The Devil's Armour (Gollancz S.F.) (51 page)

As he drank, a fever overcame Thorin. He was chilled and shivered in his dark room, his sweaty face lit only by a candle. Feeling Kahldris’ touch had iced his bowels. There had been so much power in the union it had buckled Thorin’s knees. He had fled to the wine to calm his rattled nerves. Kahldris was silent now. Thorin could not tell if the demon was in the room or if he had returned to that place of the dead. The conversation with the Akari exhausted Thorin. He leaned back in his small bed and let the wine
bottle teeter from his fingers as he fell into a miserable slumber.

A comfortable darkness soon enveloped him. Thorin realised at once that he was dreaming. He was lucid though, and the sensation frightened him. Instantly he realised he had slipped through a veil into Kahldris’ realm. Thorin found he could not wake himself. Back in the real world, he could feel the heart in his sleeping body pound with fear. He fought to calm himself and see his way through the darkness. It was not the first time Kahldris had slipped into his dreams. Since then, when the dark Akari had showed him that unknown battlefield, it had happened two more times.

This time, though, Thorin was aware of every speck of sound and tiny feeling. This time, Kahldris meant to face him. He knew it somehow, and the dread certainty of it calmed him. Anger rose up in him, replacing his fear. Determined to confront Kahldris, Baron Glass straightened his immaterial spine.

‘What vision now?’ he called out. ‘What do you wish to show me?’

There was no answer from the blackness.

‘Come then, damned one! Show yourself !’

Around Thorin the world of the dead – if that’s truly where he was – remained unmoved by his fury.

‘You are a creature of darkness, Kahldris,’ said the baron. ‘You hide in the shadows as if afraid. I am ready for your vision. Show it to me!’

Finally the darkness around him began to swirl, funnelling around itself like a cyclone, but without wind or disturbance of any kind. Again, the great battlefield Thorin had seen that first time materialised, again he saw the Akari as they had been in life, marching to face their dark-skinned foes.

The Jadori, Thorin reminded himself. It was they who had defeated the Akari so long ago.

Once again Thorin saw the military man on his horse,
splendid in dark Akari armour, with ribbons and braids and a war banner scrawled with foreign runes unfurled behind him. Weeks ago, when Thorin had first seen this same figure, he had seen his own face in the helmet. This time though he knew that it was not him he was seeing, but Kahldris. Kahldris who had been a general, a leader of men like Baron Glass himself. Through the thunder of distant battle the image of Kahldris stared back at Thorin knowingly.

‘So we are alike,’ said Thorin. ‘I see your meaning, creature. But what is this you show me? Is it the end of you?’

The end of my kind
, came the Akari’s now-familiar voice.
Killed by those the midget woman adores
.

Thorin thought for a moment, unsure how to respond. He had already known the Jadori had destroyed the Akari, but that was ages ago when they’d been warlike.

‘Is it an Akari curse to dwell so much in the past?’ asked Thorin. ‘Your race has moved beyond those bad days.’

Betrayals die hard, Baron Glass
.

The cryptic answer left Thorin puzzled. ‘You want something from me.’

It is you who wants
, corrected Kahldris.
Something that is mine to give
.

Thorin nodded. ‘The armour.’

Kahldris did not reply. He gave time for Thorin to see the battle unfolding, and in this peculiar dreamscape time elapsed rapidly so that Thorin could see the dismal outcome of the battle as the Akari were killed by the hundreds. It was a massacre Thorin found hard to imagine, knowing the Jadori the way he did. But it was not a fallacy that Kahldris showed him; it was the same truth even Minikin had admitted. As his thoughts turned toward the little mistress, Kahldris seemed to read his mind.

She has betrayed you, that one
, spoke Kahldris.
She could help you and your people, but she does not
.

Thorin shook his head. ‘Do not persuade me against Minikin,’ he warned. ‘You will fail.’

You must help them, Baron Glass
.

