The Sword Of Angels (Gollancz S.F.)

by John Marco

  ‘As I said, I bear a message,’ said Aric. Immediately he knew who he was addressing. Like most Liirians, he had heard the name Roland the Red. ‘Prince Roland, what I have to say to your father is greatly important. If he is here . . .’

  ‘You know who I am,’ said Roland, puffing a little. ‘Whatever you have to tell the king you can tell to me.’

  Aric avoided his traps. ‘I should tell it to both of you, I think.’

  Roland grinned. ‘You task me, boy. Give me your name.’

  It was the question Aric dreaded. ‘Aric Glass,’ he said, then waited for the storm to come.

  ‘Aric . . . ?’ Roland looked again at his comrade, this time in disbelief. ‘Aric Glass?’ he sputtered. ‘Aric Glass?’

  ‘The son of Thorin Glass, yes,’ said Aric. He watched as the faces of the men twitched. ‘Prince Roland, I’m here because I have important news for your father, news about my own father that might help all of us. Please, I’ve ridden for weeks looking for help. If I can have an audience with the king—’

  ‘For what reason?’ asked Roland sharply. ‘You’re the son of Baron Glass.’

  ‘It’s not a ploy,’ said Aric, bracing himself. ‘Sir, I’ve come from Nith. I’ve come with a message from Prince Daralor to your father. I’m on your side in this, believe me.’

  Roland put his hand to the pommel of his sword. ‘And I’d be a fool to let a snake into camp, boy.’

  ‘Prince Roland, please listen to me. I need to see your father.’

  ‘You are seeing me,’ said Roland, his ire growing. ‘Tell me what your business is. What is this message from Nith?’

  There was enough steel in his words to make Aric ease back. He had seen men like Roland before – quick to anger, needing to prove himself. He had given himself away with every poorly chosen word. Risking Roland’s wrath, Aric shook his head.

  ‘I can only give my message to the king,’ he said. ‘It’s just by good fortune that I find him here. I was on my way to Hes to speak to him.’

  Prince Roland turned an apple shade of scarlet. He started to speak, then caught himself as he noticed his men looking at him. Finally, the older man spoke again.

  ‘Your father will want to speak to him,’ he said to Roland easily. His tone was practiced. ‘Let the boy deliver his message.’

  Roland smiled crookedly at the older man. ‘Is that what he would want, Craiglen? Then my father should have what he wants, shouldn’t he? He’s the king, after all.’

  The man called Craiglen turned from the prince and ordered the guards to stand aside. To Aric he said, ‘Dismount. My men will take your horse.’

  Aric did as ordered, and the guards came forward to take his mount. The older soldier then dismounted himself, handing off his own horse, and called to other guards who had gathered nearby to listen. These men surrounded Aric at his order. Prince Roland, still upon his horse, gazed down imperiously at Aric, yet nevertheless looked out of place.

  ‘Are you coming?’ Craiglen asked him.

  Roland grimaced, then finally got down off his own horse. It shocked Aric how much things were out of his hands. Even the low ranking guards looked to Craiglen for direction.

  ‘Follow me,’ Roland said, then led the way into the heart of camp.

  Surrounded by armed men, Aric followed the prince, stepping into the perimeter to the stares of dumbstruck soldiers. The men who had first greeted him led away their horses, and soon Aric was engulfed by the camp. He studied the war machines the Reecians had brought with them, the armoured wagons and carts laden with weapons. A few burly, bare-chest men sweated with an enormous catapult, cursing as they refitted its splines. Horse dung littered the ground, though gaggles of stableboys worked gamely to clean it, and men in armour and scarlet capes gathered around campfires to talk and laugh, falling quiet as Prince Roland passed. It took long minutes to cross the camp, and every step impressed Aric. King Raxor was taking no chances. Whatever his motives, he intended to win against the Liirians.

  But Aric knew how impossible that was. Raxor might be brave and have an army with him, but he didn’t know what he was up against, or the sheer power of the Devil’s Armour. To think of it made Aric forlorn.

