The Devil's Armour (Gollancz S.F.) (79 page)

‘The others are gone,’ said Aric bitterly. ‘Mother died ten years ago.’

The news staggered Thorin. Knowing Aric wouldn’t believe his grief, he pretended there was none. ‘What about Nial and the girls?’

‘I don’t know. They left Liiria years ago, as soon as they could. Akeela stopped keeping an eye on us after you were gone. Tesia and Jaynil both married and went east. I never heard from them again.’

‘And Nial?’

‘Same thing maybe. Maybe dead.’ Aric spoke with effort. ‘Only mother stayed in Koth. Nial headed north to Jerikor when he was sixteen. They all thought you were dead. I thought so too until I met Breck. He told me you were alive and that he’d spoken to you in Norvor.’

‘That’s true,’ said Thorin, remembering his meeting with
Breck in Hanging Man. ‘I’m glad he didn’t lie to you. I’m glad at least one of you knew I was still alive.’ He tried to smile at his son. ‘You look good in that uniform.’

‘Please, don’t tell me I look the way you once did,’ Aric groaned. ‘That’s the kind of compliment a man doesn’t need, to be told he looks like a traitor. That’s what everyone thinks, you know. Even Breck.’

‘You can all think what you like and be damned,’ Thorin thundered. ‘I came back to protect Liiria, with or without the blessings of you whelps. But I will say that I am proud of you, Aric. You may not care to hear it, but I’m proud you stayed in Koth to defend her. That was something I could never do, but believe it or not I wanted to.’

The sorrow on Aric’s face deepened. ‘I want to believe you,’ he said. ‘When Breck told me you’d returned I thought it was impossible, that you’d never come back because you didn’t care about anything but yourself. And now you wear that armour . . .’ He grimaced at the frightful suit. ‘To me it seems an accursed thing. Only a man who craves power would wield such a weapon. And to be truthful, I see that in your eyes.’

Thorin frowned; it was the second time in as many days someone had said that to him. He reminded himself that it was strength they saw in his eyes, the great force of Kahldris and nothing more or less.

‘You may hate me if you wish,’ he said. ‘I know the failure I was as a father. You have reason to hate me, Aric. I won’t ask for your love. But I tell you the truth, and if there is trust in you I will take that instead.’

Aric’s gaze lingered on Thorin’s enchanted arm. ‘I remember your stump,’ he said almost blithely. ‘It used to scare me when I was a boy. Now that arm of yours scares me more. How can such a thing be?’

‘How does the sun rise in the morning? Why do the rains come in spring? I don’t know, Aric. And I can’t explain this magic any better. It is the way things are in Grimhold. It’s a gift. That’s what they call it, at least.’

‘A gift?’ Aric frowned at the armour. ‘Such a gift should be refused, I think.’

‘Some others think that, too,’ said Thorin, remembering Minikin’s warnings. ‘But to refuse it would be Koth’s doom. Without it we could never beat Jazana Carr.’

Aric looked at his father strangely. ‘What is she like? Jazana Carr, I mean. You spent all that time with her. Was she really so much better than my mother?’

‘No,’ said Thorin, stung by the question. ‘Your mother was a fine woman. Jazana Carr was a convenience to me.’

‘I don’t believe you. No man would spend so long with a woman he didn’t love.’ Aric pressed his father with a longing glare. ‘You did love her, didn’t you?’

Seeing the hurt in Aric’s face, Thorin sounded a diplomatic note. ‘Once, perhaps, but it is done with, boy. We are enemies now.’ Then, a different thought occurred to him. ‘Is that why you’re here? Because you hate her so for loving me, and me for loving her?’

‘I came to defend Koth,’ Aric said. ‘I didn’t even know you were alive when I came here.’

‘Aye, but you’ve stayed. Other men have fled Koth. They’ve left the city like rats. And more will do the same once they see her armies coming. But not you. That’s what I see in
your
eyes, Aric. I see a hunger for revenge.’

‘She is the woman that destroyed me,’ Aric confessed. ‘If not for her you might have come back sooner.’

For the first time, Thorin had the urge to touch his son. A simple hand on the shoulder would have said so much – yet he could not make his hand move.

‘Do you think we can beat her?’ asked Aric. ‘I mean really – do we have any chance at all?’

‘We’ll beat her,’ Thorin assured him. ‘Have no doubt, boy. There’s not a blade been forged that can harm me now. And with the rest of you behind me . . . well, no army of hers will stand a chance.’

The words bolstered Aric, who at last smiled. ‘Then I’m glad you’ve come back . . . Father.’

Thorin’s pride soared. This good man before him was his
son
. Without a word he reached out and – bridging the great ford between them – clasped his armoured hand on Aric’s waiting shoulder.

Over the next few days, Baron Glass made himself comfortable in Koth. Deciding there was nothing much to do until Jazana moved against them, he spent his time exploring the library and getting used to his new comrades, many of whom mistrusted him, yet all of whom treated him respectfully. He learned quickly that Breck hadn’t lied to him about the library’s defences; they were indeed quite formidable and Baron Glass was impressed. More importantly, perhaps, Breck had arrayed a reliable team of loyalists around himself, so that good advice flowed easily to him and made his difficult job simpler by virtue of delegation. Thorin had already spent many hours meeting with them all, poring over plans in the library’s gigantic reading room, discussing all manner of military minutia. After just two days in Koth, Breck had proven what Thorin had already suspected – that Library Hill was a formidable defensive position.