‘I cannot. I have no means.’

The Akari’s voice seemed to grin as he replied,
The means are here in Grimhold
.

‘No. I will not betray them.’

These Inhumans are selfish. Like Meriel. What does she care for you? Not at all
.

The vision of the battlefield began to waver, and soon Thorin was in darkness again, cold and thick as pitch. He could feel Kahldris all around him, the spirit’s breath at his neck.

We were great once. I was great. The Jadori ruined us
.

‘The Jadori protect you now,’ Thorin reminded him. ‘And the Inhumans give you new life.’

You fight me, Baron Glass. Why? All these things I know already. I offer you my armour, sir, to rise up again like the great man you were
.

Thorin struggled against the tempting words. ‘And betray Gilwyn? Betray Lukien? He is like a brother to me.’

Kahldris’ reply was furious.
He who trusts a brother trusts a fool
.

The words left a great rent of silence in their wake before the spirit spoke again.

Do not be that kind of fool
, said Kahldris.
Nor be afraid. Walk with me, Baron. Let me show you how I came to be
. . .

Again the darkness swirled around him, but this time Thorin felt as though he really were walking with Kahldris, following him through the churning haze. He knew the Akari was taking him deeper into his realm, wherever – whatever – that might be, but he did nothing to stop the descent. Giving his mind over to the spirit had freed him from his earthly, weakened body, and he felt vital in a way he hadn’t in years. Still the dark angel did not show himself, but when the blackness lifted Thorin found a new incarnation of the creature. This time, he felt afraid.

He was in a chamber, vast and alive with candlelight, like a church lit by a thousand tapers. He heard chanting in a language he couldn’t understand, then a groaning of wind baying at the walls. At the end of the room stood an altar, made of stone and carved with runes. A man slumped over the altar. Wearing a gown of crimson silk and a necklace with a glowing charm, Thorin could not see his face, yet somehow knew the man was Kahldris. It was he who was chanting. His horrible, exhausted song rose from his slumped body, echoing over the giant thing laid across the altar – a suit of brilliant black armour.

In his dream-state Thorin fixed on the armour. It was beautiful, flawless in a way nothing earthly could be. Magic imbued the thing, made it glow as if alive, and as Kahldris sang, wringing every shred of strength from his body, the armour shook with life until it too began to sing. The man and his armour made an unholy, rattling chorus, while outside the howling wind beat at the walls and made the windows tremble. Thorin watched in fascination as the crescendo grew, charging the air with magic. He could barely stand the noise, and when he thought his ears would split with the sound he watched as the living Kahldris collapsed atop the altar.

The song stopped. The wind was silent.

Sprawled over his armour, Kahldris did not move. Thorin inched curiously forward.

‘What happened?’ he whispered.

Though Kahldris had clearly died, the armour lived on. Now its liquid black metal swam with sentience. It breathed. In that instant Baron Glass realised that Kahldris had not died. He had merely moved beyond his mortal body. He remembered dreadfully something he had heard during his year in Grimhold, that Akari sometimes put their essences into earthly objects. They were stronger that way, living forever. It was why the Eyes of God had been forged, making the Akari siblings Amaraz and Lariniza so powerful.

You understand
, came Kahldris’ voice.

Struck dumb by what he’d seen, Baron Glass could only nod. He knew he’d witnessed the birth of the Devil’s Armour. But he didn’t know why. Kahldris read the questions in his mind and offered a calming word.

Wait
.

Wait? Wait for what? And then Thorin saw a man enter the church-place, a man of much the same build as the dead vision of Kahldris, who came to the chamber with others but who clearly commanded these minions. Thorin could not guess what he was seeing, and the vision puzzled him.

‘Who is this I’m seeing?’ he asked.

