The Sword Of Angels

57

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.’

White-Eye did as Lorn directed, keeping her course as her tiny army snaked toward their brethren, positioned in lines opposite the Ganjeese. As she approached she heard the kreels of her own men approaching, kicking up sand in their wake. They greeted their Kahana boldly.

‘What word?’ White-Eye asked them, speaking Jadori.

It was Narjj who spoke first, his voice clear in the darkness. ‘Baralosus awaits us,’ he reported. ‘He remains at the front of his army.’

Narjj, who had attained the rank of Hota among the kreel riders, had somehow survived the last two wars. That feat alone made him a natural leader. Narjj had taken command of the bulk of their forces, mostly because there was no one else more qualified to do so. Though young, White-Eye had confidence in him. More importantly, she had confidence in their kreels. Baralosus had probably never seen a kreel in battle.

With Narjj to guide them, White-Eye and Lorn and the others followed the Hota to the lines of kreel riders, positioned only a few hundred yards from where the Ganjeese waited. The enemy soldiers were remarkably quiet, unnerving White-Eye. She brought her kreel to a halt at Lorn’s order, then turned to face her many men. For a moment, it saddened White-Eye that she could not see them. In the days when she had been with her Akari, her natural blindness had been no hindrance at all. He would have revealed the ranks of riders to her, looking frightful in their gakas, their long, curled whips hanging like serpents at their sides. In totality, her little army numbered around one-thousand, with hundreds of kreel riders among them. The chittering of the trained reptiles gave

White-Eye a terrible confidence.

‘Men of Jador,’ cried White-Eye. ‘Who calls you to battle on this eve?’

‘Kahana White-Eye!’ came the answer, high and strong. The kreels joined their masters’ call, letting out a fluttering hiss.

‘Look at the puppets who come to destroy us!’ said White-Eye. ‘See the big man who holds the strings? Twice now he has brought his dogs to devour us. Once they were defeated. Shall we defeat them again?’

The thousand men gave a unanimous reply. Like thunder their voices filled the desert air. White-Eye raised her hands. Expectantly, the army silenced.

‘Will you follow me?’ White-Eye asked them.

An explosive answer pushed White-Eye backward. She smiled triumphantly, steadying her kreel, then wheeling the beast around toward Lorn. ‘Come with me,’ she ordered. ‘It’s time.’

Lorn agreed instantly, then quickly told Narjj to join them. Narjj knew at once what to do, gathering up the riders who had come with White-Eye from the city and arranging them in a long line behind himself and Lorn. When he was done, White-Eye waited for the word.

‘We’re ready,’ said Lorn.

White-Eye nodded. She fixed her face with the most determined expression she could muster, then led the way across the empty sands toward Baralosus. Darkness followed her everywhere, yet she rode with confidence toward her enemies, secure in Lorn’s soft guidance. As her party crossed the distance, Lorn continued to instruct her.

‘Baralosus has ridden out apart from his army,’ he said softly. ‘He has a few men with him. They haven’t drawn their weapons.’

White-Eye nodded. ‘What else?’

‘He’s tired. He hasn’t slept. He’s looking right at us.’ Then, as if sensing her fears, Lorn added, ‘He looks weak.’

White-Eye thought for a moment, then dismissed his assessment. She didn’t want to kill Baralosus. It was merely a necessity. But cockiness was something she wouldn’t brook. She nodded, giving Lorn the signal to stop talking, and rode the rest of the way toward Baralosus. When she was just ahead of him, Lorn loudly cleared his throat, and White-Eye reined her kreel to a stop. Behind her, the men accompanying her did the same. Next to her, she heard Lorn’s reassuring breath. Unable to see her enemy, she nevertheless addressed him.

‘King Baralosus, you should not have come.’

Up on the tower of the white wall, Princess Salina waited with Minikin and the archers, holding her breath. It was the first time she had seen her father in months, and his appearance shocked her. From so far away, he looked gaunt and bone-weary, barely able to remain erect on his horse. The army he had dragged with him across the desert seemed bedraggled from the journey, not at all like the proud warriors she was accustomed to back home. Salina gripped the stone rail of the tower until her fingers ached, but she was oblivious to the pain, squinting for the best view of the coming battle. Her father’s forces looked woefully outnumbered, especially against the blood-thirsty kreels. The reptiles were easily capable of ripping open the stomach of a drowa. Her father knew that.

So why had he come?

‘Look how out-manned he is,’ said Salina desperately. She turned to Minikin, who along with her mute bodyguard had spent the entire evening up in the tower. ‘Lady Minikin, I don’t understand.’

