by John Marco
She continued through the maze of chambers, amazed to find each one lit for her and realizing that Thorin had no need for any of the other rooms. He was only interested in one, and needed only one route to it. Her pace quickened, spurred on by the terrible silence. Her feet padded eagerly across the dusty floor. She turned down a corridor lit like all the others, and finally saw her quarry at the other end of the hall.
Jazana paused. The catalogue room was always locked, but tonight its metal door stood open. A strong glow of candlelight flooded its threshold. Jazana held her breath a moment, not wanting to be overheard. Inching forward, she leaned ahead to listen, surprised to hear Thorin’s voice. His tone was gravely, almost strained, and she knew he was talking to himself. Again she hesitated. Coming here suddenly seemed like the worst of ideas, but she knew she could not turn back. Thorin needed her. Whatever had happened to him at the Kryss had changed him.
‘I can’t,’ said his distant voice, reaching her across the hall. ‘I can’t make it work.’
His voice sounded desperate. Jazana had never heard such weakness in him. She tiptoed closer, careful not to make a sound as she approached. The light wavered in the catalogue room as Thorin spoke, disturbing the candles. A clap of thunder shook the hall. ‘I have tried everything,’ came Thorin’s angry voice. ‘Do not tell me to try again! The boy will make the machine work. We must wait for the boy!’
Jazana paused. Was he alone? She heard no one else reply to him, yet his words seemed two-sided. She went ahead, finally coming to the threshold of the chamber. Peering inside, she saw the vast room lit by the candles on the walls and on the tables, filling the place with a reddish glow. Along the floor stretched the machine, the arcane invention of the dead genius Figgis. Jazana had never seen it lit so well, with every rod and armature exposed. Its sprockets glistened with oil. Its unmoving wheels rose to the ceiling. At the front of the machine sat Thorin, slumped over the simple wooden desk, his face buried in his armoured arm, his chest rising and falling with laboured breaths. His clothes hung limply from his powerful body, drenched in filthy sweat. The stench of him reached Jazana like a hot wind. He muttered to himself incomprehensibly, shaking his head. The machine – his obsession – sat mutely before him.
Jazana trembled, forcing herself to speak. ‘Thorin,’ she whispered. ‘Look at me.’
Startled, Thorin bolted up in his chair. He turned his wild eyes on her, wide with dread. Jazana stepped back, shocked by his face. The bones of his cheeks stood out from his swollen eye sockets, flushed an unhealthy red. His lips drew back, thin and purple. His burning gaze fixed on her, bloodshot. When his dried tongue moved to speak, she could hear his thirst.
‘What are you doing here?’ he rasped.
Though his visage stunned her, Jazana tried to stay calm. ‘Thorin? Are you all right?’
‘Why are you here?’ he asked again, his voice rising. ‘I am working!’
Jazana looked around the room. ‘Who were you talking to?’
Thorin reared back. His face twisted. ‘You were listening to me?’ He chuckled, covering himself. ‘Have you come to spy on me, Jazana?’
‘Thorin, I was worried about you.’ Jazana chanced a step toward him, studying his bizarre face. ‘You’ve been here for days. You haven’t come to Lionkeep or spoken to anyone in almost a week. Look at you! You haven’t even eaten.’
The baron turned away as if nothing were wrong. ‘I . . . have work to do, Jazana. And you should not have come. Go, please. You’re disturbing me.’
‘Thorin, no,’ Jazana insisted. ‘I won’t go, not until I know you’re all right. Why are you working so hard with this contraption? Why don’t you come home?’
‘I don’t need a wife,’ Thorin grumbled. ‘Or a mother.’
The insult riled the Diamond Queen. She went to him, grabbing his shoulder and forcing him to face her.
‘Talk to me,’ she insisted. ‘Something is wrong with you. Something has happened to you, Thorin.’
‘Rubbish,’ he laughed, removing her hand.
‘It’s the armour, Thorin,’ said Jazana. ‘It’s changing you. Since the battle at the Kryss—’
‘No, no,’ Thorin warned, holding up a finger. He shook his head as though speaking to a child. ‘There’ll be no talk of that. Don’t speak of the armour, Jazana.’
‘Why? Why are you afraid to talk about it, Thorin? What’s it done to you?’
