The Devil's Armor

by John Marco

  Count Onikil stopped talking when Thorin sat down. His eyes lingered a moment on the baron, but without recognition. The two had never met. Still, Thorin carefully hid his armored arm beneath his velvet cape.

  “I could use a drink,” said the count, clearing his throat. He looked uneasy under the stares of Breck’s men. He watched Van carefully as he sat down near Breck, then his eyes flicked back to Thorin. “They paused to bring you,” he said to Thorin suddenly. “Are you a man of importance here?”

  Thorin didn’t know how to answer. Part of him wondered if Onikil had taken his place in Jazana’s bed. He looked at Breck, who nodded at him.

  “Go on and tell him,” said Breck. “He’ll find out soon enough.”

  Thorin decided to wait. “First, tell me what’s happened. Has this dog brought a message from Jazana?”

  Onikil’s offense was obvious. Still, he fidgeted, obviously nervous. He picked up the letter from the table and showed it to Thorin. “This is a message from the Diamond Queen. It’s an offer of mercy.” His expression darkened. “This man, Breck—he tells me he is in charge here. So why I am talking to you?”

  “Look at the letter,” Breck told Thorin. “Tell me if it looks genuine.”

  Thorin got up and stood before Count Onikil. He picked up the letter with his fleshly hand and knew at once it was Jazana’s. The handwriting was unmistakable. So too was the expensive paper. He could almost smell her perfume on it. The letter’s content was no less telling. In that direct language of hers that he’d once loved, Jazana made her expectations plain. Her men were in Andola and ready to strike. Thorin read the last line with twisted interest:

  The whole world loves me now. Why can’t Koth? To Thorin’s pleasure the letter made no mention of him. Clearly, she didn’t know he was here. Neither did Count Onikil—yet.

  “It’s hers,” he said. He placed the letter back on the table. “There’s no doubt.”

  “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell them,” said Onikil with annoyance. He looked up at Thorin. “Who are you, sir?”

  Still not ready to tip his hand, Thorin said, “So, Jazana’s sent you to be her messenger boy, eh? Not Rodrik Varl? Not some other poor bastard?”

  Onikil flushed. “I am a count, sir,” he protested. “And I am on a mission of mercy.”

  “She must have promised you something good to make you take this chance, Onikil.” The unpredictable rawness of Kahldris pulsed through Thorin suddenly. “She has a way with men, I know. She makes dogs of them. And you’re her dog now, is that it?”

  “I came to deliver a message,” said Onikil. His voice began to quiver. “If you had any brains you’d pay me some attention—and some respect.”

  “Or clap you in irons and sell you back to her,” Breck suggested.

  Onikil put up his hands and smiled. “No, let’s not talk about that. Why do such a thing when it would only enrage the queen? I am here in good faith, Sir Breck. And you know Jazana Carr.”

  “Not well, thank the Fate,” said Breck. “And she apparently doesn’t know me, either. She wants us to surrender? She can forget it.”

  The men in the chamber all backed Breck up with quiet cheers. Major Nevins seemed particularly moved.

  “Go back and tell your slut-queen that Liiria belongs to Liirians,” he sneered. “She may have taken Andola but she’ll never take Koth.”

  Van added, “She may have convinced others to give up their loyalties, but not us.”

  Onikil leaned back in his chair and waved him off. “None of you know what you’re talking about—or what you’re up against.”

  “Oh, but I do,” said Van hotly. “I was one of her dogs once.”

  The count looked at him oddly, but before he could speak Thorin piped up.

  “So was I, Onikil,” he declared. He towered intimidatingly over the frightened Norvan. “I know all about Jazana, and what she can do. But we’re not afraid of her. That’s the message I want you to bring back. You tell her that the defenders of Koth are here waiting for her, and she can throw every diamond she has at us, but she’ll never get us out of here.”

  It was bravado fed by Kahldris. Count Onikil looked at him as if he’d lost his mind.

  “Sir, who are you?” he asked.

  “My name is Thorin Glass,” said Thorin proudly. “One-time dog to the Diamond Queen. I’m sure the name is familiar to you.”

  “Baron Glass?” Count Onikil got to his feet, his face plainly astonished. “Truly?”

  “Aye, Baron Glass and back from the brink,” said Thorin. “And ready to give Jazana the thrashing she deserves.”

