by John Marco
Prince Daralor looked quietly puzzled. ‘I am wondering, Aric Glass, why in the world you have come here. Speak now. Tell me your story.’
‘Your Grace, I have come for your help. Since the fall of Koth I have been to all the kings of the countries surrounding Liiria, asking them to aid us.’
‘Us? Who are you referring to, Aric Glass?’
‘The defenders of Koth, Your Grace. The ones who survived.’
Daralor held back a chuckle. ‘But you’ve come here alone. Where are these others?’
‘They are scattered,’ Aric admitted. ‘There were maybe three-hundred of us who survived the battle at Koth. None of us could remain in the city, so we left to find safety before Jazana Carr’s mercenaries could hunt us down.’
‘But only you have come here,’ Daralor pointed out. ‘Aric Glass, you are all alone. That tells me that the others are lost to you, that they want no part in your crusade. I’ll ask you again – what are you doing here?’
‘Your Grace, you must see the danger you’re in. My father has made himself the King of Liiria, but he is not a man any more. He is possessed by a demon that knows no rest, and he is backed up by a woman with more gold then you can possibly imagine. I have told this to all the kings, but they all sent me away. They refuse to see the truth in what I’m saying.’
‘So you’re here to warn me, then?’ asked Daralor with a smirk. ‘Thank you for that.’
Aric felt the wind going out of his sails. ‘Prince Daralor, I have come to beg your aid. I’m here to make you see the danger that’s growing and to ask you to help fight it. Do you think that Nith is too small to interest my father? That he’ll overlook you? He won’t, because the demon that controls him will never let him rest. The demon thirsts for blood, and he doesn’t care if it’s Nithin blood or Liirian blood.’
‘You’ve come a long way just to try and frighten me,’ said Daralor. ‘But I already know these things you’ve told me. I have kept my eye on your father, believe me, and I no more trust him or that whore that shares his bed than I would any devil. You’ve told me nothing new. And if Baron Glass and his armour should come to Nith, then we will fight him.’
‘And you will lose, Your Grace, because you will not be enough. Your army is great, but small. If you wait for all the others to fall first, then there will be nothing to stand in my father’s way. All of the kings, one by one, will be picked off, because none of you will stand together.’
‘We are waiting,’ said Daralor. ‘We are cautious.’
‘Yes,’ said Aric with disgust. ‘Waiting to see what happens with Reec. That’s what all the kings have told me. They’re all waiting. They’re just going to sit back and watch the Reecians be slaughtered. And then what? Will you sit by and watch Marn fall?’
‘Watch your tongue,’ hissed one of the advisors. A fat man, he stepped forward and touched the throne. ‘Prince Daralor, let us be done with this boy. His father is a butcher. Let’s not waste our time.’
‘You’re wasting my time,’ Aric answered back. He was fearless suddenly, possessed of a desperate strength. ‘Maybe I’m the fool here. All of you are the same, everyone of you power mad kings. You don’t care what happens to your neighbours, just so long as you’re left alone. Well, Baron Glass and Jazana Carr won’t leave you alone. Not any of you. That’s my message, Prince Daralor. Mark it well.’
Aric turned and stormed toward the archway, to the gasps of Daralor’s advisors. Before he reached the exit, however, the prince clapped his hands and the guards at the threshold crossed their halberds to stop him. Aric paused, then angrily turned back to the prince.
‘You can kill the messenger but it won’t change the truth.’
Prince Daralor laughed. ‘You are an absurd boy. But Fate above you’re spirited! Come here. We have not concluded.’
Surprised, Aric went back to his place before the throne, looking up at Prince Daralor in confusion. Daralor lost his humour quickly, his face growing serious.
‘You are in Nith. Do you realize what that means? We do not make alliances. And we never allow foreign soldiers on our soil.’ The Prince lifted his three-fingered hand, holding it out for Aric to see. ‘Look at my hand. Do you know how this happened?’
‘Yes,’ said Aric, because everyone knew the story. ‘King Akeela did that to you.’
‘More precisely it was his henchman, Trager. But you are mostly right. We fought Akeela and his army because we would not allow them through our territory. That day, they butchered hundreds of my men. So forgive me if I don’t seem overjoyed to see you, Aric Glass. Nithins are never happy to see Liirians.’
