The Sword Of Angels eog-3

by John Marco

  ‘Leave it,’ said Thorin. ‘There are people who clean up here now, Gilwyn.’

  ‘No,’ Gilwyn argued. ‘No, I can’t.’ He stooped, then smiled at the baron. ‘These are books, Thorin. Where did you get them all? I thought they were all lost.’

  ‘No, not all of them,’ said Thorin. ‘Too many, but not all. You see, Gilwyn? I have spared nothing to bring this place back to life.’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Gilwyn, surveying all the new workmanship. ‘I can see that.’ He placed the map book onto the table. ‘But why, Thorin? I don’t understand. You never wanted the library built. You opposed Akeela when he built it.’

  ‘I did,’ said Thorin. He sauntered into the room, taking books nonchalantly from the shelves only to glance at them. Gilwyn watched a peculiar smile twist his face. He laid his hand on the smooth wood as if checking for warmth. ‘But I see now what a fine place this always was. You opened my eyes to it, Gilwyn, with all your stories! I never wanted it destroyed.’ Thorin made sure to get Gilwyn’s attention, going to stand in front of him. ‘It’s important to me that you believe that. I never gave the order for the library to be attacked. I gave orders for it to be protected!’

  Gilwyn nodded, though he had his doubts. ‘I believe you, Thorin.’

  ‘I hope you do, boy. I would never want to harm this place, knowing how much it means to you.’

  ‘All right.’ Gilwyn managed to hoist himself onto one of the reading tables, letting his legs dangle. The quiet chamber soothed him, a good place for a serious talk. ‘But I still don’t understand why you rebuilt it. I mean, I’ve heard others talking about it. They say you want to bring Koth back to glory. But I want to hear it from you, Thorin. Make me understand.’

  ‘There is truth in those rumours you’ve heard,’ said Thorin. He stood before Gilwyn like a felon, letting the boy question him. ‘Koth cannot be great again if the library is not reborn. The library is the symbol of Koth, of all Liirian greatness. It must be reborn so that Liiria can live again.’

  Gilwyn grinned. ‘Now you sound like Akeela himself!’

  ‘It’s not a joke, Gilwyn. The land bleeds. And the people have been hollowed out by war. There’s nothing left inside of them, just rottenness and helplessness. They have to believe in themselves again. They have to believe in me.’

  ‘I think I see your meaning,’ said Gilwyn. ‘But it’s going to take more than gold, Thorin. You can make this place a palace. You can fill it with every word ever written, but people won’t come unless there’s peace. And if people don’t come. .’

  ‘I know,’ Thorin lamented. ‘And there will be peace. Just as soon as my enemies are done with, Liiria will have peace. A thousand years of it!’

  There was madness in the old man’s eyes, the kind Gilwyn hadn’t seen too much lately. Thorin had been better the past two weeks, looking less like a madman than he had that first night. Gilwyn decided not to press him.

  ‘Show me the rest,’ he said, sliding down from the table. ‘Show me the painting Lucio did for you.’

  ‘Ah, yes,’ crowed Thorin. ‘It is magnificent. He is still working on it. Still, Gilwyn! The man is a genius, but slow.’

  Gilwyn laughed, heading back toward the hall. He had heard of the fabulous ceiling the legendary Lucio had done for Thorin, a gift to the people of Liiria, and was anxious to see it. But before Gilwyn could turn toward the chamber, Thorin’s words stopped him cold.

  ‘After you’ve seen the ceiling, we’ll go to the catalogue room.’

  Gilwyn paused. ‘The catalogue room?’ He turned to face Thorin. ‘Today?’

  ‘Why not today?’ asked Thorin. ‘You are well enough, I think, and time is running out, Gilwyn.’

  ‘No,’ said Gilwyn. He made a grimace of pain. ‘I don’t think I should, not today, Thorin. I’m not ready for it.’

  Thorin seemed disappointed. ‘Gilwyn, you did promise me. .’

  ‘I know, Thorin. And I will help you. I’ll do my best for you, but not today. Not yet.’ Gilwyn stalled, searching for an excuse. ‘You know how complicated it is,’ he said. ‘I’m not well enough to start trying to figure it out.’ He put his hand to his head. ‘My head still hurts terribly, and I’m not seeing well at all.’

  ‘You’re not?’

