The Sword Of Angels (Gollancz S.F.)

by John Marco

  To home.

  ‘When I left here,’ he gasped, ‘there were always people on the forest roads. Where are they?’

  Ruana had no answer for him, except to say the sad truth. Things are different now, Gilwyn.

  ‘Thorin is no tyrant. I don’t believe the things they say.’

  He sat up, making a miserable face. All through his trip north, he had heard the stories about the Black Baron. They were calling him a demon, but Gilwyn knew the truth.

  ‘He’s corrupted. That’s all.’

  He will not be the man you knew, Ruana warned. Gilwyn, you should prepare yourself.

  ‘I’m ready,’ said Gilwyn. ‘I know Thorin, Ruana. He won’t hurt me.’

  Deep inside his mind, Gilwyn could feel his Akari’s discomfort. She was afraid for him.

  You think on those stories we heard, said Ruana gently. Soon you will see him. Soon you will see the truth for yourself. Do not refuse the truth because it is ugly.

  Gilwyn nodded, then took a deep, unsteady breath. His eyes drooped and his head swam, and it took all his strength just to guide the horse that Aztar had given him. The remarkable beast had taken him all the way from the Desert of Tears. Without complaint, the horse had borne him proudly. Gilwyn had named the beast Triumph, a name that had come to him in a flash of inspiration. After so many months spent with the stallion, he was almost as close to him as he was with his beloved kreel Emerald.

  ‘Almost there, boy,’ he told the horse, rubbing its neck. ‘It’s almost over.’

  The thought of the journey’s end gave Gilwyn the wind he needed to continue. Fighting back his nausea, he urged Triumph onward through the forest, following the narrow road that he knew would lead them to Koth. Ruana slipped back into the darker recesses of Gilwyn’s mind, where he could feel her brooding. She had tried for weeks to reason with him, and he had always refused her counsel. Whatever else Thorin had become, he was still a friend, and Gilwyn was determined to help him.

  Then at last Gilwyn glimpsed the end of the rest. Up ahead the canopy of trees thinned. The sky spread out above it, blue and beckoning. Cheered, Gilwyn hurried along the road until he reached a place where the trees parted. For the first time in years, he saw the city he called home. The breathtaking visage stunned him.

  ‘Oh, Fate . . .’

  His horse slowed beneath him. Ruana tiptoed from her hiding place. Together the travelers stared at the city sprawling before them, and the first thing they saw was the library on its hill, rebuilt and beautiful, glistening in the sunlight. Gilwyn’s heart tripped at the sight. His mouth fell open in disbelief. Koth had changed. To him, the city seemed lifeless and twisted. But the great Cathedral of Knowledge remained, engendering a flood of emotions in him.

  ‘Look, Ruana, look!’

  I see it, Gilwyn. Remarkable.

  ‘Isn’t it beautiful? It’s still there!’

  Still, because the Baron has remade it.

  ‘Yes!’

  The sight swept the sickness from Gilwyn’s mind. Suddenly, the only thing he wanted was to see his old friend Thorin. At the base of Library Hill, the rest of Koth crawled with shadows. People meandered through the streets, and the buildings of the royal quarter rose up from the sloping avenues. A distinct change had gripped the city, a kind of invisible pall that darkened the shops and gardens. But above it all, the library remained. Gladdened, Gilwyn hurried on.

  The morning after Jazana’s death, Thorin discovered her in her bed, naked and bruised. A pool of vomited blood lay at her bedside. Her dead face stared blindly at the ceiling from two pulpy sockets, her eyes clawed out from the pain. The discovery had sent Thorin to his knees, wailing like a child in the gory chamber. Near the wall furthest from the bed, the stain of Rodrik Varl’s blood and brains remained, dripping down toward his nearly headless corpse. Not a single maid or scullery hand had come to clean the room, nor to help the Diamond Queen in the throes of her agony. Thorin, who had heard her cries and dismissed them, had ordered her left alone, sure that her rantings were for her dead paramour. Thorin spent almost an hour in Jazana’s chamber, weeping, trying and failing to understand what had happened. Then, when he had finally collected himself, he left the room and closed the door behind him, ordering the servants to get to work cleaning the unimaginable mess.

