by John Marco
‘Good evening,’ Asher drawled.
He waited politely for her reply. Mirage could barely find her voice.
‘What are you doing here?’ she gasped.
‘It’s been quite a day for me, pretty Mirage. You can imagine my surprise at the news of King Raxor’s defeat.’ Asher leaned forward. ‘What do you think I am doing here?’
‘I don’t know,’ spat Mirage. ‘But if you don’t leave I will scream.’
‘You may scream as long and as loudly as you like. My men are right outside that door, and no one is going to come to help you. You’re mine, finally, the way you always should have been.’
Mirage sat up quickly. ‘Laurella! Sela! Help!’
‘The maids have been excused for the night,’ said Asher. He grinned, pleased with himself. ‘And good King Raxor is not here to come to your rescue this time. No one is going to rescue you, child. They blame you for the death of Prince Roland. And rightly so, I might add.’
‘That’s madness!’ cried Mirage.
‘I told you I would find out your secrets. I always knew you were hiding something. I should have pulled off your pretty fingernails the moment I met you, but I was soft and you . . .’ Asher sighed as though he’d just finished a great meal. ‘You were so beautiful.’ He looked pained suddenly. And completely mad. ‘I was tempted by you. You weakened me. But now I’m going to find out your secrets, pretty Mirage.’
‘What secrets?’
Anger flashed across Asher’s face. ‘The armour, you whore!’
Mirage leaned back against the headboard. ‘You’re insane.’
‘And you are hiding the very thing that could have saved Prince Roland and the rest of the army. But never mind – you may tell all the lies you wish for now. I’ll get the truth out of you.’
Asher got to his feet and went to the door. Opening it, he revealed a team of burly prison guards, all dressed in the same frightening grey tunics. The men leered at her, enjoying the sight of her in her nightdress. One stepped forward quickly with a pair of manacles.
‘Take her,’ Asher ordered.
‘No!’
Mirage sprang to her feet, desperate to escape. The men rushed at her, grabbing her arms and twisting her around. She tried to fight them, but they were like a straight-jacket suddenly, suffocating her and pinning back her arms. She screamed, but a giant hand fell over her mouth to silence her. Angrily she bit it, tasting blood. The guard howled. Violently he yanked back her head, preparing to strike her.
‘Don’t you dare,’ said Asher quickly. He stepped forward as his men put the manacles around her wrists. His spidery fingers came up to brush her chin. ‘She’s perfect, Garl. That’s how I want her – a perfect canvas for me to paint on.’
Garl, the prison guard, grunted and stepped away, favouring his bleeding hand. Two of the others took Mirage by the elbows.
‘Maybe I should muzzle you,’ Asher suggested. ‘Like any wild bitch.’
Mirage replied by spitting in his face. The saliva running into this drooping eye made her smile.
‘When King Raxor finds out about this he’s going to skin you alive, Asher. He’s going to gut you and hang your ugly pelt over his throne.’
Asher wiped his face on his sleeve. ‘When his Majesty returns you will be dead, child, and I will have the means to defeat Baron Glass. I think that will ease his mind a bit.’ He nodded to his men. ‘Let’s go.’
As Asher left the room his burly guards dragged Mirage after him, lifting her by her bound arms toward the door. Fighting them was impossible – they were far too strong, and all Mirage could do was scream. Out in the hall, she let out the loudest cry she could, begging someone – anyone – to help her. But the halls were empty, and only silence met her echoing voice.
‘Where’s Laurella?’ Mirage demanded. ‘What have you done with her?’
‘Don’t worry, child. The old woman is fine.’ Asher laughed as he sauntered down the corridor. ‘She’s been subdued, though I must say she’s a tiger!’
‘If you’ve hurt her—’
‘Yes, yes. Save your strength, girl,’ said Asher. ‘It’s going to be a long night!’
The anticipation in his voice told Mirage of the awful danger. He meant what he said – he would torture her, then he would kill her. With a renewed vigour she struggled against the guards, but they were unmovable to the slight girl, who could only allow herself to be dragged through the corridors and down the long, curving stairs. Her mind filled with images of horror, of Asher’s ghastly prison and the cell there she had so narrowly escaped. She had thought she had left it behind forever, but like a recurring nightmare Asher had returned.
