by John Marco
‘Tell me,’ said Gilwyn.
Thorin sighed distractedly. He rose from his place at the bedside, then went and dragged his chair closer. Sitting down again, he watched Gilwyn with his enigmatic gaze, as if sifting through all his horrible history.
‘It will be morning soon,’ he said. ‘And the things I’ve done would take longer to tell than that. I’ve heard the same stories as you, Gilwyn. What do they say in Marn? That I am a tyrant? Very well. If tyranny is what it takes to throttle Liiria back to greatness, then I am proudly guilty. Yes I killed the Reecians. In the armour I was like a god! No man could stop me. And I won the Kryss back for all of us. Did they tell you that in Marn?’
‘Thorin?’
‘Yes?’
‘You’ve gone mad.’
Thorin smiled then and nodded. ‘I have.’
Silence. The two friends stared at each other. Could a madman know such a thing about himself, Gilwyn wondered? Suddenly, he no longer feared Thorin. Rather, he was grief-stricken. Tears came again to his eyes.
‘No, do not weep for me,’ Thorin counseled. ‘I am well enough to know the choices I have made. I do not regret taking the armour, Gilwyn. Liiria needed me. She still needs me! She is weak, but I am strong. I have beaten nearly all my enemies. Kahldris has been good to me.’
‘Good for you? How can you say such a thing when you know that you are mad?’
‘Because I have chosen,’ said Thorin. ‘All of this was my own design. Did you see the library when you rode into Koth. I have rebuilt it! And when you are better you can take your place there, my boy, and you can run it and bring all the scholars to your side. You will make it great again.’
‘Thorin, stop.’ Gilwyn pushed himself up again. ‘Kahldris did not lure me here to run the library and you know it. Tell me why he wanted me here.’
Thorin’s face saddened. ‘It was necessary.’
‘So then, you know what he did to White-Eye? He blinded her, Thorin.’
‘I did not know this until it was over,’ Thorin insisted. ‘Believe me, please. Kahldris needed you, and how else could he have got you here? But I swear I would not let him hurt you, Gilwyn. I will never let him hurt you.’ Thorin leaned forward earnestly. ‘I will protect you.’
Amazingly, his promise heartened Gilwyn. After so many months of loneliness, of fending off animals and running from highwaymen, the thought of Thorin’s protection was like a warm blanket.
‘He hurt her,’ he said. ‘And you let him. Why, Thorin? Tell me.’
‘I will tell you,’ said Thorin. He leaned back. ‘But not yet.’
Frustrated, Gilwyn looked around the room. ‘Where are my things? I had saddle bags with me.’
‘They’re here,’ said Thorin. With his chin he gestured to the other side of Gilwyn’s bed. ‘And your horse has been taken care of too.’
Gilwyn leaned over the bed and saw that his bags were indeed there, lying just out of reach. ‘I need them,’ he said, too weak to get them. ‘Please, Thorin, will you get them for me?’
Thorin rose with a sigh. ‘You should rest, Gilwyn. We can speak again in a few hours.’
‘Thorin, please . . .’
‘All right,’ lamented the baron, then went to the bedside and stooped down to retrieve the bags. ‘Which one?’
‘That one,’ said Gilwyn, pointing weakly to the smaller of the two leather bags. They were both badly worn and sun-bleached, but that one in particular bag held an item of great value. ‘Look through it. You’ll see what I want.’
Thorin looked puzzled but did as Gilwyn asked, setting the bag down on the bed at Gilwyn’s feet. He began rummaging through the few items within it, stopping quickly as his eyes seized on the item.
‘What is this?’ said Thorin, pulling it out and holding it up for inspection.
‘That ring belongs to King Lorn of Norvor,’ Gilwyn said. He watched Thorin’s face for a reaction. ‘He came to Jador. He helped me, Thorin. When he knew that I was coming here he gave that ring to me to show to Jazana Carr.’
Thorin’s face went suddenly white. ‘Jazana.’
‘Lorn’s still alive, Thorin. I promised him I would give that ring to Jazana Carr to prove to her he would be back for her. He wants Norvor back.’
Thorin sighed peculiarly. ‘Does he so?’ Then he shook his head and placed the ring in Gilwyn’s lap. ‘You may keep this ring, Gilwyn.’
‘No. No, I have to give it to her. I made a promise, Thorin.’