  Onikil shook his head in disbelief. “You can’t be Baron Glass. Your arm . . .”

  “A fake,” said Thorin. He’d been very careful not to move it much. “To hide my identity. But I assure you, Count—I am Baron Glass.”

  Charged silence filled the room as the two noblemen stared at each other. Left speechless by Thorin’s claim, Count Onikil could barely make an utterance.

  “This is . . . unexpected,” he finally managed, all his diplomacy gone. “The queen has no idea you’re here, or even that you’re still alive.”

  The statement bothered Thorin, but he was unsure why. “She must suspect I’m alive, or she wouldn’t have launched this war.”

  Count Onikil became uncomfortable. “Perhaps . . .” He looked around at the unfriendly faces. “. . . we could talk more privately.”

  Breck leaned back. “Why?”

  “Because I am unaccustomed to being interrogated, Sir Breck.” Onikil swept his hand toward the gathered soldiers. “And because not everything I say is for everyone to hear.”

  Sensing the impending tide, Breck politely asked his men to leave—all of them. Nevins and the other commanders hesitated, but only for a moment. There was some grunting as they left the chamber. Vanlandinghale looked inquisitively at Breck, as if to ask, “Me too?” Breck nodded. Van turned and left. When all of them had gone, Count Onikil licked his lips and rubbed his hands together nervously.

  “All right,” he began carefully, “this was not what I intended. Baron Glass is right, Sir Breck—if not for him I doubt very much that Jazana Carr would be at your doorstep.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Breck.

  “He means my family,” said Thorin. “That’s why Jazana’s come—to find them, threaten them. To flush me out.”

  “Your family is gone,” said Breck. “Aric told you so.”

  “Aye, but Jazana doesn’t know that. She made a promise to me, Breck.”

  “It’s revenge, you see,” said Onikil. “Baron Glass is precisely right. The queen’s vendetta has driven us to this precipice.” A mischievous gleam sparkled in his eyes. “But perhaps we can do something about this. . .”

  He was a plotter; Thorin knew that about Onikil already. No man would have taken this mission without an inflated view of his own abilities, and Count Onikil’s opinion of himself was obviously great.

  “What are you thinking?” Thorin asked.

  Count Onikil was lost in thought. “Jazana Carr doesn’t know you’re here,” he mused. “If she did . . .” He hesitated. “If she did, then she wouldn’t have to threaten Koth. She would have contacted you herself.”

  Breck looked at the count, confused by his meanderings. “Make yourself clear, man.”

  “Sir Breck, do you want war? No, of course you don’t. I don’t want it either, and neither do many of the queen’s men. Only the queen herself wants this war, and only to prove herself to this man.” Onikil pointed at Glass. “So why fight a war no one wants?”

  “What are you suggesting?” asked Thorin. “Betraying your own queen? What kind of man—”

  “Please, Baron Glass, let me finish.” Onikil pressed his dainty hands together and sighed. “I will speak truthfully to you. Jazana Carr she is . . . now what is the word?”

  “Insane?” Breck suggested.

  “Heartbroken,” said Onikil. “Because you, Baron Glass, left her, and sh
e has never been the same. She has all of Norvor now, but she neglects it. I’m Norvan. I don’t care at all about Liiria. What I want—what all of us want—is for Jazana to turn her attention back to Norvor.”

  “Where you’ll be more than a count, I take it,” Thorin grunted.

  Count Onikil smiled. “Is it wrong to be ambitious, sir? But you are right—if the queen goes back to Norvor—if we don’t all die in this silly escapade, then I might well be a prince in Norvor someday.”

  “I still don’t understand,” said Breck. “What do you want us to do?”

  “It’s obvious,” chirped Onikil. “Baron Glass, you must go to Jazana Carr.”

  He said it with such ease, at first Thorin thought he’d heard wrong. But Onikil’s smooth smile told the truth—this fox of a man wanted a meeting between them.

  “What?” blurted Breck. “Onikil, you’re as mad as your queen.”

  “Sir Breck, think for a moment,” Onikil implored. “What could be better than a face to face meeting between the two of them? You and I are in the same leaky boat—we are caught between the two of them. But if they meet, if they make peace . . .”