Down the in castle’s main hall, porters and stable boys and a few of Laurella’s own maids had gathered, looking stricken as Asher’s men dragged Mirage along. A handful of Raxor’s large, mostly nameless family were there as well, along with the caste’s own guardians, none of whom moved an inch to stop the determined Asher. Mirage shouted at them, begging them to help her, but all they did was look shamefully away, too afraid or too filled with hate to come to her aid. She stumbled out of the hall and through the huge oak doors of the castle, spilling out into the courtyard where Asher’s carriage waited, surrounded by more of his men on horseback. The crowd that had gathered in the hall did not follow them outside. The wardens stared down at her from atop their horses, looking pityingly at her, knowing her plight.
‘Get her inside,’ Asher ordered, climbing the steps of the beat-up carriage and opening the door for himself. He sat himself down inside and watched with satisfaction as his men stuffed Mirage through the small portal, seating her on a hard bench opposite the prison master. The door closed noisily behind her, and Mirage found herself staring into Asher’s monstrous face.
‘Don’t do this,’ she told him, trying one more time to convince him. ‘I don’t know anything more. And King Raxor will be back soon. He will, Asher, and if you harm me he’ll kill you.’
‘I’m willing to gamble on that,’ replied Asher. Because it was a warm night, both windows on the sides of the carriage were open. Asher stuck his head outside one of them and called out to the driver. ‘Get going!’
The carriage lurched forward, pinning Mirage back against her seat. The stout metal cuffs bit into her flesh as she squirmed to get free. Asher watched her struggling, licking his lips.
‘Look at you. You’re as limber as a cat.’
Mirage groaned, ‘You’re sick. You don’t know what you’re doing.’
Asher waved off her comment and settled back for the ride to his prison. He looked smug, like a boy who had captured a firefly, beaming with excitement to get his new pet home. Mirage raced through the possibilities, trying to think of anyway to free herself. She needed Raxor, and he wouldn’t be back for days yet. By then she would be dead.
The carriage moved quickly out of the courtyard. Through its left-hand window Mirage could see the gates of Castle Hes, open wide and waiting for them. She heard the clip-clop of the horsemen accompanying them, precisely guiding them. Her breath quickened as hopelessness closed like a noose around her neck. The carriage bumped along the rocky path, picking up speed. Castle Hes fell away behind them as they neared the looming gates. Mirage watched as the lead horseman approached the gate, and then saw another man riding past them, paying no heed to the carriage or Asher’s entourage. For a moment Mirage did not recognize him. Her thoughts clouded with fear, it took long seconds for her to realize the man was Corvalos Chane.
‘Oh, gods,’ she whispered. Then, exploding off the bench, she stuck her head out the little window and cried, ‘Chane! It’s me! Help me!’
Asher was on her instantly, cursing and pulling her back. Mirage continued to scream. Corvalos Chane paused for a moment, looking toward her, and just before Mirage lost view of him she saw recognition flash across his face.
‘Drive on!’ Asher yelled, his head out the window. He looked back toward Chane, then hollered at his driver, ‘Faster!’
The carriage bolted, knocking Mirage to the floor. Rolling to her feet, she fought to reach the window, but Asher fell on her, pulling her away. A small man, he had trouble with his own footing and stumbled badly, and when Mirage glimpsed his open thighs she fired her knee up into him. Asher writhed in agony, doubling over and falling against the opposite wall. His nimble hands clawed the air, reaching for her as she made it to the window. Chane was pursuing.
‘Chane!’ she called. ‘It’s Asher!’
‘I know!’ the bodyguard growled. His whole face reddened with rage. ‘Hold on!’
He caught up quickly to the last, lagging horseman, drawing his sword even before the man knew he was there. Chane’s blade moved like lightning, puncturing the man’s back. As the warden fell from his horse the others drew their weapons. Chane sneered and rode them down. Mirage fit herself further out the window, then felt Asher’s hand on her nightgown, pulling her backward.
‘You wretched whore!’ He spun her around and struck her face hard. The blow stunned her and she collapsed. Wavering on his feet, Asher leered down at her, his face twisted with pain. ‘He won’t save you,’ he grunted. ‘I won’t let him.’
