The Sword Of Angels eog-3 Read online

  The Sword Of Angels

  ( Eyes of God - 3 )

  John Marco

  John Marco

  The Sword Of Angels

  PART ONE

  THE BLACK BARON

  1

  The Desert of Tears seemed eternal, like an ocean, stretching to the corners of the world. Beyond the white sands and mirages stood the nothingness of dunes, ever shifting in the hot winds. Light poured from the cloudless sky, blinding the lone rider as he loped across the earth, his fair skin shielded from the sun beneath a headdress called a gaka. His drowa bounced slowly through the desert, unhurried, unconcerned for the mission of its rider, which had taken the young man from the safety of a fabled city toward the unknown dangers of the northern world. The young man had lived in the desert more than a year now, but he had never grown accustomed to the lung-searing air or the way the sun could peel his skin. Today, the sun tracked him without pity, making him long for home.

  For Gilwyn Toms, home was Jador, the city of his beloved White-Eye, a city that had opened its arms to him and his companions when the world they knew — the world up north — had gone insane. Like his companions, Gilwyn Toms was an exile now. The Desert of Tears, that vast sea of sand and wicked heat, had protected Jador from the continent and most of their enemies, and had been a good home for Gilwyn. He had missed his land of Liiria, but he had found solace in Jador and love in the arms of White-Eye. And he had not wanted his time in Jador to end, but rather to go on untroubled, undisturbed by the upheaval racking the world beyond the sands.

  Gilwyn raised his face to heaven, squinting at the sun. He could bear the brightness only for a moment, but noon had passed and that comforted him. Lukien had taught him the art of reckoning, and by his amateurish calculation he guessed that he had six hours more before the sun abated and he could rest for the night. It had been three days since he had left Jador. At least two more days remained before he reached Ganjor, the gateway to the north. Alone, he had only his silent drowa for company, but if he calmed himself he could reach deep within his mind and find Ruana. She was with him always now, a pleasant current running through his brain. She was like Teku, the pet monkey he had left in Jador, perched on his shoulder, always there if he took the time to look for her. Gilwyn looked for her now, sensing her sublime presence. Closing his eyes, he saw her pretty face.

  Ruana had been young when she died, falling from a boat into a lake and drowning. In life she had been an Akari, when that race had ruled the land called Kaliatha. She was an Akari still, but now she was a spirit, bound to him, pledged to aid him and bring out the ‘gift’, that strange summoning power he was only now beginning to understand. Most Inhumans had such a gift, and now Gilwyn was one of them. He had been an Inhuman all his life, in fact, from the day in his crib when Minikin had kissed his forehead, forever marking him. But only a few months ago had he been introduced to Ruana. Though she had been with him from that moment in infancy, she was still new to Gilwyn, still an enigma to unravel. Keeping his eyes closed, he glimpsed her fair face and slight smile, like looking in a wavy mirror. Her ears turned up in elfish points.

  I can feel your tiredness, she said. Take your ease now, for a while at least.

  The words were soundless, yet resonated like a spoken voice from her dead realm. Gilwyn had only to think his answer to reply.

  The heat, he reminded her. He tried to flex his clubbed left hand, an appendage that matched his clubbed left foot for uselessness. My hand aches. And I’m itching like mad under this gaka.

  Though the desert garb shielded him from the sun, it also set his skin on fire. Ruana’s sympathy came over him like a mother’s pity. Instantly her strength buoyed him. They were one, Gilwyn and his Akari, and though he still did not fully grasp their bond he knew that Ruana did more than guide his gift. She shared his thoughts and, sometimes, his pains, and when he was weak she shouldered him. So far, she had helped him mightily to cross the desert. Gilwyn was not strong like Lukien, the Bronze Knight. At eighteen, he was no longer a child, but he had lived a sheltered life in Liiria, one of books and fantasies. Even now it was hard for him to grasp the enormity of his task. No one had wanted him to cross the desert, not Minikin and certainly not White-Eye, but they had not stopped him, either. They had tried, but in the end they had relented, letting him go on his desperate mission.

