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

by John Marco

  ‘He loves me, Lukien. What else do I have? You’ll never love me. My home is gone. And Van’s dead. Did you not realise that? He cared about me, but he’s gone too. Only Thorin is left.’

  Hearing about Van startled Lukien. His concentration faltered under the numbing pain. ‘Don’t,’ he repeated. ‘He is a monster now. He cannot love you.’

  ‘He’s all that I have,’ said Mirage.

  ‘You can stay here with Kalla and the others.’

  ‘No. None of them are staying. The men who remain are leaving Liiria. It’s not safe for them. They are all going to Reec or south toward Farduke.’ Mirage’s tone was gloomy. ‘I am done with running, Lukien. If you won’t stay, then I won’t either.’

  Lukien sighed with anger. ‘I cannot stay. I must find the sword.’

  ‘Then go,’ Mirage retorted. There was heartache on her pretty face. ‘You’ve made your choice, and so have I.’

  She turned and left the room then, leaving him in darkness. Unable to move from the bed, Lukien sank back into a fitful sleep.

  56

  The Machine

  It was not until a week after conquering Koth that Thorin finally returned to the library. A grey night surrounded him and he, driven mad by Kahldris’ insistence, could not sleep in his camp near Lionkeep, where he had set up his command. Taming the city had taken days longer than he’d expected, but Kahldris would no longer be mollified – he demanded to see the machine.

  A large company of Rolgans had been left at the library, to salvage what they could from the ruins and begin planning its reconstruction. With Jazana’s fortune, Thorin knew they could rebuild. They must rebuild, he had convinced himself. He would not be the lord of a ruined city, and the library had been Koth’s greatest landmark. It would be better than ever, as would Koth.

  By the time he reached the library it was well past midnight, but Demortris’ men were everywhere on the ground and recognised him at once. They granted him entrance to the place and offered him guidance, which Thorin refused. Kahldris insisted on being alone. Thorin let the guards give him a taper, however, to light his way through the damaged halls.

  Remarkably, the catalogue room had been unscathed by the bombardment. The old librarian Figgis had built the room in a particularly strong segment of the structure, without windows and well buttressed against any damage. Situated at the end of an unremarkable hall, the catalogue room had a plain wooden door with a single stout padlock. At Thorin’s orders, the room had been left undisturbed by Demortris’ men. It was even unguarded. Thorin shivered with anticipation to see it. He had been able to shun Kahldris for a week, but now the demon’s presence in his mind felt overwhelming. He could feel Kahldris walking next to him, almost see the outline of his ghostly form in the gloom.

  Open it.

  With his armoured arm, Thorin reached out for the padlock. His gauntlet felt the metal for a moment, then twisted the lock violently, snapping it. As the lock hit the floor the door creaked open. Thorin stepped inside, holding out his taper, and saw the vast catalogue machine, stretching out like a silver-limbed monster, a dusty collection of armatures and rods filling the huge chamber. At the head of the beast was a single wooden chair, laid out before a console. At the console were metal plates, the use of which Thorin could not begin to guess. It was a marvellous thing, and seeing it thrilled him, and Kahldris. For the first time in weeks, the demon came into view beside him, glowing like a wraith in the almost complete darkness.

  Thorin regarded the spirit and was unafraid. Kahldris had given him so much. Kahldris had made him whole again. He had decided long ago not to fear the Akari. With his immortal eyes, Kahldris looked upon the machine with satisfaction. He appeared as he had that first time, dressed in the armour of a general.

  ‘Your machine,’ said Thorin, as if presenting a gift. ‘But I cannot use it. I don’t know how.’

  ‘We must use it,’ replied Kahldris. This time his voice was real. ‘There is a means in the world to stop us, Baron Glass. We must use the machine to find it, before our enemies do.’

  Thorin did not understand. He looked at the confounding machine, unsure how to please the Akari. ‘Figgis is dead. Only he knew how to use the machine.’