  Baron Glass left Lionkeep that morning and walked out to the orchards at the edge of the castle. Alone, he ordered that no one follow him or come to disturb him. It was a long walk to his destination, but Thorin did not care. Kahldris was with him, and he needed to be away from Lionkeep and wash himself in the river. The river that ran through the orchards cut a wavering swathe across the apple trees. Stones lined its bubbling banks. In the seclusion of the trees, Thorin stripped off his blood-stained clothes until he was naked, leaving only the armour of his magical arm. The water was cold but he submerged himself, dreading the possibility that no amount of water could clean him. There he swam for two long hours, climbing out finally to dry himself in the sun.

  Staring up the sky, Thorin mourned for Jazana.

  He had memories of her that could still make him smile. It had been Jazana who rescued him from exile, giving him a home in Hanging Man, where they fell in love. He had served her loyally in those years and she had repaid him with pampering and womanly affection. And she had always been beautiful, stoking such hunger in him that he could never refuse her. With Kahldris guiding his hands, his lust for her had been insatiable . . .

  He closed his eyes, remembering with horror their last love-making. It had not been love at all, but an act of vengeance. She had screamed and screamed, and he had ignored her, taking her until she bled and his rage finally quieted.

  What was wrong with him?

  Thorin opened his eyes. Above him, the limbs of a tree obscured the sky, and in the tree a bird hopped from branch to branch.

  ‘I am not myself,’ he whispered.

  Kahldris answered, You are better than yourself alone. We are one now. We are strong.

  ‘We killed her,’ lamented Thorin.

  She is gone now, but we don’t need her.

  Thorin fought back a sob. ‘We murdered her.’ The thought was too much to bear. ‘Last night a madness descended on me . . .’

  Kahldris flittered above him, barely visible, like a ghost. He came as an old man, smiling down at the divested baron. ‘We have killed our enemies, Baron Glass. But there are more of them. They still plot against us.’

  ‘Who? Who plots against us?’

  ‘The ones across the desert. The Jadori plot against us. And my brethren Akari.’

  ‘You mean your brother?’

  ‘I feel him, Baron Glass. He is in the world again.’

  Thorin sat up. ‘No.’

  ‘The Bronze Knight is with him.’

  ‘Lukien?’ The news stunned Thorin. ‘Why are you keeping this from me?’

  Kahldris shimmered just of reach. ‘The Bronze Knight has found my brother and brings him here to destroy us. Do you see, Baron Glass, how many hate us?’

  ‘Even Lukien.’ Thorin leaned against the tree, contemplating the problem. ‘Where is he?’

  ‘He comes across the great desert. He bears a sword. I have seen it.’

  ‘This sword – can it break your armour?’

  The demon darkened. ‘I do not know.’

  They were words Kahldris rarely spoke, and the admission shook Thorin. They were in danger. Malator was more of a threat than Reec or any other of their enemies. ‘How did Lukien find this sword?’ he wondered aloud. Nothing made sense to him anymore.

  ‘There is another thing,’ said Kahldris. ‘Another secret I have kept from you.’

  ‘Tell me.’

  ‘The boy, Gilwyn Toms. He has come for you, Baron Glass. He is here in the city.’

  ‘Gilwyn?’ Thorin leaned forward excitedly. ‘The boy is here? In Koth?’

  ‘At last, yes,’ drawled the demon. ‘Now he nears Lionkeep.’

  Thorin leapt to his feet. ‘W
hy do you keep these things from me? I must know these things, Kahldris!’

  Kahldris smiled. ‘To protect, my sweet friend. We must protect each other.’

  ‘Yes,’ Thorin agreed, ‘but—’

  ‘The boy comes to save you from me, Baron Glass. Just as all the others have tried.’

  Thorin bristled at the hint. ‘We will not harm him. I will not have it, demon. I love that boy.’

  ‘No, we will not harm him,’ said Kahldris. His grin was impish. ‘We will keep him and adore him. Then he will use the machine and he will help us defeat my brother and the knight.’

  ‘All right,’ said Thorin, relieved. He looked around for his clothes, excited by the thought of seeing Gilwyn. ‘We must get back to Lionkeep before he arrives. I want to see that boy at once!’