  At last they came to the far end of the camp, where a pavilion stood alone and the camp fires had thinned. Here, more of the guards greeted them, though these were more alert than the ones who’d greeted Aric. Standing at attention, their uniforms crisp and clean, they glared at Aric as he approached, at once sensing the stranger in their midst. Prince Roland exchanged a few words with them, mostly ordering them to step aside. Backing up the prince’s order was Craiglen, who nodded at the guards. The guards parted reluctantly, letting all of them pass. Aric looked around and saw that more soldiers milled near the grand tent. Huge dogs – mastiffs by the looks of them – were chained to posts near the fire. Soldiers tossed them meat. Others groomed the howling beasts. Aric noticed another campfire, this one apart from all the others. A single man enjoyed the fire, surrounded by unleashed dogs. The dogs knelt dutifully by him as he went from one to the other, giving each of them treats and patting their heads. He was an old man, older than Craiglen, dressed in a long coat with a collar of wolf fur. Though he stooped to tend his pets, Aric could tell he was enormous. Except for his head, his entire body was draped by the dark coat, his hands and feet shielded in black leather as well. Enamoured of his dogs, he seemed not to notice the approaching men. The group paused just outside the light of his fire. Prince Roland stepped forward.

  ‘Father,’ he said, ‘someone is here for you.’

  King Raxor didn’t bother lifting his head. ‘Who?’

  ‘A messenger. A boy named Aric Glass.’

  The distracted king took a moment before he realized what had been said. He turned to look at Roland, then straight at Aric. Their eyes met, making Aric shrivel. Raxor had been legend once, a warrior of great renown, and had lost little of his ability to intimidate.

  ‘Glass?’ said the king.

  Craiglen stepped forward. ‘My lord, this is Baron Glass’ son. He has come with a message from Prince Daralor of Nith.’

  ‘I am more amazed each time someone speaks! Nith, you say?’ The old king examined Aric. ‘And this is the Black Baron’s son?’ He laughed. ‘It’s a day of miracles.’

  ‘This isn’t a joke, Father,’ said Roland. ‘He claims he’s the son of Thorin Glass.’

  ‘I have never seen a son of Thorin Glass and would not know him if I did,’ said Raxor. He took a bit of meat from the bag at his belt and tossed it to one of his mastiffs, then frowned at Aric. ‘A trick? Because I expect tricks from you Liirians, boy.’

  ‘No,’ Aric assured him. ‘It’s no trick, my lord. I am who I claim.’

  ‘You’re wearing the uniform of a Royal Charger,’ Raxor commented. ‘The Royal Chargers are dead.’

  ‘He says he fought with Breck at the library,’ said Craiglen.

  ‘It’s true,’ said Aric. ‘I am not an ally of my father, my lord.’

  ‘Why were you in Nith?’ asked Roland. ‘No one goes to Nith.’

  ‘I went to ask their help against my father,’ Aric said. ‘I went to all the kings of the southern lands, and everyone turned me down. Except Prince Daralor.’ He looked at Raxor earnestly. ‘My lord, he’s the only one besides you who understands the danger. I went to Marn and Farduke and even the Viscount of Lonril, and all of them sent me away.’

  Raxor looked intrigued. ‘But not Daralor?’

  ‘How do we even know you are who you claim?’ argued Roland.

  Raxor nodded. ‘My son makes a point, boy. You say you went to Nith to ask aid against your father? Why would you do such a thing?’

  ‘Unless he’s just a traitor,’ sneered Roland. ‘Maybe you want gold to sell out your own flesh? I would believe that of a Glass.’

  The insult riled Aric, but he let it pass. ‘I’m not a traitor,’ he said evenly. ‘I loved my father once. I still do. But he’s not my father anymore. He’s
been corrupted by the armour he wears.’

  Raxor’s eyebrows shot up at once. ‘You know about his armour?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Aric. ‘Not much, but enough to know what a danger it is. It’s a magical thing, my lord, a weapon made by an ancient magician.’

  ‘We know this,’ said Roland. ‘Tell us something useful.’

  ‘I can tell you that I’ve seen my father in battle,’ Aric shot back. ‘I’ve seen what the armour has done to him, and what it can do to an army like yours. That’s why I went to Nith and the others. None of you alone are strong enough to stand against him.’

  ‘An alliance? Is that what Daralor proposes?’ asked Raxor.

  ‘Yes,’ said Aric. ‘My lord, Prince Daralor knows of this army you’ve massed on the border. He honours what you’re doing here. He told me that you’re the only brave king left on the continent, and to be true I think he’s right. All the others want to wait and see. They’re not willing to join up and face down my father.’

  Roland grimaced at this. ‘They want others to do their work for them.’

  ‘That’s right,’ admitted Aric. ‘But Daralor is ready to fight with you, if you’ll have him.’

