Do not be. Jashien, go back to Ganjor. Take the chest home with you.’

Jashien looked stunned. ‘Prince Aztar . . .’

‘Go and tell King Baralosus what I’ve already said. Salina is staying here with me because that is what she wishes. She’s not a slave or property. She is a woman grown and has her own will, and her will is to remain here.’

Salina steeled herself for Jashien’s reaction. He had brought soldiers with him for a reason.

‘If that’s what you want, I will give the king your message,’ said Jashien. ‘But I must warn you, Prince Aztar. There is more that the king wishes you to know.’

Aztar remained cool. ‘Tell me.’

‘These men aren’t here to fight you,’ said Jashien. ‘They’re only here to protect the treasure. But if I don’t return to Ganjor with the princess, more soldiers will come. This is King Baralosus’ promise to you. This is his threat.’ He looked at Salina. ‘Please tell him, Princess. Tell him that your father is not lying.’

Wrenched by what Jashien was saying, Salina looked at Aztar. On his wounded face she saw determination, and not a hint of fear.

‘Aztar, he means what he says. My father—’

‘I mean what I say, too,’ Aztar insisted. ‘I will not give you over to your father, Salina. Let him come. Let him bring his armies!’

‘He will, Prince Aztar,’ said Jashien. ‘He will. This is your chance. Take it, for your own sake.’

But Aztar was as a deaf man, hearing none of Jashien’s pleas. He told the bodyguard, ‘I have all that I need now, Jashien. I have no use for golden goblets; all the wine tastes the same to me. Go and tell your king that his daughter is safe. And that she will not be coming back to him.’

Jashien knew his argument was lost. Salina saw resolve on his face. He nodded solemnly, then went to the chest and closed it with a thud. ‘I admire you, Prince Aztar,’ he said. ‘You’re a brave man. But bravery is dangerous. And sometimes stupid.’

Aztar merely smiled. ‘Stay the night and rest. Eat. But in the morning be gone from here.’

Keeping hold of Salina’s arm, he led her past the gathering and into his tent. There, he closed the flaps behind them, shutting out the rest of the world. Salina felt unsteady, her stomach pitching with nervousness. She sat herself down on the pillows near the low table, reaching for a pitcher of wine but not pouring any. Her eyes darted around the room. Her thoughts came in staccato waves.

‘What will happen now?’ she asked.

‘Your father will come for you,’ said Aztar. He sat down before her on the pillows. ‘He won’t give up until he has you back.’

‘Then I must go to him. I can’t let him harm you.’

Aztar shook his head. ‘No, you won’t do that. It’s not what either of us want, Salina. We have taken this stand. We cannot surrender now.’

‘Then what?’ Salina looked hard at him. ‘He is powerful, Aztar. He has the men and weapons to get what he wants.’

‘He may come,’ said Aztar, ‘but he won’t get what he wants. He wants you, Salina. And when he comes for you, you won’t be here.’

Far from the palace of the Red Eminence, past the holy river and the hills that lined the valley, stood a thick forest of trees and rocks where no one farmed or bothered to explore. According to Lahkali, the forest was called the Skees, a word that no had no real meaning in Lukien’s tongue except for ‘dark.’ Because of its densely woven canopy and ubiquitous moss, the forest lay in perpetual dimness, shielding out the powerful sun that baked the rest of Torlis.

Within the forest, Lukien had found the perfect venue in which to train his young pupil. Away from the prying eyes of the palace, he spent hours with Lahkali among the trees and hidden caverns, showing her how to use the katath and – to the best of his ability – to fight the Great Rass. The vines from the trees hid Lukien’s face as he stared down the tunnel of limbs. Hanging from the limbs were a dozen small targets made of straw, swaying gently on ropes. At the other end of the tunnel stood Lahkali, her special katath held in both hands, her face resolute. Even so far away from her, Lukien sensed her trepidation. Between them, hidden somewhere in the trees, waited Jahan.

‘Remember, every target,’ Lukien called out.

Lahkali nodded. Her pretty mouth twisted with worry.

‘When you reach me – if you reach me – it has to be quick. Don’t waste time. Hit the targets and evade Jahan. Don’t think too much.’

Young Lahkali tightened her fingers around her weapon. She had done remarkably well with it so far, treating it like the great prize it was and training with it tirelessly. Her body had hardened over the past weeks, becoming lithe. She moved with grace now, no longer like a gangly teenager but like an athlete. Devoted to her training, she had yet to disappoint Lukien.

Yet Lukien still worried.

‘When you fight the rass you may not be able to see it,’ said Lukien. ‘It’ll be much faster than you, so always be moving. Don’t keep your eyes locked in one place. Don’t get stuck like that.’

Lahkali nodded. They had talked about that many times. ‘I understand, Lukien.’

