by John Marco
No, she scolded herself suddenly. Do not think of him.
Kahldris was powerful, and could probably read her thoughts. She wasn’t sure of that, but she suspected it. Still, the demon had been quiet since that first day in Koth. Had Thorin really tamed him?
Mirage didn’t know, and wasn’t willing to take the gamble. Instead she let the evening unfold, plate by plate, occasionally engaging Thorin in the most unimportant subjects, like the rains that had plagued them and his day in the woods. To this Thorin brightened, telling her that the forests and lakes around Richter were renowned throughout Liiria, a place of exceeding beauty that he insisted she see.
‘Tomorrow we will ride around the lake, just you and I. Forget the ducks, my lady – there is a spectacular brood of herons on the east side of the lake. They fly in like angels. We can boat there, if you like.’
‘Maybe,’ said Mirage cautiously. ‘That might be nice.’
The stewards moved gracefully around them as the dinner unwound, then finally came to an end. One of them, an old man named Jarel, produced a pipe for Thorin which he gratefully accepted.
‘Come,’ he said, pushing back his chair. ‘Let’s go outside. We can see the stars.’
Mirage hesitated. The night was going too quickly. Something told her to slow it down. ‘No,’ she declined. ‘I think I’d rather stay inside.’
Thorin looked surprised. ‘But you’ve been inside all day. Just a quick breath . . .’
‘No. Thank you.’ Mirage rose and put her napkin on the table. She smiled at him. ‘That was wonderful. It was, really, but I’m tired now. I think I’d like to go upstairs.’
Thorin chaffed at this. ‘So soon?’
‘It’s what I want, Thorin.’
The fingers of his gauntlet flexed. ‘I had hoped we could talk some more tonight. In private. It’s very quiet by the lake.’
She could feel him drawing closer, craving her. His eyes smouldered. Mirage carefully backed away, feeling her own resolve loosening.
‘No, Thorin, no,’ she said, more firmly this time. ‘I have to go upstairs.’
He stalked closer to her, not menacingly. ‘Let me walk you upstairs.’
She shook her head. ‘No.’
‘Yes, I want to.’
She put up her hands. ‘I’m fine.’ With a smile she added, ‘Thank you.’
Thorin came to stand before her, towering over her. Sensing the moment, the stewards disappeared. The house became still. ‘I think,’ said Thorin, ‘that you should let me see you upstairs.’
‘Why?’ asked Mirage, feeling weak.
‘I see something in your eyes.’
Whatever he saw, Mirage could not hide. She swallowed, looking away, but his gaze fell on her like a shadow, suffocating her. She glanced around, checked that they were alone and wished to heaven for someone – anyone – to stop them.
‘I can’t,’ she said breathlessly. ‘Please . . .’
Thorin’s hand came up to touch her cheek. ‘What is this that you can’t do? You can’t make your own choices? You can’t betray some misplaced loyalty? You came to me. Remember that, Mirage.’
‘I remember,’ said Mirage. Did she regret that now? ‘I—’ Her words trailed off.
‘What? You want to tell me something – speak it.’
She looked squarely into his powerful eyes. ‘I am a maiden, Thorin.’
She expected to see conquest on his face. Instead, he softened.
‘What a sweet gift that would be, if you would give it to me.’
Mirage began to shake. Seeing this, he took her. His strong embrace propped up her failing knees. And then she was up, off of her feet and in his arms, sweeping out of the dining chamber toward the stairs. She put her arms around his neck, unable to speak, wanting to cry out for help.
But not a sound escaped her throat.
At midnight precisely, Corvalos Chane and his Watchmen broke camp. They took with them everything they needed for their task – their crossbows and daggers, their chains for the doors, and the flammable oil that would turn Richter Estate into a torch. The night was clear and cool, and in the light of the full moon it took less than an hour for them to get into position, staking out the woods around the estate and leaving their horses deep in the trees. The sacks of oil that they brought with them waited nearby, also hidden from view. The seven faces of the Watchmen peered invisibly out over the grounds of the estate, each two man team taking a different door. Because he was their leader, Chane remained near the front of the house, not far from the road that led up to the estate’s circular drive. From his place in the trees he could see the Norvans patrolling the grounds. Stupidly, a foursome of them had clutched near the covered walkway leading to the kitchens. One of them puffed languidly on a pipe. Kaprile and Horatin, who crouched with Chane in the brush, noted the guards with hand signals.