‘It doesn’t change what I’ve told you, Prince Daralor.’
‘No,’ agreed the prince. ‘Everything you’ve spoken has been the truth. I’m not a fool, despite what you might think. I know what a danger your father is. But they say the Devil’s Armour cannot be defeated. They say your father is indestructible. You cannot blame us for wanting to see how the Reecians fare against him in battle, for if these rumours are true . . .’
‘They are true, Your Grace,’ said Aric. ‘I won’t lie to you. It may be that men have no chance at all against the armour. But there is a way.’
Daralor leaned forward. ‘What way?’
‘A sword. A magical sword, I think. It’s called the Sword of Angels, and it’s said to be the only way to defeat the Devil’s Armour.’
‘I have never heard of such a sword.’
‘Nor had I until just a few months ago. But the Bronze Knight Lukien has gone to quest for it. It’s said to lie beyond the desert somewhere, in a kingdom of serpents.’
‘A fanciful tale,’ Daralor snorted.
‘I believe it’s more than that, Your Grace. I believe the Sword of Angels exists and that Lukien will find it. That’s why all the others have disbanded. They’re waiting for Lukien to return.’
‘Or they’ve lost faith,’ Daralor suggested. He waited for Aric’s reaction. ‘Hmm?’
‘No,’ said Aric. Then he shrugged. ‘Or maybe.’ Admitting the truth to Daralor was difficult. ‘Some of them have lost faith, but it doesn’t matter. I’ll wait until Lukien returns with the sword, and if only the two of us have the courage to fight my father then so be it.’
‘And what will you do? Kill your father? This is your father, Aric Glass. Am I to believe you hate him so much?’
‘I loved my father once, Your Grace. But that thing on the throne of Liiria isn’t my father. I’m doing this to save my father.’
Prince Daralor leaned back in his throne, considering Aric’s words. The fat advisor who had asked for Aric’s dismissal came forward again, but before he could speak the prince waved him off.
‘You are a boy of great faith, to have undertaken this mission,’ sighed Daralor. ‘I am moved by you, Aric Glass.’
‘Thank you, Your Grace,’ said Aric, astonished.
‘Tell me again – what did King Deborba say to you?’
‘Very little,’ Aric replied, recalling the arrogance of the Marnan king. ‘He granted me an audience once he knew who I was, but mostly he just wanted to gloat. I think he likes what’s happened to Liiria.’
‘Of course he does. Deborba is a pig. That is why we have no use for Marnans. But Reecians are another story entirely. They are good people. Tell me what you’ve heard on that front.’
‘The Reecians?’ Aric shrugged. ‘Not very much. They’ve placed an army on their border with Liiria, near the river Kryss. They’re determined to defend themselves.’
Daralor nodded. ‘We hear the same. But old King Raxor is not well. They say he is demented. I wonder if he is sharp enough still to avoid a war with Liiria and Norvor.’ The prince put his head back against his throne and sighed. ‘A brave man.’ He looked at Aric. ‘Have you gone to Reec yet?’
‘No, Your Grace. It was easier for me to head southeast. I thought I would find more friends this way, but even Farduke turned me down.’
‘Farduke,’ Daralor scoffed. ‘More f
ops and cowards. You should have gone to Reec. They would have listened to you.’
Aric smiled hopefully. ‘I came to Nith instead, Your Grace.’
‘But these others you’ve gone to – they will never join in this alliance you seek, not until they are threatened directly. Until Baron Glass and his mercenaries are at their doorstep, they won’t lift a finger to help you, or to help Reec.’
‘And you? What will you do, Your Grace?’
‘We are Nithins. We are not afraid of anything. But we’re not fools, Aric Glass. Even if the Bronze Knight finds this magic sword, we haven’t the men to charge against Liiria. Not alone.’
‘But if no one joins us . . .’
‘The Reecians,’ said Daralor. ‘They are the only ones. They are the first ones to feel the threat of your father, and so they will accept our help if offered.’
Aric brightened. ‘So you’ll fight with them?’
‘Not yet. Not until they need us. And they must ask for our help first. If you want to make this alliance, you must ask them.’
