War of the Magi: Azrael's Wrath (Book 2) (20 page)

“Then our fates are sealed and nothing we do matters.”

“Just the opposite,” Samira said. “Everything we do matters. We can choose. Even the lowliest ant can choose what leaf to cut, what path to take. That is what it means to be alive. Choice. Yes, we’re all limited by the world or by ourselves. Faris cannot fly and you cannot breathe fire, and we all must eat, but within the borders of our lives, we can still choose something.”

“Sometimes, those choices don’t count for much.” Jengo looked up at the stars. “To die today or tomorrow, to die here or there, by war or by famine.”

“I said the world is a machine, not a paradise.”

“And why isn’t it?” Edris said as he leaned against the wall of the house. “Why make a machine instead of a paradise?”

“Why walk around with one arm and half a face instead of being whole?” she asked him.

The singer frowned at her.

“Because it’s familiar? Comfortable? Interesting? Exciting?”

He winced. “I’d like to think God had slightly loftier goals in mind when he created the universe.”

“Why?” Samira raised an eye brow. “The old priests say we were all created in his image. And if we’re so torn between good and evil, shouldn’t that mean that so is God?”

“No.” Veneka shook her head. “Raziel has told me a thousand times about his conversations with God. He is nothing like us. He is pure love, pure compassion.”

“Then why create a world like this?” Edris nodded back at the alley full of bodies.

“Why do some children turn out to be angels, and others monsters?” Veneka asked. “It is all in how they are raised.”

Edris laughed. “So God is pure love because he had such wonderful parents?”

“Maybe.”

Samira shook her head and turned away.

Is this what passes as philosophy among them? Asking why? Why is the world harsh? Why is life unfair? As though knowing the answer would change anything. Life simply is. The sooner these people learn to accept the truth, the sooner they will stop acting like animals.

The doors of the house opened and Iyasu led Faris out into the street. Behind them followed a handful of men, including one older gentleman wearing an ornate bronze breastplate that looked to be as thin and fragile as paper. The general’s aides looked a bit sturdier, but still well past their primes and poorly equipped for an evening that promised more violence before it was over.

“Ladies and gentlemen.” Prince Faris gestured to the older man. “Allow me to present General Taharqa, commander of the Second Legion and one of my most trusted and loyal men.”

The general nodded curtly to them. “Thank you all for aiding the prince in this time of crisis. Together, and with the grace of God, I am certain we will succeed in this great enterprise.”

Samira sighed and looked away, and her gaze fell on Jengo. The warrior gazed back at her, reflecting all the fatal doubt that she felt in his eyes.

“Perhaps I should go on alone and search the city for Azrael,” the djinn cleric said. “I could also keep an eye out for other soldiers hunting for the prince.”

“In a city of this size? You couldn’t search a fraction of it even if you ran all night long.” Jengo shook his head. “We should stay together.”

Samira nodded slowly.

If only I could tell him what I am. He seems sensible enough. But then, appearances are meaningless, and so is this prince’s attempt to take back his throne. So for the safety of Odashena and my people, I will walk slowly and wait for them to fail, for now.

The humans set off down the dark streets of Tagal, and Samira followed them into the night, one step at a time.

Chapter 14
Edris

The Vaari singer strode silently at the edge of the group, keeping closer to the shadows and glancing sharply down every side street and alley, both for signs of attackers and for routes of escape. But they reached the second general’s house without seeing a soul.

Again Faris and Iyasu went inside, this time with Taharqa, while the rest of the group guarded the front of the house, standing in the street as the cold breeze slithered through their hair and clothing. Edris stayed close to Petra, but his eye always strayed toward Veneka, always making sure he knew where she was and that Zerai was doing an adequate job of protecting her.

“If you keep looking at her like that, I’m going to get jealous,” Petra said. “You wouldn’t like me when I’m jealous.”

“No, I probably wouldn’t.” He flashed his most charming smile at her, angling his head to hide some of his scars. “But then, something tells me you wouldn’t be terribly jealous for very long.”

