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

by John Marco

  Lorn nodded. ‘Yes, but . . .’

  ‘No, don’t ask so many questions,’ said the man. He fixed his hat back on his head, cocking it over one eye. ‘It’s just my way, that’s all. This used to be my country. Sometimes I feel the need to protect it, and its people.’

  ‘By following them?’

  The stranger stayed vague. ‘I was on my way to Koth, enjoying the peace of my own company. I had no wish to join you, or to frighten you.’

  ‘You did not frighten me,’ said Lorn. ‘I was suspicious, that’s all. Still . . .’ He glanced at the two dead men littering his camp. ‘I admit your timing was good.’

  ‘You didn’t have to kill that fellow,’ said the stranger. He pointed at the dead Nolas. ‘He was just a thief. There are men like him all over Liiria now. I doubt he would have hurt you or the child.’

  ‘You doubt . . . ?’ Lorn was apoplectic. ‘Listen, I look after my own. And I don’t take orders from some whelp deserter. If I’m attacked, I fight. And if I have to, I kill.’ He made his point by spitting with disgust on Nolas’ body. ‘Damn thief. You want to shed a tear for him? Go ahead. But don’t tell me who my enemies are.’

  ‘I’m not a deserter,’ said the man.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You called me a deserter. I’m not.’

  Still holding Poppy in his arms, Lorn gave an annoyed shrug. His camp was a shambles, with all his precious food strewn about the ground. ‘I don’t want to argue with you. Look at this god-damn mess!’

  The man nodded and started picking up the things from Lorn’s saddlebags. Lorn looked at him in shock.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Helping you,’ said the man. Then he laughed and added, ‘You’re not used to that, are you?’

  ‘Were you a slave before becoming a soldier?’ asked Lorn. ‘I can look after my own things, thank you.’

  The man continued retrieving Lorn’s things. ‘You have a fire and food. I have neither. Would you consider sharing them with me? I could remind you of your debt to me, if I must.’

  The reminder wasn’t necessary. ‘All right, stranger,’ Lorn agreed. ‘Help me pull this place together, and I’ll share whatever I have. The bodies first. Help me with them . . .’

  Though he had protested the killing of the thief Nolas, the stranger helped Lorn drag the man’s dead body into the trees and away from the camp. When that was done they did the same with the other corpse, piling it atop the first one. There was blood on the earth so they kicked fresh dirt over it. Together they gathered up Lorn’s belongings, mostly the food Hella had packed for them, and set these things around the fire. The fire itself had waned a little, and the stranger tended it while Lorn looked after Poppy, piling sticks onto it until it blazed anew.

  ‘My horse is nearby,’ he told Lorn. ‘I’ll bring her closer.’

  ‘A horse but no fire?’ This puzzled Lorn, but he decided not to press the man. Clearly, the fellow liked his privacy, and Lorn was grateful for his help. Most likely he would have been dead if not for the stranger. As the man fetched his horse, Lorn sat down by the fire and unwrapped the food from its cloth covers. He had meat and cheese and bread and even some fresh fruit, and this was how he said his thanks, by offering the best he had. There was even some wine in one of his waterskins. He placed it across from himself, in the spot he had selected for his guest. When the man returned with his horse he saw the feast and grinned. But he did not say anything. He simply tied his mount to the same tree as Lorn’s, then sat cross-legged on the grass. He reached for the waterskin first, gave it a sniff, and smiled wildly. Only after he had taken a long pull did he say a word.

  ‘Thanks.’

  Lorn nodded. He took his dagger from his belt, wiped the blood from it thoroughly on a piece of cloth used to wrap the cheese, then began slicing long strips from the wheel and popping them into his mouth. He then cut the wheel completely in half and gave the second portion of it to the man, who accepted it gratefully.

  The two ate in comfortable silence. They were both too hungry for words now anyway. It was not until he had slaked the worst of his hunger that Lorn began wondering about his odd guest. He didn’t even know the man’s name. His garb, however, spoke volumes. A Liirian, formerly of that country’s vaunted Royal Chargers. Lorn had seen them before, in Norvor. After the fall of Liiria many of them had turned mercenary. They were among Jazana Carr’s favourite freelances.

  ‘So,’ he began casually, ‘you’re coming from Norvor?’

  The man managed to nod as he gnawed on a length of tough sausage. ‘Uh-huh.’

