The Sword Of Angels

43

Lukien rode his horse along the narrow road. Karoshin rode a donkey. The old priest led the way without saying a word, fully expecting Lukien to follow him. The day was hot and Lukien was irritated, and as he rode he cursed himself for agreeing to the journey. With no one else for company, the pair had ridden most of the afternoon, and Lukien could tell by the lengthening shadows that dusk would soon be falling. They would not make it back to the palace before sundown, but Karoshin seemed unconcerned. Up ahead, the mountains loomed high and foreboding. Snow capped the tallest peak, a colossal tyrant of a mountain rising up among its brothers. It was called the House of Sercin, and it was the first thing Lukien had noticed about Torlis when he had first seen the city from Akhiir’s little boat. It had captivated him then, and in the months since he had thought about the mountain often. It was where the Great Rass was said to dwell. Still, he had no idea why Karoshin had insisted on taking him there today.

For Lukien, the last few weeks had passed in a fugue. Since the death of Jahan, he stopped training Lahkali entirely, keeping to himself in the chamber they had once shared, venturing out only at night to walk the grounds of the palace alone. It was he who was responsible for Jahan’s death, and though he had avenged his friend by slaying the rass, there was nothing he could do to turn back the clock and return the gentle villager to life. His entire mission in Torlis seemed pointless now, because he had found no clues to the Sword of Angels and because he knew — knew — that Lahkali had no chance at all against the Great Rass.

The young Eminence had given Lukien time to grieve. She had scolded him severely upon his return from Amchan, but that was all. Master Niharn made his apologies, convincing Lahkali that he and Lukien were only doing what was necessary. Surprisingly, Lahkali had cried upon the news of Jahan’s death. Though the two of them rarely spoke, they had formed a strange understanding.

‘All right, Karoshin, enough now,’ Lukien grumbled. ‘We’ve gone far enough. Tell me why.’

‘We are not there yet,’ called the priest over his shoulder.

‘Then we should have left earlier! Karoshin, it’ll be dark soon.’

‘Dark? Yes,’ said Karoshin. ‘Do not be afraid, Lukien.’

‘You stubborn old fool, I’m not afraid. Just tell me where we’re going.’

‘To the mountains. That should be obvious.’

Convinced the old man was vexing him on purpose, Lukien bit back his insults. Karoshin had not told Lukien to bring anything but himself on the trip, but the priest’s own mount was laden with saddle bags, a sign that Lukien took as trouble. He had resisted the journey but Karoshin had been determined, and in the end Lukien didn’t really think he could refuse. He was still a guest in Torlis, after all, and priests like Karoshin held the power.

The road to the mountains snaked alongside the holy river. Here, the river rushed in a torrent, pouring down from the snow-laden peaks. In the lore of Torlis, the blood of the Great Rass would turn the river red, feeding the land for years to come. But that would mean killing the rass. .

Lukien shook this thought from his mind. He had done his best, hadn’t he? And all his efforts had only made for a muscular Lahkali. The girl queen had continued her training without him, practicing every day in the courtyard of the palace just as he had taught her. He had seen her on occasion, expertly wielding the katath Aliz Nok had made for her, once again under the tutelage of Niharn. The old fencing master had many tricks to teach her, but Lukien knew they would not be enough. No one could fight a rass and win, not without years of training like the Jadori or the gift Lahkali’s lineage carried in their blood. Or, perhaps, a magical amulet to keep them alive. Lahkali’s cause was hopeless, and despite his promise to the girl to never give up, Lukien had surrendered the moment Jahan had died.

They traveled on for nearly an hour more, until at last they reached the foot of the mountains. Here, the trail petered off, surrendering to the rocks. The air grew cooler, too, and from where they stood Lukien could see the far-off city below them. At the end of the trail, a campsite had been cleared away, all of the rocks and brush set aside for travelers like themselves. To Lukien, it looked like the camp had been used many times over the years, though not for a very long time. He sat upon his horse, wondering why they had traveled so far. Above, the towering House of Sercin swallowed them in shadows.

‘What’s this?’ asked Lukien. ‘Why are we stopping?’ He groaned as a dreadful thought entered his mind. ‘Don’t tell me we’re going up there.’

Karoshin shook his head. Night was coming quickly, and the old priest looked anxious, as though about to reveal a secret. The serpent tattoo he bore bulged on his neck as he craned for a view of the holy mountain.

‘What are you looking for?’ Lukien asked. ‘Not the rass, I hope.’

‘Get down from your horse, Lukien,’ said the priest. ‘We will stay awhile.’

‘That’s what I was afraid of.’

With a sigh of surrender Lukien dismounted, tying up his horse on an outcropping of rock. Very soon it would be dark, but he already guessed they would not be riding back until morning. Lukien supposed a surprise was coming, or worse, a lecture. He also supposed that he deserved one, and couldn’t help but grin.

