The Devil's Armour (Gollancz S.F.) (81 page)

‘So you
are
talking about murdering her.’

‘Call it whatever you want,’ said Thorin dismissively. ‘I’ll call it righting some old wrongs. I’m going to Andola, Breck. And when I see Jazana Carr, I’m going to cut off her head and nail it to my wall as a trophy.’

In all his time as a Liirian noble, Baron Glass had never been to Andola, but he had heard of the city’s splendour. His Andolan counterpart, the Baron Ravel, had been a man of exceptional means and great appetite, and it was said that the city he and his fellow merchants had built could rival Koth in every way. Now, as Thorin’s coach rolled into the ruined city, he knew what a gross overstatement that had been.

Andola was everything Koth had been in its infancy, a small city struggling for greatness, fed by the coffers of ambitious men but still not quite ready to conquer a kingdom. Andola’s roads were fine, solid and made to last. The structures that broke the horizon impressed Thorin; he knew that once they had been beautiful. Yet there were not enough of them, and not of the scale of mighty Koth. Like a little, feisty sister, Andola had tried to challenge Koth. And failed.

Thorin wiped at the fog on the window of his carriage, straining for a better view. Rain had fallen steadily since leaving Koth, obscuring the only thing that might amuse him on his journey – the view. Along with Count Onikil and his men he had ridden out of the library nearly two days earlier. Bored by the unchanging landscape, he had not been able to ride a horse of his own, keeping up the pretence that he really had no left arm. The Devil’s Armour remained on his body; the death’s head helmet rested on
the seat beside him. He had done his best to hide the amazing armour from Onikil and his entourage, keeping his cape close around him. Onikil, of course, had noticed the strange armour immediately. Dazzled by its black brilliance, he had asked Thorin of its make, a question Thorin did his best to dodge. Telling him that the armour had been forged in Jador had mostly satisfied the count, probably because he was a provincial man and knew almost nothing about the Jadori, who never wore armour.

Still, Count Onikil had proven a remarkable travelling companion. Glad to be out of Koth with his life, Onikil had not questioned Thorin further about the armour, nor had any of his Rolgan soldiers. Instead, he was completely content to be returning to Andola with Thorin, a price he seemed certain would win Jazana’s favour. Onikil had even become at ease with Thorin, telling him things a less arrogant man would never reveal. The Rolgan had a loose tongue, confidently offering his opinion on Jazana Carr whenever the company stopped for rest or food. Expanding on the things he had said in Koth, Onikil told Thorin how tenuous Jazana’s hold over Norvor was, a point of some annoyance with the ambitious count. He made it very clear to Thorin that he loved Jazana Carr and admired her, and gave Thorin no real reason to doubt this, but he also seemed genuinely concerned about his homeland, a fact which impressed Thorin.

The long ride in Onikil’s carriage had given Thorin time to think, and as Andola grew outside his window he wondered about his plans to slay Jazana, and just how difficult it would be. Now that he was near, the desire to kill her rose up like a tide. He could feel Kahldris throbbing inside him, thirsting for blood. It had been weeks since the demon had fed, and Kahldris’ anticipation of the feast was heady. Thorin peered through the grimy window. Seeing the first hint of Andola’s grand castle, he knew that Jazana’s time was short. She might be dead in an hour. By nightfall, certainly. And he would flee from the castle as easily as he
had entered, his armour freshly strengthened, the glamour of Kahldris on him like a dark halo, making him invincible.

‘Soon,’ he murmured, as much to Kahldris as himself. The Akari stayed silent, though his hunger thundered. It was hunger for more than blood, Thorin knew; Kahldris loved being alive again. He anticipated seeing the beautiful Jazana Carr as much as Thorin himself.

The thought blackened Thorin’s mood. He would kill her because she deserved it, because she threatened all of Liiria. And he would enjoy it.

He licked his lips, suddenly nervous. He missed Jazana sometimes, and admitting it annoyed him. He settled in for the short ride remaining. Onikil had sent a herald ahead. By now Jazana knew he was alive, and that he was coming to see her. Picturing the rage on her pretty face, he was glad he had worn the armour, if only to save him from her catlike nails.