  ‘You’re a soldier?’

  This time a shrug. ‘In a manner of speaking only. I was a soldier. A Royal Charger, but they’re gone now.’

  It was a well-known story. After the death of King Akeela and his general, Trager, Liiria and its military had collapsed. The Royal Chargers had fractured and gone their separate ways. Some were holed up in Koth’s great library. Others went to Norvor or scattered to the winds. And some, it seemed, didn’t know where they were going.

  ‘Why are you returning to Koth?’ Lorn asked.

  ‘I have my reasons,’ replied the man. He looked up at Lorn. ‘Don’t you want to know my name?’

  ‘I do. But names are dangerous things, and if you’re on the run . . .’

  ‘My name is Vanlandinghale, and I never run,’ the man declared. ‘I go where I wish when I wish, and I call no man master, not any more.’

  ‘Vanlandinghale? That’s a mouthful and a half!’

  ‘It is,’ the man agreed. ‘So people call me Van. You may call me that.’

  ‘Van.’ Lorn tried the name and liked it. ‘My name is Akan,’ he lied. ‘This is my daughter.’

  ‘I’m grateful for the food, Akan,’ said Van.

  ‘And I for the company,’ replied Lorn, surprising himself. It felt good to talk to another man, and he had so many questions. ‘I have seen Royal Chargers in Norvor, in the employ of Jazana Carr. Are you one of her men?’

  ‘I was one of her men,’ Van corrected. ‘I’m not any more.’

  ‘What happened? I heard her to be a generous employer.’

  ‘Aye, she’s generous, true enough. But she’s won the war in Norvor, and I heard rumours she has her sights on Liiria now. Call me a loyal fool, but that bothers me.’

  ‘Liiria? Are you sure about that?’

  Van shrugged. ‘Soldiers hear things. Some things are true, others about as useful as a straw hat in a rainstorm. I don’t know for certain what Jazana Carr has planned, but it’s no secret she desires Liiria.’

  ‘No,’ Lorn whispered. ‘True enough.’ It was stunning news, though, and left his heart racing. ‘What do you know of Koth? Are you going home to defend it?’

  ‘Defend it? Defend what? There’s nothing left, friend.’

  ‘I heard there are men holed up in the great library, former soldiers like you. I heard they’re defending the city against people like Ravel, the merchant-baron.’

  ‘Did you also hear what fools these men are?’ asked Vanlandinghale. ‘Aye, it’s true about the library; there are men there. Some former Royal Chargers, even. An old fellow named Breck leads them.’

  Lorn nodded. He had heard the name Breck before, but was glad to have Van corroborate it. ‘What about you? Don’t you want to defend your city?’

  Van laughed a miserable laugh. ‘The men defending Koth are idiots. Whatever they’re defending died years ago.’ He lowered the sausage he was eating and stared at Lorn. ‘All my life I wanted to be a Royal Charger. When I was a boy we used to tell stories about them. They were good and brave. That’s what I wanted to be.’

  ‘So you became one,’ said Lorn.

  ‘Aye, I became a Charger. I served with General Trager. And do you know what he had us do?’

  ‘You marched into Jador. I know the story.’

  ‘That’s right. We marched across the desert and when we got to Jador we slaughtered people by the hundreds, all because King Akeela
and Trager were both out of their minds with madness. I followed orders because that’s what I thought a good soldier was supposed to do. But I was wrong. A good man doesn’t kill innocents, no matter who gives the order.’

  Van stared into the fire, his lips twisting, holding back angry words. Lorn didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing. Instead he waited for Van to compose himself and finish his dark tale.

  ‘Akeela and Trager both died in Jador,’ he said finally, ‘but I didn’t come home with the rest of the army. I left. I simply said goodbye to all that and headed for Norvor. That’s where I spent the last year, fighting for Jazana Carr against that piss-bucket Lorn. I heard about those other Chargers defending the library, of course, but I didn’t care. Still don’t. I’m my own man now. I don’t take orders from anyone.’

  ‘But you’re going back to Koth,’ said Lorn, still confused. ‘Not to help defend it?’

  ‘I told you, I’m not one of Liiria’s pawns. I have no quarrel with Jazana Carr, but I won’t help her conquer my homeland either. I just want to be left alone.’

  ‘But you won’t be left alone, don’t you see that? If you’re right and Jazana Carr comes for Koth, what will you do then? Just let her have it?’