  “Peace?” Breck erupted. “How can there be peace between them? How can there ever be peace after what she did to Andola?”

  “Oh, so you would pursue her into Norvor, then?” Onikil’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “You would keep the war going to satisfy some point of honor?” He waited for Breck to answer. Breck ground his teeth quietly. “No, of course you wouldn’t,” Onikil went on. “You’d gladly let Jazana Carr slink back to Norvor. You’d even let her hold onto Andola if it meant peace for Koth. You see, Sir Breck? I am not the dunce you think.”

  Checked by Onikil’s logic, Breck stewed. Onikil’s words worked their way into his brain. His eyes shifted toward Thorin.

  “Maybe he’s right,” he muttered. “Thorin? What do you think?”

  For Thorin, it wasn’t about peace at all, though he would never let Onikil know that. Rather, a more sinister plan began hatching in his mind. Was it Kahldris pushing him toward it, he wondered? Or did he hate Jazana Carr so much for all she had done to him? Even the thought of seeing her again stirred something deep and passionate inside him.

  Good, he thought blackly. Then it will be a crime of passion.

  “Count Onikil, you are a snake charmer,” he said softly.

  The count smiled as if it were a compliment. “Thank you, Baron. I admit, it will do me no harm to bring you back from here. What a great prize I’ll be able to deliver!”

  “And be rewarded for it, no doubt,” Thorin sneered. All the while he’d been careful not to move his enchanted arm. “But there is wisdom in your words. There’s no need for this war. Jazana and I parted on the worst of terms. Perhaps I can talk her out of all this madness.”

  Onikil’s face shined with promise. “Good decision. Why should the rest of us die because of a lover’s spat?” He looked at Breck. “Now doesn’t that seem silly? Let’s have peace instead, eh?”

  Breck’s mood remained heavy. “Baron Glass, you should think carefully on this. You may never walk out of Andola again.”

  Thorin raised an eyebrow at him. Had he forgotten the armor? He said, “I am not afraid, and it’s the right thing to do.” Because Onikil wasn’t looking at him, he signaled for Breck to get him out of the room. Breck took the hint.

  “Count Onikil, there are men waiting outside the chamber. They’ll take you to your bodyguards. Tell them to make you comfortable. Tell them it’s my order. They won’t question you.”

  “How about that drink?” said Onikil, still twitching a bit from his predicament. “And some food?”

  “Just tell them outside,” said Breck. “You and I will talk more later.”

  Satisfied, Count Onikil walked off and left the giant reading room. Thorin heard him outside, talking to the soldiers and snapping his fingers for food and drink. An arrogant man, thought Thorin, but a sly one. When he was sure the count could no longer hear him, he turned to Breck.

  “Jazana knew what she was doing,” he said. “Did you see how frightened he was? That’s the kind of loyalty she gets out of men. She promises them the moon and stars, and they do whatever she asks.”

  The meeting had depressed Breck. He took the letter from the table and brooded over it. “We wouldn’t have surrendered, you know. We still won’t if you change your mind. You don’t have to go meet her, Baron.”

  “Breck, you’re forgetting something,” said Thorin.

  Breck nodded. “I know. The armor. It’ll protect you.”

  “No,” said Thorin. “It will do more than protect me. It will let me get right up to that bitch without a worry in the world.”

  Puzzled, Breck looked up from the letter. “What are you saying?”

  Thorin smiled. “I’m talking about the end of all our troubles, Breck. I’m talking about the end of Jazana Carr.”

  Breck grimaced. “You mean murder?”

  “Murder?” Thorin chewed on the word. It didn’t really fit. “No. Justice, rather. With the armor no one will be able to stop me, Breck. They won’t be able to keep me out, and they won’t be able to keep me from escaping, no matter how many men try to stop me.”

  “So you are talking about murdering her.”

  “Call it whatever you want,” said Thorin dismissively. “I’ll call it righting some old wrongs. I’m going to Andola, Breck. And when I see Jazana Carr, I’m going to cut off her head and nail it to my wall as a trophy.”

  39

  THE AUDIENCE

  In all his time as a Liirian noble, Baron Glass had never been to Andola, but he had heard of the city’s splendor. His Andolan counterpart, the Baron Ravel, had been a man of exceptional means and great appetite, and it was said that the city he and his fellow merchants had built could rival Koth in every way. Now, as Thorin’s coach rolled into the ruined city, he knew what a gross overstatement that had been.