Chane shook his head. Kaprile raised his crossbow, putting his hand out to lower the weapon. Kaprile was the best shot of the group, and the crossbows the Watchmen carried had all been specially made for strength and silence. Even in the darkness, it would be no problem at all for Kaprile to kill two of the guards. But not four.
There were other guards as well, and these too would be dealt with. Robb and Noan, who had taken up position near the back of the estate, had already determined from earlier excursions that there was one man posted there at all times. Probably, he was already dead. Calan and Travor had the most difficult task. They had each been posted at opposite ends of the estate. They had no crossbows, but were armed with knives. It was up to them to sneak in first.
Horatin kept one hand on the stout chain. Sweat beaded on his forehead. He did not look nervous, just determined. It seemed to Chane that things were going wonderfully well. They had taken up their positions without being noticed and ostensibly had the house surrounded. They had everything they needed in place.
Still, there were those four guards . . .
‘There’s no time,’ whispered Chane, his voice so low he himself could barely hear it. ‘We have to move on them.’
He knew that his men were waiting, and that Robb and Noan had probably already killed the rear guard. Other soldiers inside the house might come looking for him, and if he went missing things would get difficult fast.
‘Horatin,’ he said, ‘with me.’ Then he turned to Kaprile. ‘When we get close, hit them.’
There was no need for either of them to speak. Kaprile readied himself behind his crossbow. Horatin followed Chane through the woods. They both had their daggers drawn, moving likes cats through the brush, finally emerging out of sight of the four guards. The walkway leading to the kitchens had a roof that shadowed the men, making it difficult to see which way they were looking. Chane watched the glowing pipe in the lips of the one man, turned sideways to the grass. There was no easy way to reach them.
Chane and Horatin lingered in the shadows, their backs pressed against the stone of the house. The four Norvans stood beneath the roof, talking and laughing, fifty feet away. For Chane, killing four men was easy. Unless one of them ran. Or screamed. He looked to the trees where Kaprile was waiting, hidden somewhere in the mesh of leaves. Raising his hand, he gave the signal.
The crossbow’s silent mechanism fired.
Mirage lay awake, naked, her tattered clothes draped over the mantle where Thorin had thrown them. The sheets of her enormous bed lay in a tangle around her limbs. Through the window she saw moonlight slanting through the glass, striking Thorin’s happy face. Half asleep, his arm draped over her breasts, he smiled at her and kissed her ruddy cheek. A strange pain ached between her legs. Her body felt taught, like the strings of an instrument. Against her skin she felt the hotness of Thorin and the cool touch of his metal arm, that magnificent appendage that had brought her magically to life. Wrapped in it, he had lifted her effortlessly from the bed, again and again while he thrust against her, filling her mind with visions. Mirage had never known ecstasy, and had never really understood the word.
Until t
onight.
He had been gentle at first, sweetly whispering in her ear as he undid the buttons of her gown. She had feared him but did not stop him, and when the moment of his own nakedness came she had gasped, astounded by him. Passion had taken them both like a swift river, and when it was over the current began again. As though he were a machine, Thorin took her again and again, each time more surely than the last, the magic of his armour giving him the virility of men half his age.
No, thought Mirage as she lay against him. Not a man. More like a god.
For no man could do what Thorin had done, or done it so flawlessly. She was in the arms of an avatar, and finally realized why Jazana Carr had never left him.
She rolled her head over to face him. Thorin’s heavy eyes opened a bit wider.
‘Sleep now,’ he said.
Mirage stared into his eyes. ‘I cannot. I feel strange.’
‘You are a woman now,’ he whispered. ‘You’re no longer a child. Everything will be different for you now.’
Without understanding him, Mirage simply nodded. He closed his eyes, drifting away to sleep, and a moment later Mirage did the same. Outside her window, she thought she heard a sound, something odd that she did not recognize. Too tired to pay it much heed, she ignored it.
