The Devil's Armour (Gollancz S.F.) (99 page)

The dark shadow of the Devil’s Armour fell across his face as Thorin drew near. A gauntleted fist swung round to strike his jaw and knock off his helmet. Lukien’s head exploded with pain as once again he was propelled like a rag doll into the dirt. For a moment he lay there, staring skyward, blood dripping into his one good eye. He felt his fingers coil over his sword, but his hand was useless suddenly. All he knew was agony.

‘Amaraz,’ he pleaded. ‘Help me . . .’

Upon his chest the Eye of God burned a dangerous crimson, pumping new life into his shattered body. Somehow Lukien managed to rise. As he wobbled to his feet, Thorin shook his head regrettably.

‘A wise man would stay down, Lukien,’ he said. ‘Please, do not follow me.’

Amazingly, Thorin turned his back and began to walk away. Seeing his last chance slipping fast, Lukien let out a furious howl and raised his sword, intent on burying the blade in Thorin’s back. In a move impossible for a mere man, Thorin spun and caught the sword in his gauntlet. Yanking it free, he grabbed hold of Lukien’s breastplate and lifted him with one arm off the ground. His other hand shattered the sword like an eggshell.

‘Will you not learn?’ he bellowed, shaking Lukien violently. ‘I have asked you to leave me! I have offered you your life! Must I take it instead?’

Lukien’s blackened eye rolled open contemptuously. ‘He takes you to hell, Thorin . . .’

The words brought thunder to Thorin’s mask. Again he slammed his fist against Lukien’s face, smashing his lips and sending blood spurting. The black energy of the armour raced through Lukien’s body like an icy wind, rattling his bones and smothering the warm light of the amulet. Lukien cried out as Thorin relentlessly shook him. Finally, with both fists on his bronze armour, Thorin lifted Lukien over his head and slammed him into the earth. Every nerve in Lukien’s body screamed.

And then came darkness.

Thorin stood over Lukien, watching the blood trickle from his many scars. His swollen face lay to one side in the dirt, his one eye closed, his body unmoving. A twisted arm lay beneath him, unnaturally crumpled. Filth covered his once grand armour. A wind blew over the field, stirring his fine hair.

‘Lukien?’

There was no answer, nor did Thorin expect one. Behind him, the noise from the embattled city continued, but Thorin was lost to it, anguished by the sight of his fallen friend. He searched his mind for Kahldris but could not feel the demon’s touch. Respectfully, Kahldris had backed away. Thorin took off his helmet. Standing over Lukien, he began to weep.

It made no sense to him that Lukien had not seen the truth, when the truth was so plain. He could have easily rode on, a free man, away from Koth and back to Grimhold, but he had stupidly chosen to fight.

‘And now this,’ choked Thorin. He wanted to touch Lukien, to kneel down and pray over him, but the Great Fate was a cruel deity and had already touched Lukien with its omniscient hand.

‘Baron Glass?’ asked Thayus, coming forward. The colonel looked at Lukien. ‘What shall we do with him?’

‘Leave him,’ said Thorin.

‘He was your friend, Baron. We can bury him if you wish it.’

‘Leave him,’ Thorin flared, turning on his aides. ‘None of you touch him! You will leave him here, right where he lies!’

Colonel Thayus grimaced at the order. ‘You leave him to rot, then.’

‘I leave him in the hands of the Fate,’ retorted Thorin. ‘Follow my orders and leave him untouched. We will not be this way again.’

Turning away from Lukien, Thorin found his horse and mounted. Then, without looking back, he resumed his ride toward the city.

Lukien floated.

Below him lay his body, prone in the dirt, his limbs askew and broken, his armour soaked with blood. His head ached – but he had the sensation of no longer being alive. He looked around for Thorin but could not find him; the baron and his army had vanished. Gone too was the noise. Lukien could hear nothing but the singing of birds and the rustle of squirrels in trees.

Apple trees.

Lukien knew he should feel afraid, but he did not. Instead he was captivated by the strangeness, the oddity of seeing his own body beneath him. The dull pain in his head seemed to fade when he thought about it, and as he looked around he realised he had been in this place before.

‘I am dead,’ he told himself.

He had no mouth yet heard the words.

He glanced down to see his hands but found none. His eyes – if he had any – searched the familiar orchard. An easy feeling took him. Somehow, he knew he was not alone in this place.

And as he hoped he saw her, appearing from the apple trees, draped in mist and smiling, her heartbreaking face radiant with youth, her black hair shining like a raven’s wing. She was dressed as she had been that morning, her long nightgown around her naked feet, feet that danced on
the air without touching the ground. She was ghostly, yet as real as stone, and the sight of her made Lukien weak.

‘Cassandra . . .’

Cassandra, his beloved, reached out to touch his invisible cheek. Somehow he felt the touch, warm with life. He saw in her face all the distance they had endured, all the misery of being apart.

‘My love,’ she said, ‘don’t fear. It is really me.’

In this place that she had died, Cassandra had lived on. The notion bewitched Lukien.

‘It is you,’ he moaned. ‘Cassandra, you’re alive!’

She smiled cautiously. ‘Not alive, Lukien, not the way you believe. But yes, I live on in another place.’

‘What place?’ asked Lukien. ‘The place of the dead?’ Again he looked at his body. ‘Cassandra . . . am I dead?’