Minikin smiled cheerlessly. ‘Don’t you? Your father has come for you. A father’s love is like that.’

Salina stared at her father across the desert. ‘Love?’

Was it love to lock her away? Was it love to keep her a girl when she was really a woman, and to kill the man she loved? Minikin gave her a peculiar smile.

‘It is love to risk everything for someone else,’ she said.

She didn’t explain how she had read Salina’s thoughts. She didn’t have to. The catch in Salina’s throat kept her from speaking, but the lady’s words rattled in her mind. Confused, she looked back over the armies, hoping for a miracle.

‘I want her back,’ said King Baralosus. ‘I’ve come for her and her only. We can make peace, or we can make war, Kahana White-Eye. Which one we choose is up to you to decide.’

In the blackness of her blindness, White-Eye heard Baralosus’ voice like a drumbeat, steady and predictable. She sat like stone upon her kreel, unmoved by his words.

‘Your daughter is safe within the walls of Jador,’ she replied. ‘There she will remain. She has sought protection from you, King Baralosus, and I have granted it to her.’

‘You have been bedeviled, girl. You have listened to the likes of this one!’

‘I am a blind woman, sir,’ said White-Eye. ‘Tell me of who you speak.’

‘He’s pointing to me,’ growled Lorn from the darkness. ‘King Baralosus, you are outmanned and out armed, and if you have never seen a kreel in battle than I pity your foolishness. You daughter saved these people from your own designs. Do not expect them to give her up to you.’

‘I will not leave without her,’ said Baralosus. The ire in his tone rose dangerously. ‘Here, look at this woman. Listen to what she tells you.’

White-Eye heard another rider come forward. She cocked her head curiously. ‘Who do you show me?’

‘My name is Harani,’ said a voice suddenly. Unexpectedly, the voice was a woman’s. ‘Kahana White-Eye, I am a Voruni woman. King Baralosus has killed my master, Aztar. He has brought me here as witness to his deed.’

‘You speak the language of the continent,’ said White-Eye, surprised.

‘I am an educated woman. My father was a merchant and we spent time in Ganjor. Now I am the captive of this pitiful thing.’

‘She is not a captive,’ Baralosus corrected angrily. ‘She is only what she claimed — a witness. Aztar is dead, Kahana. My daughter has no reason now to remain here. Give her to me. I demand it.’

‘You may demand nothing from these people,’ hissed Lorn suddenly. ‘They know of all your treacheries.’

‘And I know of yours, Lorn! You are the Wicked One, the butcher of Norvor!’

Baralosus moved closer, but Lorn was there to stop him.

‘Keep your distance,’ ordered the Norvan.

Baralosus bristled, ‘Kahana White-Eye, you should know who you take counsel from. This man is an demon. His own people detested him.’

‘I know all I need to know,’ retorted White-Eye. ‘King Baralosus, you are wasting time.’

‘I have spared the lives of these women and children!’ protested the king. ‘I could have killed them all, but I did not. All that I want is my daughter back.’

His words were ranting, but also pleading. White-Eye felt her resolve start to crumble. Before she could respond, Lorn was speaking for her.

‘Your daughter is Jadori now,’ he said. ‘And you have doomed yourself.’

‘If you kill me,’ said Baralosus, ‘others will come. A proper army will avenge me, and you won’t be able to stand against it. Save us all this misery. Give me back my daughter!’

Trapped, White-Eye’s words failed her. Suddenly, battling this forlorn king seemed more like murder than any cause of glory. But she had made a promise, and she knew that Baralosus could not be trusted.

‘Why have you come here?’ railed White-Eye. ‘Why can you not simply stay across the desert? Why, King Baralosus? Tell me, please!’

King Baralosus replied wearily, ‘I cannot go back without her.’

‘And I cannot give her to you! Damn you!’

Spinning about, White-Eye rode back the way she’d come, ending the conversation. She heard the startled reaction of Baralosus behind her, and then Lorn’s surprised call.

‘White-Eye, what are you doing?’ he asked, galloping up beside her.

‘He brought this on himself,’ replied White-Eye angrily. ‘Vala help me, he has damned us.’

Back on the wall, Salina saw White-Eye riding away from her father. The Kahana’s face twisted in rage and sadness. Behind her, Salina’s father turned and called his men to attention. The ranks of the Ganjeese came quickly alive. Amidst the rows and rows of Jadori, the army of the Night Queen prepared for battle.