Kahldris did not answer. Instead he let Thorin watch the unfolding drama. The man said very little to those with him. They were odd-looking people, like the Akari he had seen in the battlefield dream. The man who led them stared sadly at the altar for a time. A mournful expression washed his handsome face. Then, to Thorin’s surprise, he ordered the armour taken away. Those with him did the man’s bidding, first gently laying aside the body of Kahldris then muscling the armour away from the altar in pieces. When they were done they left with their dangerous prize, leaving the single man alone with Kahldris’ corpse.

It was for him
, said Kahldris.
But he betrayed me
.

‘I don’t understand,’ said Thorin. ‘Who is he?’

He is my brother
.

Thorin leaned closer for a better look. ‘Your brother? You mean you made the armour for him?’

For any who would wear it, but he was the one who had promised me he would. To defend us
.

‘From the Jadori?’

Yes
.

It made at least some sense to Thorin. According to Minikin, the Devil’s Armour wasn’t dangerous – or useful – unless someone wore it.

‘Show me no more,’ Thorin commanded. ‘Your brother was wiser than you, no doubt.’

My brother could have saved our race, but he did not. You can save the Liirians
.

‘You are a tempter, Kahldris. A devil, just as Minikin said.’ Thorin turned away from the scene, wanting it desperately to be gone. ‘You will not have me. Leave me now. Take me from this place.’

One last thing
. . .

‘No! Leave my mind, monster!’

But Kahldris did not obey. The darkness swirled around Thorin once more. He cursed the Akari. The blackness that had swallowed the vision of the armour now brought forth a familiar scene. As the picture materialised, Thorin’s eyes widened.

‘Liiria . . .’

He had not seen it for so long, the memory of his home was fading. Now it came into view before him, beckoning him with its unmistakable hills and sky. It was not Koth that he saw, but the outskirts of the country, near the border of Norvor he had become so familiar with during his exile. A city rose up from the rocks. Andola? Thorin smiled, finally pleased by something Kahldris had shown him.

Look closer
. . .

Thorin did so, and what he saw made his heart skip. It was indeed Andola he saw, the city of Baron Ravel. Now, though, there were different troops milling about its streets, troops Thorin easily recognised. And above the city, blowing in the breeze, waved the flag of Norvor.

‘You show me illusions,’ Thorin gasped. ‘Kahldris, tell me this is not so.’

Jazana Carr has moved on your homeland, Baron Glass. Even now she lays plans to conquer all of Liiria
.

Thorin could barely sputter a response. A desperate sense of helplessness squeezed the breath from him. From the looks of it, Andola was well in Jazana Carr’s hands. His old lover had seized the city with enough troops to make good her threat of taking Liiria.

This is no lie, Baron Glass. I can show you only the truth, those things that have come to pass
.

‘Why?’ groaned Thorin. ‘Why do you taunt me with these visions?’

Because the time has come for you to choose
.

Thorin could not tear his gaze away from the conquered city. Nor was there reason to be coy with Kahldris. He knew exactly what the spirit meant. Kahldris remained silent for a long while, letting the scourge he produced work on Thorin. The old baron stared at the offending Norvan flag. Once he had been one of them, plotting alongside Jazana Carr for the overthrow of Akeela. But that had been so long ago, and now her desire had been warped into a cruel vendetta.

Minikin does not help you. Meriel has forsaken you. The Inhumans care not at all for the fate of Liiria. You are their only hope, Baron Glass. And only I can help you
.

‘Yes,’ sighed Thorin. ‘You and your cursed armour.’

Is it a curse to be powerful?
asked Kahldris.
Is it a curse to help your country? Or is it a curse to be old and weak?
The Akari’s words ate at Thorin.
You have thirsted long for this, Baron Glass. Now you must drink
.

As he gazed at his homeland, watching the cancer of conquest eat at its fringes, the great aloneness of his predicament wore down Thorin’s resistance. Liiria needed him. The family he had left behind all those years ago stood no chance at all against Jazana Carr, and not even Lukien would help him. He was alone, and desperate for an ally.

‘You will make a man of me again?’ he asked. ‘A whole man?’