  ‘We’ll make it,’ he said aloud, more to himself than to Ruana. Beneath him the hairy drowa ignored his boast, twitching its ears. He could barely see the horizon, but he knew that Ganjor awaited him. It would be an oasis after his journey, but he would have to be cautious there. He was Jadori now, and the Jadori were not welcome in the city by everyone. If he could find the Ganjeese princess he might be safe, but if he could not he would simply enter the city as quietly as possible, hiding under his gaka, and leave just as soon as he could.

  Princess Salina will find you, said Ruana confidently. Remember Dahj and Kamag.

  Gilwyn nodded, reminded now of Lorn’s advice. Lorn, who had been helped across the desert by Salina, had told him to ask for men named Dahj and Kamag. They could be trusted, Lorn had said. They would take him to the Ganjeese princess.

  But could Salina be trusted, Gilwyn wondered? Still, after all that had happened? Or had she since been discovered? It was a crime to help northerners across the desert but Salina had disobeyed her father, aiding the desperate from the war-torn continent in their bid to reach Jador. She had even warned Minikin and the others of danger, sending her doves across the Desert of Tears with their tiny hand-written notes and allowing them to prepare for Aztar’s attacks. Of all Gilwyn’s companions, only Lorn had actually seen Salina. He had described her as breath-taking and courageous. She was, to Gilwyn’s thinking, certainly made of iron, for she was but a girl in a realm where females were subservient, and if her secret were ever discovered she would surely be imprisoned. Or worse.

  Do not fret for her, said Ruana. The girl can take care of herself.

  But is she safe? Gilwyn asked.

  Ruana hesitated. I cannot tell.

  ‘Of course you can tell,’ said Gilwyn. ‘You just won’t say.’

  You are right, said Ruana. There was a laughing quality to her tone. I can tell, but I cannot tell you.

  It was not her place to reveal such things, nor predict the future nor tell him of the afterlife. The Akari existed beyond the world of the living and so had many secrets. From the realm of the dead they saw with eyes of gods, but they were wise beings and knew the virtue of silence. Unlike the Akari, Gilwyn was alive. He existed in the realm of the living, with all its choices and possibilities. His possibilities. The choices were not Ruana’s to make. She had explained that to him, and so had Minikin. If Salina were dead or imprisoned, it was not for Ruana to say, though surely she could have searched the living world for the answer.

  ‘If she’s alive I’ll find her,’ said Gilwyn. Then he shrugged, his confidence waning. ‘If I can.’

  He licked his dry lips, trying to put aside his fears. It would be a month until he made it as far north as Liiria. He had so very long to go. He needed to be a man now, not the boy he had been in Liiria, surrounded by books. Only a man — a truly brave man — could save Baron Glass from the Devil’s Armour.

  Too much, chided Ruana gently. You think too much of all these things. Quiet yourself. Rest now.

  Gilwyn shook his head. ‘Can’t.’

  He took a skin from the drowa’s tack and squirted a stream of water into his mouth. His aim was expert now, but he carefully conserved the precious liquid. The water, hot from the desert, stung his throat as much as cooled it.

  Rest so that you do not waste yourself, urged Ruana. It is hours yet until the sun goes down. And the drowa
cannot go on forever. It needs rest, too.

  Though not without sympathy for the beast, Gilwyn ignored Ruana’s suggestion. A drowa could go for hours without rest or water; that much he had learned from the Jadori. And if the poor creature expired when they reached Ganjor. .

  Gilwyn thought about that a moment. He reached down and patted the drowa’s muscled neck. So much of what was happening seemed unfair. Even this ugly animal had got caught in the whirlwind. Surely it didn’t want to die, but like Gilwyn it went on because it had to go on.

  There was no choice.

  At sundown, Gilwyn finally rested.

  He was pleased with the day’s progress, and by the time the sunlight slackened he and his drowa were exhausted. He didn’t wait for the sun to complete its decent, but rather took advantage of the last slivers of light to make his camp. He was more than halfway through the desert now, and had come to a place were the ground was firmer and some dry plants grew in scrubby patches. Ugly, mis-shapen hills of baked earth shadowed the distance. A few cacti huddled nearby, but Gilwyn saw nothing of water or any real shade. As he had done the past two nights, he unloaded his belongings from the drowa and arranged his meagre camp, mostly a bedroll, some food, and a knife for eating. With the sun going down he had no need for shade, for soon the temperature would drop. The thought of the cool evening made him smile.