  One of Raxor’s mastiffs came to stand beside him then. The old king patted the dog’s head, commanding it to sit. He stared pensively at the beast for a moment, his lower lips disappearing.

  ‘Can you imagine how this sounds to me, boy?’ he sighed. ‘How do I know that anything you’ve said is true? You come into my camp, you make fantastic claims and ask me to trust you. But what proof have you brought with you?’

  Aric patted his pockets remembering the note Daralor had penned for him. He looked sheepishly at the king.

  ‘In my saddlebags there is a letter from Daralor,’ he said. ‘To you, my lord, written in his own hand and sealed with his own seal. Your soldiers have my horse.’ He looked around frantically. ‘If I could get it . . .’

  Raxor held up his hand. ‘I’ll see your letter in time, boy. What else have you brought?’

  Aric shrugged. ‘Nothing. Just my own tired self.’

  Roland was unmoved, but Craiglen looked sympathetically at his king. Aric hurried to explain himself.

  ‘My lord, I have been on the road since the fall of Koth, knocking on doors like a beggar, trying to get people to listen to me. I’ve explained myself a thousand times. I can show you my blisters, but that’s about all. I am Aric Glass, son of Thorin. And believe it or not, I’m here to help you.’

  ‘Look around, boy,’ directed Roland. ‘We have an army of our own.’

  ‘I have seen it,’ said Aric. ‘It won’t be enough.’

  Roland turned to his father. ‘He tricks us. Send him to Asher to see what he knows and let’s be done with him.’

  ‘Asher?’ Aric probed.

  ‘Our interrogator,’ said Roland with an ugly grin. ‘At least then we’ll get the truth from you.’

  ‘But I have told you the truth!’

  ‘And I believe you,’ said King Raxor. ‘I do, boy. Be at ease.’

  ‘Father . . .’

  ‘Quiet,’ Raxor ordered his son. He knelt down next to his heeling dog, running his wrinkled fingers over its black scalp. ‘You’ve been honest with us, Aric Glass. I can tell that about you, at least. I don’t know what motivates you to betray your father. It doesn’t matter I suppose. So let me be honest with you – we have already sent word to your father to talk. We don’t want war, and we’re only here to protect ourselves. Somehow I have to convince your father of that.’

  ‘It won’t be easy, my lord,’ said Aric. ‘As I said, the armour has changed him. He doesn’t reason the way a normal man does. There’s a demon in the armour that possess him.’

  ‘A demon?’ said Raxor with disgust. ‘Black magic from the desert lands.’

  ‘Has he replied to you yet, my lord?’

  ‘No.’ Raxor stood. ‘It’s been three days and still no word. He plays games with us.’

  ‘He means to intimidate us,’ said Roland. ‘Every day his army grows. Our spies have seen it.’

  ‘But he hasn’t moved troops to the border,’ Craiglen pointed out. ‘Perhaps that is hopeful.’

  Raxor looked at Aric. ‘Is it hopeful, boy?’

  Aric thought for a moment, unsure how to answer. Growing up, his father had been a gentle man. A taskmaster at times, but kind enough to his sons. What happened to that kindness, Aric wondered? Had Kahldris devoured it all?

  ‘My father cannot be trusted,’ said Aric. ‘The demon that controls him will not let him rest. I have seen the things my father has done. The man who raised me would never have done those things, like betray his friends at the library or join with Norvor.’ The dark seemed to settle over Aric as he spoke. ‘There were hundreds of men at the library, and they all thought my father would help them. He came with promises and made us all believe in him. And then he betrayed us to side with Jazana Carr. He and his men killed Breck. He tried to kill Lukien, his best friend. No, my lord, I don’t trust my father. And neither should you.’

  Prince Roland seemed stunned by Aric’s admission. Like Raxor and Craiglen, he was quiet. The guards kept their eyes to the ground. Even the dogs fell silent. Aric waited for someone to speak.

  ‘Roland, Craiglen, leave me with the boy,’ ordered Raxor.

  Roland turned to him. ‘Father?’

  ‘Let me talk to him alone. Please, all of you go.’

  Craiglen hesitated, then carefully touched Prince Roland’s arm. Roland hesitated, but a glare from his father changed his mind. Craiglen ordered the guards to step back, out of earshot, but to keep on eye on the Liirian. When they all had gone, leaving only Raxor and Aric in the light of the campfire, Raxor went back to his dogs. The old king smiled forlornly as he fed the beasts treats from his pockets. Confused, Aric watched silently as the mastiffs ate.