  By the time Gilwyn reached Lionkeep, he was exhausted once again. Overwhelmed by the sights and sounds of Koth, the sickness from the rass venom had made his skin clammy and his eyes too blurry to see clearly. The sun was going down past the keep. Soldiers milled along the avenues, dressed in uniforms Gilwyn knew weren’t Liirian. In his day, when King Akeela had been alive, Royal Chargers had paraded around the residence, but those days were long ago and only faintly echoed by the current occupants of Koth. Gilwyn kept his head down as he approached Lion-keep, careful to avoid eye contact. His whole body ached. His head split with the effort of riding. Triumph, smart enough to sense his master’s distress, trotted carefully along the cobblestones, letting Gilwyn lean against his neck. Ruana lingered at the back of Gilwyn’s mind, remaining quiet but plainly enthralled by the sights. Lionkeep, though damaged and neglected, remained an impressive structure, replete with sculpted figures and catwalks that tied together the many towers. In the courtyard of the keep, Gilwyn could see a handful of soldiers taking notice of him. He kept to the road, approaching unthreateningly, his clubbed hand barely holding the reins of his mount. Behind the men stood the main entrance to the keep, a big bronze portcullis crowned with spikes. The portal slowly began ascending as Gilwyn approached, a curiosity that puzzled Gilwyn. Alarmingly, the soldiers pointed at him.

  ‘Ruana, they see us,’ said Gilwyn weakly. Suddenly he was afraid. He began to shiver. ‘I think I have a fever.’

  Soon you can rest, said Ruana in her soothing voice. Gilwyn, protect yourself.

  ‘What? Why?’

  It is Kahldris. I can feel him.

  The soldiers began coming toward him. Gilwyn slowed his horse. ‘What do you mean? Where is he?’

  He is coming, said Ruana.

  The portcullis rose to reveal the inner darkness. Gilwyn strained to see. The soldiers were waving to him, calling out. Ruana braced herself. Gilwyn’s skull began to throb as his heart raced. A mercenary hurried up to him. He was in the courtyard now, his eyes fixed on the open walkway.

  ‘You boy,’ said the mercenary. ‘Are you Gilwyn Toms?’

  Hearing his name surprised Gilwyn. He nodded, staring with blurry eyes. ‘Yes, I am.’

  ‘Get down,’ the man ordered. He had stopped the horse and offered Gilwyn a hand. ‘Let me help you. You don’t look well.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Gilwyn haltingly. He began to shake. ‘No, I’m ill.’

  As he slid off Triumph’s back he kept his eyes on the keep, waiting dreadfully for Kahldris to appear. His legs turned to jelly when his feet hit the ground.

  ‘You’re lame,’ the mercenary commented. Other soldiers had gathered now. The man looked at Gilwyn oddly. ‘How can you ride with such a hand? And what’s that boot you wear?’

  ‘Stop with your questions!’ thundered a voice. ‘That boy is twice your better and more!’

  The men stepped away, leaving Gilwyn to gape. Out of the portcullis stepped a figure, big and terrifying and barely a man. His face was familiar, as was his voice, but it was a demon visage that came out to greet him, and Gilwyn weakened in his fiery gaze. Like a serpent, the man’s left arm twisted with life, enchanted by some unholy metal. A grim smile upturned his thin white lips. He was the shadow of a man Gilwyn had once known, speaking with a voice stolen from another time. Stepping out into the courtyard, the wraith that was Thorin opened his arms wide.

  ‘Gilwyn!’ he cried. ‘My boy, it is good to see you!’

  Overwhelmed by the sight of him, Gilwyn fainted.

  61

  The moment Gilwyn awoke, he knew the bed was unfamiliar. The heaviness in his head began to lift. His eyes opened slowly. In his chest he felt the grip of panic, but the chains of his own lethargy kept him pinned to the downy pillow. As his blurred vision focused, he saw the ceiling, dark and tiled with ornate metal. Wood and velvet covered the walls. A window on the other side of the room revealed the blackness of night, draped with open, scarlet curtains. Gilwyn took a breath and held it, his eyes darting around the chamber. Very slowly his memory returned. He remembered the gate rising and the figure coming from the shadows.

  Thorin!

  Ruana’s gentle touch was on him instantly. She whispered into his troubled mind. You are safe, Gilwyn. Don’t be afraid. And then she told him, He is with you.

  The room was dark but for small candle burning on a distant table. Gilwyn’s eyes went to it, then saw a figure seated near it, its two big hands clutching the arms of a high-backed chair. The face met his, the red eyes softened, and the grimacing smile animated the mask, bringing the visage to life. Gilwyn stared, mesmerized, his heart galloping. A gleaming hand of living metal rose to gesture.

  ‘You’re awake, my boy?’

  It was Thorin’s voice, and yet it was not. Gilwyn broke down when he heard it.

  ‘Gods above,’ he moaned. ‘What’s happened to you, Thorin?’

  Thorin Glass rose from his chair and took two big strides to Gilwyn’s bedside. His face was wraith-like, shadowed by the night and lit by his two burning eyes. His brows lifted in concern.