‘You mean go to Reec?’
‘Of course. Or you may wait here for the Bronze Knight to return. The choice is yours.’
‘But Your Grace, you could march men to Reec now. Perhaps the show of force—’
‘No. Any show of force will only provoke your father. We have heard that the armour has maddened him. He is suspicious and afraid.’
‘Yes,’ said Aric, knowing it was so. ‘Then what?’
‘Go to Reec, Aric Glass. Tell them that we of Nith are ready to stand with them. When the Bronze Knight returns, we will march with him into Liiria, and together we will battle Baron Glass and his Diamond Queen.’
Aric stood staring at Prince Daralor. ‘Your Grace? You’re really going to help?’
‘You’re young,’ Daralor said with a laugh. ‘It’s not your fault you went to cowards first. But you’re not in Deborba’s throne room this time, boy. There are no cowards in Nith.’ He put his hands together, rubbing the stumps of his missing fingers. ‘Whenever my hand aches, I think about my unfinished business with Liiria.’ He gave a sardonic smile. ‘Do you understand me?’
Aric smiled. ‘I think so, Your Grace.’
‘Good. It’s not vengeance, boy. Just a need to right some old wrongs, and do the world a favour at the same time. Now, you look hungry. Are you?’
‘Starving, Your Grace.’
‘Then eat, Aric Glass. Eat your fill and rest. You have a long road ahead of you to Reec.’
Aric went to the dais, then knelt before Prince Daralor. ‘Thank you, Your Grace.’ His voice crackled with relief. ‘Thank you.’
Prince Daralor rose from his throne and stepped down off the dais, putting his maimed hand atop Aric’s head. ‘Liirians are brave, too,’ he said, then walked slowly out of the chamber.
20
Jazana Carr looked into the freckled face of the child on her lap and smiled. Like all the children, she sat cross-legged on the grass of the yard, enjoying the sunlight of the long awaited Spring. In one hand Jazana balanced a storybook full of pictures she had salvaged from the ruins of the library. In the other hand she kept the little girl from bowing over. The girl with the red scraggly hair listened intently as Jazana read, as if she was the only child in the world and the twenty others in the yard had simply disappeared, leaving her alone to enjoy the Diamond Queen’s attention. Wide-eyed, the girl rubbed her runny nose, staring at the hand-painted picture in the book, a fabulous, page-filling illustration of a dragon. Her sticky finger reached out to trace the creature, laughing in delight.
‘Monster,’ she declared.
The children in the yard waited for Jazana Carr to show them the page.
‘That’s right,’ said Jazana. She held the book up for all the children to see. ‘And what do we do with monsters?’
‘Kill them!’ chorused the children.
Jazana Carr proudly beamed. ‘Good.’
She went on with her story, dramatically turning the pages, slowly telling of the dragon and the band of heroes sent to slay it. It was one of Jazana’s favourite stories and she read it often to the orphans of Koth, reading it always in the same theatric voice. From the corner of her eye she watched the children, rapt with attention. Their bellies full from a meal in Lionkeep’s kitchen, it was their minds and hearts that hungered now. There were hundreds of children like them in Koth, orphaned by the civil strife or abandoned by parents too desperate to keep them. Living in burnt-out husks of homes or in the city’s elaborate sewers, Jazana had rescued them from the horrors of the streets, housing them in orphanages she built and staffed with her own great fortune. Too numerous to count, the orphans of Koth had gradually come to trust her, the queen who had conquered their country, and had been brought to Lionkeep in small groups like this one to feel Jazana’s love.
‘Then Barkin the Black snuck up on the sleeping dragon,’ said Jazana. She held up the new page. ‘Look!’
The children stared, barely breathing.
‘And Barkin took out his sword and ran the dragon through!’
A boy in front shrieked, ‘No!’
‘Yes!’ said Jazana. ‘The dragon roared and roared, and Barkin the Black fell back against the cavern wall, frightened by what he had done.’
Jazana turned the page, and the red-haired girl in her lap began to cry. She pointed at the new picture, this one of a dead dragon.
‘Poor monster,’ said the little girl.
Jazana laughed. ‘No, Anala, not poor monster. Bad monster! Don’t you remember? He killed people.’