  Van smiled wickedly. ‘Why shouldn’t I?’

  ‘Because this is your country,’ flared Lorn. ‘Because a man doesn’t run; he fights!’

  ‘I do fight,’ argued Van. ‘Fate above, I do nothing but fight! I’m sick of fighting. I want to be left alone.’

  ‘Even if it means your country falls to a witch like Jazana Carr? Even it if means brave men die in your stead? There’s a time to retreat, yes, but there’s also a time to make a stand.’

  Van stared at Lorn as if he couldn’t believe his ears. ‘Who are you to lecture me? Will you fight if Jazana Carr comes to Koth?’

  ‘I will,’ declared Lorn. ‘Gladly.’

  ‘Then you are a fool.’ Van sighed and picked up the wedge of cheese. As he scraped his knife over its surface he shook his head in obvious confusion. ‘A Norvan heading to Koth to fight. Is that your business in Koth, Akan? To join those fools at Library Hill?’

  ‘No,’ said Lorn, though that wasn’t quite the truth. ‘I just want to look after my daughter in peace. Maybe I can find a job there. But I fought Jazana Carr in Norvor and lost. If she comes to Koth, I’ll fight her again.’

  ‘You mean you fought for Lorn? Great Fate, now I’ve seen everything. You seemed liked a good man, Akan. I can’t believe you fought for that tyrant.’

  ‘I was a soldier,’ Lorn lied. ‘Like you. I did what I was told.’ Then he thought for a moment and said, ‘Lorn was a good man. I was honoured to fight for him. You Liirian fools don’t understand that. You’re so full of that nonsense King Akeela constantly spouted, about freedom and men and women being the same. Well, they are not the same, and if I could kill Jazana Carr and send her soul to an everlasting hell I would do so gladly. That woman is a pestilence. If not for her, Norvor would have been great again, and Lorn would have been a great king.’

  ‘Stop,’ said Van, holding up his hands. ‘I’m pleading with you, enough now. I don’t care about your politics. You’re a man with causes. I’m not. Let’s leave it at that, all right?’

  But Lorn wasn’t sure he could let it lie. Vanlandinghale was a strange man, and not easily figured out. Was he dangerous? Lorn didn’t know. Men without a cause had always puzzled him.

  ‘A man should have something to believe in,’ said Lorn. He fussed a little with Poppy, waking her as he got himself more comfortable. The baby gave an irritated cry. ‘You say you don’t care what Jazana Carr does, yet you won’t help her take Koth. It makes no sense. What is a man who refuses to take sides?’

  Vanlandinghale looked bored. ‘Is this a riddle?’

  ‘A coward,’ said Lorn.

  The Liirian bristled. ‘I’m not a coward.’

  ‘You have no fear of a fight, I’ll give you that. But loyalty takes courage, too. Any man can sell his sword to the highest bidder. But you . . .’ Lorn sighed, unsure what to say. ‘I am afraid of men with no loyalties.’

  ‘I am loyal,’ said Van. ‘To myself.’ He pulled his cape around his shoulders, annoyed with the conversation. ‘You’ve not done the things I’ve done, Akan, nor seen the things I’ve seen. I think your judgement of me is too harsh.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ said Lorn. Through the bouncing firelight he could see Van’s face. It looked sincere to him, trustworthy. ‘Then let’s speak no more of it. We are different, you and I, that’s all.’

  ‘Agreed. And when we reach Koth we will lose each other and have this argument never again.’

  This surprised Lorn. ‘Will you ride with us to Koth, then?’

  ‘I’m good with a sword, as you’ve seen. If you’ll take my protection, I’ll have your company and food for the favour.’

  The offer seemed fair to Lorn. He knew nothing about Koth, and this strange Liirian seemed a wellspring of information. If they rode together, he could find out more about the library and its defenders. Besides, he rather liked the fair-haired fellow.

  ‘Your offer is fair,’ he told Van. ‘We’ll ride the rest of the way to Koth together.’

  The Liirian smiled. ‘Good. And no more talk of politics?’

  ‘If that’s what you want,’ replied Lorn. ‘But I would like to know more about Koth.’

  Vanlandinghale leaned back and yawned. ‘Tomorrow. While we ride.’

