The Devil's Armour (Gollancz S.F.) (100 page)

At the library he discovered much the same as he had in Koth proper – destruction and despair. Varl’s mercenary force had done a fine job of disobeying his orders; their catapults had wrecked the place. It was unbelievable to Thorin that Varl could be so careless. Even more confusing, reports had reached Thorin earlier in the day saying that Varl had allowed everyone in the library to escape and join
the flood of refugees from the city. Thorin didn’t care that he had spared them, but he did wonder why. Too grief-stricken to be angry, he trotted his horse up the hill road to the yards accompanied by Colonel Thayus. His heart nearly broke when he saw the great gouges ripped into the once-beautiful library.

‘Great Fate, look at this,’ he sighed, shaking his head. Torches had been lit along the road and in the yard, giving the structure a ghastly pall. He had never wanted the library built – he had in fact fought bitterly with Akeela over its construction – but it had come to symbolise Koth to the world, and now it was ruined.

The machine
!

Kahldris’ voice hit him like a hammer. Throughout the day the demon had been silent. His sudden insistence rattled Thorin.

Silence, monster
, he replied without voice. He blamed Kahldris for Lukien’s fate and wanted none of his commands. If the catalogue machine had survived the bombardment, they would see it soon enough. If not . . .

Find it
, Kahldris insisted.

Thorin felt the dark Akari squeeze his brain in its icy grip. He resisted, mostly by ignoring it.

Rodrik Varl and a small group of weary mercenaries greeted Thorin as he approached. Varl’s beret was soiled with sweat, his face smudged with soot. He stood with resolve, obviously awaiting judgment, refusing to flinch. Thorin rode closer, impressed by his lack of fear. After his poor defence of Count Onikil, Thorin had expected Varl to be a lapdog. Clearly, he had decided to assert himself. Thorin stopped his horse and dismounted. Thayus did the same and followed his leader toward Varl.

‘I have one question for you, Varl,’ said Thorin. He stood face to face with the mercenary, glaring at him. ‘Why?’

Varl replied as if he’d expected the question. ‘To save them from you.’

Thorin nodded. ‘Ah, yes, you know me so well, don’t you? Did you not see that swarm of refugees I let flee Koth?’

‘I saw what you did to Onikil,’ said Varl. ‘I couldn’t risk what you might do to these people.’

The words stung Thorin. ‘Onikil was a traitor and a risk. He jeopardised our plans. But I am not a monster, Varl. I would not have harmed these people. That’s not why I’ve come to Koth.’

Varl seemed unconvinced. ‘So now I’m a traitor, then,’ he said. ‘Do with me what you will, Baron.’

‘I should kill you, at least for what you did to this beautiful place.’

‘I have no regrets. I needed to convince them to leave. Destroying the place was the only way to do that. They would never have left otherwise.’

‘You brought ruin here, after I expressly forbade it.’ Thorin sighed heavily. ‘Have your men ransacked it, too?’

Varl shook his head. ‘We’ve touched nothing. We’ve secured the place and helped the civilians escape. That’s all.’

‘And the soldiers, too,’ said Thayus bitterly.

‘That’s right,’ Varl conceded. ‘They fought well. They deserved to live.’

‘All of them are gone?’ asked Thorin.

‘Not all. A major and some others stayed behind. We have them secured.’ Varl grimaced. ‘There’s another as well.’

Puzzled, Thorin asked, ‘Another? Who?’

‘A woman,’ said Varl, looking very sullen suddenly. ‘She’s inside the library, waiting for you. She hasn’t moved.’

‘What woman? Make sense, you fool.’

‘I don’t know who she is,’ said Varl. ‘She wouldn’t give her name.’

The riddle tantalised Thorin. He searched his mind for Kahldris, to see if the spirit could shed light on the mystery, but Kahldris remained elusive or unwilling to help. Overcome with curiosity, Thorin decided to see this woman for himself.

‘Take me to her.’

Varl hesitated. ‘Me?’

‘Yes, you. Who else? You mean too much to Jazana for me to kill you, Varl, though Fate knows you deserve it. Mark me – cross me again and I will kill you, and everyone stupid enough to stay loyal to you. Now take me to this woman.’

After ordering Thayus to remain behind and bring up the rest of their company, Thorin followed Varl across the yard toward the library. The devastation in the yard surprised him, though Varl’s men had done a good job of disposing of the bodies. Bits of arrows and broken swords littered the landscape. Huge stones and timbers that had been used as barricades blocked them everywhere, forcing them to pick their way across the yard. The front façade of the library, once a palisade of soaring, polished stone, had been caved in by a catapult blast, buckling the enormous wooden doors and sending down a steady shower of stone dust. As he stepped inside the main hall, Thorin saw that the same alarming damage had occurred to the ceiling, now cracked and shedding bricks, some of its timbers split and fallen. In the centre of the hall lay a giant pile of square bricks that had tumbled out of the roof. The sight boiled Thorin’s blood.

‘Are you proud of this?’ he hissed at Varl. If he had not had the urge to kill the man earlier, he had it now. ‘Do you know what you’ve done, you idiot?’

Varl replied calmly, ‘I knew exactly what I was doing, Baron. And the people I saved here are grateful for it.’

Unable to rebut him, Thorin remained silent as they continued through the shattered library. Everywhere were the remnants of what had been – overturned shelves spilling books to the floor, broken tables, reminders of those who had fled. Thorin had to gird himself against the onslaught of emotions. Was this the symbol of the new Koth? he wondered.

‘Where is this woman?’ he rumbled impatiently.

‘Not far,’ said Varl. ‘Near the west side of the building.’

The west side, Varl explained, was where most of the civilians had lived. Hearing this, Thorin asked at once about Breck’s wife, Kalla.

