by John Marco
Raxor smiled. ‘No, boy. Forget what you’re thinking.’
‘My lord—’
‘No.’ Raxor shook his head. ‘No.’
Aric tried to stay circumspect. Seeing his father again was not something he relished, but the logic of the choice seemed obvious. Aric was sure he could get his father to listen.
‘My lord is trying to protect me, but it’s not necessary,’ he said. ‘I know the risks, but I also know my father will listen to me.’
‘You have a mission,’ said Raxor. ‘Do you think I have forgotten? You have an alliance to make. You’re more important than a messenger. You will stay here, Aric Glass, safe and out of sight. And if battle comes you will not join it. You will stay safe and you will live. Do you understand?’
Reluctantly, Aric nodded. ‘Yes, my lord.’
‘Then it will be me,’ said Roland. He looked sanguine. Glancing at his father, he watched the old man agree.
‘Very well,’ said Raxor. ‘Choose who will go with you and make ready.’
‘No one needs to go with me,’ said Roland. ‘If it is a trap, a handful of men aren’t going to help. They’ll only die along with me.’
‘Prince Roland, that’s stupid,’ said Craiglen. ‘I’m going with you, like it or not.’
‘You’re not,’ Roland boiled. ‘I’m going alone to speak with Baron Glass. Much as I hate to admit it, you’re needed here, Craiglen.’
Aric expected Raxor to protest, but instead saw a flash of pride in his eyes. The king looked at his hot-headed son and smiled.
‘My son means to prove himself,’ he said. ‘I say it is time.’
Baron Glass took a seat at the edge of his encampment, sipping on a sherry from crystal glass as the sun fell behind him. Though there were other chairs arranged around his fire, the baron sat alone, staring pensively into the distance. Thorin’s mind stretched in a hundred different directions. He heard Kahldris in his skull, talking to him, berating him for agreeing to meet. He thought of Jazana, too, and of her beautiful body laying next to him, and how much he owed her. And then he thought of Raxor, his old enemy. Surely Raxor was afraid. That was why he wanted to talk, why he had agreed to send his son across the river. The baron tasted his sherry, swirling it in his mouth, patiently waiting for Roland to arrive. According to his scouts the prince had already crossed the bridge. In just a few minutes they would be face to face.
Just a few minutes.
No time to think. There was never enough time these days. There was only work to be done. Thorin leaned back in his canvas chair and tried getting comfortable. Nearby, Colonel Thayus stood beside a tree, waiting for Prince Roland. The colonel from Carlion craned his neck to see over the camp. He had told Thorin what an impressive man Raxor was, still, and how the old man had baited him. He was not backing down easily. Thorin respected that. He swallowed his sherry and looked down into his glass.
Talk, he told himself. It’s just talk.
Kahldris had said Jazana had gelded him, that he was not a man any more, but the puppet of a woman. Jazana’s lapdog. Thorin knew the demon was wrong. He simply did not understand.
‘Kahldris,’ he whispered, ‘you live because of me, because I am a man and you are nothing but smoke. Without me you cannot taste the wine. Remember that.’
He felt the Akari squirm through his brain, twisting angrily at his statement. Since deciding on this meeting, Kahldris had been in a bitter mood.
I hunger, Baron Glass, he reminded Thorin. It is time to feast.
Thorin shook his head. ‘I’ll not be controlled.’
His arm began to burn, his armoured arm, the one that no longer existed.
‘I feel you,’ he grumbled loudly.
Then take my meaning, Kahldris warned. Don’t forget what I have given you.
Colonel Thayus, who was used to Thorin’s seemingly one-way conversations, turned to regard the baron, then quickly looked away.
So? We need each other, Thorin told the spirit.
Then give me what I need. Give me blood.
Thorin set his sherry down on the little table next to him. ‘First we talk.’
In his mind, Kahldris screamed. But Thorin had become deaf in shunting the demon away, and so ignored him as he looked out over his army. Many had come, though many were mercenaries and few were Liirian. It stung him to realize how right Rodrik Varl was, how the Liirians still feared him. But Rodrik Varl was back in Koth, and Thorin knew that he was in charge now. The mercenaries would not question him. They, too, feared the Black Baron.
The minutes passed and the sun finally disappeared. Thorin waited by his fire, growing impatient, until finally he heard Thayus give a shout.