Thorin spent little time with his son in those first few days. Like all the men of the library, Aric was busy with endless duties. Because of their relationship, however, Breck had assigned Aric to see to his father’s needs, which were minor and consisted mostly of understanding the chains of command. By the end of his third day in Koth, Thorin began to relax thoroughly. The excitement over his return had died down considerably, and he was able to fall into a comfortable rhythm. He was given nothing to do but wait
and come to strategy sessions, adding his considerable knowledge of Jazana Carr and her tactics to that of the young Lieutenant Vanlandinghale. Together they found agreement on almost everything about the Diamond Queen. When Van pronounced that Jazana would stop at nothing to win Koth, Thorin did not contradict him.

Thorin had even begun leaving his armour behind. Except for the arm pieces – which he never took off, not even to sleep – he kept the rest of the Devil’s Armour locked away in a huge iron chest in his chambers. At first it had seemed the most stupid of risks, but Breck had assured him that no one in the library would touch or even want to touch his cursed armour. Thorin had smiled politely at Breck’s assurances, but it was Kahldris who had truly convinced him. The dark angel told Thorin that they were one now, inseparable, and that any who dared tamper with the armour would not be able to withstand it. The cryptic answer left Thorin puzzled, but in his heart he knew what Kahldris meant. The Akari fed on blood and was not averse to killing, not even a professed ally. Amazingly, Breck seemed to sense this danger in the armour, and so the rumour spread throughout the library that the armour was cursed and deadly. No one surprised Thorin by testing the armour’s venom.

Thorin did not know when or if Kahldris would feed again, but he was glad to doff the armour, if only for a while. He was still connected with Kahldris through his enchanted arm. The bond between them grew stronger day by day. Occasionally, Thorin fretted over the changes he felt within himself. Besides the renewed vigour and sharpness of mind, there was a growing anger in him and a gnawing need for fulfilment. He was anxious for the coming war with Jazana, more and more eager to defeat her and reclaim Andola. But when he looked in the mirror – which he often did now – he did not notice the weird glimmer in his eyes or the sardonic expression furrowing his brow. He felt good, he told himself, better than he had in decades.

And that was all that really mattered.

It was a day like any other in the library. A warm spell that had gripped Liiria continued, encouraging the men outside to enjoy the streets and surrounding villages. Thorin awoke early and broke his fast with Aric, who had slowly been spending more time with his father and divulging bits about their dispersed family. The routine work of keeping things functioning went on unnoticed; food was cooked, stables were kept up, horses were shoed, and weapons were cleaned. Men drilled in the yards around the library. The great halls of the place echoed with activity. Thorin had left Aric to wander through the library, which was still filled with books that went mostly unread now, dusty and neglected. It had amazed him just how many manuscripts Akeela had been able to gather here, and he was determined to read at least some of them. Baron Glass had never been a scholar and had never shared King Akeela’s grand dream of educating the masses, or even believed that people should be free. People were touched by fate; he had decided that long ago. And too much knowledge was a dangerous thing.

Still, he found the meandering library a marvel, astonished by its collections and sheer volume. This was where Gilwyn had lived and worked, after all, and the boy had taught him reverence for the place. As he walked the quiet corridors, scanning the shelves of arcane tomes, he remembered Gilwyn’s love for the library. There were books here to melt any heart, the boy had told him once, even one as hard as Thorin’s. And Gilwyn had never resented Akeela for the destruction he had wrought. He still remained grateful the mad king had given him a place in his grand library.

While he studied the shelves, Thorin quickly lost track of time. The sun outside the towering windows arced from morning into afternoon. He had found a book for himself and a place to read it, choosing a worn-out leather chair he was sure had been enjoyed by countless scholars. The book he read was on military strategy, a thick biography of a
Reecian general named Turlis. Dead now many years, Thorin still remembered Turlis and his long-ago battles with Liiria.

He was well lost in the pages of the book when he heard his name called.

‘Baron Glass?’

The call echoed through the vacant halls. Surprised, Thorin laid the book aside and stood up.

‘Here,’ he called back.

The man that had shouted followed his voice and appeared from behind a tall case of shelves. It was Vanlandinghale, the young lieutenant. His voice masked by the echo, Thorin hadn’t recognised it. The man’s face was drawn, white with concern. He didn’t bother greeting the baron.

‘Baron Glass, you need to come,’ he said quickly. ‘Breck wants to see you.’

‘Is there trouble?’ asked Thorin, noting the man’s expression.

Vanlandinghale nodded, then shrugged as if to contradict himself. ‘Yes. Maybe. I don’t know. We have a visitor, Baron. Breck wants you to come at once.’

‘A visitor?’ For a moment Thorin imagined who it might be. ‘Is it Lukien?’

Van shook his head. ‘No, Baron. It’s a Norvan.’

His name was Count Onikil, and he had come to Koth with a small band of bodyguards.

Baron Glass had known of the count, but only through anecdotes. He was a minor Norvan noble, a long-time associate of Duke Rihards of Rolga, and as such a one-time enemy of Jazana Carr. Thorin knew most Rolgans to be duplicitous, however, and Count Onikil was clearly no exception. According to Van he had simply ridden up to the library, ostensibly to deliver a message from the Diamond Queen. He had been brought directly to Breck, and by the time Baron Glass arrived the meeting room was
filled with Breck’s closest confidants, Major Nevins from the Andola campaign among them. Nevins stared hatefully at Onikil, who sat across the table, all alone.