‘She fled with the others,’ Varl told him. ‘Their son was with her.’ His eyes flicked at Thorin as they walked. ‘We heard Breck didn’t make it.’

Thorin clenched his jaw and nodded.

They continued on through the library, some of it ruined, some of it as grand as the day it was built, but when at last they came to another wide hallway Thorin saw that this one had not been left untouched by the catapults. A great section of the roof had collapsed, spilling heavy debris everywhere. It had been a lovely hall once, bare mostly but high and wide and pretty with stonework. Where the ceiling had collapsed a severed timber lay pinned to the floor, having cracked from the roof. Near the debris knelt a woman. Thorin slowed.

He had not forgotten her, and knew her instantly. The beauty of her new face had seared itself into his mind.

‘Meriel.’

He paused to look at her kneeling near the timber. She lifted her red eyes to see him. He wondered why she knelt, then saw a figure splayed beneath the fallen log. A soldier. Someone he knew? He doubted it, but someone important to her, certainly. The darkness that had engulfed him through the day now settled thickly on his soul.

‘Thorin.’ She said his name more like a curse than a greeting. Her tear-streaked face was red with grief. Hatred laced her tone. ‘We came to save you,’ she said. She began to titter. ‘How did we do?’

It shattered Thorin to see her so miserable. He had loved her in Grimhold. He loved her still, despite Jazana Carr. In the ruins she looked so helpless. She looked down at the man beneath the rocks and timber and trembled.

‘He built walls outside, to try to stop you, to give us
time,’ she said. ‘But they didn’t stop you. Your men just came and came, and ruined this place.’

Baron Glass felt her heartbreak. He too felt diminished by the library’s demise.

‘What was his name?’ he asked.

Meriel whispered his name. ‘Van.’

She touched the man’s limp hair. Had they been lovers? Thorin stepped closer. He could see the man was young, a Royal Charger. Near him was a coloured cloth of some kind, a carpet perhaps. Meriel noticed his puzzlement.

‘He tried to save it,’ she said.

‘A tapestry?’ Thorin looked closely at it. ‘Why?’

Meriel groaned bitterly. ‘Because it meant something to him. Because it meant peace and beautiful things.’ Finally she looked at him, really looked, examining the thing he had become. Surprisingly, there was pity in her swollen eyes. ‘Lukien?’

Thorin swallowed his anger. Of course she would ask about
him
.

‘Alive or dead, I cannot say,’ he told her.

Meriel closed her eyes, fighting back fresh tears. ‘Where?’

Thorin reached down and hooked his hand beneath her arm, lifting her to her feet. She felt effortlessly light, so frail he could have snapped her. Gently he pulled her away from the dead man and debris, standing her against a wall so she would not fall. She could not bring herself to look at him. Thorin took her chin in his grip and forced her eyes upward.

‘You love him,’ he said, not hiding his contempt. ‘I loved you, but I was never enough for you. Am I enough now,
Mirage
?’

The girl would not – could not – answer him. She fought off his grip, turning her face away. Enraged, Thorin took her arm and flung her aside.

‘He is outside the city,’ he thundered. ‘Go to him. Save him if you can.’

She looked at him in disbelief. ‘Lukien . . .?’

Thorin folded his arms across his armoured chest. ‘You were beautiful to me, even before your magic. Yet you choose a man who thinks nothing of you. Have him, then.’ Thorin nodded at Varl, who had watched their drama with quiet surprise. ‘Take her to him,’ he ordered. ‘Thayus knows where to find him.’

Mirage remained fixed on him even as Varl dragged her away, her face full of confusion. Thorin watched her go, Varl roughly shoving her down the hall. When at last she was out of view he let his arms fall weakly at his sides. Next to him, the man called Van lay sprawled in death. Thorin stared at him a moment, then knelt beside him. A bit of the tapestry rested tightly between his fingers. Thorin undid the rigored grip and pulled the tapestry free. It was very large, but he laid it out neatly on the floor, curious to see what the man had died for.

To Thorin, the thing was very plain. Well made, perhaps, but depicting nothing of particular value.

‘Just old men,’ he said. He looked back at Van. ‘I don’t understand.’

For the second time in his life, Lukien awoke from the brink of death.

He remembered floating, and then Cassandra, and then the darkness that seemed to never end, suffocating him. He remembered the light of the amulet and the presence of Amaraz, struggling to hold together his mind and battered body. He remembered the passage of time, as if ages had gone by. Then finally, he awoke.

His eyes fluttered open to see Mirage’s pretty face coming squarely into focus. She smiled on him like the sun, making him unafraid. For what felt like a long time he did not speak as he looked at her, happy to see her but wondering if she were just another apparition. His body felt warm. He was naked beneath a blanket, out of his armour and – he supposed – out of danger. Mirage reached down to touch his hair.

‘Lukien? Can you hear me?’

Her voice was like music. He nodded, though every bone in his body ached.

‘I can hear you.’

The sound of his own voice startled him, so weak was it. Like a little boy’s voice.

‘You’re safe, Lukien,’ said Mirage. ‘Don’t be afraid.’

He
was
safe. And alive. He remembered his encounter in the death-world and smiled.

‘Cassandra . . .’

Mirage’s face contorted. ‘No, Lukien, it’s me – Mirage.’

‘Mirage.’ Lukien licked his lip. ‘I saw Cassandra.’

Mirage brushed the hair from his face. ‘Don’t try to talk. You’re not well, but you’ll be all right now.’

Lukien painfully lifted his hand to his face. He felt contusions on his lips and chin and swelling over his one good eye. The thrashing Thorin had given him rushed back into his memory, making him gasp.