Out of the blue came the bolt from Kaprile’s crossbow, streaking invisibly through the moonlight. A moment later, the man with the pipe fell to the ground. His head exploded so quickly that the others around him didn’t know what happened. He was talking and then he wasn’t, and the three remaining Norvans simply stood there, stunned. Chane and Horatin flew from the shadows, knives in hand, and by the time they had reached the guards another bolt came out of the darkness, this one felling the man nearest Chane. Changing tactics, Chane selected another of the doomed men, who was just turning around to face him. With his dagger in one hand, he grabbed hold of the man’s hair, snapped back his head, and ran the blade silently across his neck. Next to him, Horatin did the same, and before five seconds had ticked away both Norvans were dead.
Chane quickly glanced around. He listened for any sound. Out of the forest came Kaprile, his crossbow discarded, his back burdened with the heavy chain and padlock. Horatin wasted no time in dashing back for the oil. Chane kept watch on the door as he ran toward it, then put his ear against the wood. Inside the house he heard nothing, not even the idle chatter of servants or the footfalls of guards. Sure that the other teams had done just as well, he helped Kaprile loop the chain around the door.
Mirage awoke to the noise of breaking glass. At first it seemed like a dream, distant and unimportant, but then she heard it again, louder, closer, and her eyes snapped open in alarm. Thorin, still asleep beside her, his face slack after their love-making, barely stirred. Mirage listened intently, afraid and not knowing why. She thought to wake him, but feared his anger. She tried to lift her head but his weight pinned her down. Somewhere in the house something fell, bursting with sound. Another followed then another, and suddenly someone screamed.
Mirage bolted upright, waking Thorin instantly. Naked, she spotted her clothing flung against the mantle. Thorin groggily came awake, rubbing his eyes in confusion.
‘What is it?’ he croaked.
‘I don’t know,’ said Mirage. ‘Something’s happening.’
‘What’s happening? What?’ Thorin tossed his feet over the bedside. He shook his head a moment, then looked alarmed. ‘I smell fire.’
The word paralyzed Mirage. ‘What?’
‘Smoke.’ He looked at her. ‘Do you smell it?’
Then suddenly she did. All around her. Mirage leapt from the bed, dashing for the door. When she opened it a burst of heat gushed at her.
‘Thorin!’
All the memories of that horrible day rushed at her, those far flung nightmares of burning. Mirage stood in the door, frozen by the flames, stung by the heat as Thorin rushed up behind her.
‘Fate above, what’s happened?’ he gasped. He pulled her roughly from the door. ‘Get back! Get some clothes on!’
Mirage stumbled to the mantle, finding her gown clutching it. The whole downstairs seemed to be in flames. Through the roar she could hear the cries of people burning.
‘We have to get out of here,’ Thorin told her. He looked around for a way. ‘The window!’
He ran to it, breaking it open with his gauntleted fist and sticking his head outside to see. Mirage already knew it was impossible. They were too far up, even for Thorin to make it. As he cursed the danger, she saw him glimpse something troubling below them.
‘You there!’ he cried.
Mirage hurried toward him. ‘What is it?’
‘An attack,’ Thorin grumbled. His face went suddenly. ‘Great heaven . . .’
‘Thorin, what’s happening?’
He backed away from the window, his face pensive. Then he took her in his big hands. ‘Listen to me – there are men here. They mean to kill me. They set the fire, Mirage. And they’ve locked us in.’
‘No!’
‘Don’t be afraid. I can get you out of here.’
‘You can’t! We’re on fire, Thorin!’
‘The fire won’t hurt me,’ Thorin insisted. ‘I’ll carry you out.’
Mirage tore away. ‘No!’
‘Meriel, you have to trust me. I can protect you . . .’
‘No you can’t! I’m not like you, Thorin! I’ll die!’
‘You have to trust me,’ he said, then grabbed hold of her arm and dragged her forward. She fought him, screaming, but he lifted her up in his arms, tucking her head against his shoulder and pinning it there. Mirage was sobbing, pleading with him to let her go. Thorin ran headlong for the door.
Chane and his men gathered on the main lawn to watch the fire. Robb, the last of them to arrive, ran up to Chane quickly to give his report. With Noan’s help they had broken through most of the ground-floor windows, tossing in their containers of oil. Chane had helped on the other side of the house, lighting the oil with a tiny flame made by striking flint. He had been amazed at how quickly the oil had combusted, bursting into tall flames that quickly licked at the drapes and antique furniture. Now, as he massed with his Watchmen, Chane could hear the cries of the old wood beams, buckling and cracking as the fire consumed them.