  ‘No.’ Gilwyn sighed, then coughed. ‘I didn’t want to tell you. I didn’t want you to worry. I’m fine, really, but. . tired.’

  ‘Tired.’ Thorin gave a sceptical frown. Then, as if someone were speaking in his ear, he cocked his head to listen.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Gilwyn asked.

  Thorin hesitated. ‘Kahldris. He does not believe you, Gilwyn.’

  ‘No? Was Kahldris ever bitten by a rass?’

  ‘Kahldris thinks you should be well enough by now,’ said Thorin. ‘And in truth, you should be.’

  Cornered, Gilwyn grew defensive. ‘I can’t work with the catalogue today, Thorin. It doesn’t matter what Kahldris thinks. I’m telling you I’m sick.’

  In all the days that Gilwyn lay in bed, Kahldris had never come to him, not even at his weakest. He had expected the Akari to appear, to threaten him or cajole him out of his sickbed, but Thorin had forbidden it, Gilwyn supposed. It was a good sign, and Gilwyn knew Thorin was making progress. But he needed more time.

  ‘All right, Gilwyn,’ said Thorin gently. ‘You don’t have to look at the machine if you’re not ready.’

  Gilwyn smiled. ‘Thank you, Thorin. I will look at it, just as soon as I’m able.’

  Without another word, Thorin turned and headed back the way they’d come. Gilwyn followed him, his good mood deflated. Obviously, they were going back to Lionkeep without seeing Lucio’s painting. Gilwyn knew he had to play along and not make a fuss. But before they made it halfway to the entrance, he detoured himself into one of the smaller reading chambers. Annoyed, Thorin called for him to come out, but Gilwyn refused. There were a dozen chairs in the little room, each of them exactly the same, crammed among the books so that scholars could study peacefully. Gilwyn chose one of the chairs, faced it toward the entrance, and sat down to wait for Thorin. The baron came in after him, pausing in the threshold.

  ‘We’re going, Gilwyn.’

  Gilwyn shook his head. ‘Not yet.’ Sullen, he asked Thorin, ‘Is that why you brought me here? Just to get me to work on the machine?’

  ‘Certainly not,’ said the baron. ‘I thought you were well enough to see what has been done here. It’s important that you see.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Gilwyn.

  ‘Because,’ said Thorin, sauntering into the room, ‘this will be your library soon.’

  Gilwyn sat up. ‘Say that again?’

  ‘The library needs someone to run it,’ said Thorin. ‘I can’t do it. Neither can anyone else. That’s your job, Gilwyn. It’s your destiny.’

  ‘What? No! I mean, I can’t-’

  ‘Why can’t you?’ said Thorin. ‘Because you are promised to White-Eye? I have considered that already. It does not matter.’

  ‘But it does matter, Thorin. Of course it does! I love White-Eye. And someday I’m going to return to her.’

  Thorin’s face darkened. ‘I know you think that.’

  Gilwyn studied him. ‘What aren’t you telling me, Thorin? There’s something. .’

  ‘The library needs you, Gilwyn. This is where you belong. Not in Jador. You were born to this place.’

  ‘Thorin, White-Eye needs me too.’

  ‘No,’ said Thorin. ‘You may think she does, but she does not.’

  ‘She’s blind, Thorin,’ argued Gilwyn. ‘Your demon made her so. Do not tell me that she doesn’t need me. She does, more than ever now because of Kahldris.’

  Thorin turned away, hiding his face. ‘Gilwyn, there are things you still haven’t worked out. You mean to save me from Kahldris. I understand. Others have tried, and believe it or not I am grateful to them all.’

  ‘But you are better now, Thorin,’ said Gilwyn. He went to the old man, speaking soothingly. ‘I have see
n the change in you in just the past few weeks.’

  ‘I am better,’ Thorin admitted. ‘I am myself again, because I am happy you are here and because I have learned a little how to placate Kahldris. But it is not what you think, Gilwyn. I belong to Kahldris.’

  ‘No,’ spat Gilwyn. ‘I don’t believe that. You’re nothing like Kahldris, no matter what he makes you do.’

  ‘If you think that, you are a fool.’ Thorin’s eyes blazed. ‘Look at me, boy. I have my arm again, and all my manhood. I have my vigour back and a kingdom to rebuild. I have returned home. These are fabulous things, and it was Kahldris who bestowed them on me. I owe him a debt.’

