The Devil's Armor

by John Marco

  “You have not heard me,” said Kamag, his ire rising. “You cannot cross the Desert of Tears. Aztar and his men will kill you before you ever reach Jador.”

  “Who are you protecting really?” asked Lorn. “Who really wants to keep us here?”

  Kamag was tight-lipped. “That does not matter.”

  “Yet you expect us to trust you.”

  “For your own good, yes.” The owner of the shrana house looked around, then lowered his voice. “There is another, someone you must never know, someone who wants to protect you.”

  “To protect all the Seekers,” Dahj clarified. “But we cannot tell you who this person is. To do so would jeopardize her.”

  “A woman?” Lorn nodded, impressed. “This mysterious benefactor—you work for her?”

  “Not directly, no,” said Kamag. “We work together to keep the Seekers safe, so they are not slaughtered by Aztar, and so Aztar’s ideas do not take hold in our city. We are not all alike, we Ganjeese. We are not all like Aztar.”

  Dahj added quickly, “Aztar is a dangerous man, and if he gains importance here our way of life will end. All of us—me, Kamag, and the woman—do not wish such change here, or to see people like you suffer at his hand.” He looked at each of the northerners, his eyes imploring. “Friends, you must not cross the desert. To do so—especially now—would be your doom.”

  “At least wait before trying,” urged Kamag. “Now is an extremely unsafe time.”

  “Why?” asked Garthel.

  Kamag thought before answering, and Lorn could tell he was hiding something. “Because Aztar’s presence in the area is strong now. He has been in Ganjor recently. He still has men here. If you do not keep out of sight, you may be in peril.”

  The news further confused Lorn. For a reason he could not explain, he trusted the two strangers. There was sincerity in their faces. Garthel looked at him, wondering what they should do. Bezarak sat silently with a frown on his face.

  “We cannot wait more than a day,” said Lorn at last. “We must get to Mount Believer. Too much depends on it. But we will think on what you have told us.”

  Kamag’s disapproval was obvious. “That is a mistake,” he warned. “Please, reconsider. Here you are safe, but if you attempt to cross the desert—”

  “I have heard you,” Lorn interrupted. “As I said, I will consider what you’ve told us.”

  The innkeeper sighed. “You are a very stubborn man, Liirian.”

  “I’m not Liirian,” said Lorn suddenly. “I’m a Norvan, and Norvans do not frighten easily. Should this Aztar try and harm us, he will find that out for himself.”

  “He will skin you alive while you beg for your life,” countered Kamag, “but if that is your insistence I cannot stop you. Have at least a care, though. There are rooms for you here. You and your companions will be safe here until you leave.”

  Garthel looked questioningly at Lorn. “Should we?”

  The difficult decision sat heavy on Lorn. Did he trust these strangers, or believe their story of a mysterious patron? Not completely, he realized, but he knew his people were bone-tired, and if there was another place in Ganjor offering them rooms he didn’t know of it.

  “All right,” he concluded. “We’ll stay, but only for a night or two. And in the morning I want more answers, Kamag. If I don’t get them, we’re leaving.”

  “If you do, it will be your conscience that is tainted, not mine,” said Kamag. “As for answers, I have told you all that I can.”

  Lorn got up from the floor. “Then perhaps you have things to think over as well.” He dug into his pocket and pulled out some of the coins he’d taken from Duke Erlik. “Here,” he said, tossing them on the table. “We’ll pay our own way tonight. You have room for so many of us?”

  “Yes, but you’ll have to share,” said Kamag. He took the coins, giving half to Dahj. “Bring your people, and whatever animals and supplies you have. They are not safe on the street.”

  Kamag was good to his word. By the time Lorn and the Believers returned to the shrana house, the dark man had rooms arranged for them all. They were not luxurious chambers, but they were clean and comfortable, and the travelers appreciated them. After many days sleeping under the sky, the beds and sheets were greeted like long lost family. There were four rooms, all of about the same size, and these were divided equally among the group, without much thought to separating the men from the women. That was a concern that had vanished a long time ago. The only worry now was that each of them had room enough to sleep and food enough to fill their stomachs. Luckily, there was an abundance of fresh food and good drink, and Lorn and his people ate until their bellies threatened to burst. And while they ate, they talked about Kamag and Dahj and the good fortune of encountering them, though none of them still knew for certain why they risked themselves so much to help others.