“No, I probably wouldn’t.” She smiled back.

Half an hour later, General Digna and Captain Alara had agreed to support Faris, and the group dispersed with each commander hurrying to rally his soldiers and prepare to march on the palace. Edris stayed at the rear of the group, at the edge of the whispers, watching and following, and wondering quietly if he should be looking for a safe place to spend the rest of the night.

No, not unless Veneka is going to avoid this madness, and she’s going to stay close to Iyasu, and the boy’s going to stay with Faris until the end, so…

The singer sighed.

I could choose now. I could take her aside and have her do it right here and now, and then I could leave before this insanity gets me killed. It would only take a minute, she said.

He stared at her a bit more intently, readying himself to walk up to her and ask her to give him back his face and arm. But he stayed where he was and said nothing as he pulled his cloak tighter around his left shoulder.

“What happens now?” he asked as loudly as he dared. They were walking down a wide, empty avenue between small buildings that might have been homes or shops, but it was impossible to tell with all the windows shuttered and doors closed. No light escaped from inside them.

A few people glanced at him, but said nothing.

“Now we will wait for my generals and their legions at the temple gates, and then march on the palace,” Faris said. “I shouldn’t need to tell you this is going to be a long and bloody night. If you want to leave, this may be your last chance.”

Edris looked over at Veneka. “Is anyone going to leave?”

No one answered. He looked at Petra, who shrugged and shook her head.

“So you’re a revolutionary now?” he asked her quietly. “Willing to risk your life to see this great prince beached upon his throne?”

“I follow my sister.”

He chuckled. “No, you don’t.”

“I do, actually. She tends to lead me to interesting places, to interesting people.” She caressed his cheek and then grabbed his genitals a bit harder than he considered playful.

He grunted.

What the hell am I doing? This woman isn’t worth my life, djinn or no.

And this little adventure, traipsing through the picturesque streets of Tagal by moonlight, saving the poor people of Maqari from their evil king, helping the righteous if unfortunately shaped Prince Faris Harun reclaim his birthright, isn’t going to make for a song that anyone will want to hear, considering what a horrific tragedy it’s about to become.

Edris glanced up and down the street. He saw no one following, and no glint of eyes or steel in the shadows.

“Listen.” He leaned in over Petra. “Perhaps I could interest you in some other diversion tonight, something a bit more personal, a bit more… blasphemous?”

The young djinn woman looked at him. She was not smiling. “Now?”

“Well, you want a child, and I stand ready to assist you.”

“You’re a coward.”

“I’m a one-armed singer, walking unarmed into a war.”

“Yes, I noticed. I was wondering when you would realize how your pathetic indecision about your arm was going to get you killed,” she said. “And then you’d be a one-armed corpse, which quite frankly, seems worse than a two-armed singer, which is what you would be if you weren’t such a coward.”

Edris glared at her and then fixed his eyes on the dark road ahead. “I wasn’t a coward the day I lost my arm.”

“Then you lost more than your arm that day, didn’t you?”

“Shut up.”

Petra laughed. “No clever reply? Just
shut up
? You disappoint me, again.”

“Again?” He looked at her sharply.

She smirked and strode away to walk beside her sister.

He walked faster, moving closer to Veneka, but he turned instead to Zerai and hissed, “Give me a weapon.”

“What?” The falconer frowned at him.

“Give me a weapon.”

Zerai shrugged. “I only have my sword. You should have taken something from one of those men we dumped in the alley.”

“Well, I didn’t, so I need something now.” Edris felt a cold gnawing in his chest. “Something, anything.”

“Here.” The falconer handed over a knife no longer than his hand.

“Oh thank God.” Edris made a few stabbing motions with the tiny knife. “Darius must be pissing himself with terror at this very moment.”

“Let’s hope so.” Zerai thumped him on the back.

“You may want to stay close to us,” Veneka said. “When the fighting starts, you don’t want to be caught alone.”

“No, I certainly don’t.”