‘It’s a promise you can’t keep, boy,’ said Thorin darkly. ‘I . . . have something to tell you.’
He moved away from the bed and stalked toward the window, staring out blankly at the dark night. Gilwyn could tell at once something terrible was on his mind. He picked up the ring at his lap, rolling it anxiously in his fingers.
‘Thorin? What happened?’
‘You can’t give that ring to Jazana,’ said Thorin. ‘Jazana’s dead. She died last night. She killed herself.’
The ring fell out of Gilwyn’s hand. ‘What?’
‘She was plotting against me, Gilwyn. That’s something you need to understand. You’re going to hear things while you’re here. True things, about how I beat her and drove her to it. But she tried to kill me.’ Thorin struggled with the story. ‘I am sorry for her death. She was good and loyal until she turned on me. I loved her.’
‘Thorin, I don’t understand. What happened?’
‘I was in Richter. Do you know that place?’
Gilwyn nodded. Most Liirians knew of the royal estate. ‘I know it, yes.’
‘I was with another woman, and Jazana took the chance to have me killed. She sent mercenaries there to burn me alive. They locked the doors of the house and set in on fire, but I escaped. The woman I was with did not.’ Thorin turned from the window to look at Gilwyn. ‘The woman was Meriel, Gilwyn. From Grimhold.’
‘Meriel?’ Gilwyn bolted upright. ‘She came here with Lukien.’
‘She did. And I battled Lukien and nearly killed him. After that she wandered for months before coming back to me. She loved me, Gilwyn, just as she did in Grimhold.’
The story made no sense. Gilwyn urged Thorin to go on. ‘What happened to Lukien? Where is he?’
‘Meriel seldom spoke of him. He left her to go and find a sword to defeat me. He abandoned her, Gilwyn, and she came to me!’
‘Thorin, I don’t care,’ Gilwyn shouted. ‘Tell me what happened to Lukien!’
‘Bah! Have you not heard what I’ve said, boy? I have lost two women who loved me in less than a week!’
Gilwyn shrank back. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, knowing he had to tread carefully. ‘You’re right, it’s terrible news.’
‘I thought I was all alone in the world again,’ said Thorin. ‘But then you came to me.’ His expression filled with bitter-sweet emotion. ‘The things I’ve done no man should speak of, Gilwyn. Jazana and Meriel both spoke to save me. They called me a madman, just as you have. Now I know that I am mad, but I cannot change. I have made enemies, too many to turn my back on.’
‘Kahldris has driven you to this, Thorin. It wasn’t you that killed Jazana – it was him.’ Thorin shook his head. ‘No, Gilwyn, it was I. I am not separate from Kahldris. I am him and he is me, and that is what has become of me.’ ‘Thorin, tell me about Lukien.’ Gilwyn shifted painfully in the bed. ‘Please.’
‘He came to stop me, Gilwyn.’
‘I know he did. But what happened to him?’
It was a story Thorin didn’t care to tell. He moved from the window as a hint of dawn began to light his face. ‘He came here with Meriel,’ he said finally. ‘And joined the others at the old library. My son Aric was with them.’
‘Your son? He’s still alive?’
‘Maybe he is dead now. I do not know. He fought with Lukien and the others, but Jazana and I defeated them easily. Lukien came to rescue me, just as you have done, Gilwyn. I begged him not to stand in my way. I begged him!’
‘Did you hurt him?’ Gilwyn ask
ed pointedly.
‘Yes. I had to. I left him for dead just outside the city.’
‘But he’s not dead . . .’
‘No. He left to find this sword.’ Thorin came again to kneel beside the bed. ‘It is called the Sword of Angels,’ he whispered. ‘It is the means to destroy me, Gilwyn. Lukien has found it. Now he is coming to kill me.’
‘How do you know this?’ asked Gilwyn.
‘Because Kahldris has told me so,’ said Thorin. ‘Because it is his brother that lies within the sword. That is why we brought you here, Gilwyn – to help us find his brother, Malator.’
Gilwyn shrugged, confused. ‘But how could I have helped?’
‘You knew Figgis better than anyone. He built that infernal catalogue machine to answer mysteries like this.’
‘No, Thorin, that’s not so.’
‘It is. It is a thinking machine. You told me this yourself.’
‘Yes, but it doesn’t work like that . . .’
‘The machine helped Figgis find the Eye of God. Did you not tell me that?’
Gilwyn nodded reluctantly. ‘Yes, I did.’