  By nightfall, though, it no longer seemed to matter. They were pleased to be safe and sheltered, at least for a while, and only Lorn continued wondering about their predicament. He had not been honest with his comrades—he was afraid of this prince called Aztar. Not for himself, because he knew he was a survivor, but for Poppy and Eiriann and all the others. He had led this far, and he was proud of that, but was he leading them to doom now?

  As he lay awake on a cot in a room he shared with six others, Lorn pondered the dark possibilities. Of all of them, only he could really fight, and if they did encounter Aztar’s army they would have no chance at all. But what if Aztar was a myth, a concoction meant to keep them here? Such a theory made no real sense, but then none of it made sense to him. Lorn fretted, unable to sleep.

  Finally, long after midnight, he gave up tossing and turning and decided to go for a walk. The night air would do him good and clear his head, so he rose from his bed and quietly as possible left the chamber without waking any of his roommates. Unsure of the time, he got clues from the silence in the shrana house and guessed it was very late indeed—or very early. The stone steps leading upstairs were empty, and from the landing looking down he could see or hear no one. Supposing it was all right to go downstairs, he descended the old steps and found himself once again in the tavern. This time, though, the place was deserted, and no one came through the beaded curtain. Even the fire in the round hearth had been extinguished, the only light coming from two gold lamps over a far table. Surprisingly, there were figures at that table, sitting on the floor as Lorn had done hours before over cups of shrana.

  One of the figures was Kamag. He was talking, though very softly. The other figure shocked Lorn, for it was clearly a woman. Deciding to be part of their conversation, he loudly cleared his throat.

  Both Kamag and the woman turned toward him at once. Kamag’s eyes were wide with worry, but the woman—a very young and beautiful one—seemed happily surprised.

  “Wait,” said Kamag, standing up at once. “Do not come closer.”

  “No,” said the woman. She stood as well. Her eyes met Lorn’s across the room. “This is the Norvan?” When Kamag nodded she smiled. “I want to meet him.” She waved Lorn into the room “Come ahead. We are alone here.”

  Though the situation disturbed Kamag, Lorn was too curious not to accept the invitation. He approached the woman, examining her. She was Ganjeese, like Kamag, with raven hair and piercing eyes and skin like molasses, darkly shining in the lamplight. Her clothes were expensive; she was a woman of means. A brocade of scarlet silk covered her shoulders and a long gold skirt covered her legs down to her sandaled feet. Her toes wore rings, her neck green gems, and her smile warmed the chamber as she met Lorn. Not knowing how best to greet her, Lorn bowed slightly.

  “Lady,” he said, “I think I owe you some thanks. Are you the one Kamag told us of? The one who seeks to protect us?”

  “I am discovered,” said the young woman. She was barely more than a girl, but had the manners of one raised in court. “My name is Salina.”

  “Princess!” gasped Kamag.

  “It is all right, Kamag, he
would have guessed soon enough.” The young woman put out her hand for Lorn. “Please, sit and talk with me. It is you I came to see.”

  Lorn took her hand uncertainly. “You are a princess? A princess of Ganjor?”

  “Only one of many daughters to my father,” said Salina. “Will you sit with me and talk?”

  There was no way Lorn could resist. He let Salina pull him down next to her.

  “Forgive me, my lady, but I have questions.” Lorn shrugged, not knowing where to start. “This whole thing confuses me.”

  “I understand, of course,” said Salina. “But let us talk in private. Kamag, will you leave us for a while? I wish to speak alone with him.”

  Kamag looked disapprovingly at the girl. Finally he nodded and left them alone. When he was gone Salina poured a cup of shrana for Lorn. Lorn took the cup but did not drink. He was full of questions but didn’t know where to begin, and the sight of his pretty young benefactor tied his tongue in a knot.

  “My people, upstairs,” he began haltingly. “My friends. They are all grateful to you, as am I. But I need you to explain it to me, madam. Who are you? And why are you helping us?”