She was twenty yards away. Not a long distance to run, but with Jahan after her it would be difficult. He was armed. Lukien couldn’t help being a little afraid for her. She had taken blows before, but this time was different. This time, he had told Jahan to attack her for real.

‘When you’re ready, then,’ he said.

Lahkali took a breath, steadying herself as if she were entering the cave of the Great Rass itself. She peered down the tunnel made by the trees, spying the swinging targets, sizing them up. Her eyes grew alert; her ears listened sharply. She knew that somewhere in the trees Jahan waited, ready to spring.

Then, like a leopard, she sprung herself, leaping into the tunnel with her katath outstretched before her. With a quick sweep of the weapon she took the first target, slicing it easily from its rope. She spun, ducking low, then took out another target with equal ease. Confident, she leapt ahead. As she spied the next swinging target, Jahan sprang. Bursting from the trees, he had his bamboo stick swinging for his prey. Lahkali dodged the first blow easily, jumping over the whistling weapon. Jahan pursued, righting himself and bringing the stick around. It rushed for the girl’s back, yet Lahkali sensed it in time. Twisting away, she lopped off the third target. Lukien watched, pleased and impressed as the girl hopped away from every attack, expertly using the katath for balance. She moved like a dancer through the swinging targets, inch by inch closing the gap between them.

‘Faster, Jahan!’ Lukien called. ‘It’s too easy for her!’

Hearing this, Jahan sped his attack. Long days on his farm had muscled his body and given him speed. Racing ahead of Lahkali, he feinted with his bamboo stick to force her sideways, blocking her way. Focused on the next target, Lahkali saw his strategy too late. His stick sliced the air, catching her leg and knocking her down. For a split second Jahan looked horrified – enough for Lahkali to spin away.

‘Get after her, Jahan,’ Lukien called. ‘She’s faster than you think!’

Jahan’s face twisted angrily as once again he went after her. With more than a yard separating them, Lahkali took out two more targets, then centred on a third. In a blur the twin blades of her katath cut the air, ripping into the target and sending straw flying. She turned just in time to dodge Jahan’s attack. The bamboo stick came down, and the sharp blades of the katath easily sliced it.

‘Ha!’ Lahkali boasted, then turned away from her opponent. Lukien smirked. Jahan was not without surprises.

From out of his deep pocket he pulled a weighted rope, quickly unspooling it as Lahkali ignored him. It was called a garok, a hunting weapon of Jahan’s people, and just as he had practiced all his life he
swung it twice overhead before launching it at Lahkali. It struck the unsuspecting girl, catching her waist and pulling her backward. Stunned, she began to fall, but as she fell she worked her weapon, trying hard to cut the rope. Failing, she let out a cry as her back smacked the ground. This time Jahan didn’t retreat. He jerked the rope, pulling Lahkali off balance as she tried to regain her footing.

‘Evade!’ cried Lukien.

‘I’m trying!’ yelled Lahkali.

She worked the katath, reversing it and coming up under the rope. The two blades caught the garok, severing it. Jahan stumbled back in surprise as Lahkali leapt to her feet. Covered in dirt, she went after the target just above her head, crying out in frustration as her blades ripped it to shreds. Angrily she glared at Lukien, who stood with arms crossed at the end of her ordeal. The Bronze Knight stuck out a hand and waved her forward.

‘Keep on coming.’

Lahkali was panting now. As quickly as she could she danced past the remaining targets, her katath darting in and out of them. Now weaponless, Jahan nevertheless continued his attack, roaring as he leapt for her. Bigger and stronger than Lahkali, he should have reached her easily.

But he did not.

Lukien watched with pride as the girl side-stepped his every move, sending him sprawling or tumbling to the dirt while she pirouetted her way through the swinging targets. She was only feet away now. Victory shone on her face. Lukien readied him. She had been too far away to see the bamboo staff behind him, and while she worked he reached back and grabbed it.

‘Too slow, Jahan,’ he jibed.

Finally, Jahan gave up. With a big smile on his face he watched as Lahkali finished the final targets, tearing through them with glee. When the last one exploded with straw, she landed at Lukien’s feet . . .

And fell like a rock to his unsuspecting blow.

The staff had hit her square in the chest. Not hard, and not enough to hurt her, but enough to make her tumble. Lahkali dropped her prize katath. On her back, she lay staring up at Lukien. Disbelief gripped her face. So did anger.

‘Why?’ she cried. ‘I made it through!’

Lukien tossed away his staff. ‘What did you think would happen when you reached me?’

‘Nothing!’

The knight nodded. ‘Right. That’s the problem.’

He offered down his hand. Lahkali angrily rebuffed it. ‘I can get up on my own!’ she grumbled.