‘Then surely it can answer the questions I need answered,’ said Thorin. ‘And you must help me, Gilwyn. You must use the machine to find out how to stop Malator. If there is a way, the machine will know. The contents of the library have every useless bit of knowledge mankind has ever learned! I have spent hours on end reading the books your master Figgis collected, but they are too many. I need the machine to help me find the answers. I need you, Gilwyn.’
Gilwyn’s head began to reel. He leaned back against the pillow, averting Thorin’s wild eyes. ‘I cannot use the machine. I don’t know how.’
‘Surely you must remember something, though. You spent your life in that place with Figgis. He must have taught you.’
‘I don’t remember, Thorin! It was so long ago. And the machine is so complicated.’
‘But you must try, Gilwyn!’ Thorin got up and sat next to him on the bed. ‘Lukien was a friend once. I warned him to stay away, but he comes again, just like all the rest of them. They all want me dead, Gilwyn.’
‘Lukien wants to help you—’
‘No!’ Thorin jumped up and stomped the floor. ‘He means to kill me, don’t you see? Just like Jazana and the Reecians and everyone else! If you don’t help me he will succeed, Gilwyn, and then there will be chaos in Liiria. Is that what you want?’
Gilwyn closed his eyes and groaned. ‘There already is chaos, Thorin. You’ve killed Jazana Carr, you’ve slaughtered the Reecians. Now everyone is afraid of you.’
‘But they obey me,’ declared Thorin proudly. ‘They know I am their master. Have I not rebuilt the library? I can rebuild all of Liiria. I can make it great again, if you’ll help me, boy.’ He calmed himself, looking down at Gilwyn. ‘Will you help me?’
Sick in his bed, Gilwyn could barely speak. Even thinking made him ache. His mind mulled over the things Thorin had told him. It all seemed impossible, but somehow he knew the stories were true. He wanted to help Thorin – he had come so far to rescue him. Perhaps the old man needed time. Perhaps in time, Gilwyn thought, he might be able to reach him.
‘I’m very tired,’ he said. ‘I need to rest.’
‘Yes, of course, you must rest,’ agreed Thorin. He put his fleshy hand onto Gilwyn’s forehead. ‘I have women here that will attend to you. They will bring you food and drink and when you are ready they will bathe you. But Gilwyn, I must have your answer soon. Rest now, but think on what I have said to you.’
He turned to go, heading for the door. Before he reached it Gilwyn called to him.
‘Thorin, wait.’
The baron lingered, his hand on the door handle. ‘Yes?’
‘Thank you for taking care of me.’
Thorin smiled. ‘I will always take care of you, Gilwyn. For as long as you remain in Lionkeep, I will protect you.’
He opened the door and left the room, closing off Gilwyn again in darkness. Gilwyn remained very still, listening to the baron’s footsteps disappear down the hall.
‘Ruana,’ he whispered. ‘Did you hear?’
I heard, said Ruana, her voice sad. I am sorry, Gilwyn. I tried to warn you.
‘He’s mad.’
In his mind, Ruana nodded. Yes.
‘I want to help him.’
You will not be able to reach him, Gilwyn. It is up to Lukien now.
‘But I have to try,’ resolved Gilwyn. ‘You see how he cares for me? He might listen to me.’
He will destroy you, Gilwyn, because he is a jackal now and that is what jackals do.
‘No.’ Gilwyn shook his head, refusing to believe it. ‘No, I see the man he was, still inside him. If I can wait, pretend to help him, maybe Lukien will come in time.’
Lukien is coming to kill him, Ruana pointed out. Not to save him.
‘You don’t know that.’
The Akari sighed. You are hopeless.
Gilwyn rolled over onto his side, facing the window. Outside he could see the morning light struggling through the sky. The vision heartened him. ‘It’s never hopeless, Ruana,’ he said. ‘We just have to believe.’
