The Devil's Armour (Gollancz S.F.) (101 page)

‘I’m all right,’ he said, trying to calm himself. But the room was unfamiliar to him. ‘Where . . .?’

‘We’re in Borath,’ said Mirage. A bowl of water that Lukien only just noticed rested beside her. She dipped a rag into it and wiped his face. ‘You have sores. Lie still.’

The water burned his wounds. Lukien winced, terribly confused. He knew Borath; it was not far from Koth. A village. Why was he here? And why was she with him? He pushed her hand away and tried to sit up, but the effort made his brain slosh with nausea and he lay back gasping.

‘Don’t,’ Mirage warned. ‘You’ve been badly hurt, Lukien.’ She leaned over him. ‘Do you remember what happened?’

‘Thorin,’ Lukien whispered. He remembered it all too perfectly. ‘Where is he?’

‘In Koth,’ said Mirage. She went on to explain how he had come to the library and how they had spoken, and how Thorin had sent her to find him. Many others had escaped with her, she told him, many were with them now in Borath. Gradually Lukien’s mind began to clear. He thought of Breck, suddenly, and how his old friend had died. Then he thought of others.

‘What about Aric Glass? Is he here?’

Mirage nodded. ‘He’s here. Thorin didn’t know what happened to his son. He didn’t even ask.’

That bewildered Lukien, but he assumed it was Kahldris, keeping Thorin from caring too much. Minikin had warned him that would be the case but he hadn’t really listened. And he had paid the price. Suddenly remembering the
amulet, he felt for the thing. There it was, lying across his naked chest, warm and pulsing, keeping him alive.

‘That saved you,’ said Mirage. ‘I found you outside the city, just as Thorin said I would. You were near death, Lukien. I didn’t think you’d make it. Aric came back for you, too. He had a horse and helped me bring you here.’ She smiled, trying to cheer him. ‘You’ve been out for days.’

‘Aric,’ Lukien croaked. ‘I want to see him.’

‘You will. Not yet, though. You need to rest first. Maybe tomorrow if you’re stronger.’

Again Lukien tried sitting up, this time raising himself to his aching elbow. ‘Mirage, I cannot wait,’ he told her. ‘I’ve seen Cassandra – I have to find the sword.’

‘What? Lukien, you’re fevered. Lean back, now . . .’

‘No, listen to me! I’ve seen her. When I was dead, she came to me.’ Lukien could hear the shakiness in his voice and fought to steady it. ‘I know,’ he said, ‘it sounds mad. But she came to me, Mirage, in the orchard where she died. She’s alive!’

Mirage lowered the rag and stared at him, confounded, but did not argue with him. Instead she seemed aghast. ‘Her death place? That’s where you saw her?’

‘Yes,’ said Lukien. ‘It was real. I know it.’

‘I believe you,’ said Mirage. She sat back, looking pensive. ‘It can happen. Why not?’ Again she looked at Lukien. ‘What is this sword she told you about?’

Lukien tried hard to retain his strength. ‘I’m not sure. She called it the Sword of Angels.’ Then, as if the sun had risen, he remembered what Cassandra had told him. ‘The Serpent Kingdom,’ he whispered. ‘That’s where this sword is. It belongs to Kahldris’ brother.’

‘She told you all that?’

‘She did. Do you know of this place, Mirage, this Serpent Kingdom?’

Mirage slowly nodded. ‘All Inhumans know something of it. Our Akari tell us of it. It is a land beyond Grimhold, a secret place.’

‘Yes,’ said Lukien excitedly. ‘That’s what Cassandra told me – a land beyond Grimhold.’ He leaned back again in his bed, staring at the ceiling. ‘I have to find it, and this sword.’ Despite the pain he smiled. ‘And Cassandra.’

‘Cassandra?’ Mirage glowered at him. ‘What do you mean?’

Lukien didn’t want to answer her. She would never understand his plan. He said, ‘She’s alive, Mirage, and I want to go to her.’

‘You mean die?’ said Mirage acidly. ‘You want to die so you can be with her?’

‘Yes!’ Lukien bolted upright. ‘She’s alive, I saw her. I want to be with her. Can’t you understand?’

Mirage tossed the rag to the floor and stood up. ‘I understand that you’re a fool. And so am I. I thought that maybe after what had happened, after what I did for you . . .’ She stopped herself, tightly closing her eyes. ‘But you’ll never love me, will you, Lukien? You’ll continue to dream about Cassandra.’

‘Because she’s
alive
,’ Lukien implored. ‘And yes, I love her. I told you that a hundred times, but never would you listen. I’m grateful that you saved me. Believe that. But I’m going on this quest, and when I am done I will show the Akari who my life belongs to.’ He made a weak fist and tapped his chest. ‘It belongs to
me
.’

‘Then go,’ said Mirage bitterly. His words had forced her to tears. ‘I am done with you, Lukien. Go and find your sword. Go and die if that’s what you want. I’ll find another who loves me.’

The threat was implicit. ‘Don’t go to him,’ Lukien warned. ‘He’s not the man you think.’

‘He loves me, Lukien. What else do I have? You’ll never love me. My home is gone. And Van’s dead. Did you not realise that? He cared about me, but he’s gone too. Only Thorin is left.’

Hearing about Van startled Lukien. His concentration
faltered under the numbing pain. ‘Don’t,’ he repeated. ‘He is a monster now. He cannot love you.’

‘He’s all that I have,’ said Mirage.