  Kahldris seemed undisturbed. ‘There is another. Already he comes to help us.’

  The promise troubled Thorin, for he knew who Kahldris meant. Yet he could not bring himself to protest. The image of the demon beguiled him.

  57

  A Farewell to Friends

  The morning surprised Lukien with its chill. He could see his breath and the breath of his horse, standing dutifully as he strapped supplies to its saddle with the help of Aric Glass, one of the last to remain behind in Borath. Breck’s old farm had been a good hiding place for them, and although Thorin knew of its existence he and his Norvans had not come looking for them. Rather, he had tolerated them, allowing them all to recover, obviously feeling no threat from them at all. Lukien was grateful for the lull. Barely three hundred troops had survived Thorin’s attack, most of whom had gathered here at Breck’s former home, a humble and overgrown patch of long-neglected land. Breck’s wife Kalla had done her best to make them all comfortable. Though of course their tiny house could barely hold a fraction of them, mostly it sheltered the wounded like Lukien.

  With Kalla’s help, Lukien had recovered. As the days went by he watched as his comrades left for Reec and Farduke, places far enough away to be safe from Thorin and any retribution he might hatch. He was the last of them to leave now, except for Aric, who had stayed behind with Mirage while Lukien recovered. Mirage had remained aloof, however, only coming to Lukien on occasion and only then to check on him briefly. While he had lain in bed, Lukien had thought of Mirage often. But he had not changed his mind.

  ‘It’s a long road to Ganjor,’ said Aric as he secured Lukien’s saddle. For more than a week now he had tried to convince the knight to let him come. ‘To be honest, you don’t look all that well yet.’

  They were just outside Kalla’s house. Lukien had already said his goodbyes to the widow and her son. She had not come to draw out the farewell, a small act of kindness Lukien appreciated.

  ‘You are right, Aric Glass, I am not well. But I must go. I’ve wasted enough time, and the sword is waiting.’

  The mention of the sword tantalised Aric. Like Lukien, he was convinced it remained the only way to save his father. He nodded, distractedly toying with Lukien’s supplies, counting them for the third time.

  ‘That’s everything,’ Lukien declared. He had left his bronze armour with Kalla. It was damaged anyway, and far too heavy to take with him back to Grimhold.

  ‘The Mistress Minikin; do you think she’ll help you?’ Aric asked.

  Lukien shrugged. So far, Minikin had neglected to tell him anything about the Serpent Kingdom or the sword. Perhaps like Amaraz, she simply didn’t know.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ said Lukien. ‘But she’s a good woman. She’ll help me if she can.’

  ‘It’ll take you at least a month to get to Ganjor,’ said Aric. ‘Then another week to cross the desert.’

  ‘At least that long,’ Lukien agreed. He smiled at his young friend. ‘But I still can’t take you with me, Aric. You need to go with the others. I’ll see you again when I have the sword. Tell the others that – tell them I will return.’

  Aric nodded gravely. ‘I’ll tell them.’ His eyes flicked toward the house. ‘Look.’

  Turning toward the broken homestead, Lukien saw Mirage in the doorway, staring at them. Though her magic was intact, her sad face had lost its beauty. He had tried to convince her not to go to Thorin, but he knew that she would. As soon as he rode away, she would go to him. Wondering if he would ever see her again, Lukien raised his hand in farewell.

  Mirage smirked sadly, turned, and went back into the house.

  The gesture chilled Lukien. For a moment he could not speak. He looked at Aric, who reddened in embarrassment. Then he mounted his horse. Still in pain from
his many wounds, the effort wearied him. He recovered quickly though and grinned at Aric, one of his only friends left in the world.

  ‘Goodbye, Aric Glass,’ he said. ‘Take care of yourself. I will see you again when I can.’

  Still kept alive by the amulet around his neck, the Bronze Knight of Liiria rode away, heading south to find the hidden Sword of Angels.