‘He’s coming,’ said the colonel, then went to stand beside the baron.
‘Sit, Thayus,’ Thorin told him, gesturing to the chair beside him.
Thayus took his seat reluctantly, looking uncharacteristically nervous. He was a man who’d been through many campaigns, and had even been a loyalist to King Lorn. He was not afraid of the coming battle, yet seemed disturbed by the turn of events.
‘What will you say to him?’ asked the colonel.
‘We’re just talking.’
Thayus shrugged. ‘I don’t understand any of this.’
A moment later Thorin saw his men approaching. The dark-skinned man was in the lead, looking pleased with himself as he escorted Roland through the camp. Like Thayus, Kaj had been key to winning Koth. A free-lancer from Ganjor, he was one of Jazana’s best commanders, and his men, the Crusaders, had almost single-handedly taken the north side of the city. Kaj nodded as his eyes met Thorin’s, then stepped aside for Prince Roland. The mercenaries halted, and Roland the Red grimaced.
‘Come ahead,’ Thorin called to him.
Prince Roland was a tall, well-dressed young man, with a handsome, cocky face. Thorin at once saw the shadow of his father in him, though Raxor was certainly more muscular. In contrast, Roland was lean and wiry and walked with a long, bouncing gait. The prince had come empty-handed into the camp of his enemies, without even an arming sword at his side. Around his neck hung a chain of gold with a diamond dangling from it, the kind of thing a woman might wear. He fixed his jaw when he saw the baron, summoning his courage.
‘I’m Baron Glass,’ Thorin thundered, letting his armoured arm rest in his lap. ‘Welcome, Prince Roland.’
Roland at once tried claiming the high ground. He said curtly, ‘I am here to talk for my father, Baron Glass, the King of Reec. He wishes to know your mind.’
He was a child. Thorin realized it at once. Like a dog, Thorin could smell the fear on him.
‘Will you sit?’ he asked the prince.
Roland thought for a moment, then stepped forward. Despite his awkwardness, Thorin admired his courage. While Kaj and the others kept back, Roland went to sit before the baron and his colonel. As he settled down, Thorin grabbed another glass and filled it with sherry.
‘Here,’ he offered. ‘A drink will steady you, I think.’
Roland’s hand paused in mid-air. His temples began to pulse. ‘Let us talk, Baron Glass, about why you are here. About your designs.’
‘We’ll talk. Just take the drink, boy.’
The prince took the drink, and without smiling tipped the glass over, spilling the wine into the dirt. His long fingers opened, dropped the glass, and sent it shattering downward.
‘Why no feast, Baron Glass? Why no dancing girls or musicians? I haven’t come to make merry. So let us speak our minds.’
Next to him, Thorin felt Thayus tense. Inside him, he heard Kahldris gasp.
Insolence.
Thorin steadied them both. He said easily, ‘Your father is the one that should explain himself, youngster. Why has he moved so close against the Kryss?’
‘To defend what is ours,’ said Roland.
‘You mean what was given to you,’ Thorin corrected.
Roland snorted in disgust. ‘I knew that was why you came here, Baron Glass. To take back the
Kryss. If you expect us to capitulate . . .’
‘The Kryss is ours,’ said Thorin. ‘It was given to Reec in a time of weakness by King Akeela who was brainsick. But you’re wrong, Prince Roland – I don’t expect you to give it back to us. You’ve come ready to fight, haven’t you?’
‘We have,’ said Roland confidently.
Thorin smiled. ‘And that’s what you want, isn’t it?’
‘We are not afraid to fight, Baron Glass.’
‘No, boy, I’m talking about you. You have no idea how obvious you are, do you? Your father wants peace. That much is obvious. He’ll fight for the Kryss because he must, but you’ll fight because you want to fight. You’re a whelp. And like all whelps, you have something to prove.’
The prince bristled. ‘You talk big, old man.’ He looked down at Thorin’s gleaming arm. ‘That armour of yours – you think it will save you from a whole army? Have you seen what we’ve brought with us?’
‘I’ve seen,’ said Thorin confidently. ‘A goodly force, to be sure.’ He shrugged with nonchalance. ‘If you think it’s enough, then make your move. That’s why you came alone, so no one else would hear your bargain. Please don’t insult me by denying it.’