  Before settling down Gilwyn tended to the drowa, first removing the saddle and striped blanket, then feeding it from a bag of fruits and mixed grains. Since the drowa could eat cactus and gain water from it, he led the beast to the small stand of piny plants. Drowas were browsers, he knew, and got much of their nourishment from the things they found in the desert. Gilwyn held the beast’s tack as it fed, using its long snout and powerful teeth to slowly devour the plants. By the time the drowa had finished, the sun was almost complete gone, and with it nearly every speck of light.

  ‘Soon the stars will come,’ he said. Already some were twinkling through the twilight. He led the drowa back to his camp and eased the beast down. Now sated, the drowa bent easily to his will. Or was it his gift? Gilwyn couldn’t say for sure, but the drowa had surprised him with its compliance. Usually, they were haughty, independent beasts, but this one had obeyed his every command. He had not even found the need to stake it down at night; the drowa simply stayed with him. ‘Good boy,’ he crooned, patting the drowa’s back.

  Famished from the ride, the meagre items in his travelling back seemed like a banquet. Mostly they were staples, like flat Jadori bread, dates and figs from the gardens around the palace, and goats cheese made by some of the city’s northerners. The cheese smelled particularly bad to Gilwyn as he unwrapped it, but it had hardened with dryness and he had been assured it would do him no harm. Since he had no need to cook, and since he welcomed whatever cold the night would bring, he didn’t bother making a fire. The stars, he knew, would provide all the light he needed.

  So Gilwyn ate, all the while watching the stars come alive above him. Back in Koth, when he had been apprenticed to Figgis, they had watched the stars together from a balcony in the city’s great library. Figgis had taught him about the movements of the heavens and Gilwyn had remembered everything. But here in the desert the constellations seemed different. They had actually moved, and he knew it was because he was so far south, so very far away from his homeland.

  Still, he could make out his favourite constellations, and as they slowly appeared he studied them, calling out their names one by one, whispering to himself. His voice seemed to go on forever. Suddenly he wished for company, anyone with warm blood and real flesh, but all he had was Ruana, floating around him — inside him — like an invisible ghost.

  Ruana, however, remained silent. Gilwyn could feel her, but she kept her distance while he ate, allowing him privacy. Finally, his hunger satisfied, he rolled a blanket into a pillow and propped it beneath his head, then looked up again into the star-filled sky. Like a theater, the night exploded with life. Gilwyn felt lost in its enormity. His thoughts turned to Salina again, and what she might look like.

  Beautiful. That’s what Lorn had said. Gilwyn dug into his pocket and pulled out the only real thing of value he carried. The lump of gold felt sturdy in his hand, like the man who’d given it to him. He held the ring up above his face, studying it in the starlight. It was Lorn’s kingship ring, proof that he still lived. Gilwyn considered the prize, wondering what Jazana Carr would do when she saw the ring. He was to give the ring to her with Lorn’s promise to reclaim it someday. Gilwyn had met Jazana Carr only once, but he suspected the message would craze her.

  ‘Ruana,’ he whispered. ‘Are you there?’

  Always.

  ‘What do you think will happen? When Jazana Carr gets the ring, I mean?’

  It was the kind of question Gilwyn often posed, the kind Ruana could not answer. The spirit seemed to chuckle.

  The ring is nothing. It is Lorn that concerns you, Gilwyn, not Jazana Carr.

  The reply annoyed Gilwyn, who playfully slipped the ring onto his finger. Much too big for him, it quickly slid to his knuckle.

  ‘I trust Lorn, Ruana,’ he said.

  You worry, said Ruana, about Lorn and what he will do to Jador.

  ‘He’ll do nothing. I left him to look after things, that’s all.’

  He is King Lorn the Wicked.

  Gilwyn nodded. ‘I know.’

  He had never asked Ruana’s advice on the matter, and now it was too late. Jador needed a strong leader. Baron Glass had stolen the Devil’s Armour and fled north to Jazana Carr. Lukien had gone after him, and might well be dead. White-Eye was blind now, the victim of the armour’s accursed spirit, and Minikin. .

