by John Marco
Feeling his face turning red, Onikil said, ‘Just tell me where she is.’
‘Come along, then,’ said Varl, and led the way through the courtyard.
Jazana Carr was not far. Because it was People’s Day, Varl explained, she was on the other side of the courtyard in the castle’s main mess hall. The mess was across from the kitchens, the two separated by a covered walkway of old bricks meant to keep the kitchens from setting the rest of the castle on fire. Onikil didn’t eat in the mess with the mercenaries, so he had yet to be delighted by its greasy smells. As he stepped in from the walkway, he paused at the threshold to the mess, shocked to see it full of children. Runny-nosed brats with grubby faces filled the space, at least a hundred of them, sitting on the floors or stuffed two or three to a chair, all quietly enraptured by the voice of the woman across the room. There sat Jazana Carr with one of the children on her lap, a tiny girl who seemed uncomfortable with all the attention. In the queen’s hands rested a book, very old and overly large. Onikil’s mouth dropped open at the astonishing sight.
‘Is she reading them . . . stories?’
Varl didn’t answer, but he didn’t have to either. It was plain that the queen was reading to the children, and the animation in her eyes and voice told Onikil the rest. As she read, Jazana Carr swung her free hand in dramatic gestures, describing a storm and a witch riding through the clouds. The description of the witch made the children grimace and moan, but the Diamond Queen was quick to correct them.
‘No, no, it’s a good witch!’ she insisted. ‘Don’t believe everything your parents tell you, for Fate’s sake.’
Count Onikil stared in disbelief. Jazana Carr caught his eye, but only for a moment before quickly going back to reading. Onikil looked around, wondering what was happening. The queen, it seemed, had turned Ravel’s castle into a nursery.
‘Varl, what’s—’
‘Shh,’ Varl insisted. ‘Lower your voice. She’s almost done.’
‘Almost done? What is all this?’
‘People’s Day,’ said Varl, in a way that meant he didn’t fully approve. ‘Jazana brings the children in from the countryside and reads to them while their families get food and supplies. She does it every week now.’
Onikil’s shock turned into a sly smile. ‘Ah, she’s a clever one. She knows how to make them love her.’
Rodrik Varl said nothing for a time. Then he shrugged. ‘Maybe.’
‘Why does she want to see me?’ probed Onikil. ‘You can tell her yourself about Rolga, or I’ll see her later. I’m tired and it can probably wait.’
‘Stay,’ said Varl. ‘She’ll be done soon.’
Being surrounded by children made Onikil shudder. He was a very neat man and unaccustomed to the dirt children seemed to manufacture. While he waited for the queen to finish he slipped back on his leather riding gloves.
People’s Day, brooded Onikil. Absurd.
He wondered – as he often did – if Jazana Carr really knew what she was doing. Norvor was falling to pieces without her, and here she was in Liiria, reading to a bunch of brats. She was, certainly, not the best strategist Onikil had ever seen. Yet it was her peculiar glamour – like a magic charm – that kept her on top.
Onikil waited, trying to be patient, while Jazana Carr finished reading to the brood. Eventually their parents shuffled into the room, their arms full of the good things the queen had provided, bowing to her when she finished the story and praising her to the heavens. Onikil and Varl kept their distance while others from her mercenary army herded the children and parents out of the room. Jazana beamed and waved as they departed, feeding off their adoration and inviting them all back next week. The absurd gesture made Onikil wince, but he tried to smile when – at last – the queen acknowledged him.
‘Count Onikil,’ she said in her purring voice. ‘Rodrik told me you had returned.’
Onikil wanted to say that he had actually returned some time ago and had been rudely kept waiting, but he held that comment and said instead, ‘Yes, my lady.’
Jazana Carr put her hand out for him. He took it, kissed it, and gave a little bow. Her skin was silky smooth on his pampered lips, tasting faintly of jasmine. No wonder Varl craved her so badly, he thought.
‘Always good to see you, dear Queen,’ he said. ‘Though this is not the setting I expected.’
‘Did you see the children, Count Onikil? Did you see how enraptured they were? They love me.’ The queen’s face glowed. ‘And did you notice the city? There are merchants back in the shops, people on the streets.’
‘Yes,’ said Onikil. ‘You are right to be proud, my lady.’
