The Sword Of Angels

41

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.’

There were two beds in the room, and very little else. Chane eyed his own bed miserably, but did not move toward it. In the flickering light of the oil lamp, he looked ghostly and sad.

‘I was downstairs, watching the girls,’ he told her. His voice slurred badly.

Mirage braced herself. ‘Who? The prostitutes?’

‘The harlots, yes.’ He stepped closer to her bed, his expression shifting in the meagre light. ‘You were wrong about what you said. You weren’t a plaything, Mirage. You were special to the king. You were special. .’

‘All right, yes,’ said Mirage easily. ‘There’s your bed. . go to sleep now.’

Chane hovered, not moving. He stared, his eyes bloodshot. ‘I can’t have any of them, do you know that? I can’t have a woman. I’m the king’s man.’ He laughed. ‘Do you know what that means?’

‘Yes, I think so.’ Mirage smiled, not encouragingly but calmly. ‘But you can have a woman if you want. I won’t tell anyone.’

‘I don’t want one of those whores,’ he growled. ‘I want a special woman. Someone like you.’

Mirage put up her hands. ‘Uh, no, that’s not what you want,’ she warned. ‘Remember Raxor.’

‘I remember Raxor. I think of him all the time. I think of what your precious Baron Glass did to him.’ Chane’s face twisted. ‘What are you going to do when you go to him? Will you be his lover?’

‘You’re drunk,’ said Mirage. ‘You need to sleep.’

‘You’re afraid of me,’ slurred Chane. His breathing grew heavy, as though he had climbed a mountain. ‘Everyone’s afraid of me. .’

He staggered closer to her bed. Mirage jumped out of it. They faced each other, the stench of beer striking her face. Somehow, she was not afraid of him now. Standing drunk before her, shoulders slumped, he simply looked pitiful.

‘I always cared for you,’ he whispered. Then he put a finger to his lips. ‘But hush. . don’t tell anyone. Don’t tell Raxor, right? I love him. I do.’

‘I know you do,’ said Mirage gently. And suddenly she understood. She reached out and took his hand. Amazingly, he succumbed to her touch, walking like a small boy to his waiting bed. ‘Go to sleep now, Corvalos.’

Sitting down on the edge of the mattress, he looked up at her and chuckled. ‘You don’t call me that. You don’t call me Corvalos.’

‘Yes, well tonight is different. Go to sleep now.’

‘No. . you won’t be here when I wake up.’

Mirage smiled sadly at him. ‘That’s right.’

‘Don’t be afraid of me,’ he sighed. ‘I never wanted you to be afraid of me.’

‘All right,’ she said gently, and with a light push sent him falling into the mattress. He collapsed, staring up at the ceiling, letting her pull off his big boots. Mirage placed the boots near the bedside, then gazed down at him. His eyes were already closed. ‘Good-night, Corvalos,’ she said sweetly.

Then, grabbing up her things from the room, she left the tiny chamber to go in search of Baron Glass.