  “My name is Salina,” said the girl, “but you already know that. And you know that I am a daughter of King Baralosus.”

  Lorn nodded. “A princess.”

  “Yes. And I’m not supposed to be here now . . .” She smiled at him. “What is your name?”

  “Lorn is my name. I am a Norvan.”

  Princess Salina eyed him. “Lorn?”

  “That’s right.”

  She hesitated. “I am not an uneducated woman, but the only Norvan man I’ve ever heard of is named Lorn. But he’s supposed to be dead now. Tell me—is yours a very common name in Norvor?”

  “Not very,” Lorn replied. “Princess, you have already trusted me—though I know not why. So I will trust you now. I am Lorn of Norvor, once a king and now just a man. If you have heard of me then I suppose the things you’ve heard are not good. But I ask your faith regardless.”

  Princess Salina was enthralled. “King Lorn, you are supposed to be dead.”

  “Perhaps, though rumors of my continued existence seem to be following me south. You see, my lady, why I am so skittish of you and your friends. There was a duke in Dreel who said he wanted to help me, too. Now he’s dead.”

  “You are a hunted man, then?”

  “So it seems.”

  “I assure you, I did not know who you were before you told me.”

  The two strangers stared at each other over the table. Lorn saw sincerity in Salina’s eyes, but he wasn’t sure it was reflected back.

  “Shall we trust each other?” he asked.

  Salina nodded, and like a dam Lorn burst forth with his whole intriguing tale. He told Salina how he’d been betrayed back home in Norvor, and how Jazana Carr had stolen his country, eventually driving him into exile with his daughter. From there he’d gone to Liiria, he told her, hoping to help them in their battle against Jazana, but in Liiria’s library he’d discovered something amazing—a story about a desert kingdom where blind and deaf children could be made whole. Salina listened without interruption, occasionally sipping from her shrana cup but also ensnared by Lorn’s amazing tale. When at last he reached the part where he and the Believers reached Ganjor, he leaned back with a great sigh, feeling the anvil of his burden lift from his chest.

  “And now there’s you,” he said softly, “and I don’t know what to do. We must reach Jador, you see. If my daughter is ever to be healed . . .” He shrugged. “I have no choice.”

  Salina’s face filled with sympathy. “I do not know what you will find in Jador, King Lorn. Perhaps the Jadori will welcome you, but I have heard that many of the Seekers that cross the desert never reach Grimhold, that place you call Mount Believer. They are left there to wait outside the city gates. They do not live happy lives.”

  “Still, I must try,” Lorn said, though the news deflated him. “If this Grimhold exists, then I must convince the lords of Jador to let me enter it.”

  “You may try, but you will likely never make it to Jador,” warned the princess. “Kamag has already told you about Prince Aztar, but he has not told you that Aztar plans an attack on Jador.”

  Lorn stiffened. “What?”

  “It is the truth,” said Salina. “Even now his men gather in the desert, preparing. And they are not just a few. They are very many, very strong. If you cross the desert now, you will be riding into your doom.”

  “No,” Lorn groaned. He slumped back against his haunches. “If Jador is conquered . . .” It was unthinkable. He’d come so far, so close. “They will destroy Mount Believer.”

  “If Jador falls, perhaps,” conceded Salina. “But I have warned them. They know of Aztar’s plans now. They will be ready for him.”

  “Then Jador must not fall,” Lorn decreed. “I will not let it.”

  Salina grinned. “Have you a choice?”

  “There are always choices, Princess,” he said, and in saying it reminded himself of the thing he’d told Van back in Liiria. “A man can fight or a man can flee. I will fight.”

  “Fight? But you are one man! Your friends, they are ill and crippled. No, you must stay in Ganjor, King Lorn, at least until the battle is over. If Jador still stands, then perhaps you may go.”

  “No. That’s not a chance worth taking. I have to go, and I cannot waste time. I must get Poppy to Jador before the city falls.”

  “You are not listening,” said Salina. “There is nothing you can do to stop Aztar, King Lorn. The battle is coming.”

  “Then I will join the battle,” said Lorn. “I will help the Jadori fight this so-called prince.”