Sweat began erupting on Roland’s upper lip. Outwardly, though, he controlled himself. ‘I’m here at my father’s request, to tell you there is no bargaining about the river Kryss. It was given to Reec by the King of Liiria. It belongs to us now.’ A flash of hatred ran through his eyes. ‘And Baron Glass, if you’re so good at reading my mind, then you know I’m not afraid of you. Nor is my father. So do not try to cow us. We are Reecians. We are not afraid of anything.’
‘You are your father’s son,’ laughed Thorin. ‘If he were here, those would be his words exactly.’
Why do you play with him? He insults you!
Thorin paid the spirit no mind, but Kahldris quickly erupted with such force it jolted Thorin forward.
Do not ignore me!
Struck like a hammer, Thorin put his hand to his head and closed his eyes, willing Kahldris to be silent. But the Akari’s anger pushed forward, demanding to be loosed.
I need blood! Blood to live!
Thorin got to his feet, fighting for control. Prince Roland looked at him, plainly confused. Colonel Thayus jumped up and stood before the baron.
‘Baron Glass? What is it?’
The world began to spin. Thorin opened his eyes and saw a red haze. His head began to pound. His armoured arm twitched. He tried to speak but could not, and realized too late that he had pushed Kahldris too far.
‘Don’t,’ he managed to sputter. ‘No . . .’
Kahldris was on him, suffocating him. Thorin tried to move backward, to run, but the demon held him firm. Prince Roland got to his feet and stared, his mouth agape as Thorin’s face began to twist. Inside Thorin’s head, he heard Kahldris’ voice, calm and lilting.
It is time.
Thorin jerked forward and shoved Thayus aside. Unable to stop himself, his enchanted arm shot out and grabbed Roland by the throat. As if watching a dream, Thorin saw the gauntlet close about the prince’s neck. The prince writhed as the arm lifted him to his toes. He gave a stunted, gasping scream. Thorin watched as the gauntlet tightened. He wanted to turn away, but no part of him would obey, not even his horror-stricken eyes. Roland’s throat became smaller and smaller, until it was just an impossible reed. Colonel Thayus was shouting, roaring for Thorin to stop.
‘Fate above, enough!’ Thorin cried.
Crushed in Thorin’s vice-like fist, Roland’s neck ruptured. The veins bulged and exploded, spraying blood against Thorin’s face. The head lolled back with a death rattle. Like a snake the armoured arm coiled around Roland, soaking up the blood. Nausea swam through Thorin’s brain. Thayus and the others began to wretch. As it had before, the Devil’s Armour began to feed. Thorin’s armoured arm writhed with life, glowing as the figures embossed in its metal danced with animation. Thorin shook the dead prince, wringing every drop of blood from his neck, carefully smearing it along the gauntlet and mail. And then, when he was done, he dropped the wizened corpse to the ground.
Power flooded Thorin’s body. Inside him, Kahldris let out a sigh of ecstasy.
Glorious!
Thorin’s will buckled. He looked down at Roland’s violated body, wanting to vomit but then succumbing to the demon.
‘The Kryss is ours,’ he said in a voice not quite his own. ‘It is time.’
By now Kaj and the others had joined Thayus, circling Thorin in shock. Thorin looked at them in challenge.
‘Do you hear? Kaj, to your men! Thayus, my friend, it is time!’
Baron Glass did not wait for his men to follow. Locked away in his private tent, the rest of the Devil’s Armour called to him.
30
Aric was napping when the commotion awoke him. He had been dreaming of a woman he had once met in Calon, a town in southeren Liiria known for its prostitutes. When he heard the shouts of men around him, he opened his eyes with a groan. Around him, the soldiers with whom he shared the tent were pulling on boots and hurriedly dressing themselves. The pleasant memory of Aric’s harlot quickly fled as he sat up, looking around in dazed confusion. The Reecian soldiers were talking loudly but he could not understand their words. Most were fleeing the tent. Aric tossed his naked feet over the side of his cot and tried to get their attention.
‘What is it?’ he asked.
A young man who Aric recognized looked over at him as he was buttoning up his jacket. His eyes were wild as he said, ‘They’re coming!’
‘Coming? Who . . .’