Cassandra’s pretty face grew sad. ‘Very near,’ she said, ‘but it is not your time, and the amulet keeps you alive. Now listen to me, Lukien . . .’

Lukien could only half hear her, so overjoyed was he to see her. He wanted to touch her, to sweep her up and kiss her, but he had no arms and the frustration maddened him.

‘How is this possible?’ he crowed, near tears. ‘You have always been here? Always alive like this?’

‘Not alive,’ Cassandra repeated. ‘I live in the world beyond yours, Lukien. I’ve come to this place between the worlds to see you.’

‘Then we will not go back, either of us!’ said Lukien. He began to laugh joyously. ‘We can stay here together, forever you and I.’

‘We cannot,’ said Cassandra. Her pale image began to shimmer. ‘You have not died, Lukien. You cannot stay here, and I have only come as a messenger. Now you must listen . . . you must go back, my love. You are not done in your world yet.’

‘What?’ Lukien’s joy began to crumble. ‘Go back? Why must I? I am dead, Cassandra, look at me! I will not go back and leave you, never again!’

‘You must,’ Cassandra implored. Her eyes filled with grief. ‘Thorin Glass cannot be stopped without you.’

Lukien shook his head. ‘There is no way,’ he said, remembering the stunning pain. ‘Amaraz has failed me. He promised me the means but never gave it.’

‘You are wrong. Amaraz could not help you, Lukien. He does not know where the means is hidden. He meant you to find me, so that I would tell you.’

‘Cassandra, what is this gibberish?’

‘A sword, Lukien. The Sword of Angels. In the Kingdom of Serpents beyond the Grimhold desert. The brother to Kahldris is in that sword, Lukien. He can defeat Kahldris.’

Lukien felt himself shake with anger. ‘No,’ he growled, ‘I will not quest for this sword. All the Akari be damned! I will not leave you.’

Cassandra’s expression was agonising. ‘Lukien, you’re still alive! You think you are with me but you are not, not yet. That day will come, my love, but your mortal life still calls you. Find the Sword of Angels, Lukien. Find it and stop the armour.’

Lukien wanted to roar with anger. ‘Why does Amaraz torture me? Why does he keep this all from me?’ Raising his face to heaven, he cried, ‘Do you hear me, you monster? Why do you keep this from me!’

‘Amaraz cannot help you, Lukien,’ said Cassandra gently. ‘He knows of the sword but knows not where it lies or how to find it. It is hidden from him and all Akari, even Kahldris. I know of it because I am not one of them.’

The riddle angered Lukien. ‘Cassandra, enough. Do not play their game. Don’t you see how the Akari manipulate us? They don’t let me die, yet they keep me from you. They refuse to let you lie in peace yet summon you to tempt me. They are vicious creatures and I am done with them!’

Again Cassandra touched his face. ‘My love, stop now. The Akari only mean to help us. They have allowed me to bridge the worlds to come to you, so that you might see me one more time. It is a gift they give us, Lukien. Look at me!
I am alive in the world beyond yours and someday you can join me! Is that not enough to ease your heart? It should thrill you to know this secret.’

‘I want to be with you
now
, Cassandra.’

‘You will be with me. Nothing can stop that. But not until it’s time. I cannot take you with me.’ Cassandra cupped his face in her hands. ‘Find the Sword of Angels. Find it before Thorin finds it.’

‘I will do it,’ Lukien spat. ‘And when I have done my work for these Akari I will join you, Cassandra.’

Cassandra’s face darkened. ‘Not until your time.’

‘I will make my own time! And no Akari will stop me. My life is my own, and I will take it if I choose.’ Lukien managed to hold back his tears. ‘I’ll find this Serpent Kingdom and the sword,’ he pledged, ‘and I will end the reign of Baron Glass. But when I have done all this work for others I will declare myself free of these Akari and their curses.’

Cassandra drifted backward, suffering with pity. ‘I have said enough; we have no more time, my love. You will find the Sword of Angels in the land beyond Grimhold. All your questions will be answered there.’

‘Cass, don’t leave me . . .’

‘I must, my love, but know this . . . I am always with you. Only a veil separates us.’

Cassandra floated closer and placed a kiss on his unseen lips. The sense of it made Lukien shudder. He felt the pain in his head again, sharper suddenly, and knew his body was calling him back. The image of Cassandra began fading into the apple trees.

‘I will see you again!’ he cried, the darkness quickly growing. ‘We’ll be together!’

Then, like drifting off to sleep, Lukien fell into the unconscious void of his mortal world.

Baron Glass finally reached the library at nightfall.

He had spent the bulk of his day in Koth, watching as his men routed the rest of the city’s defenders, claiming Lionkeep and Chancellery Square and imprisoning those who had yet to escape. A great line of refugees had fled the city shortly after Lukien’s demise; Thorin let them go. Many Liirian soldiers had been among them, but he had no wish to hunt them. Koth was his, and that was all that mattered. Yet he felt no joy in the conquest, for the sight of Lukien’s broken body haunted him throughout the day, and he was halfhearted in his ride through the city, sallow as he gave orders to secure the streets and see to the safety of the populace. The people of Koth had surrendered without delay, he told his men, and he strictly forbade them from looting the city or harming any of its women, a sport he knew to be popular among the Rolgans in particular. Lord Demortris accepted the order sourly, but by the end of the day he had carried it out to Thorin’s satisfaction, allowing the baron to ride for Library Hill.