  Salina was stone-faced. “You will die. You have no chance against Aztar and his men. You may not even reach Jador before they find you. They will skin you alive in the middle of the desert, or tie you to a rock and let the sun do their work. They hate you, Lorn of Norvor. Do you not understand that?”

  “I understand, Princess,” said Lorn, “but do you understand what I have been through? I have given up everything to bring Poppy to this place! I cannot stop now. I would rather die.”

  The princess was silent for a moment, then smiled. “I believe you.”

  Lorn said calmly, “You can still help me, Princess. You can look after the people that I’ve brought with me. There’s no reason for all of them to risk death.”

  “But they will want to go with you, surely.”

  The words softened Lorn’s heart. “Aye, they will want that, but you are right—they are not strong enough to fight Prince Aztar, and I must travel quickly if I’m to reach Jador in time.” Lorn paused a moment. They were not easy words to speak. “I will leave them here, under your care,” he said. “If, as you say, there is no room for us in Grimhold, then I will come back to them.”

  “If you’re still alive,” said Salina.

  “Indeed. If I’m still alive. But if Grimhold will take them I will send for them. Tell them to be ready, Princess.”

  “Me? Shouldn’t you tell them yourself?”

  Lorn shook his head. “I cannot. I must leave at once with Poppy. Can you get me a horse, Princess? And milk and other provisions for the ride?”

  Salina began to speak, then stopped herself. Over Lorn’s shoulder something had gotten her attention.

  “Look,” she said softly.

  Lorn turned to see what had disturbed her, then saw Eiriann standing in the threshold of the tavern. Her face was taut with anger. In her hands was Poppy, silently asleep. How long she had been there Lorn didn’t know, but it was plain from her expression that she had heard too much. Lorn and Salina both rose from the table.

  “Eiriann . . .”

  “We waited for you after Dreel,” Eiriann sneered. “And now you would abandon us?”

  The words stabbed him like daggers. Lorn went to her. “For the sake of your lives, girl . . .”

  “We have no lives! We left them behind in Liir
ia. You know that.” Eiriann looked at Salina. “You are a princess?”

  Salina nodded quietly.

  “Then I thank you for your help, my lady. But we are not staying.” Eiriann stared sharply at Lorn. “Do you hear me? We’re going with you.”

  For a moment Lorn was enraged, but his anger passed when he saw the resolve in young Eiriann’s eyes. Instead of ranting, he laughed.

  “Fire and steel!” he declared. “More mettle than my own men of Norvor.” He turned to Salina. “The girl is right, Princess, and I am a fool for not wanting her with me. We are all going to Jador.”

  Princess Salina hid her sadness poorly. “It is dangerous.” She looked at Eiriann imploringly, a girl who was almost her age exactly. “Think of the child if you won’t think of yourself.”

  “This child isn’t mine,” said Eiriann. “Unless I make it to Mount Believer, I will never have a child of my own to hold. I am sorry, Princess, but all of us must go.”

  Lorn nodded. “In the morning.”

  Seeing their resolve, Princess Salina could only accept it. “Then you must sleep,” she said. “When you awake there will be food and fresh animals for you, and a map that may take you around Aztar’s army.” She smiled at them both. “You are very brave, but I feel very stupid for helping you to die.”

  “You are not helping us die, Princess,” said Lorn. “You are giving us a chance to live.”

  30

  THE CALM

  A breeze from the desert sighed through the streets of Jador’s outlying town. Gilwyn Toms lifted his head, thinking he heard the stirrings of men. From the outskirts of the city, amid the old constructs of northern merchants and the newly built homes of Seekers, he could see the night-blanketed sands, lit with starlight and peppered by the torches of Aztar’s army. It seemed to him that the sun had fled quickly this evening, leaving only dread. He watched the desert for a moment and, realizing the raiders were not yet on the move, forced himself to be calm. All around him, the outskirts of Jador had been abandoned by women and children, leaving only able-bodied men to defend the streets. Inside the city’s white wall, Jador itself was filled to bursting now. Every home within the wall—even the palace—was crammed with people, all of whom shared his dread of the morning.