‘You can stay here with Kalla and the others.’

‘No. None of them are staying. The men who remain are leaving Liiria. It’s not safe for them. They are all going to Reec or south toward Farduke.’ Mirage’s tone was gloomy. ‘I am done with running, Lukien. If you won’t stay, then I won’t either.’

Lukien sighed with anger. ‘I cannot stay. I must find the sword.’

‘Then go,’ Mirage retorted. There was heartache on her pretty face. ‘You’ve made your choice, and so have I.’

She turned and left the room then, leaving him in darkness. Unable to move from the bed, Lukien sank back into a fitful sleep.

It was not until a week after conquering Koth that Thorin finally returned to the library. A grey night surrounded him and he, driven mad by Kahldris’ insistence, could not sleep in his camp near Lionkeep, where he had set up his command. Taming the city had taken days longer than he’d expected, but Kahldris would no longer be mollified – he demanded to see the machine.

A large company of Rolgans had been left at the library, to salvage what they could from the ruins and begin planning its reconstruction. With Jazana’s fortune, Thorin knew they could rebuild. They
must
rebuild, he had convinced himself. He would not be the lord of a ruined city, and the library had been Koth’s greatest landmark. It would be better than ever, as would Koth.

By the time he reached the library it was well past midnight, but Demortris’ men were everywhere on the ground and recognised him at once. They granted him entrance to the place and offered him guidance, which Thorin refused. Kahldris insisted on being alone. Thorin let the guards give him a taper, however, to light his way through the damaged halls.

Remarkably, the catalogue room had been unscathed by the bombardment. The old librarian Figgis had built the room in a particularly strong segment of the structure, without windows and well buttressed against any damage. Situated at the end of an unremarkable hall, the catalogue
room had a plain wooden door with a single stout padlock. At Thorin’s orders, the room had been left undisturbed by Demortris’ men. It was even unguarded. Thorin shivered with anticipation to see it. He had been able to shun Kahldris for a week, but now the demon’s presence in his mind felt overwhelming. He could feel Kahldris walking next to him, almost see the outline of his ghostly form in the gloom.

Open it
.

With his armoured arm, Thorin reached out for the padlock. His gauntlet felt the metal for a moment, then twisted the lock violently, snapping it. As the lock hit the floor the door creaked open. Thorin stepped inside, holding out his taper, and saw the vast catalogue machine, stretching out like a silver-limbed monster, a dusty collection of armatures and rods filling the huge chamber. At the head of the beast was a single wooden chair, laid out before a console. At the console were metal plates, the use of which Thorin could not begin to guess. It was a marvellous thing, and seeing it thrilled him, and Kahldris. For the first time in weeks, the demon came into view beside him, glowing like a wraith in the almost complete darkness.

Thorin regarded the spirit and was unafraid. Kahldris had given him so much. Kahldris had made him whole again. He had decided long ago not to fear the Akari. With his immortal eyes, Kahldris looked upon the machine with satisfaction. He appeared as he had that first time, dressed in the armour of a general.

‘Your machine,’ said Thorin, as if presenting a gift. ‘But I cannot use it. I don’t know how.’

‘We must use it,’ replied Kahldris. This time his voice was real. ‘There is a means in the world to stop us, Baron Glass. We must use the machine to find it, before our enemies do.’

Thorin did not understand. He looked at the confounding machine, unsure how to please the Akari. ‘Figgis is dead. Only he knew how to use the machine.’

Kahldris seemed undisturbed. ‘There is another. Already he comes to help us.’

The promise troubled Thorin, for he knew who Kahldris meant. Yet he could not bring himself to protest. The image of the demon beguiled him.

The morning surprised Lukien with its chill. He could see his breath and the breath of his horse, standing dutifully as he strapped supplies to its saddle with the help of Aric Glass, one of the last to remain behind in Borath. Breck’s old farm had been a good hiding place for them, and although Thorin knew of its existence he and his Norvans had not come looking for them. Rather, he had tolerated them, allowing them all to recover, obviously feeling no threat from them at all. Lukien was grateful for the lull. Barely three hundred troops had survived Thorin’s attack, most of whom had gathered here at Breck’s former home, a humble and overgrown patch of long-neglected land. Breck’s wife Kalla had done her best to make them all comfortable. Though of course their tiny house could barely hold a fraction of them, mostly it sheltered the wounded like Lukien.

With Kalla’s help, Lukien had recovered. As the days went by he watched as his comrades left for Reec and Farduke, places far enough away to be safe from Thorin and any retribution he might hatch. He was the last of them to leave now, except for Aric, who had stayed behind with Mirage while Lukien recovered. Mirage had remained aloof, however, only coming to Lukien on occasion and only then to check on him briefly. While he had lain in bed, Lukien had thought of Mirage often. But he had not changed his mind.

‘It’s a long road to Ganjor,’ said Aric as he secured Lukien’s saddle. For more than a week now he had tried to convince the knight to let him come. ‘To be honest, you don’t look all that well yet.’

They were just outside Kalla’s house. Lukien had already said his goodbyes to the widow and her son. She had not come to draw out the farewell, a small act of kindness Lukien appreciated.

‘You are right, Aric Glass, I am not well. But I must go. I’ve wasted enough time, and the sword is waiting.’

The mention of the sword tantalised Aric. Like Lukien, he was convinced it remained the only way to save his father. He nodded, distractedly toying with Lukien’s supplies, counting them for the third time.