‘It’s made me strong! Gods, woman, isn’t that enough for you?’
‘No, it’s not enough! If it keeps you from me, no.’
Thorin steadied himself. He smiled. ‘You are right,’ he sighed. ‘I am sorry. I have neglected you. I should spend more time with you, Jazana. And I will, I promise.’
Jazana moaned in frustration. ‘Thorin, no! You’re not understanding at all. I’m not here because I miss you. I’m here because something has happened to you. The armour, Thorin . . . it’s killing you!’
‘It is not,’ said Thorin. He struggled to contain his fury. ‘It gives me power.’
‘It takes power! Have you seen yourself? You look like a shadow!’
‘Jazana, enough,’ Thorin warned her. ‘I have work to do.’
‘What work? This thing?’ Jazana waved her arm toward the machine. ‘Why, Thorin? What’s so important about this thing?’
‘It is a thinking machine, Jazana.’
‘I know what it is! I don’t care any more. You’re obsessed with it, Thorin. Why?’
‘I . . .’ Thorin stopped himself, looking away. ‘I cannot tell you.’
Jazana checked her growing rage. The urge to shake him felt overwhelming. ‘You’re lying to me,’ she said. ‘You’re keeping secrets from me. And you’re ruining us, Thorin. You’ve spent almost all our gold rebuilding this library. All your people are terrified of you. They do nothing but talk about you and the things you did to the Reecians. That’s what going on outside these walls!’
Thorin leaned back his head. ‘You exhaust me, woman. Let me be.’
Jazana glared at him. ‘You’re becoming demented. The armour has maddened you.’
‘Has it?’ Thorin lifted his left arm, flexing the armour covering it. It moved perfectly, like flesh. He moved his missing fingers in the enchanted gauntlet. ‘With this arm I can tear down the whole place, brick by brick.’
‘Yes,’ said Jazana. ‘You’re like a storm now, Thorin. Strong. And mindless.’
Thorin slammed his fist onto the table. ‘Go!’
‘No,’ hissed Jazana. ‘You made a promise to me. Or have you forgotten?’
‘I have not forgotten.’
‘Well then? The news from Norvor is worse everyday. When will we go?’
‘We will not,’ said Thorin. He turned his gaze back toward the machine. ‘I cannot leave now.’
‘What? Thorin, you told me we would go when you had done with the Reecians. They are beaten now.’
‘I cannot go, Jazana,’ said Thorin calmly.
‘You have to go! You have to help me get Carlion back!’ Jazana kicked at his chair, insisted he look at her. ‘Haven’t you heard anything? Carlion is gone and Vicvar will be next. I’ve had reports, Thorin. Everyday I hear more and more about Elgan. He’s not afraid of us at all! Doesn’t that mean anything to you?’
With a shake of his head, Thorin said, ‘I am sorry.’
‘We’re losing Norvor!’ screamed Jazana. ‘I’m losing it! You have to help me!’
‘I will,’ promised Thorin, ‘when I can. But not now.’
‘Why not now? Tell me why!’
Thorin gestured toward the machine. ‘Gilwyn Toms is on his way. He knows how to work the catalogue. I must be here when he arrives.’
Jazana felt hot blood rushing to her cheeks. ‘Thorin, Norvor is falling to our enemies! Liiria is falling apart around you and you’re worried about this cursed machine?’
‘You don’t understand, my love,’ sighed Thorin. ‘And I can’t explain it to you.’
‘You can! But yo
u have to try. You’re shutting out everyone, Thorin, even me. You have to trust me. Tell me, please – what is wrong with you?’
Thorin tried to smile, but she could see the struggle in him. ‘I am well. I am better than I’ve ever been.’
‘That’s a lie,’ said Jazana. Suddenly the rage blew out of her, replaced by a crushing sadness. ‘You’re becoming demented, Thorin. You have to see that. You have to see what your armour is doing to you.’
‘Jazana . . .’ Thorin looked pleadingly into her eyes. ‘You don’t know. You can’t know. Just leave me to my work. When I have the way to work the machine it will all be good again. I promise, my love. Do you hear? I promise.’
‘You have promised so much already,’ said Jazana. ‘If you won’t go to Norvor with me now . . .’
‘I can’t!’ Thorin cried. ‘Not now! Not until Gilwyn gets here.’
