The Sword of Angels by John Marco

Author:John Marco
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Publisher: PENGUIN group
Published: 2010-08-20T04:00:00+00:00

36

Gilorin Court came into view past the hedgerows as the barge slipped along the river. Bordered by a tall green forest and acres of hunting grounds, the small estate rested comfortably on the sandy bank of the river, looking squat and ancient in the afternoon sun. A long path of cobblestones meandered from the castle to the shore of the river, flanked by rolling lawns dotted with cherry trees. Horses cantered across the grass, moving with unhurried grace. A small band of men and women gathered at the bank, standing clear of the mud as they watched King Raxor’s barge float toward them. They had dressed for his arrival, the women in expensive gowns while the men looked smart in tailored jackets and polished shoes. Behind them stood a row of servants. And behind the servants stood the castle, peacefully mute among the cherries.

Aric Glass sat near the king’s dais to Raxor’s left, close enough to enjoy the shade of His Majesty’s awning. It had been a leisurely trip, taking up most of the morning, but Aric had welcomed the change from horseback to boat, surprised by the calmness of the river and lulled by the untouched surroundings. Gilorin Court, King Raxor’s estate, was miles away from Hes, in the wooded north of the same Reecian province. Throughout their long march back, Aric had expected to arrive in the capital, but Raxor had changed his mind just days earlier. Gilorin, he had said, was a place to think. And Raxor had much to think about these days.

It had taken weeks for the defeated army to slog its way home. Aric had passed the time by getting close to the old king. At first Raxor’s grief over Roland’s death had been overwhelming, and he had spoken to no one. But as the days and tedium wore on the king eventually opened up, surprising Aric once more by taking him into his confidence. They had left a good many of the Reecian troops behind to guard the eastern provinces, and by the time they reached the river there were only one hundred of them left. Raxor had spread the word across his territory that Baron Glass and his army of mad Norvans had taken the Kryss. Invasion seemed imminent. Worse, there seemed to be no way of stopping the baron or his enchanted armor, and as they rode Raxor picked at Aric’s knowledge, questioning him about his father and all he knew about the Devil’s Armor.

Aric watched the gathering on the bank of the river. He had expected there to be servants at the estate, but the sight of so many Reecian royals made him uneasy. Not all of Raxor’s men had greeted him warmly, and even those who had gotten to know him didn’t trust him. He was Thorin Glass’ son, and to many that made him a blood enemy. He settled back in his seat, forcing himself to relax as the crew guided the vessel toward the shore. Raxor’s lovely estate beckoned, easing the creases in the old king’s face.

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