Jazana Carr sat still as stone upon the throne of gold and rubies. Since coming to Ravel’s home, she had never used the ostentatious thing, but now she knew the time was appropriate. Two long processions of soldiers lined the way from the throne room doors, standing like posts along the scarlet-red runner leading to the dais. No one spoke or cleared their throats or even turned to look at her. Rodrik Varl stood to the right of the throne, his face twisted miserably. The grand throne room echoed with every tiny sound, the marble and great vaulted ceiling magnifying the slightest breath. Jazana’s soldiers were grandly attired, each in a new Norvan uniform. Would it impress Thorin, Jazana wondered? Should she even care?

The herald Count Onikil had sent ahead had shocked Jazana with his news. Never a woman prone to fainting, she had hurried to find a seat upon hearing of Thorin’s arrival. That he was alive was stunning enough, but to have him coming to talk peace with her . . .

It had sent her into a spinning rage.

And then, the deepest regret had settled over her. She longed for Thorin. Still, after conquering all of Norvor and sending King Lorn the Wicked running like a deer, she missed Thorin’s touch and gentle ways. And she hated herself for that. Determined not to show him the slightest tenderness, she had arranged this showy welcome. She was powerful and he would know it. Finally, he would admit to her that she had won.

Beside her, Rodrik Varl shifted as he eyed the open doors to the throne room. They were giant doors, gilded with gold and ornately carved with vines and beautiful figures. No doubt they had cost the vain Ravel a fortune. But all the velvet and pomp seemed to disturb Rodrik, and Jazana knew why. Though he had always gotten along with Thorin, they had always vied for her attention. Clearly her beloved bodyguard didn’t care to have his competitor around again. Jazana slipped a multiringed hand over the throne toward him. He hesitated before taking it. His eyes were full of concern. She smiled slyly.

‘He comes to talk peace because we have beaten him,’ she reminded Rodrik. Her voice boomed unintentionally through the chamber. ‘All of you remember that,’ she said. ‘We are conquerors now. Baron Glass is the vanquished.’

Those lining the runner nodded, including Kaj. The mercenary who had helped Jazana take Andola had also known Thorin well during his long tenure in Norvor. They had even been friends. Kaj’s dark eyes blinked questioningly, but he said nothing. When he had heard of Thorin’s return, he had simply grunted.

A nervous dither worked Jazana’s stomach. She let go of Rodrik and clasped her hands onto her lap. It would not be long now; her men had already spotted Thorin and were escorting him and Count Onikil to the throne room. Almost unconsciously, Jazana checked herself, imagining her hair and priceless gown and the way her rouge made her look younger. She was not young any more, but she wanted to look perfect.

At last she heard footfalls coming down the hall. Shadows began darkening the chamber’s threshold. The heavy, familiar steps of her former lover heightened Jazana’s anxiety. She sat up straight in the magnificent throne, arching her back like the queen she’d become.

She saw Count Onikil first. His half-mad smile gleamed at her from across the chamber. He took two lanky steps into the throne room, then bowed.

‘Dear Queen.’ His voice echoed musically in the marvellous chamber. ‘As promised, I have brought a visitor for you. Baron Glass of Koth, my lady.’

Thorin stepped into the throne room to the gaze of fifty spectators. The Devil’s Armour shining in the lamplight, he glided in without a sound, his frightening helmet tucked neatly in his elbow, his magical arm hidden beneath his brocaded cape, dangling in feigned uselessness. His Akari sword hung ready at his belt. His eyes caught fire when they glimpsed Jazana Carr. Beside her stood Rodrik Varl, the red-haired mercenary who’d once been his friend. Along the scarlet runner were other familiar faces, too. Thorin glimpsed them all peripherally, his true interest fixed on the throne and its occupant. He stepped up to Count Onikil, who had risen from his bow, and barely inclined his head.