PART THREE
ARMOUR
AND SWORD
62
The dead city of Kaliatha rose out of its sandy tomb, glowing purple in the cloudy light of day. A westward breeze whistled through its crumbling spires, portending a storm, and ghosts of dust flittered through the empty avenues. Darkened windows in the lifeless towers stared like black, unblinking eyes, forever watching the desolate horizon, and in the cracks along the ancient pavement the weeds grew up like serpents, indomitable amidst the sad and speechless city. The foreign sound of horse hooves echoed along the main thoroughfare as a single horseman rode through the city, his head spinning from the awesome sights. Lukien had seen Kaliatha before, months ago, and he had dreamed of it since. The impression it had left on him was like seeing a massive grave. He did not speak as he trotted through the city, nor direct his comrade to any particular sight. Next to him, the Akari spirit Malator walked in stunned amazement, rendered mute by the image of his forlorn home. It was the first time since Lukien had met the Akari that Malator was lost for words, and the oddness of it struck Lukien. They had ridden together from the grand city of Torlis, through the villages and swamps of Tharlara and across the desolation toward Jador. And all the while, Malator had been full of quips and questions, barely sparing Lukien time to sleep. Now, though, Malator’s tongue was still. His glowing eyes filled with the likes of ethereal tears.
‘Here I was a boy,’ he said in a whisper, ‘and then a man and a soldier and a summoner. I have thought of almost nothing else in the countless years of my death but Kaliatha. But I never thought it would look like this.’
Lukien had tried to warn Malator. A hundred times, he had told the spirit that the city of the Akari was nothing like he’d left it. It had fallen to ruin a thousand lifetimes ago, torn by the teeth of storms and ravaged by the claws of the relentless sun. Day by day, year after endless year, the glory of the city had been peeled away, fading to a shell full of memories and almost nothing else. Malator, a child-like optimist, had merely nodded at Lukien’s description of Kaliatha, assuring him that he understood the depths of what had happened. Had he lied, Lukien wondered? Or was it just too much for the spirit to imagine?
‘It still stands, Malator,’ said Lukien. ‘It’s still here for you to see, after all these years. That’s something good, at least.’
Malator nodded, but grudgingly. Because he had no real body he did not tire the way Lukien did, and so he often came out of the sword to walk beside Lukien while the knight rode. They had spent hours telling each other about the lives they had lived, even laughing at times at each others jokes. Malator had surprised Lukien from the very start, looking not at all like the great warrior destined to defeat Kahldris. He was tall and reedy and even foppish at times, with a grin that seemed better for a jester than a soldier. He wa
s entertaining company, always prepared to use his wit to disarm the sceptical Lukien. Seeing his new friend – his Akari – so broken-hearted made Lukien wilt.
‘You have no idea how grand this place was once,’ Malator continued. ‘And I treaded the world like a prince when I was alive. All of Kaliatha knew my name, and my brother’s. They looked to me for help.’ Malator trembled. ‘For help, Lukien.’
Lukien smiled reassuringly, understanding Malator’s pain. ‘You did what you could for them. You tried to help. Now you can explain that to them, Malator. That’s why we are here.’
‘We are here because there is no other way to your land of Jador, Lukien. If there were, I would not be here.’
‘You dissemble, my friend. Nothing would have kept you from seeing Kaliatha and you know it. And it is good that you see it. Look at it! You see ruins. I do, too. But I see glory here, still. I can imagine what a world your people made.’
‘Can you?’ Malator appeared heartened. ‘Then your one eye is clearer than my two.’
Lukien did not rise to Malator’s bait. He had the right to mourn for his city, Lukien supposed, and nothing he could say would assuage the spirit’s feelings. The Sword of Angels rested at Lukien’s hip, keeping him alive and filling him with vitality. The Eye of God still hung from his neck, but Lukien could no longer feel the presence of Amaraz within himself, and he knew that the great Akari had vacated his body, leaving the job of sustaining him to Malator, his one, true, Akari. Throughout their trip together, Malator had stayed close to Lukien, assuring him that he need not wear the sword at every moment. Eventually, Lukien had come to trust the spirit.
Still, the long ride from Torlis had been bittersweet. Without Jahan, the lush landscape of Tharlara seemed empty, and Lukien spent many hours of the trek mourning his kind-hearted friend. He missed Lahkali and Karoshin. He even missed Niharn. But Jahan he missed most of all, and he knew that he could not pass by his village without telling his wife what had happened.
Oddly, his ride through the dead city reminded Lukien of that moment now, and in the high spires of deceased Kaliatha – a city Lukien knew Jahan would have loved – he saw the wonder-filled face of the villager. The memory put a dagger through his heart. He had told Jahan’s family that their beloved husband and father had died valiantly, saving him from a rass. He made sure that the children believed their father was a hero, and took pains to praise him and tell how much he missed him. Even in their crushed expressions, Lukien saw the love they had for him.