  For a long time King Raxor ignored Aric, but Aric could tell the old man was thinking. Tonight, a lot had landed in his lap. He fed his mastiffs one by one, sometimes scratching them or checking their ears. And when at last he had run out of treats he stood and faced Aric. The king shrugged.

  ‘So, your father has trapped me,’ he said. ‘You have seen that, yes?’

  ‘My lord? I’m sorry, I don’t take your meaning.’

  ‘I had to come here, Aric Glass. I had to defend what is ours, what we fought for over too many years. Your father knows that. He has trapped me. He wants this war, I fear.’

  ‘I think you’re right,’ said Aric. ‘But you don’t have to accommodate him.’

  ‘I do. That’s something I have to do, you see. I don’t want to be here, but I must because honour demands it. I cannot let your father take the Kryss from us, if that is his design. I cannot yield an inch of Reecian land. My son – he’s anxious for this battle. I’m sure you’ve already seen what a fool he can be.’

  Aric smiled at the king. ‘I’d rather not say, my lord.’

  Raxor answered him with a grin. ‘These men who’ve come here – they came because of me. They’ll fight because they’re loyal to me, no matter what your father and his whore-queen throw at us. But Roland . . .’ The king grimaced. ‘He doesn’t inspire them. And so I’m here, an old man in the cold, fighting a battle he’s desperate to avoid.’

  ‘Maybe you can avoid it, my lord.’ Aric went closer, sensing his need. ‘If you join with Prince Daralor, others might join as well. And then my father might be convinced to stop with Liiria and leave Reec alone.’

  Raxor shook his head. ‘It’s too late for that. I’ve sent my message to your father. It’s time to talk. Or to fight.’

  ‘And what if he chooses to fight? What then? He has the Devil’s Armour, and the fortune of Jazana Carr. ‘

  ‘We’ll defend what is ours,’ Raxor assured him.

  ‘My lord, you mustn’t fight,’ Aric warned. ‘No matter what my father says or doesn’t say, no matter what he replies to your message, you can’t fight him because you can’t win.’

/>   ‘Can’t?’ Raxor gave a sceptical laugh. ‘I have enough men here to defend the border, boy. I may not win, but I don’t plan on losing, either.’

  ‘My lord is mistaken,’ said Aric. ‘My father is invincible in his armour. You won’t be able to stop him.’

  ‘Boy, he is but one man! An army cannot stop him? You think too much of this armour he wears.’ The king eyed him shrewdly. ‘If you have secrets you’re not telling me, I can get them out of you. Roland was right about Asher – he can make you talk.’

  The threat came impotently from Raxor’s mouth. Aric could tell he didn’t mean it.

  ‘I’ll tell you anything I can about the armour, my lord. What little I know is yours.’

  ‘I’ve heard things about it,’ said Raxor. ‘From . . . people.’ He shrugged. ‘Rumours, mostly. No one seems to know much about it.’

  ‘It’s a mystery, even to me. Even to my father, I think,’ said Aric. ‘We talked about it once, before he went over to Jazana Carr. He said it made him strong, made him whole again. He said it was magic.’

  Raxor nodded. ‘Yes. I have heard this.’ His eyes grew distant and he looked away, surveying his camp but not really seeing. ‘I have a woman back in Hes,’ he said.

  Surprised, Aric replied, ‘Yes, my lord?’

  ‘She’s young and more beautiful than you can imagine, Aric Glass. She makes me feel like a whole man when I am with her. That is how your father feels in his armour. I know it. I know what it is like to get old.’

  The sadness in his voice struck Aric. ‘Yes. That is how my father feels. You’re lucky, my lord, to have such a woman.’

  ‘Not luck. I have made her care about me. But I want to go back to her.’ Catching himself, Raxor straightened abruptly. ‘What you’re asking is impossible, Aric Glass. I cannot run from this fight.’

  ‘But you can wait, surely. Unless my father crosses the Kryss, you can wait. And you can join with Prince Daralor and give me some time. Maybe others will join if they see that you have joined, my lord.’

  ‘Who will join us? The cowards of Marn? They have already sent you away, boy.’ Raxor set his jaw. ‘This is our fight, a Reecian fight. We will settle old scores with Baron Glass, if that’s what he wishes.’