‘Onikil brings good news from Rolga, Jazana,’ Rodrik Varl piped. ‘Skorvis is dead, just as we heard. The city is ours again.’
Onikil added quickly, ‘I left a hundred men behind and bolstered the garrison. There won’t be trouble there again, my Queen.’
‘That’s what you said when we left Norvor,’ said the queen sourly. ‘I’m counting on you, Onikil. Don’t disappoint me. We have much to do.’ She turned and left the mess hall, entering the covered walkway. The courtyard was filled with happy peasants being herded out of the castle. Jazana Carr paused. ‘Ah, you smell that?’
Onikil wrinkled his nose. ‘Yes. They’re atrocious, aren’t they?’
‘Not the people, you idiot. Springtime! You can smell it in the air. Winter’s almost over. You know what that means, don’t you, Count?’
Onikil glanced at Varl, who nodded seriously.
‘Yes, I suppose I do,’ the count sighed. ‘But my lady, please think a moment. Are you sure we are ready?’
‘We are more than ready.’ Jazana’s tone cut like ice. ‘For two months – no, closer to three – the men of Koth have been preparing. But so have we. It is time, Onikil.’ She looked at Rodrik Varl. ‘And I already have counsellors to talk me out of it. I do not need another.’
With a deferential smile Onikil said, ‘Wise counsel is always worth the inconvenience, my lady. Would you rather be told lies?’
‘You told me all is well in Rolga. That is enough to know.’ The queen gestured to the courtyard full of men. ‘Look – all these men have come to fight, yet they lie about getting fat because we have not named an enemy for them. And while we wait the men of Koth build more and more defences and call other armies to their aid. I have waited long enough, Onikil.’
The count looked with concern at Varl. ‘What other armies?’
The bodyguard shrugged. ‘Rumours mostly. Nothing too troubling.’
‘Oh, so talk of Reec no longer troubles you?’ asked Jazana sharply. She turned to Onikil and said, ‘There is talk of Raxor entering the war.’
‘Rumours,’ Varl said again.
The queen’s eyes blazed. ‘Real or rumours, who is to say? Why give them the comfort of time to make more allies?’
‘Raxor will not help them,’ Onikil surmised. Since the death of his brother Karis, the new king of Reec had kept his country out of Liiria’s affairs. ‘Why would he? He didn’t lift a finger to keep it from crumbling.’
‘Because he feels threatened,’ replied Jazana Carr. ‘They all do. Because I am a woman and because they are weaklings. They will not let us have Liiria, not without a fight.’
‘And you are prepared for that, my lady?’ Suddenly Onikil was less sure than ever of her soundness. ‘If the Reecians join the battle then this war for Liiria will be more than you imagined, more perhaps than we can win. Please, my Queen, at least think more on it.’
‘Think more on it? I have had all the long nights of winter to think! And I am sick of it. I’m sick of being stalled here in Andola and I’m sick of hearing tired excuses. You, Count Onikil, have something important to do for me.’
The count was immediately intrigued. ‘My lady?’
Jazana Carr took him by the arm and began walking through the courtyard. She stayed very close, as close as a lover, almost resting her pretty head on his shoulder. ‘Onikil, you’re a good man. W
orthy. I don’t trust just anyone, you know.’
‘No, my lady,’ stammered the count. ‘Thank you.’
‘I have a message for the leaders in Koth, and I want you to deliver it for me.’
Onikil nearly stopped cold. ‘A message?’
‘A request, really, asking them to surrender.’ Jazana Carr peeled herself away and looked into his eyes. ‘You have a diplomat’s wits, Onikil. You are perfect for the task. I can’t send a soldier to do this. But you – you’ll know what to say and when to say it. You can convince them to surrender.’
It seemed to Onikil that the queen had lost her beautiful head. ‘My lady, I have no wish to die, and this is a mission of suicide! After what we did to Baron Ravel, there’s no way they would listen to me.’
‘You are wrong, Count,’ the queen assured him. ‘Men escaped from Andola, and no doubt have told the men of Koth what happened to Ravel. He will be an example to them, a warning. They will listen because they must, and they will know that harming you will cost them dearly.’