When they arrived in the square in front of the Great Temple, a small contingent of soldiers under the command of Captain Alara stood ready to meet them, and Faris immediately went to speak to their commander with Iyasu and Jengo at his side. But Edris found himself staring at the statue of Eve standing in the center of a stone menagerie of animals, flowers, and playing children, surrounded by the still waters of a circular reflecting pool.

What a bizarre thing, here in a city of fear and death, this homage to the mother of humanity, overflowing with images of life and innocence…

“Fire!”

Edris whirled, looking for the source of the cry, but a hand grabbed his cloak and slammed him down to the ground before he could see a thing. He shook off Zerai’s grasp and raised his head in time to see a shower of arrows flit through the black sky and then he heard them striking the walls of the temple behind him like slow, drunken applause. Looking back, he saw dozens of Digna’s soldiers staggering and falling to the ground as dozens more ran for cover.

“Move-move-move!” Zerai hauled Edris to his feet and he ran crookedly across the square, looking for something that his frantic brain would recognize as safety. The singer fixated on the stone monument to Eve and he turned sharply to hurl himself into the reflecting pool, which he quickly discovered to be only a few inches deep.

Not deep enough to hide in, but certainly deep enough to drown in. Surely God is taking a great deal of amusement from me today.

Edris crawled through the shallow water to the edge of the statues and flattened himself against the wall, his body only half submerged, his one eye stinging with the filthy water running down his face. He clutched his small knife to his chest and froze, praying that the water around him would be still before anyone noticed the ripples. He craned his neck, but could not see through the forest of stone children and young animals frolicking in the stone garden.

But he could hear quite a lot. He heard the dying soldiers moaning and screaming. He heard horses whickering softly. He heard armored feet clanking on the street. They seemed to be all around him, and he saw hideous shadows moving along the dark faces of the buildings, but he couldn’t see anyone clearly.

Damn it, where is that djinn cleric?

His eyes widened and he looked around the square behind him again, but all he saw were the dying soldiers.

Where is Veneka?

He raised his head a bit higher as he peered into the shadows, and a second wave of arrows whistled across the square and plunged into the darkness, seeking out the men hiding in the alleys and corners. A handful of groans answered the volley.

Grimacing, Edris crawled through the water to the side of the sculpture to look at the archers, and he saw a line of men on the rooftops on the far side of the square. The singer slumped back into the lee of the statues.

They were waiting for us. They knew we were coming.

He felt his lip twisting and he covered his face with his hand.

I’m going to die here, with a half dozen arrows through my chest and face, screaming in pain and terror for my last, horrible seconds of life, my last choking gasp of breath. God damn me.

He swallowed and straightened up as a third volley of arrows hissed over his head and clattered into the shadows. Still he could neither see nor hear any trace of Veneka and Zerai, or Petra, or anyone.

Of course that fat shit is probably miraculously unscathed.

That unjust thought set a fire in his mind and Edris glared back through the stone animals one last time. The archers on the rooftops were no longer in straight lines with bows raised. The lines were ragged, the bows lowered.

Here we go.

Edris crawled to the edge of the fountain with the cold water sloshing quietly around him. Then he placed his hand on the ledge, gathered his legs under him, and vaulted out into the street. His heavy clothes made a terrific noise as they ripped free of the water and then sprayed the hard stones at his feet, and his swamped boots squished and squirted with every step. But still he ran, bolting from the edge of the fountain toward the safety of the shadows, toward a black alley just a dozen paces away.

The first arrow flew past his shoulder blades, and he grinned.

The second arrow tore through his left calf, and he fell.

His leg crumpled as though a huge viper had sunken its fangs into his muscle and then ripped his foot out from beneath him as the force of the arrow slammed him off balance and landed him on his face. But the burning pain quickly softened into a merely terrible throbbing as he felt the blood running down his ankle and into his boot. With his one wet, dirty hand, he shoved himself up and limped as fast as he could toward the empty alleyway.

A face appeared in the darkness to his right, Zerai’s worried eyes and outstretched hand reaching for him, beckoning him toward a dark doorway. And just behind him, Veneka stood pressed against the wall.