It was madness, arguing with him. Jazana knew that now. Determined to wait for the boy Gilwyn to arrive, Thorin would not relent. Jazana resigned herself in disgust.
‘Fine,’ she snapped. ‘To your work, then.’
Turning, she heard his groaning lament, begging her to understand, but Jazana ignored it. Driven by hurt, she hurried back through the halls of the library. This time, he had truly betrayed her. Day by day, Norvor continued to slip from her fingers, and only Thorin could save it for her. But Thorin was gone now. A ghost had replaced him, a shell of a man puppetered by some unseen demon. Jazana knew very little about Grimhold and its magic, but she had heard the rumours. The Devil’s Armour was possessed. And in its possession was her lover.
She stopped, the tears finally overwhelming her. Her knees buckled and she dropped to the marble floor.
‘I love you,’ she moaned. Her body shook with angry sobs. ‘I’ve given you everything and you take and take!’
Her words echoed down the corridor. Her hands felt the stone beneath her. Jazana Carr put her cheek to the cold marble and wept like a child.
Thorin waited in the catalogue room, listening to Jazana’s sobs carry through the corridors. An hour later they finally subsided. He closed his eyes, unable to concentrate. His exhausted body screamed for sleep. Kahldris hovered insistently in his mind. He had hurt Jazana, and the pain of it broke his heart. He loved her, though he doubted she believed that now. The machine, Gilwyn Toms, his aching desire to rebuild the library – it was all too much to explain to her. Even trying seemed a waste.
She is gone, said Kahldris. We must work now.
Thorin groaned. ‘I cannot.’
You are thinking of her. Forget her. She no longer matters. Only the machine matters. Only my brother can stop us.
‘I can’t work the machine,’ Thorin again told the demon. ‘I have tried. It’s impossible. Only Gilwyn can make it work.’
Frustrated, Kahldris roared in his mind. He had no body, so he did not kick and shout the way a man might. But Kahldris still could throw his tantrums, tearing at the fibres of Thorin’s brain until the pain was unbearable. Thorin lowered his head to the desk and held his skull with both hands. Kahldris had driven him mercilessly the past week, insisting they find the way to work the machine. It was his obsession, not Thorin’s, and the demon filled the baron’s mind with all the terrible things that might happen to him.
Do you want to lose it all? he railed. Not just your arm. Not just your manhood. Your kingdom. Everything!
‘Get out of my mind!’
Kahldris shook with ire. I have lost it all, Baron. I know what it is like. Shall I show you more?
‘No more,’ Thorin begged. ‘No more . . .’
I should remind you.
‘No.’ Thorin lifted his head with effort. ‘We waste our time.’
He braced himself for the spirit’s attack. This time, there was none. Thorin felt the anger ebb.
Yes. Kahldris seemed to sigh. We need the boy.
‘He’s coming,’ Thorin reminded him.
Too slowly.
‘He’s a cripple.’
He waits.
‘He’s resting,’ said Thorin angrily.
For weeks now Kahldris had been able to sense Gilwyn, sure the boy was drawing near. He had long ago crossed the Desert of Tears, making his way slowly north to Liiria. Thorin had been glad for the boy’s progress, not only because he needed his help but because he simply missed Gilwyn. But lately Gilwyn’s progress had slowed. And it irked Kahldris.
I will make him hurry, said Kahldris. He must come now. There is no more time.
‘What do you feel?’ Thorin asked the spirit. ‘Where is he now?’
Kahldris stretched himself, partially leaving Thorin’s mind, making the baron light-headed. For a long moment he swam the invisible sea between Koth and Gilwyn, searching for the boy.
I can see him. The boy sleeps.
Thorin smiled, thrilled by the image. ‘He is well?’
He sleeps in hay.
‘He is still at that homestead.’
It was where Gilwyn had been for days now, though Kahldris did not know why. But he was safe, and that was all that Thorin really cared about. Despite the changes that had wracked his body – changes he knew had happened – he still loved Gilwyn like a son. Just as he still loved Jazana.
Baron, go to your woman, said Kahldris.
‘What?’
Go to Jazana Carr. Make love to her. Rest. You are right. We have tried. Only the boy can work the machine.
Thorin grew suspicious. ‘What will you do?’
