The Sword Of Angels (Gollancz S.F.)

by John Marco

  Varl nodded, offering his queen one of the uncomfortable chairs. ‘Will you sit?’

  With no staff around to bother them, Jazana took a chair opposite Varl, eager to hear his news. He offered her some of the beer from the pitcher.

  ‘I can get you a tankard . . .’

  ‘No,’ said Jazana. ‘Just talk to me.’

  Varl pushed his plate away and sighed. ‘All right.’

  ‘I don’t like your face, Rodrik. If you have something bad to tell me, say it quickly.’

  ‘You haven’t heard anything from Norvor, my lady?’

  Jazana felt a flutter of panic. ‘Not for weeks.’

  ‘Not about Carlion?’

  ‘Rodrik, tell me, damn you.’

  Varl had to force himself to look at her. ‘I can hardly say it. It’s gone, Jazana. It’s fallen.’

  It took a moment for his words to reach her. Jazana stared at him. Her voice dropped to a gasp.

  ‘What’s fallen?’

  ‘Carlion. Jazana, it’s fallen to Elgan.’

  Jazana opened her mouth to speak, not knowing what to say. ‘No . . .’

  ‘It’s true. Elgan and his men killed Gondoir. They took the old castle three weeks ago.’

  ‘And you had to eat before telling me this?’ Jazana took his plate and flung it against the wall. ‘You had to fill your big stomach first?’ The queen stood up and slapped Varl hard across the mouth. ‘How dare you.’

  Varl sat very still, but his temples pulsed with rage. ‘What could I have done? Garen told me you were with those children . . .’

  ‘You could have told me you lost my capital!’ Jazana railed. ‘I sent you there to protect things!’

  ‘I didn’t lose it, it was lost when I got there. Three weeks ago, Jazana. That’s how long Lord Gondoir’s been dead.’

  ‘And what about Manjek? That useless toad – couldn’t he have helped?’

  ‘Manjek and the others didn’t move against Elgan because they don’t have the men.’ Varl finally got out of his chair, facing his irate queen. ‘I told you that already, but you wouldn’t listen.’

  ‘But you could have helped . . .’

  ‘I’m only one man!’ Frustrated, Varl backed off. ‘Jazana . . .’ He put up his hands. ‘I don’t want this. I’m telling you what’s been happening. There are more loyalists around Carlion then any of us realized. They’ve heard that Lorn is still alive and they’re waiting for him to return. They follow Elgan because he’s one of them. He’s the old rule. I don’t think Gondoir even knew what was happening.’

  ‘And what about the other cities? What about Rolga? What about Vicvar?’

  ‘They’re secure. For now. I don’t think Elgan has any plans to move against them. He doesn’t have that kind of reach, and he doesn’t have the men to mount any kind of attack.’

  ‘But the capital,’ Jazana sputtered. ‘He has the capital?’ She put her hand on the table to steady herself against the unbelievable news. Not even a year ago, she had marched into Carlion, driving Lorn out of the city. The people had welcomed her as a saviour then. ‘Why?’ She looked at Varl desperately. ‘Rodrik, why?’

  ‘You know why, Jazana. I told you why months ago.’ Varl pulled out a chair and guided his queen into it, hovering over her. ‘I told you Norvor needed you. They needed to see you, to believe you haven’t forgotten them.’

  ‘I haven’t forgotten them!’

  ‘But you’ve taken all your fortune and spent it here in Liiria! Not in Norvor where the people need it. They think you’ve abandoned them, Jazana. And sometimes . . .’

  The bodyguard stopped himself.

  ‘What?’ Jazana asked. ‘Whatever you’re thinking, say it.’

  ‘Sometimes I think so, too.’

  Varl’s confession crushed Jazana. ‘How can you say that? You! You of all people know my heart.’

  ‘I know, my lady. I do,’ said Varl. He pulled his chair close to Jazana’s and sat down, leaning forward to confront her. ‘But you’ve fallen under Thorin’s spell. You don’t see the truth about him.’

  ‘What truth?’ spat Jazana. ‘You’ve been gone, Rodrik. You haven’t seen all the good that Thorin’s done.’

  ‘I know that he’s declared himself King. I heard about it in Norvor.’

  ‘And the people follow him. They love him!’

  ‘They’re terrified of him! He’s a—’ Varl quickly stopped himself, glancing around. ‘He’s a madman, Jazana,’ he whispered. ‘The people all know it. Garen knows it, or haven’t you asked him?’