Lukien shrugged. ‘All right. Then stand up.’

The girl did so, and for a moment stared hard at her teacher. She was more than mad. She was hurt by what he’d done, and not physically.

‘You did well,’ said Lukien. ‘But not well enough. Rest now.’

Walking past her, he left Lahkali standing alone in stunned silence. Ahead of Lukien lay Jahan, looking equally aghast. Lukien avoided his friend’s gaze, but as he passed the village man followed him.

‘What was that?’ Jahan asked.

‘What?’

‘Why did you hit her, Lukien? She made it through your test.’

‘No, she didn’t,’ said Lukien, and kept on walking.

Jahan followed him. ‘She did, Lukien. You said nothing about that trick.’

‘Trick? She has to fight a rass, Jahan.’

‘So?’

‘So she has to be better! She has to think faster, use her imagination!’

Jahan grabbed his shoulder. ‘Stop.’

Lukien turned to face Jahan. ‘I’m too harsh. Is that what you want to say?’

‘She’s just a girl, Lukien. She is trying.’

Past Jahan, Lukien could see Lahkali brooding, staring down at the ground where her katath lay.

‘It’s not enough,’ he said. ‘She has to fight a rass, Jahan, and I don’t know what that means.’

‘What? Lukien, I don’t understand.’

Lukien pulled Jahan closer, turning him around so that Lahkali could not hear. He said, ‘I’m her teacher, right?’

Jahan nodded. ‘Yes.’

‘I’m to teach her how to kill a rass, yes?’

‘Yes.’

‘Don’t you see? That’s the problem, Jahan. I have no idea how to kill a rass.’

The home of fencing master Niharn lay along a quiet, twisting avenue, more than a mile from the palace of the Eminence. On a street lined with many such houses, Niharn’s home was neither plain nor grand. With little open space to divide it from the other homes, it rose up three stories high, a structure of clay and stone that shone a peculiar orange in the heat of the day. Long ago the home had been white-washed, but the sun had bleached away the wash so that the brick shone through easily. Over the door hung a limestone lintel. The door itself had been made of wood, a strange wood of black that had been lacquered so many times that Lukien could see his reflection in it.

Because he was a man of rank in the city’s military, Niharn had
servants to cook his meals, look after his large brood of children, and to greet visitors who came to his home. Lukien only needed to knock once to bring one of the servants running. This time, as last, an old man named Tagna answered the door. Lukien recognized him at once.

‘Hello again,’ he said sheepishly.

Old Tagna did not smile. He simply nodded. ‘Greetings.’

‘Is your master at home?’ Lukien asked.

‘He is,’ replied Tagna, and the magic of Lukien’s amulet translated his words. The servant glanced down at the gift Lukien had brought along, a bottle of a kind of wine Niharn had mentioned a fondness for last time they’d met. Lukien had found the liquor in a marketplace not far from Niharn’s house. He’d been shocked by the cost of it.

‘Will you tell him I’m here, Tagna? I’d like to speak to him.’

Tagna stepped aside so that Lukien could enter the home. Typical of the architecture he’d seen in Torlis, the first floor of the house had been given over to rooms for receiving guests and conducting Niharn’s military business. A number of comfortable looking chairs had been arranged near the room’s hearth, but the hearth itself was cold. Laticed windows let sunlight into the room. The walls were appointed with military things, like an old katath and some worn-out ribbons, perhaps accommodations the fencing master had earned. As Lukien entered the room, a young girl seated near the hearth stood. She smiled at the visitor.

‘Lukien,’ she said. ‘You’re back.’

Her name was Shalra, and she was Niharn’s youngest daughter. A precocious girl, she was five years old and loved to say Lukien’s name.

‘Hello Shalra,’ said Lukien. ‘I’m here to see your father again.’

‘He’s upstairs,’ said the girl. ‘With mother.’

‘Oh,’ said Lukien sheepishly. He looked at Tagna. ‘I could come back . . .’

‘I will tell the master you’re here,’ said the servant. ‘Sit.’

Tagna disappeared into another room. Soon after, Lukien heard him ascend the unseen staircase. He looked at young Shalra and grinned.

‘I didn’t think I’d see you again,’ he said.

Shalra jumped out of the chair which was too big for her anyway and came to stand before Lukien. ‘My father said you’d be back.’

‘Did he?’

‘He said you would need his help.’

‘You’re father’s very smart,’ said Lukien sourly.

The girl looked at the bottle in his hand. ‘What’s that?’

‘A gift for your father. It’s vaf.’

Shalra made a face. ‘Vaf? My mother says that tastes like—’

‘Shalra!’

The girl froze at her father’s voice. In the threshold between rooms stood Niharn, scowling at his daughter.

‘What were you going to say, child?’ he asked with a tone of false threat.