‘All right, Karoshin, we’re here,’ he pronounced. ‘Now. . why?’

Karoshin kept his eyes on the peak of the tall mountain. With the sun going down, the whole horizon began turning a blazing orange. They would need a fire soon, and food, too, but Karoshin appeared unconcerned. Something about the mountain fixated him.

‘Stay, Lukien, don’t look away,’ said Karoshin softly.

Lukien followed his gaze skyward. ‘What are we looking for?’

‘You’ll see.’

Intrigued, Lukien continued watching the peak. The House of Sercin swept the range with majesty, so much taller than its brethren. At its pinnacle Lukien could see clouds gathering, willowy mists swirling almost invisibly around the pointed rocks and snow. They moved like spirits, almost alive, circling unnaturally around the frozen summit. In the pale light of the dying sun, the clouds began to shimmer.

‘Look,’ spoke Karoshin. ‘Look. .’

The clouds began to mingle, intensifying in their brightness, sparking with light as the orange of the horizon caught them, setting them ablaze. Lukien gasped, stunned by the fireworks as the rolling mists intensified. For a brief, wonderful moment the land beneath the mountains glowed, and in its heat Lukien smiled, mesmerized. And then, like a candle flame, it vanished. The crimson twinkle eroded, but the clouds remained, forming a darkening ring around the mountain peak.

‘What was that?’ asked Lukien breathlessly.

‘A sign,’ replied Karoshin. He was smiling. ‘It’s begun, Lukien.’

Lukien asked, ‘What has?’

‘The Great Rass, Lukien. That is the sign. Do you remember? When the clouds gather around the mountain top, Sercin will return.’

‘You mean that? I thought you meant clouds, real clouds! Those aren’t clouds, Karoshin.’ Lukien looked up again, amazed. ‘Those are like spirits.’

There seemed no other way to describe them, because to Lukien they looked alive, like angels holding hands as they danced around the mountain top. The light had gone out of them but the mists remained, circling in perfect time around the place where Sercin dwelt. A thrill ran through Lukien. In all his days in Torlis he had heard the tales of the Great Rass, listening as a sceptic. Now, though, he believed.

‘You brought me all this way to see that,’ he whispered. ‘I should probably thank you.’

Karoshin nodded. ‘It is too far from the city to see,’ he explained. ‘You would see the light, but not the real beauty. And I wanted you to see the beauty. Do you understand, Lukien?’

‘I think so. I’ve been a very poor teacher lately.’

‘You’ve grieved enough,’ said Karoshin. ‘Now you must stop.’ He pointed up at the mountain. ‘Sercin has come, Lukien. Soon he will become the Great Rass. Soon Lahkali must slay him.’

‘I know,’ said Lukien. He looked around at the campsite, then at Karoshin’s donkey. ‘You brought supplies for the night. Is this where we’re staying.’

The priest grinned. ‘It is time to talk, Lukien.’

Karoshin had never been much for words, and so did not engage Lukien until long after the sun had set. He had done almost all the work in camp as well, making the fire himself and cooking the food, then gathering the metal cups they had used and taking them to the river for washing. It had all been part of his plan, Lukien knew, to make the mood between them easy and loosen Lukien’s tongue. At first Lukien had resisted the notion of spending the night at the base of the mountain, but soon he saw the logic in Karoshin’s plan, and admitted to himself that it was good to be out of the palace and away from the reminders of his dead friend.

Long after sundown, Karoshin finally settled down, making a pipe for himself by stuffing it with tobacco and lighting it with a twig from the fire. Lukien, already stretched out by the camp fire himself, watched curiously as the old man blew some rings. The habit struck Lukien as odd, because he had never seen a pipe of such strange design and because he had never seen the priest relax. Karoshin gave a contented sigh as he inhaled deeply and held it, letting the smoke dribble contentedly out of his nose. The night was wonderfully quiet, and reminded Lukien of the long trips he used to take in the desert around Jador, when he was on patrol against Aztar’s raiders. Those had been moments of great peace for Lukien, at least when he wasn’t fighting. He missed Jador now and everything about it. Karoshin, sensing his mood, nodded at Lukien.

‘What are you thinking, Lukien?’

Lukien answered without hesitation. ‘About home.’

‘Which home? You have so many.’

‘Sad, isn’t it? You’re right, though. I was thinking about Jador.’

Karoshin nodded. ‘Tell me.’

‘Oh, it’s a fine place,’ said Lukien. ‘A beautiful city, or at least it was before the wars. Fine people, too, full of character and heart.’

‘Desert people,’ said Karoshin knowingly. ‘They are like that.’ His eyes crinkled. ‘Like Jahan.’

‘Yeah. .’

‘You should talk about him. You will feel better if you do.’