  ‘You’re jealous,’ Jazana sniffed. ‘You’ve always been jealous of Thorin.’

  ‘And you’re blind. Because you love him you refuse to see the truth about him. He’s bleeding Norvor to death, Jazana, just to protect Liiria. Just to rebuild that library of his. That’s where he is right now, isn’t he? I bet he’s hardly left that place since I left here.’

  Jazana had to look away. Everything he’d said was true, and too stinging for her to face. ‘There are threats against Liiria. Thorin has to protect it.’

  ‘You mean the Reecians?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘The ones on the border? The ones who haven’t made a single move against Liiria for weeks?’

  ‘How do you know they’re not planning an invasion?’ asked Jazana.

  ‘Is that what Thorin believes?’

  Jazana refused to look at him. ‘It could be.’

  ‘Or it could be that they’re afraid of us. They’re just protecting themselves, Jazana. It’s the right thing to do.’

  ‘Exactly,’ said Jazana. ‘It’s the right thing to do. We have to protect ourselves, too. We didn’t fight for Liiria to have it taken away from us.’

  ‘And to hell with Norvor, is that it?’ barked Varl.

  ‘No! I haven’t forgotten about Norvor. I never could.’

  ‘Then prove it, Jazana,’ Varl implored. ‘Tell Thorin to send troops back with me to Norvor. Tell him to stop spending so much Norvan treasure in Liiria.’

  ‘He will,’ Jazana insisted. ‘He’s already told me that. Once he’s dealt with Reec he’ll go to Norvor himself and take care of Elgan. He’s promised me that.’

  ‘You’re willing to wait?’ Varl looked disgusted. ‘You’re afraid of him. You’re afraid he’ll leave you again.’

  ‘That’s enough,’ said Jazana, getting out of her chair. ‘I won’t listen any more.’

  ‘You won’t listen? I just told you the capital fell! How can you ignore that?’

  ‘I’ve heard you!’ railed Jazana. ‘But there’s nothing I can do, not yet. First Reec, then Norvor. Thorin has promised me!’

  ‘And you believe him?’ Rodrik Varl looked at his queen in disbelief. ‘Jazana, I never thought you could be this way. I never thought a man could make you so weak.’

  Jazana had to stop herself from leaving. She closed her eyes, wondering what she could say to explain herself.

  ‘Rodrik,’ she sighed, ‘I’m happy. For the first time in my life. Thorin loves me. He takes care of me. I’ve been taking care of myself for so long, I’ve forgotten what it’s like to just be like a child.’

  ‘I love you too, Jazana. You know that.’

  Jazana nodded. ‘Yes.’

  ‘And I wouldn’t lie to you just to get my way. Norvor needs its queen. Someone has to explain that to Thorin.’

  ‘He won’t listen to you,’ warned Jazana. ‘He listens only to the armour.’

  ‘He would listen to you if you made him listen,’ said Varl. ‘But you won’t do that, will you?’

  Jazana thought for a moment, not wanting to admit the answer that came so quickly. Finally she said, ‘No. I won’t.’

  Rodrik Varl, her loyal man, seemed profoundly hurt. He took his beret off the table, slapping it onto his head. ‘Is Thorin at the library?’

  ‘Don’t . . .’

  ‘Excuse me,’ said Varl, pushing past his queen. ‘I have business to attend.’

  Jazana watched him
impotently as he left. She sat herself down again in the empty kitchen, her good day ruined.

  Baron Glass stared up at the painted ceiling, mesmerized. For nearly an hour he had studied it, loving its colours and intricacies, marvelling at the talent of the man who had created it. The scene Lucio had painted stretched across the vaulted ceiling, jumping the beams to continue unbroken on a series of panels, each one effortlessly blending with the others. Amid the torchlight of the giant chamber, Baron Glass could see the hundreds of tiny figures the artist had brought to life, some on horseback, others laying dead on the bloodied field while the racing river threaded through the landscape. The opposing armies of Liiria and Reec appeared as they had that long ago day, repeating the way that had clashed for ages, charging each others mounded defenses with snorting horses and wind tearing at the banners. On the furthest panel, the Reecian King sat atop a golden maned stallion, peering across the river as his soldiers stormed the Kryss. King Karis had been bold that day; Thorin remembered him perfectly, young and confident, prepared to prove himself through the blood of others. He had come to the river with two-thousand men, determined to seize the waterway. Thorin heard the shouts of the soldiers as they battered the defenders, his own Liirians, outnumbered but unafraid, waiting for reinforcements with their swords drawn.