Onikil groped for words. Clearly the queen was depending on him, something he always craved, but this mad mission was certain to get him killed, or at least imprisoned for ransom. He stole a glance at Rodrik Varl, hoping for support, but the red-haired soldier seemed more perturbed by the queen’s seductive manner than by anything she’d said. Realising Varl would be happier with him out of the way, Onikil mustered a smile for the queen.
‘My lady thinks too much of me,’ he said. ‘I appreciate your praise, but I am not the diplomat you need. This requires a more forceful touch. Perhaps Manjek would be a better choice. When he returns from Norvor . . .’
‘Onikil, you disappoint me,’ pouted Jazana Carr. She clutched his arm with her painted fingernails. ‘You need convincing. You think I will forget you there in Koth? Well, put that out of your mind. I always reward those who serve me best, Count Onikil.’
She smiled then, a loaded, secretive smile that fell just short of promising him the world. Onikil buckled beneath its weight.
‘Very well, my lady,’ he said, almost disbelieving it. ‘If this is what you wish, I will deliver your message.’
Jazana Carr’s pearly teeth came out like the sun. ‘Good fellow. Then you can leave at once.’
‘At once? But I’ve only just returned . . .’
‘My message cannot wait forever, Count. I know you’re tired; we all are. I’m tired of waiting here in Andola for the winter to die.’
‘Yes, but I need to make plans,’ Onikil protested. ‘I need to think about my strategy, exactly what I’ll say to them in Koth.’
‘Your plans have already been laid, Onikil,’ said Rodrik Varl. There was not a hint of malice in his tone. If anything, Onikil thought there might be pity there. ‘We’ve discussed it all already. You’ll offer them good terms of surrender, all of them to be spared as long as they give up control of the city.’
‘I’ll pen the message myself for you to present,’ added the queen, ‘so they’ll know you are authentic. And there will be gifts for them as well, something to make them value surrender.’
‘The men of Koth already know how rich you are, my Queen. You won’t be able to bribe them any more than you could bribe Baron Ravel.’
The notion that some men could not be bought seemed to offend the Diamond Queen.
‘Count Onikil, you will go to Koth and deliver my message. And you will tell those fools to get out of my way, or face the same fate as that fat criminal Ravel. Do you understand?’
Trapped like a rabbit in a snare, Onikil could only say, ‘When do I leave?’
The queen patted his cheek. ‘Don’t fret, dear heart. You won’t have to leave for another day or two.’
‘A day or two? My lady, I’ll need that much time just to recover from my last trip.’
Jazana Carr rolled back her pretty eyes dramatically. ‘A week, then. Fate above, but you try me, Onikil. One would think you didn’t wish to serve me.’
Count Onikil gritted his blue-blooded teeth, hoping this mad gamble would pay off. ‘My lady, how could you say such a thing? I live to serve you.’
36
The Return of Baron Glass
Koth. The great capital of the greatest nation on the continent.
Ruined now.
Baron Glass had lived many years, through many bloody campaigns. He could easily remember the better days in the city, long before the rise and fall of Akeela. In his long years in Norvor and his exile across the desert, Baron Glass had remembered the good things in Koth, and in all that time had never returned to confirm the stories he had heard of its demise. He had left Koth a thriving metropolis, on a day when no one knew the city’s death was imminent and the great library was an infant growing brick by brick toward the sky. When he had loved Jazana Carr, waging her wars in Norvor, the tales of Koth’s demise had broken his heart, and in a way he had been glad to flee to Grimhold, if only to be far away and to forget his younger years.
But Baron Glass had never forgotten Koth, or the burning in his soul to return. No matter how far he fled, he was always a Liirian, and Liiria had provided him with a constant flow of refugees to remind him of his duty. They had plagued him, and he, slowed by age and a single arm, had been helpless until the Devil’s Armour had saved him. The armour had given him strength and clarity. But even the armour could not prepare Glass for his homecoming.
It was, he admitted, a splendid day, and until he had seen Koth over the horizon Thorin had been in an excellent mood. Nith was days behind him now, and the ugly memory of the man’s murder in the bar no longer troubled him. With Kahldris’ help he had seen the purpose of it. It had helped make a man of him again and prepared him for the bloodletting to come. As he rode through southern Liiria anticipating his homecoming, the weather had cooperated, blessing him with early spring warmth. Thorin wore his armour proudly, unafraid of highwaymen, and kept a brisk pace northward now. He had enjoyed the music of birdsong on the wooded road, and had felt his stomach tumble with excitement as he crested the hills overlooking Koth.