But then Aric understood. His mind wrapped slowly around the happenings. Prince Roland had gone to his father to talk. Was is it over? Aric wondered how long he’d been asleep.
‘Don’t just sit there. Get your boots on!’ cried the young soldier. And then he was out of the tent, following his brethren in to the night.
Aric jumped to his feet. Outside he heard the crescendo of men making ready for battle. He found his boots beneath his cot, pulling them on to his feet, then grabbed his coat from the edge of his mattress and ran outside. As he pulled his arms through his coat’s leather sleeves, he looked about in disbelief. The camp had erupted into activity. All around him men were shouting, galloping past on horses or running in aimless directions. Officers called out orders over the din, directing the chaos while dogs barked and squires stumbled past with arm-loads of arrows. A full moon lit the camp, and through its silvery haze Aric could see men marching toward the Kryss. Colonel Craiglen sat atop a grey charger, his face red with effort as he yelled to his officers. Overwhelmed by the scene, Aric stumbled forward, unsure what to do or even what was happening. Craiglen saw his confusion and galloped toward him.
‘Aric Glass!’ he called. He jerked his grey horse to a halt. ‘Protect yourself, boy.’
‘Protect myself?’ Aric sputtered. ‘What’s happening?’
‘Your father is attacking,’ sneered Craiglen. ‘Under the very truce of peace! His men are making for the bridges. We have to form our lines. Find yourself cover!’
‘No!’ Aric cried. ‘I’m not going to hide!’
‘Look at you! You’re not ready for this. You—’ Craiglen stopped himself with a growl. ‘Oh, fine!’ He stretched down his hand. ‘Come on.’
Aric took his hand and let the old soldier pull him onto horseback. Wrapping his arm about Craiglen’s chest, he held tight as the colonel galloped away.
‘Where are we going?’ Aric asked.
‘To Raxor,’ said Craiglen over his shoulder, and soon the two were darting through the camp, dodging men and machinery as they headed toward the front. Aric strained to see the distant river. In the moonlight and glow of torches he could see the horizon swarming with movement as his father’s forces gathered into position. Flags and flashing spears punctured the night sky. Barely visible, the main bridge stood over the river, still abandoned by either side, though Aric’s father’s mercenaries were ne
arer to it and quickly closing the gap.
‘What happened to the talks?’ Aric asked in Craiglen’s ear. ‘What about Prince Roland?’
‘I don’t know,’ snapped Craiglen. ‘Dead I think.’
‘Dead? How?’
‘Stop talking to me, boy!’
As Craiglen raced through the crowds Aric pondered his words. Roland was dead? It made no sense, but he asked no more questions of the busy colonel, instead holding on as the horse bounded across the camp. At last they spotted Raxor through the disorder, atop his charger and surrounded by men. The king had fixed his crown to his head and wore a full regalia of battle garb. The most disquieting look suffused his face. He turned toward them as he noticed Craiglen coming forward. The old colonel skidded to a stop and took measure of the horizon.
‘They’ve sent men toward the north and south bridges,’ Raxor informed him. ‘Looks like the bulk of them are coming straight for the main bridge.’
Craiglen nodded, but even Aric knew the news was grave. There were three bridges nearby, and his father planned to overwhelm them all. The main bridge, as Raxor called it, was the largest of the three. And the nearest. Days earlier, he had met on that bridge with the Norvan colonel.
‘Darltin took a troop north,’ Raxor continued. ‘Craiglen, you join them. Take Karik’s company with you. I’ll send Jakel to the south bridge.’
‘And the main bridge, my lord?’ asked Craiglen with dread. ‘What of it?’
‘I have the dogs, Craiglen, don’t worry,’ said Raxor.
‘This is where Baron Glass will come through,’ said Craiglen. ‘Let me stay with you.’
‘Do as I ask, and hurry,’ ordered Raxor. His eyes met Aric’s. ‘And you. Get down.’
Aric hurried off the back of Craiglen’s horse. He looked up expectantly at Raxor. ‘My lord, tell me what to do.’
‘Just keep yourself safe. Stay with me.’
‘But I can fight!’
‘I’m sure you can,’ agreed Raxor. He turned toward a group of squires, calling for a horse. ‘You’ll ride,’ he told Aric. ‘And you’ll keep back with me. Your father’s a snake, boy. I want to know what other tricks he might have for us.’