  ‘You have slept long,’ he said. ‘How do you feel?’

  Gilwyn stared at him in dread. ‘Where am I?’

  ‘You are in Lionkeep. You came here, remember? You fainted.’

  ‘Yes,’ groaned Gilwyn, ‘I remember.’ He licked his dried lips, still in disbelief. ‘Thorin?’

  ‘It is me, Gilwyn,’ assured Thorin. ‘Do not be afraid of me. I beg you, please.’

  Behind the crimson eyes, Gilwyn saw a spark of love, a tiny of hint of Thorin’s humanity locked behind the madman’s mask. He recognized it unmistakably. Wearied, he could not help the tears from falling.

  ‘It is you,’ he choked. He looked away and brought up his hands. ‘I didn’t believe it. They told me but I didn’t believe.’

  ‘Don’t look away from me, Gilwyn, please.’

  ‘But I see madness in you!’ Gilwyn cried. ‘Oh, Thorin, what’s happened?’

  Thorin knelt beside the bed. ‘You have come to save me. My appearance is too much for you. I know I have changed. But I am Thorin, my boy, and it gladdens my heart so much to see you that I could weep.’

  Gilwyn struggled to control his sobs. The thousand challenges of his long journey caught up to him at last. He felt like a little boy suddenly, lying sick in some huge bed. And Thorin, like a father he’d never known, gazed down at him helplessly. Gilwyn forced himself to look at Thorin, studying his twisted features. The Devil’s Armour had poisoned him.

  ‘It has maddened you, Thorin,’ Gilwyn groaned. ‘I had heard it but I didn’t believe. Look at yourself!’

  ‘I have seen myself, Gilwyn,’ said Thorin gently. ‘I am fearsome to behold, I know. I have done things, horrible things. But you must look at me. I am begging you to see me!’

  ‘I’m looking, Thorin,’ said Gilwyn, holding his gaze. ‘And what I see scares me.’

  Thorin keened as though his heart was breaking. ‘See me as I was, not as I am. Remember who I was, Gilwyn, when I was your friend.’

  ‘It’s the armour,’ said Gilwyn. ‘The armour did this to you.’

  Thorin nodded. ‘I am one with Kahldris now. This is the price of it.�
��

  ‘You can fight him.’ Gilwyn struggled to sit up. ‘You can beat him, Thorin.’

  ‘Hush.’ Thorin put a hand on Gilwyn’s shoulder. ‘Lie back.’

  ‘No . . .’

  ‘Lie back, boy,’ Thorin ordered. ‘You are sick. Rest and tell me what has happened to you.’

  Gilwyn took a breath. Fighting was no use, so he sank back against his pillow, feeling the pain of an enormous headache. ‘It was a rass,’ he said. ‘When I first left Jador. It found me in the desert. Its venom did this to me.’

  ‘You’re very weak. Has it been this way since then?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Gilwyn. ‘Sometimes worse. When I get worn out it comes back. It was such a long ride home, Thorin.’

  Thorin smiled, faintly reminiscent of his old, fatherly grin. ‘And all for me. You are too good, boy. I am not worth your efforts.’

  ‘I didn’t come just for you,’ confessed Gilwyn. ‘I came because of White-Eye.’

  Thorin avoided the subject, saying, ‘How long were you on the road? It has been months and months since I left Jador.’

  ‘Months,’ sighed Gilwyn. ‘It seemed like forever.’ He closed his eyes to beat back the nausea. ‘I should have made the trip faster.’

  ‘A lame boy like you?’ Thorin laughed. ‘No.’

  Gilwyn opened his eyes. ‘Where is Kahldris, Thorin?’

  Thorin hesitated. ‘He is part of me. As your own Akari is part of you, Gilwyn.’

  ‘He came to me, Thorin,’ said Gilwyn. ‘Weeks ago, when I was in Roall. He goaded me here. That’s why he hurt White-Eye, to make me come here.’

  Again Thorin shifted the conversation. ‘You must rest now, Gilwyn. You are here now and have nowhere else to go. We will take care of you here.’ He smiled. ‘How good it is to see you.’

  ‘Thorin, tell me what happened to you,’ said Gilwyn. He was full of questions and refused to let Thorin avoid them. ‘When I was in Marn I heard what happened with the Reecians. They say you slaughtered them and that you killed their prince.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Thorin, his face darkening. ‘Sit back, Gilwyn.’