  It had been a great and bloody day. Thorin felt its memory stirring though his body. The distant sounds of workmen fell away as he stared up at the magnificent ceiling, lost in its complexity. He was like a shadow suddenly, barely moving in the darkened room, his armoured arm tingling with excitement. Through his eyes, the demon Kahldris studied the ceiling too. Thorin could feel the spirit’s impression. Amid the noise of hammers ringing through the library, the man and his Akari were silent. Baron Glass let his gaze slip once again to a middle panel, where he himself had been painted on horseback. Like Karis of Reec, he was young again, with both arms made of flesh and thick hair sprouting from his head. His mouth opened wide with a shout, rallying his men. His sword pointed high and skyward.

  Baron Glass smiled, pleased with the depiction of himself. Lucio had captured him perfectly. In one of the library’s only undamaged chambers, Lucio had worked tirelessly for months, creating a gift for all of Liiria. He was an old man now but he had worked with vigour, speeding through the panels miraculously, helped by a team of talented youths who had come to the library with the master to rebuild its glory. Like other artisans, Lucio and his acolytes had heeded Thorin’s call, eager to remake the library they had all so beloved. Now, seeing Lucio’s masterwork, Thorin knew his efforts had not been wasted.

  ‘It will be better than it ever was,’ whispered Thorin. Pride swelled his chest. ‘Just as I promised.’

  So far, he had spent a large part of Jazana’s fortune rebuilding the library, with still much left to do. It would take years to make the place over and repair the damage his own men had wrought, but Baron Glass was determined. Liiria needed the library. If she was ever to be great again, the symbol of Koth had to rise again. Some said he was obsessed, and Thorin supposed there was truth to their claims. But he knew that only obsessed men accomplished great things, and that men like Lucio shared his obsession. Seeing the ceiling, Thorin thrilled at what he had so far accomplished.

  ‘We are great,’ he said, his smile growing. His voice echoed in the giant room. Long ago emptied of its scrolls and manuscripts, the chamber magnified every tiny sound, even his own breath. Soon, the workmen could return the books to the chamber. And one day the library would once again call scholars from across the world.

  You are proud? asked Kahldris.

  Thorin nodded. ‘I am.’

  He was one with the Akari now. He flexed his fleshless, armoured arm to feel the connection. The rest of the Devil’s Armour lay safely locked away in Lionkeep, but Baron Glass never removed the enchanted parts that made up his left arm. With them he was whole again, able to move the digits of his gauntlet as if real fingers filled the metal.

  Then, Kahldris came to life beside him, shimmering in the dim chamber. Sometimes he came in armour, like the soldier he was in life. Most often though he came in the wizard he had been, the summoner who could commune with the dead, and that was how he appeared to Thorin now, in a simple shirt with flowing sleeves and breeches of silken fabric that made no sound when he moved. His translucent form glowed with unholy light, but the smile on his face comforted Thorin. His eyes burned with dark fire as he spied the ceiling. An ancient finger raised to trace the painted battle.

  ‘I am reminded of my own days of war,’ said the Akari. ‘And how it was against the Jadori. These Reecians – they have plagued your people like the Jadori plagued my own. Now they come again to plague you.’

  There was empathy in the demon’s tone. Thorin considered his words, finding truth in them. He did not fear Kahldris the way he had once, and the spirit’s presence in the room no longer made him stare in awe. Their alliance calmed Thorin.

  ‘You should be proud,’ said Kahldris. ‘You have done much. You are king now. Men like Lucio have gathered to your flag. There are no rebellions inside Liiria. No one starves here.’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Thorin.

  ‘But remember – it can yet be taken from us,’ the spirit reminded him. ‘Not by the Reecians – they can never harm you.’

  ‘I have not forgotten your brother, Kahldris.’

  ‘When the boy comes . . .’

  ‘When he comes he will help us,’ said Thorin sharply. ‘He will.’

  So far, they had waited months for Gilwyn to come, and while they waited the catalogue machine lay dormant, collecting dust along its armatures and miles of metal rods. Even Kahldris with all his ancient knowledge had been unable to work the intricate tool, baffled by its arcane design. Still, the Akari brooded constantly about the thing he called ‘the thinking machine,’ sure that somehow it could tell him where his brother hid.