  Satisfied, Lorn ended his inquiry and returned to eating. He ate slowly, watching the Liirian pull his hat down over his face then quickly fall asleep to the sound of his own snoring. Lorn’s whole body ached from the fight with the thieves, but he did not soon join the man in sleep. When he was sure Vanlandinghale would not wake up he slipped his hand into his pocket and retrieved his ring, the ring he’d thought he’d lost forever. It was the only means he had to prove his identity; not even Poppy could do that for him. He would need the ring when the time came, he knew, and he wasn’t sorry at all that he’d killed the thief named Nolas.

  9

  The Long Road Home

  Ever since Jazana Carr could remember, weather had been Norvor’s most unpredictable feature. Like the country’s tumultuous politics, Norvor’s winds were ever-changing, sometimes bringing the worst of winter, other times the sweetest spring breeze. That it could all change in an instant was simply something Norvans got used to, and so it didn’t bother them when rains came to ruin their journeys or storms blew the shingles off their homes. One did not travel easily through Norvor, or without preparation.

  Jazana Carr had prepared herself for the long ride back to Hanging Man. She and her men had steeled themselves for weather’s fickle whims, bringing all the gear they needed to cope. In Carlion they had rested, enjoying the shelter of King Lorn’s huge home and the somewhat warmer temperatures of the south. They had remained there for weeks, securing the capital and feeding its starving populace while Jazana Carr called the nobles of the nearby cities to council, proclaiming her queenship over Norvor. It had been a good and heady time for Jazana Carr, but finally it had ended. After nearly a month in Carlion, she knew it was time to go home.

  Home for the Diamond Queen was Hanging Man, the brooding fortress over the river Kryss that had guarded Norvor from its Liirian rivals for decades. Long ago she had usurped the fortress from Lorn, who himself had usurped Mor, Norvor’s last true king. It had proven a fine home for Jazana Carr, the perfect place from which to launch her protracted rebellion. And she missed it. Now, as she and fifty of her mercenary-guard rode northwest through Norvor, she could picture Hanging Man plainly in her mind’s eye and almost hear the roaring churn of the river far below the turret of her bedroom. After travelling for several days they were very near home. Soon, perhaps in the next day or so, they would be there. And when they arrived there would be more soldiers waiting for them and her ‘children’ would be there, too, those wards she had adopted from slain warlords who never gave her any love
at all but simply took and took from her vast coffers. Almost everyone in Hanging Man was like that, and Jazana Carr did not blame her wards for emulating the mercenaries she hired. It did not make her miss them any less, though in honesty she seldom saw any of the children because they were raised by maids and nannies. Still, their presence lent the fortress a sense of home and family.

  Family was important to Jazana Carr.

  Today – perhaps the final day of her journey home – was surprisingly pleasant. Autumn’s overtures had abated, and Jazana Carr wore only a light cape about her shoulders as she rode, hanging back from her men at point and contemplating the wooded road. Tall trees lined the way as they wound through a thinning forest, the last such greenery they would see this far north. They were near the Bleak Territories now. The forest was called the Alden, and Jazana Carr knew it well. It was not so far from here that she had been a girl. A soiled memory flashed through her mind. Lately, she had been thinking a lot about her girlhood and the father who had forced her to be a woman too soon. Since becoming queen, his face haunted her. It was he who had called her back north, but she had not confessed that to Rodrik Varl or any of her other men. Instead she had kept that secret, saying only that the time had come for her to return home.

  Home had a distinctive, frightening smell. Jazana Carr could sense it tickling her nostrils. Even through the pungency of the Alden forest she could sense the nothingness of the Bleak Territories, waiting not far beyond the trees, a vast graveyard of depleted diamond mines and decrepit villages.

  ‘Haverthorn.’

  Jazana Carr whispered the name, careful that no one heard her. She had not spoken the word to herself in years. The name Haverthorn had become a curse to her. It was a sealed iron box, waiting to be opened at just the right time, a time of Jazana Carr’s choosing. When she had taken Carlion, that time had come. Since then, she had not been able to shake Haverthorn from her thoughts. Nor had she tried. Being so close to it made her shiver. She drew her cape about her shoulders, then blew into her wolf-fur gloves. Her eyes darted through the trees, staring northward through their ranks, scanning the gaps in them for any hint of home. How many times had she come to this forest? So often she couldn’t count. She had fled here, wept here, and vowed revenge here, only to return each time to her father’s hovel and his wretched bed. With nowhere to turn, the child she had been always crawled back.