‘Listen,’ Horatin directed. But it wasn’t the beams that had caught his attention. He motioned toward the main door, the one Chane had helped barricade. On the other side of it, someone was screaming. An insistent pounding rocked the thick wood.
‘Chane, I saw him,’ said Robb, gasping for air. ‘Glass.’
‘What happened?’
‘He looked down at me from one of the bedrooms. He broke the window trying to escape.’
‘Was he alone?’
Robb nodded, catching his breath. ‘He’s still up there.’
Kaprile raised his crossbow. ‘Maybe not for long.’
‘He can’t survive it,’ said Chane confidently. ‘No one can.’
He felt a surge of pride at what he’d done, and a wave of self-loathing. The battering at the door continued. A window shattered on the top floor. A man appeared, his clothes in flames, ready to leap. Kaprile raised his crossbow instantly, took aim, and mercifully killed him. The man fell backward, disappearing into the flames.
The pounding at the door died away.
Corvalos Chane, bathed in the light of the conflagration, imagined Baron Glass and his Diamond Queen, charred and dead within the house. Some twenty others had died with them, but to Chane the arithmetic seemed fair. How many men had Glass killed at the Kryss? How many more might he have killed?
The flames spread across the ground floor, leaping from the windows and scratching at the doors. Corvalos Chane bid his Watchmen to stand down.
‘Get the horses,’ he told them. ‘I want to be ready to leave.’
*
Thorin ran naked through the flames, leaping over burning beams and corpses. In his arms, Mirage was screaming, begging to be saved. The he
at that licked their bodies had torn the skin from her back. Near tears, Thorin peered through the choking smoke, ignoring the pain. The armour on his arm glowed ferociously, lighting a path, but the fire was everywhere, blocking his way. Thorin turned desperately, trying each direction, beaten back by the inferno every time. His ears rang with Mirage’s pleas. She was dying, her hair on fire, her skin bubbling.
But not Thorin. The power of his armoured arm spread across his person, shielding him from the scorching flames. Enraged, he cried out to Kahldris.
‘Save her!’ he begged. ‘Kahldris, get us out of here!’
But the demon was silent, never entering Thorin’s mind. Confused, Thorin raced for nearest exit, passing the stairway as it collapsed. A shroud of burning curtains fell from the wall, sending up a storm of sparks. Mirage sobbed agonizingly into his shoulder.
‘Let us out of here!’ he bellowed. ‘Let us out!’
The fire raged in answer. All around him now, the flames touched his naked feet, climbing up his legs. His hair singed and curled back. The enormous pain drove him onward. Remarkably, he did not falter, and he realized that he never would – nothing could stop him.
‘Hold on to me,’ he told Mirage. ‘I’ll get you out of here.’
On his shoulder, Mirage was silent. Thorin stopped running. Terrified, he glanced at her face and saw that she no longer moved. Her body drooped in his arms.
‘No . . .Oh,no . . .’
With fire all around him, he laid her down on the floor, studying her lifeless face. Her skin had turned a frightening red. And all the scars from her old life were there, showing once again on her face. Her Akari had fled. Thorin knew it. Kneeling over her, both of them naked, he touched her face and thought she was beautiful.
Then Baron Glass rose and let the fire reach for him, effortlessly swatting back its deadly flames.
‘Who has done this?’ he hissed in rage.
Down in the cellar, safely locked away, his armour waited, calling to him.
Outside, standing on the great lawn of the estate, Corvalos Chane watched the burning, amazed by how quickly the fire had spread. The entire ground floor was engulfed in flame. The blaze had easily reached the top floor. He had watched the fire for nearly an hour, listening for any signs of life within the house. Happily, he heard nothing, just the screaming of the old timbers as they snapped and buckled. A great feeling of accomplishment came over the old soldier, bathed in the inferno’s eerie light. He was sure the blaze could be seen for miles, if only someone had been around to see it. It had been great hubris that had killed the Baron and his Queen, thought Chane. A man should never think himself so powerful.