‘Jazana,’ he said in greeting, refusing to give her title. His every nerve taut, he prepared himself to spring, unsure if this was all some elaborate trap. Locking eyes with Jazana Carr, he saw the fury his manner stoked in her.

‘This is the Queen of Norvor,’ hissed Rodrik Varl. He stepped off the dais to confront Thorin. ‘Bow.’

A strangling tension charged the air. Thorin glared at Varl, feeling Kahldris’ hatred for the man immediately. But he complied, dipping only slightly, the way he’d seen Onikil do, then rose quickly again to face the queen.

‘Welcome back, Thorin,’ she said in her graceful voice.

It was a voice he’d not heard in too many long nights. Like a harp it was, as beautiful as the throat it came from,
smooth and cunning and irresistible. To Thorin’s dismay and thrill alike, Jazana had hardly changed at all. She was stunning on Ravel’s glistening throne, her gown and hair cut to perfection, her smooth skin radiant. Her lithe body twinkled with gemstones. Her haunting eyes bewitched him. Suddenly he felt Kahldris swimming through him, as though jockeying for a better look. A low, carnal rumble roiled from the demon.

Very beautiful
. . .

Thorin did not argue with the spirit, for there was no countering the fact – Jazana Carr was splendid. The lingering manly part of Kahldris hungered for her.

And he was impressed by her, not just by her ageless beauty but by all she had amassed. Even in death, Kahldris had a keen eye for wealth and power. He clearly saw both in Jazana Carr.

‘I will not address you as queen, Jazana,’ said Thorin. ‘Not while you are an invader in my country. You may rule Norvor, but in Liiria you are nothing but a spoiled girl.’

Jazana bristled. The audience gaped. Rodrik Varl turned red-faced and made to face Thorin, but the queen jerked him back with her invisible leash.

‘Keep your place, Rodrik,’ she ordered. To Thorin, she seemed to shake with effort. ‘Baron Glass is obviously toying with us. But even a man as stupid as he must see what he’s up against.’ She smiled at Thorin. ‘Men must play their games, I suppose. If it makes you feel better to insult me before you grovel, than by all means do so, Thorin.’

‘I never grovel, Jazana. After all our years together you should know that. I have come to talk peace with you,’ Thorin lied. ‘Not to cajole or perform for you. You have your jesters for that; I’m not one of them.’

‘Yet here you are, Thorin, because you are threatened by me,’ Jazana pointed out. The irony of it was delicious to her. ‘See how Andola bends to me? The people love me, Thorin, because I care for them. Just as I promised I would.’

‘Oh, you are a woman that keeps your promises, no
doubt about it,’ quipped Thorin. He was uncomfortable standing in the centre of so many eyes, and knew she had planned things to humiliate him. ‘Who else would go to such lengths for a promised vengeance? Only you, dear Jazana. I can think of no other so relentless.’

Never one to give in to insults, Jazana countered, ‘I had not expected to see you so soon, though, Thorin. To be truthful I was not sure you’d show at all. It is safe in the desert, no? It’s so much easier for a man to hide than to face battle.’ She looked at him and grinned. ‘And you are half a man, after all.’

Her loyal men lining the chamber snickered nervously, the first sound any of them had made. Thorin noted with some surprise that Kaj, his old mercenary companion, did not laugh. Rather he kept his eyes on the polished floor. It reminded Thorin of what Onikil had told him – not everyone was pleased with Jazana Carr’s war.

‘The desert was a refuge from you, Jazana,’ he said. ‘After sixteen years with you, even the desert seemed a blessed relief.’

For the first time he’d said something that cut her. Her lower lip jutted out in the slightest pout.

Strike now
, he told himself. She was only yards from him, and there was no way Varl could stop him. His arm twitched, craving his sword. The armour’s power flowed through him.

‘What is that you wear?’ asked Jazana suddenly. Her eyes squinted on his armour. ‘Not Liirian armour, I see.’ She puzzled over it, clearly sensing something amiss. ‘I have never seen the like of it before.’