‘You can’t stop him!’ spat Mirage. ‘You’re a weak little toad.’
Enraged, Asher reached down and grabbed hold of her hair, pulling her screaming to her feet. He shoved her face out of the window and called out to Corvalos Chane.
‘Is that what you want, Chane? This whore? This traitor? Is that what you think the king wants?’
But Chane was too involved to answer or even look at them. He had run down another of the guards, leaving his corpse in the road. Two more of the wardens were battling him back. Chane’s sword was up and parrying their assaults. He moved more quickly than any man Mirage had ever seen. Asher noticed this, too, and grunted out a string of curses.
‘Why save her?’ he roared. ‘She’s an enemy, Chane! A slut of Baron Glass!’
But his taunts only enraged Chane, who drove his horse ever faster and put his blade through the eye of a warden. The carriage went over a rut in the road, tossing Mirage back from the window. She landed on her rump and kicked out to avoid Asher who fell next. Together they squirmed on the floor of the cab as the carriage careened along. The noise of the battle outside reached Mirage, and she knew that Chane was getting closer.
‘You hear that?’ she trumpeted. ‘He’s coming Asher!’
Asher looked stunned as he managed to find his footing. He went back to the window and peered outside. And what he saw – or didn’t see – made his face go blank. Mirage was on her feet again and threw herself against him, knocking him aside. Still weak from the blow to his groin, the prison lord collapsed. Mirage fought to locate Chane, but saw only his empty horse quickly falling back. The wardens were gone.
‘Chane!’ she called. ‘Chane!’
But the bodyguard didn’t answer. She thought of him laying dead in the road, wondering if one of the distant corpses was his. Up ahead she saw the remaining riders, looking perplexed as they pointed backward and shouted. The driver looked over his shoulder and screamed.
Corvalos Chane descended out of the darkness, running along the roof of the cab and falling on the driver with his sword. Blood splashed against Mirage’s face and she cried out, clearing her vision to see the driver dumped aside and Chane taking the reins of the racing horses. He jerked the steeds to a halt, bringing the carriage to a sudden stop. Asher’s wardens wheeled their mounts around to face him. When the carriage halted, Chane jumped to his feet, sword in hand. Standing on the driver’s seat, he bid the wardens to come.
‘Fight me and die,’ he said, ready to spring. ‘Or lower your weapons and live.’
The wardens – perhaps eight of them – waited cautiously, none of them moving to attack. From inside the carriage Mirage could see them eyeing Chane, sizing him up. Asher muscled his way past her, quickly opening up the carriage door. With one hand he grabbed hold of Mirage and pulled her down the steps and onto the road.
‘I have her, Chane,’ he warned, dragging her toward the front of the vehicle. With his hand in her hair he violently shook her head. ‘Look at her. She’s the reason the army was defeated. She’s the reason the prince is dead!’
‘She’s mine to protect, Asher,’ said Chane. Slowly, he got down from the carriage and stood before Mirage and her captor, careful to keep his distance. ‘I can’t let you have her. You know that.’
‘She has secrets! She knows about Glass’ armour.’
Chane nodded. There was reluctance in his eyes. ‘It’s not up to you to decide what happens to her. Only the king can release her.’ The bodyguard lowered his sword. ‘Undo her binds.’
Asher glanced at his wardens. Mirage felt his fingers tighten against her head. He was calculating, she could tell, wondering about his chances.
‘I’ll kill them all if I have to, Asher,’ said Chane. ‘And then I’ll kill you.’
Asher’s hand began to tremble against Mirage’s scalp. She tried to pull away, but his grip tightened instantly.
‘Don’t you move until I say so,’ he rumbled in her ear. ‘You should be mine.’
‘In hell,’ cursed Mirage. With only a moment to act, she snapped back her head and smashed it against Asher’s nose. He let go instantly, screaming, letting her bolt toward Chane, who quickly grabbed hold of her and pulled her behind him. Asher came up hissing. He ran for her, but Chane’s quick sword halted him, coming up to catch his chin.
Asher stopped, raising his hands in surrender, the tip of the sword pricking his skin. His bruised nose dribbled blood.
‘Corvalos Chane, you are an idiot,’ he sneered. ‘All of this – what will it get you? When the king returns she’ll be mine again.’