And then, at long last, he had seen it.
The years fell on him. He felt old again.
Time had not been kind to Koth. The beautiful city of commerce and science and everything good had been blackened by war, gouged by fear. As though a heartless god had scooped out its marrow, the light was gone from Koth. The vitality of what it had been no longer shone from its government houses, and Thorin had to strain hard to see Chancellery Square, the place where he’d spent so many years having so many fine arguments. He had known that Chancellery Square had been abandoned, turned long ago into military barracks and parade grounds. When he’d lived in Norvor, men from Liiria had explained the bad news. Yet the sight of the dismal change left Thorin shaken. Not even the House of Dukes, where he had led the Liirian government, was recognisable to him.
‘Another lifetime,’ he whispered.
Atop his horse, he waited on the hill for the courage to ride forward. He reminded himself that he was stronger now than he’d been in years. Still, once-beautiful Koth kept him frozen.
It is your challenge.
Kahldris’ voice cut the day like a dagger.
Baron Glass grimaced. The demon was correct, though he had not expected to feel this way. Could any man really rebuild Koth’s majesty? Or had he deluded himself?
Jazana Carr yet waits, Kahldris reminded him. There is time yet to defeat her.
‘Time,’ echoed Glass. ‘Yes.’
Coming out of his stupor he saw that Koth was not at all abandoned. Though there was little commerce left in her, there were people in its streets and outlying villages, farms filled with freshly broken earth and traffic in the avenues. He would find Breck here, Thorin knew, and the army he was forging to defend Koth. His eyes tilted skyward slightly, toward the far edge of the city. There, breaking the horizon, stood Library Hill. Like a great brooding gargoyle the library that had once shone as a beacon still rose defiantly over Koth, casti
ng its powerful shadow over everything. Not far to its east were the ruins of Lionkeep, the former home of the Liirian kings, looking pale and overgrown in the darkness of the library.
‘The Cathedral of Knowledge.’
The words came to Thorin’s lips like a prayer. He had never wanted the library built. He had thought it folly. In his exile he had never seen its grand completion, remembering it only as a footprint of stones and masonry. Now, as he stared at it, the old baron could not help but be impressed. The thing had bled Koth’s coffers dry, but it was undeniably magnificent.
There is hope, thought Thorin, for he was from a breed that had built great things. Perhaps it did not matter that their greatest challenges yet lay ahead. He put his hand on the breast of his armour, the hand that no longer existed, made animate by magic. The enormous force of the armour’s power jolted through his body. Suddenly he knew what Kahldris had tried to tell him – there was no one in the world who could defeat him. Not even Jazana Carr.
With a confident shout he hurried his horse down the hillside.
It had taken some time for Vanlandinghale to warm to Breck, but now, like almost everyone else serving under him, he worshipped the man. In the long months since he had returned to Liiria, Van had become indispensable to Breck, and to his great pride the commander now relied on him heavily. Winter had given them a much needed respite; Jazana Carr had not moved her armies out of Andola yet. And the men of Library Hill had squeezed every second out of the season to build their defences. They were almost a thousand strong now, culling men from nearby provinces and holding on to those who had come from Andola. Nevins, the cavalry major who had served Baron Ravel, had kept his promise to be loyal to Breck and had proven an excellent leader of men, rising quickly in Breck’s inner circle. Murdon, too, retained Breck’s ear, always quick with good advice. Captain Aliston, who had come from Andola with Nevins, had also proven an asset, training teams of archers for the inevitable clash with the Diamond Queen.
But it was Vanlandinghale whom Breck confided in, and Van was not sure why. At the end of tiring days they would share a drink together, the lieutenant always eager to please the man he had come to call a hero. Van loved Breck because Breck trusted him and had given his life meaning again, something it had not had in years. He did his best to tell the commander all he knew about Jazana Carr, and in turn Breck listened intently and filed the information quietly in his calculating brain, sure to pull it out when needed. Van supposed Breck appreciated his candour. Perhaps that was why the commander always asked Van – and no one else – to ride with him to the villages.