  Andola was everything Koth had been in its infancy, a small city struggling for greatness, fed by the coffers of ambitious men but still not quite ready to conquer a kingdom. Andola’s roads were fine, solid and made to last. The structures that broke the horizon impressed Thorin; he knew that once they had been beautiful. Yet there were not enough of them, and not of the scale of mighty Koth. Like a little, feisty sister, Andola had tried to challenge Koth. And failed.

  Thorin wiped at the fog on the window of his carriage, straining for a better view. Rain had fallen steadily since leaving Koth, obscuring the only thing that might amuse him on his journey—the view. Along with Count Onikil and his men he had ridden out of the library nearly two days earlier. Bored by the unchanging landscape, he had not been able to ride a horse of his own, keeping up the pretense that he really had no left arm. The Devil’s Armor remained on his body; the death’s head helmet rested on the seat beside him. He had done his best to hide the amazing armor from Onikil and his entourage, keeping his cape close around him. Onikil, of course, had noticed the strange armor immediately. Dazzled by its black brilliance, he had asked Thorin of its make, a question Thorin did his best to dodge. Telling him that the armor had been forged in Jador had mostly satisfied the count, probably because he was a provincial man and knew almost nothing about the Jadori, who never wore armor.

  Still, Count Onikil had proven a remarkable travelling companion. Glad to be out of Koth with his life, Onikil had not questioned Thorin further about the armor, nor had any of his Rolgan soldiers. Instead, he was completely content to be returning to Andola with Thorin, a price he seemed certain would win Jazana’s favor. Onikil had even become at ease with Thorin, telling him things a less arrogant man would never reveal. The Rolgan had a loose tongue, confidently offering his opinion on Jazana Carr whenever the company stopped for rest or food. Expanding on the things he had said in Koth, Onikil told Thorin how tenuous Jazana’s hold over Norvor was, a point of some annoyance with the ambitious count. He made it very clear to Thorin that he loved Jazana Carr and
admired her, and gave Thorin no real reason to doubt this, but he also seemed genuinely concerned about his homeland, a fact which impressed Thorin.

  The long ride in Onikil’s carriage had given Thorin time to think, and as Andola grew outside his window he wondered about his plans to slay Jazana, and just how difficult it would be. Now that he was near, the desire to kill her rose up like a tide. He could feel Kahldris throbbing inside him, thirsting for blood. It had been weeks since the demon had fed, and Kahldris’ anticipation of the feast was heady. Thorin peered through the grimy window. Seeing the first hint of Andola’s grand castle, he knew that Jazana’s time was short. She might be dead in an hour. By nightfall, certainly. And he would flee from the castle as easily as he had entered, his armor freshly strengthened, the glamour of Kahldris on him like a dark halo, making him invincible.

  “Soon,” he murmured, as much to Kahldris as himself. The Akari stayed silent, though his hunger thundered. It was hunger for more than blood, Thorin knew; Kahldris loved being alive again. He anticipated seeing the beautiful Jazana Carr as much as Thorin himself.

  The thought blackened Thorin’s mood. He would kill her because she deserved it, because she threatened all of Liiria. And he would enjoy it.

  He licked his lips, suddenly nervous. He missed Jazana sometimes, and admitting it annoyed him. He settled in for the short ride remaining. Onikil had sent a herald ahead. By now Jazana knew he was alive, and that he was coming to see her. Picturing the rage on her pretty face, he was glad he had worn the armor, if only to save him from her catlike nails.

  Jazana Carr sat still as stone upon the throne of gold and rubies. Since coming to Ravel’s home, she had never used the ostentatious thing, but now she knew the time was appropriate. Two long processions of soldiers lined the way from the throne room doors, standing like posts along the scarlet-red runner leading to the dais. No one spoke or cleared their throats or even turned to look at her. Rodrik Varl stood to the right of the throne, his face twisted miserably. The grand throne room echoed with every tiny sound, the marble and great, vaulted ceiling magnifying the slightest breath. Jazana’s soldiers were grandly attired, each in a new Norvan uniform. Would it impress Thorin, Jazana wondered? Should she even care?