‘No,’ Salina gasped. ‘No, he’ll be killed!’

Minikin’s expression had lost all its usual mirth. Looking dour, she nodded. ‘He has decided.’

‘No!’ Salina grabbed hold of Minikin. ‘Mistress, you have to stop it.’

Trog tramped forward to defend his mistress. Minikin put up a hand to halt him. ‘I cannot stop it, child,’ she told Salina. ‘It has already begun.’

‘You can stop it, you can stop it with your magic! Please, lady, I beg you. .’

‘What can I do?’ Minikin said desperately. ‘Look, they are ready for battle.’

Down on the battlefield, Salina saw White-Eye riding among her soldiers, waving her arms, rallying them for the fight. Her father’s forces settled down behind their drowas and raised their spears and scimitars. Baralosus himself had drawn a weapon, a shining, curved sword that gleamed in the moonlight.

‘I can’t let this happen,’ groaned Salina. She needed to escape, to get down to her father at once. ‘Mistress, let me go.’

‘Child?’

‘I have to stop them! Please, let me go to them.’

‘You’re not my prisoner,’ said Minikin. ‘But the battle had begun. .’

‘I don’t care. I have to stop them.’ Salina looked around frantically. The stairs leading down the tower were unguarded, and she knew no one would stop her. ‘Mistress, I need a kreel. Can someone take me?’

Minikin grabbed her hand and hurried toward the stairs. ‘Trog, follow us.’

King Lorn galloped behind White-Eye as she rallied her men, her long-toothed kreel turning a fiery red. The young kahana raised her voice above the din, signaling Narjj and the others to make ready for attack. Lorn’s horse whinnied beneath him as he drew back hard on its reins, spinning the beast to face the Ganjeese. Baralosus had raised his scimitar, giving his own men the same battle cry. A thrill coursed through Lorn as he saw the drowamen prepare to charge. They had no chance at all, but they were certainly brave bastards.

He spurred his horse again, catching up to White-Eye. The kahana heard his cry and turned her kreel toward his voice, her blind eyes searching for him. Narjj and his men had unhooked their whips from their sides and began swinging them overhead. Their eager kreels clawed restlessly at the sand.

‘White-Eye, I have to get you to cover,’ said Lorn, taking hold of her reins.

White-Eye furiously shook her head. ‘I have to stay!’

‘You can’t even see! You’ll be killed!’

‘I have to stay, Lorn!’ she insisted. ‘The others need me. You have to protect me.’

She had her own sword which she finally drew, holding it high so that her men saw it. Lorn let go of her kreel and cursed her courage.

‘Kahana, they’re coming,’ he told her, and as he spoke the first charging drowamen surged forward. Amazingly, Baralosus was among them, leading the run toward Jador. Lorn at last drew his weapon, prepared to defend White-Eye. Narjj threaded through the kreel riders, shouting orders at the other Hotas. In small teams the kreels broke ranks and bore down on the Ganjeese riders. Baralosus, smart enough not to break up his forces, kept them together like one, lethal hammer, determined to spearhead his enemies. They came quickly, weapons poised, thundering toward the screaming kreels. Lorn braced himself, sure that at least a few of them would straggle though the lines. ‘Do everything I tell you,’ he shouted to White-Eye. ‘And if I say run, you run.’

White-Eye stood her ground, facing the enemy, listening for the collision. A moment later, it reached them with a boom as the clashing armies met. Baralosus and his riders rammed their spears against the reptiles. The kreels leapt, claws barred and slashing like razors. The drowas charged, necks lowered, long legs tearing up the sand. A horde of Ganjeese fell instantly, pulled from their mounts by the insatiable kreels. But Baralosus, wrapped in a tight cocoon of fighting men, continued charging. Scimitar raised, he pointed toward White-Eye and Lorn, and his men ducked low to pursue. A band of Jadori saw the tactic, riding fast to White-Eye’s aide. King Lorn the Wicked put his mount between the kahana and their enemies and braced himself for battle.

Out of the darkness they came with speed, spears lowered against the Night Queen’s protectors. Lorn cried for White-Eye to retreat, then spat a string of obscenities as she ignored him. Too busy to argue, he took on the first of the riders to break through the kreels, batting aside the Ganjeese spear and driving his sword headlong through the man’s throat. A kreel leapt across his vision, tackling the drowa and tearing open its gut. Lorn spun about, grabbed angrily at White-Eye’s kreel, and yanked the rein away from her, pulling girl and beast back toward the city.