‘When the king returns, then,’ said Chane with a nod. ‘Unlock her chains.’
Asher stepped back, then ordered one of the wardens off his horse. The man came forward with his jangling keys, quickly loosing Mirage’s manacles. When she was free Mirage rubbed at her wrists, glaring at Asher, who returned her gaze with a perverse leer.
‘Be on you way now, Asher,’ ordered Chane. ‘And don’t come to the castle again. If I see you again I will kill you. I swear it. To whatever devil you worship I swear.’
Asher’s face sank, for he knew he was defeated. He gathered his wardens around, looking back along the road at the litter of bodies. His driver was dead. So were at least four of his men.
‘You’ll hang for this, Chane. You will. And it will be on my very own gallows.’
Chane laughed. ‘A grand dream, little man.’
Asher ordered one of his men to drive the carriage, then limped back up the steps and closed the door of the vehicle. Chane and Mirage waited until Asher and his party were on their way before turning back toward Castle Hes. The darkness had thickened, and they had no horse to ride back.
‘We’ll have to walk,’ Chane told her. He looked at her, his expression concerned. ‘Can you walk?’
‘I’m fine,’ said Mirage. ‘Just shaken a bit.’
It was a lie and Chane realized it. He put his arm around her. ‘Lean against me. We’ll go slow.’
Mirage did as he asked, sinking into his strong embrace. ‘I’m not safe,’ she said. ‘Chane . . .’ She looked at him. ‘I’m afraid.’
‘No one will harm you now,’ he assured her.
‘But the others, Raxor’s family . . .’
‘Mirage, no one is going to hurt you. Not while I’m with you.’
36
Gilorin Court came into view past the hedgrows as the barge slipped along the river. Bordered by a tall green forest and acres of hunting grounds, the small estate rested comfortably on the sandy bank of the river, looking squat and ancient in the afternoon sun. A long path of cobblestones meandered from the castle to the shore of the river, flanked by rolling lawns dotted with cherry trees. Horses cantered across the grass, moving with unhurried grace. A small band of men and women gathered at the bank,
standing clear of the mud as they watched King Raxor’s barge float toward them. They had dressed for his arrival, the women all in expensive gowns while the men looked smart in tailored jackets and polished shoes. Behind them stood a row of servants. And behind the servants stood the castle, peacefully mute among the cherries.
Aric Glass sat near the king’s dais to Raxor’s left, close enough to enjoy the shade of His Majesty’s awning. It had been a leisurely trip, taking up most of the morning, but Aric had welcomed the change from horseback to boat, surprised by the calmness of the river and lulled by the untouched surroundings. Gilorin Court, King Raxor’s estate, was miles away from Hes, in the wooded north of the same Reecian province. Throughout their long march back, Aric had expected to arrive in the capital, but Raxor had changed his mind just days earlier. Gilorin, he had said, was a place to think. And Raxor had much to think about these days.
It had taken weeks for the defeated army to slog its way home. Aric had passed the time by getting close to the old king. At first Raxor’s grief over Roland’s death had been overwhelming, and he had spoken to no one. But as the days and tedium wore on the king eventually opened up, surprising Aric once more by taking him into his confidence. They had left a good many of the Reecian troops behind to guard the eastern provinces, and by the time they reached the river there were only one hundred of them left. Raxor had spread the word across his territory that Baron Glass and his army of mad Norvans had taken the Kryss. Invasion seemed imminent. Worse, there seemed to be no way of stopping the baron or his enchanted armour, and as they rode Raxor picked at Aric’s knowledge, questioning him about his father and all he knew about the Devil’s Armour.
Aric watched the gathering on the bank of the river. He had expected there to be servants at the estate, but the sight of so many Reecian royals made him uneasy. Not all of Raxor’s men had greeted him warmly, and even those who had got to know him didn’t trust him. He was Thorin Glass’ son, and to many that made him a blood enemy. He settled back in his seat, forcing himself to relax as the crew guided the vessel toward shore. Raxor’s lovely estate beckoned, easing the creases in the old king’s face. Noting the crowd with satisfaction, Raxor spoke to the advisors who had come aboard with them earlier in the day, talking in whispers Aric could not overhear.