Little Anala chose not to be consoled, but rather turned her head away. ‘Good dragon. Bad people.’
The boy in the front also lamented the dragon’s death. At only five years old, he was full of questions. Raising his hand, he asked, ‘Is there more?’
Jazana closed the book. ‘No. That’s how it ends.’
‘Can you read another?’ asked a dark-haired girl named Vivia. Jazana remembered her because of her contused face, abuse she had taken from a man who had put the six year-old to work. He was dead now, that man, dealt with by Jazana’s swift justice.
‘No more today,’ said the queen, shooing Anala off her lap. ‘It’s a sunny day. Go and play now.’
Reluctantly the children got up from the grass, then quickly ran off across the lawn, playing under the watchful eyes of Jazana’s guards. Jazana rose and stretched her aching back, smiling at the scene of the children against the backdrop of the apple orchard. The day was lovely, one of the best since Spring had come, and Jazana thrilled at the warm sun on her face. Slowly, she and Thorin had been rebuilding Koth. One at a time, merchants were returning and the old, ruined constructs were being repaired, returned to the glory they had enjoyed in Koth’s heyday. It had taken enormous resources to make the city whole again and lure people back, but the diamonds from her Norvan mines had paid for the reconstruction, and Thorin’s powerful glamour assured the populace that they were safe. For Jazana, she could not remember a time when she was happier. Thorin had been the perfect lover, attentive and kind to her even though troubles plagued him. And though Jazana suspected the demon in his armour of triggering his rages, he was always gentle with her, always forgetting his worries when he laid in her arms. She chose not to see the things others saw in Thorin, the way he obsessed over the library’s reconstruction and the fabulous thinking machine. When she looked at him, she saw only the man she loved, imperfect but worthy of her loyalty.
Jazana watched as the children made teams and kicked a ball between each other, happily shouting on the sun-drenched lawn. She had become their saviour and they adored her, nuzzling in her lap as though she were their mother. Jazana had never produced her own children, a fact that had long plagued her, but now she no longer felt the need for offspring. The orphans of Koth were her children, just like the orphans of Norvor had been. Just as Thorin had promised her, they were bringing good to the world. She was glad she had stayed with him.
&n
bsp; ‘My lady?’
Jazana turned from her day-dreaming, finding her man Garen approaching. The mercenary’s look told her something good had happened.
‘Garen?’
‘My lady, I have news. Rodrik Varl has returned.’
‘Rodrik?’ Jazana’s smile widened. ‘When?’
‘Just now, my lady, a few minutes ago. He’s taking a meal inside. I told him I’d come find you.’
Jazana Carr nodded quickly. ‘Look after them, will you?’ she asked, gesturing to the children.
Garen blanched at her request. ‘Uhm, I’m not really the one for this . . .’
‘Oh, they’re just children, Garen. Fate above!’
‘Yes, my lady.’ Garen sighed. ‘Varl’s in the kitchen.’
Famished from his long ride from Norvor, Rodrik Varl had gone straight for food upon arriving in Lionkeep. He had been gone from Koth for almost a month, and Jazana was anxious to see him. She was not surprised at all that her red-headed bodyguard had chosen food first over her, because he had an appetite like a horse and very little patience for children. Jazana hurried toward the kitchen, nearly gliding in her good mood. She had sent Rodrik to their homeland to find out about Elgan’s rebellion, and she expected good news from him.
When she arrived in the kitchen, she found Rodrik still in his dusty riding coat, seated at the wooden cooking table hunched over a plate of chicken. His greasy hands and mouth picked at the bones, his tongue eager for every morsel. A pitcher of beer stood next to his plate without a tankard. As Jazana walked into view, Rodrik Varl sat up quickly, wiping chicken bits from his face with his sleeve.
‘Jazana . . .’
Longing shined on his bearded face. His smile broke like a gentle wave. Jazana paused before stepping closer, admiring her handsome bodyguard. They had been too long apart and the emotion of their reunion charged them both.
‘Were you so hungry you couldn’t come to greet me first?’
Rodrik nodded. ‘Yes.’
‘I forgive you.’ Jazana went to the soldier and kissed his ruddy cheek. ‘I’m glad you’re back.’