A smile bloomed on the demon’s invisible face. Gilwyn Toms has lost his way. It is time for me to guide him.
‘Don’t you harm him!’
I will not, Kahldris assured, mildly annoyed. Now go to your woman. Make amends, Baron.
‘Yes,’ said Thorin with a nod.
He still needed Jazana. And all she ever needed were some well-placed kisses to bring her around. Summoning the last of his strength, he rose from his chair and headed out of the catalogue room, staggering into the candlelit hall. Behind him he felt Kahldris lingering, slowly separating from his mind.
Go, the Akari urged gently. And do not worry. I will not harm the boy.
39
Gilwyn Toms settled down into the warm straw, his body aching from a day of chores, his belly filled with good home cooking. As his head nestled in the hay he belched. Then, like a teenager, he grinned at the sound of it. Overhead he heard the patter of rain on the red wooden roof, soft like a cat on a midnight walk. In the distance he heard thunder rumble, but it was far enough away not to concern him. Tucked between the two grey mountains, the little valley always seemed safe from the worst of the rain. Gilwyn listened to the breeze blowing through the planks of the barn. On the roof he heard the weathervane spin, fickle about the wind’s direction. The noise reassured him, and as he settled into his bed of straw he knew that all was right with his new little world.
You’ll sleep well tonight. You ate enough for three boys your size.
The voice was Ruana’s, sarcastic but playful. Gilwyn saw her in his mind’s eye, smiling at him with her pretty lips.
‘I worked hard today,’ he reminded her. ‘Besides, Marna doesn’t mind.’
She loves to watch you eat.
Gilwyn chuckled. ‘She doesn’t know I’m eating for two. You were very quiet today, Ruana. Are you all right?’
As soon as he asked the question Gilwyn realized how odd it sounded. Could a spirit be anything but all right?
You were with Kelan most of the day, Ruana pointed out. How could I talk to you?
Gilwyn nodded, not wanting to think too hard. He was tired from his day with Kelan. The kindly old man had let the porch of his home fall to ruin over the years, and was grateful for Gilwyn’s help repairing it. Between the two of them, they had two good hands. And, just like Gilwyn, Kelan had a limp, an injury he had picked up as a young man in King Jarlo’s army. That was almost forty years ago, but Kelan still liked telling tales about his time as a soldier. He wasn’t much of a farmer
, after all, and used his memories to cushion his difficult old age.
‘It took longer than I thought it would,’ Gilwyn remarked. He closed his eyes and tried to ignore the ache in his back. Most of the morning had been wasted getting the wood they needed. The ride had taken five hours, an uncomfortable journey on the old couple’s rickety buckboard. ‘I don’t mind, though. I like listening to Kelan. He’s interesting.’
Ruana said nothing, which surprised Gilwyn. He was sure the Akari had something on her mind.
‘We’ll be finished tomorrow,’ he told her. ‘Then I’ll work on fixing this roof. Look . . .’ He pointed up at the gap in the planks. ‘It’s leaking again.’
Everything about the homestead needed work. Kelan had built it himself with the help of his long-dead neighbours, but now the farmer and his wife were too old and feeble to do much of anything on their own. It was why they had welcomed Gilwyn into their lives, feeding and housing him for the past three weeks. What had started as a request for one night’s rest had stretched into something of a holiday for Gilwyn, who loved being part of the farm and of the lives of the two old folks. He had become like an adopted son to Kelan and Marna. And now, he did not want to leave.
It had taken Gilwyn months to make it this far north. He was in the land of Roall now, a tiny kingdom south of Marn known for its rocky terrain and very little else. He had come to Roall exhausted, ill from relapse of the rass sickness he had endured in the desert. The venom that had put him to sleep for days in Aztar’s camp had stayed in his blood the entire trip north, forcing him to take frequent rests in the towns and forests along the way. After his sojourn in Ganjor, he had headed north along the merchant roads, riding straight for Dreel where a run-in with highwaymen nearly cost him all the gold Princess Salina had given him for the ride. From there he headed to Nith, avoiding that principality by going around it the long way, a journey that should have taken days but rather took him weeks. His strength spent, Gilwyn rested a spell by the Agora river, making a camp for himself away from any towns or farmlands. That was when the loneliness really took hold.