‘I think about him all the time, Karoshin.’ Lukien pulled a stick from the fire, watching its burning tip. ‘He was such a simple man. All he wanted was to come and help me. He thought he owed me a life debt and he wanted to see Torlis. The Red Eminence! That was all he ever talked about.’

‘Ah, so you gave him his wish, then,’ said Karoshin.

‘No. I killed him.’ Lukien blew out the stick and tossed it back into the flames. ‘I shouldn’t have taken him with me. I should have known the danger. It was stupid.’

‘You could never have left him behind. Jahan would have gone with you anyway. He was that kind of man. Loyal.’

Lukien nodded. ‘He was loyal. He believed everything I told him, even though he thought I was some kind of savage sometimes.’ The memory made Lukien laugh. ‘And he taught me things! I don’t think I would have made it this far without him.’

‘But you have made it, Lukien, see?’ Karoshin nudged Lukien with his foot. ‘Listen to me, now — you have made it. You have come this far.’

‘Yes, but for what?’ Lukien argued. ‘I came to find the Sword of Angels. And I’m no closer to it than the day I got here. Karoshin, I think it’s time for me to leave.’

Karoshin’s face was placid. ‘Oh yes?’

‘Yes. I’ve thought about it and it’s time. I’ll never find the sword and Lahkali won’t ever give it up. I thought-’

Lukien stopped himself, then saw Karoshin looking pleased with himself.

‘You thought that Lahkali would tell you the hiding place of the sword. Of course you thought that. She is just a young girl, and you are so clever.’

‘No, that’s not right. .’

‘It is what you thought. It was obvious, Lukien, and Lahkali knew that the moment you promised to help her.’

‘But she let me help her anyway?’

‘She is stronger that you think. The secret of the sword is very dear to us. I have to confess that I was afraid for her. Not that I thought she would just tell you what you wanted to know. But you are much bigger than she is, and you did spent a lot of time alone with her.’

‘What are you saying?’

Karoshin sighed as though it were obvious. ‘You could have hurt her to get what you wanted, but you did not because you are not that kind of man. I know that now.’

‘Thank you for that, Karoshin,’ said Lukien. ‘But it’s not important now. I’ve failed. I failed Jahan and all my friends. If the sword is here, I’m never going to find it.’

‘So you’re leaving?’

‘I don’t see that I have much of a choice! All of this has been a waste. And my friends still need me. I have to go.’

‘And forget your promise to Lahkali? Maybe you did not want any of this, Lukien, but it is yours now. It is your responsibility to help Lahkali because that is what you promised her you would do.’

‘I know, but it’s not that way anymore. I fought a rass now. I know what it’s like. Lahkali doesn’t have a chance.’

The old priest’s expression darkened. ‘Don’t ever tell her that. Not ever. She must believe in herself. Even Niharn knows that now. He has taken over her training because you have abandoned her.’

‘Karoshin-’

‘She’s going to fight the Great Rass, Lukien. She’s going to do it soon, and she needs your help.’

‘But she doesn’t have a chance,’ said Lukien angrily. ‘If she goes she’ll be killed.’

‘And if she doesn’t go then everything else will be killed.’ Karoshin bit down hard on his pipe. ‘So she’s going.’

‘And I’m going too,’ Lukien grumbled. ‘I’m going home. You wasted your time bringing me here, Karoshin. Yes, the clouds were pretty. Thanks. But it doesn’t change anything. No one can train Lahkali to kill the rass. Niharn was right the first time.’

It took a lot to ruffle Karoshin’s feathers, but this time Lukien had done it. The serpent tattoo on his neck pulsed venomously. A storm brewed on his usually docile face. Lukien braced himself for an argument. Karoshin pulled the pipe from his mouth, ready to speak, but then said nothing. He took a breath to ease himself.

‘I brought you here because I thought seeing the clouds would change your mind,’ he said. ‘I thought once you knew that Sercin had come. .’ He shrugged. ‘But you are right. This is our problem. We should deal with it ourselves. An outsider should not be our saviour.’

More than anything the priest had said, that last bit hurt. But Karoshin gave Lukien no chance to reply. He rose and walked away to finish his pipe alone. Now the solitary fire sputtered, making Lukien stare into it. He had not wanted to hurt the old man, but his logic seemed perfect to him. He grieved for Lahkali, because she would surely die fighting the Great Rass. Karoshin was right about one thing — Lahkali was strong.

Lukien reached beneath his shirt and felt the Eye of God. Calling upon its magic had been the only way to save himself against the rass. The arrogant spirit inside the amulet still kept him alive for a reason Lukien could never quite fathom, allowing him to speak to Lahkali’s people without even knowing their tongue. Lukien took the Eye from his chest and examined it. It was a remarkable thing, but he hated it. He had already lived far too long.

At the other side of the camp, Karoshin quietly smoked his pipe.