  ‘Time is not our friend,’ said Kahldris. His ghostly face grew drawn. ‘The boy takes too long in coming here.’

  ‘At least he is alive,’ Thorin pointed out, relieved that Kahldris had once again been able to feel Gilwyn’s presence in the world. For a time, the Akari had been unable to sense Gilwyn, even with all his strength. Now, though, Kahldris was sure Gilwyn was alive. Very faintly, he could feel the boy growing closer. ‘And he’s crippled, remember. He cannot travel quickly.’

  Kahldris grinned at his host. ‘Look at you. Your face changes when you speak of him. Like a proud father.’

  ‘Why shouldn’t I be proud of him? He comes to save me from you, demon.’

  ‘That is what you think?’

  Baron Glass regarded the image of Kahldris, wondering at his meaning. ‘Is there another reason?’

  ‘Do you think you should be saved from me?’

  ‘I am strong enough to deal with you,’ said Thorin confidently. ‘Gilwyn worries because he loves me.’

  The shimmering face of Kahldris darkened in disappointment. ‘When the boy arrives he will tell you something. It is something you should have figured out yourself by now. He is not coming merely to help you resist me, but to have his vengeance on me.’

  ‘Vengeance? For what?’ Thorin looked demandingly at Kahldris. ‘What have you done?’

  ‘I have put the wheels in motion.’

  ‘Tell me what you’ve done,’ growled Thorin.

  ‘I have struck at him,’ said Kahldris, ‘in the only way to make him move. At the girl he cares for.’

  ‘What are you saying?’ Thorin asked. ‘Be clear, damn you!’

  ‘The kahana, Baron Glass. The girl that Gilwyn loves.’

  ‘White-Eye . . .’ Thorin braced himself. ‘What have you done to her?’

  ‘I have taken her Akari,’ said Kahldris. He did not flinch as he spoke. ‘She is blind again.’

  The words unbalanced Thorin. He stared mutely at the spirit, horrified. ‘You what?’

  ‘Be strong, Baron Glass,’ Kahldris commanded. ‘We have need of the boy
and his skills. It was the only way to lure him here.’

  ‘By attacking a girl?’ Thorin hissed. ‘When she’s done nothing to you?’

  ‘She is Jadori,’ retorted Kahldris, folding his arms across his chest. ‘That should be enough reason to harm her. But I did so for far better reasons, Baron Glass, and you must see the truth of that. I warned you not to be weak.’

  ‘But to harm White-Eye . . .’

  Thorin fell back, staggered by the news. For the first time in weeks, he felt a pang of regret.

  ‘You are weakening, Baron . . .’

  ‘No,’ said Thorin. ‘I am stronger than you think, demon. And a man who is strong does not blind little girls.’ He looked away, disgusted with Kahldris and with himself for what the spirit had done. ‘There could have been another way to get Gilwyn to help us. There must have been.’

  Kahldris glided closer to him. ‘You still don’t understand, do you? To the world you left behind, I am a monster. Why? Because I do the ruthless things that must be done. In Kaliatha I was a madman because I wanted to save my people. Now your friends say I am evil, but I am the only one willing to help you rescue your country. Where were your friends when Liiria was suffering? Did they come to help you defend her?’

  ‘No,’ Thorin admitted. ‘They did not.’

  Kahldris’ glowing face nodded. ‘To rule is hard, Baron Glass, but it is what you wanted. I will teach you these things you need to know.’

  Thorin gazed up at the ceiling. High above, he saw his past glories depicted in brilliant colours, but his heart sank at the news of White-Eye’s maiming. Suddenly it was obvious to him why Gilwyn was heading north. Kahldris’ brutality had lured him, not love.

  ‘You’ve given me much already,’ said Thorin. ‘I am grateful to you, Kahldris.’

  ‘I can give you much more,’ said the Akari. ‘But I hunger, Baron Glass.’

  Thorin turned to him. He looked straight into the spirit’s burning eyes and saw the bloodlust there.

  ‘No.’

  ‘I must feed to be strong,’ Kahldris argued. ‘To keep you strong.’

  ‘I have seen you feed, Kahldris. It is nothing that I wish to see again.’

  ‘Blood is life, Baron Glass, and life is what I have given you. I cannot go on without blood.’