  Thinking of Minikin broke the boy’s heart.

  ‘I had no choice,’ said Gilwyn. ‘Lorn knows how to deal with any troubles that come up. White-Eye needs him, even if she won’t admit it.’

  White-Eye is Kahana, Ruana reminded him. She has the blood of Kadar in her veins. She is strong.

  ‘She’s blind now, Ruana,’ said Gilwyn. ‘She’s lost her Akari, and I don’t know what that will do to her. She needs help to rule Jador. She needs Lorn, because there’s no one else left.’

  His logic was inescapable. Ruana remained silent. Gilwyn took Lorn’s ring off his finger and stuffed it back into his pocket. He intended to keep the promise he’d made to Lorn, to give the ring to Jazana Carr and tell her that King Lorn the Wicked would return for it. Then, if the Great Fate willed it, he would deal with the demon who had blinded White-Eye.

  Enough now, said Ruana suddenly. No more black thoughts. Clear your mind.

  ‘My mind is clear.’

  Oh? Now is a good time, then.

  ‘For what?’

  To stretch your mind. The desert can teach you things, Gilwyn.

  Gilwyn lifted his head from the blanket, listening. To him the desert seemed dead.

  Not with your ears, argued Ruana. Stop being silly and do as I say.

  ‘Ruana, I’m tired. Do we have to do this now? In the morning, maybe. .’

  You can sleep soon enough. The spirit paused a moment. Though he could not see her face now, Gilwyn could feel her sly smile. Open your mind, Gilwyn. Use your gift to search the desert.

  Gilwyn closed his eyes. ‘All right,’ he agreed, admitting some curiosity. He had opened his mind to the desert before, but mostly to search for kreels, the giant lizards the Jadori rode. There would be no kreels this far from the city, he was sure. ‘What should I look for?’

  Suddenly he wasn’t just in the desert any longer. He was over it, his mind soaring across the warm sand and rugged hillsides. The sensation amazed him. It came with such ease.

  You see? Freeing your mind here is different from in the city, said Ruana. Here there are no other beings to interfere.

  Untethered, Gilwyn let his mind fly through the night. He felt weightless, as if he himself were a bird on wing. The cool air made a mantel for him, wrapping him, bearing him up in every direction. He la
ughed with delight, and his concentration did not falter the way it had in the past.

  ‘What’s out here?’ he asked, excited to know. ‘What am I looking for, Ruana?’

  Control the gift, Gilwyn. You shall see.

  Gilwyn steadied his senses. Some Inhumans had amazing strength. Others, like the hunch-backed Monster, had the grace of a dancer. Gilwyn’s gift lied in other creatures, and the ability to communicate with him. He had always had this gift, Minikin had told him, from the moment he’d been given a monkey to help him with the smallest chores. That strange bond had grown into an infinity of powers, and Ruana had brought them out in him. With her help, he could control the amazing reptilian kreels or snatch a hawk in flight and see the world below through its keen, soaring eyes. With Ruana, he was never alone. Now she had sensed something worth finding.

  But what?

  Gilwyn slowed his thinking. Whatever was out there would come to him. His mind would draw it out. He would feel its coursing blood.

  ‘Rodents,’ he said. Their small brains and clicking language tickled his brain. Focusing, he realized they were everywhere, hidden in the darkness. But he knew they were not why Ruana tested him.

  What else? asked the Akari.

  Gilwyn paused. The whole sensation was pleasant but confusing. ‘I don’t feel anything,’ he said. ‘Just-’

  A presence struck him like a wall. In the darkness moved something massive, far away but determined. Prowling, on the hunt. Unspeakably cold. There was no mistaking it.

  ‘A rass,’ he whispered.

  The great snakes of the desert. Hooded like a cobra. Enemy to the kreel. The terror of their desert realm. Gilwyn had seen them hunting for kreel eggs in the twilight. He had even touched one’s mind. They were giants, with skulls like boulders and coiling, muscled bodies that could easily squeeze the life from his drowa. This one was far away, too far to catch his scent on its flicking tongue.