‘Go!’ he bellowed.

‘I won’t!’

Through the me?le?e Lorn could see King Baralosus battling through the Jadori. Surrounded but undeterred, the king’s men swarmed around him, swatting at the kreels and dodging the flailing whips. Another rider broke through, heading again for White-Eye. Lorn exploded after him, slashing his sword and hacking off his head. Confused, White-Eye called to him, and as Lorn turned he saw her riding toward him.

‘You get back!’ he railed. ‘Damn you, girl, listen to me!’

‘Tell me what’s happening!’ demanded White-Eye. Her kreel loped forward, landing at Lorn’s feet and sniffing at the air with its tongue. White-Eye looked like a wild child on its back, her black hair flying, her milky eyes madly scanning the field. Lorn reached out for her again, snatching up the kreel’s tack and spuring his horse back toward the city. This time the kreel resisted, pulling free. Lorn swore at the monster. ‘Come with me!’ he spat. ‘It’s not safe here!’

Over White-Eye’s head he saw Baralosus. The king had spotted the kahana and fixed her in his sight. With his men tangled in kreels, Baralosus saw his opportunity and blasted forth, galloping for the defenseless girl. Lorn leapt after him, passing White-Eye and lowering his sword. He heard a commotion behind him, someone screaming. Ignoring it, he brought up his blade and collided his horse against Baralosus’ huge drowa. The king’s face burst with sweat and hatred. His big beast muscled back Lorn’s steed. Lorn worked his sword, ducking the king’s own as the silver scimitar flashed. The head of the drowa darted forward, smashing against Lorn like a ram. He collapsed, gripped hard on his reins and pulled himself upright. White-Eye was shouting. Another voice joined her. Unable to spare even a glance, Lorn slashed madly at Baralosus, trying to regain his momentum. The two kings crossed swords, again and again battering each other back. Kreels and drowamen crashed around them. A big man, Baralosus held his own, bolstered by his powerful mount. Lorn skirted around him, searching for a weakness, but the well-trained drowa moved with him, dancing on its gangly legs, avoiding every blow.

Then, another kreel slipped onto the field, barreling towards the battling kings. Again Lorn heard the unfamiliar cry, this time seeing Salina. She rode atop the kreel with Trog, Minikin’s monstrous henchman. The kreel that carried the girl and giant sped across the sand. White-Eye’s head swiveled quickly, hearing Salina’s cry. King Baralosus saw his daughter and dropped his guard.

And there it was, the opening Lorn needed. He glanced at Salina, then at White-Eye. White-Eye was screaming, calling for him. Salina’s arms flailed madly. Lorn raised his sword, cocked to strike.

‘Salina!’

Baralosus cry rose out of him like a prayer, smothering every other sound. Stunned by his daughter’s appearance, he forgot the fight, ignoring Lorn even as the Norvan’s sword hovered. Lorn trembled, aching to loose his final barrage, but Salina’s face filled his vision suddenly, tearfully pleading for peace. Baralosus bolted toward her, out of Lorn’s range, and King Lorn the Wicked merely sat atop his horse and watched his quarry escape. Guided by Trog, Salina’s kreel raced to meet her father. All around them the battle raged, but they were lost in each other suddenly.

‘White-Eye,’ called Lorn, ‘it’s Salina.’ He lowered his sword, shaking his head in disbelief. ‘Call it off.’

White-Eye’s mouth fell open. ‘Salina?’

‘Call off your men,’ said Lorn. ‘It’s over.’

Princess Salina jumped from the kreel and onto the battlefield, pleading with her father to retreat. King Baralosus reached down from his drowa, grabbed hold of his daughter’s hand, and hoisted her onto the back of his mount. He turned toward his troops, shouting at them to break off their attack. Lorn galloped past them toward White-Eye.

‘What’s happened?’ White-Eye asked.

King Lorn carefully shielded her from the battle. ‘Your charge has changed her mind,’ he replied ruefully.

‘Salina?’ A huge smile filled White-Eye’s wild face. ‘Thank Vala for that.’

‘Baralosus is retreating,’ Lorn told her. The scene left him oddly disappointed. White-Eye, however, was plainly relieved. She shouted as loud as she could for her Hotas, ordering the commanders to reform their lines.

‘It’s over, then,’ she said wearily. Her eyelids closed with a giant sigh. ‘Over. .’

King Lorn smirked despite the turn of events. ‘I am proud of you, Night Queen,’ he said. ‘Now you are truly Jador’s Kahana.’