  ‘He gets to live through you, just like any other Akari,’ retorted Gilwyn. ‘He uses you to walk through this world. He has drank a river of blood thanks to you, Thorin. You don’t owe him anything.’

  Pain pinched Thorin’s face. ‘Will you take what I offer you, Gilwyn? The library is a great gift. You can be happy here.’

  Gilwyn hesitated. ‘Thorin, I don’t know. I don’t understand what you’re saying.’

  Thorin put his hand on Gilwyn’s shoulder. ‘I want so much to give you the things you lost when you left here. Can’t you see? I’m trying to rebuild all of it. And when you returned, you put something good in my heart.’

  ‘You’re scaring me, Thorin. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.’

  ‘But you can’t stop it! This is what I’m telling you, boy. Lukien is coming to kill me. What will you do when he gets here? You mean to stall until he arrives. That’s your plan, I know it is. You’re well enough to use the machine! Any fool can see that. You’re just waiting, hoping that something good will happen.’

  ‘All right,’ said Gilwyn, flushing with embarrassment. ‘So it’s true. But I’ve seen the change in you, Thorin. I have! I am reaching you. Don’t deny that; I see it too clearly. And if Lukien is coming to kill you, then I won’t let him. I’m going to stay with you, no matter what. Do you understand that?’

  There was real warmth in Thorin’s touch as he tightened his hand on Gilwyn’s shoulder. ‘One day soon I’ll have to stop calling you ‘boy.’ You’re a man now. When did that happen, I wonder?’

  ‘Tell me what you’re keeping from me,’ pressed Gilwyn. ‘Why are you giving me the library? Why can’t I return to Grimhold?’

  ‘The reason should be obvious. What do you think Kahldris wants from me, Gilwyn?’

  Gilwyn thought for a moment. ‘Your body. That’s what all the Akari want, a chance to be among the living.’

  Thorin shook his head. ‘No. Think deeper. Think like a demon.’

  ‘Thorin, I don’t want these riddles. Tell me what he wants from you!’

  ‘Revenge!’ Thorin spun away, laughing mirthlessly. ‘Imagine a lifetime locked in that armour. A thousand lifetimes! Imagine the horror of it. Kahldris made the armour for his people and they shunned him. Not just his brother, but his whole damned race. They had the means to defeat the Jadori in their hands, and instead they let themselves be slaughtered like sheep.’

  Finally, terribly, Gilwyn understood. ‘He wants revenge against the Akari.’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Thorin. Madness crackled on his tortured face. His voice became a twisted whisper as he stuck his nose close to Gilwyn. ‘I’m just a puppet on a string,’ he said. ‘So are you. So are all of us. Thank you for trying to save me, boy, but it’s already too late. Because once Kahldris takes care of his brother, he’s going back to Grimhold. And then he will destroy it.’

  65

  Lukien saw a distant kreel, its legs propelling it across the shimmering sands. The rider caught no sight of him, disappearing quickly through the dunes that led in a meandering line toward the white city. Lukien squinted against the powerful sun. His neck burned from long days on horseback. He stopped himself, leaning back in his saddle to admire the fleeing kreel, knowing he was home. The tall towers of Jador’s palace twinkled in the orange haze, stark and beautiful against the desert backdrop. The high wall surrounding the city blinded, its polished rock sending shards of sunlight in all directions. A great, wistful smile twisted the knight’s blanched lips. He had come across the world and back again, and the weight of his journey made his shoulders slump with exhaustion. Beneath him, the horse that had given him everything threatened to collapse, its legs made brittle from the impossible trek from Tharlara. Lukien patted the beast’s lathered neck.

  ‘You can rest forever now, my friend,’ he rasped. ‘That is home.’

  Within him, Lukien felt the thrill of his Akari, Malator, as the long-dead spirit watched the city through the eye of his host. In Kaliatha Malator had mourned, but now his feelings soared like an eagle, buoyed by Lukien’s own indescribable joy. It was enough for the spirit to share the happiness, and Lukien honoured the moment by falling silent himself. So far, none within the city or on its walls had seen him approaching, the ragged knight in his bedraggled clothes, his face heavy with beard. Not even the fleet-footed kreel had smelled him. But soon they would know he had come. He was Shalafein — the defender — and they would feast and celebrate his homecoming. Lukien’s mind turned to the good foods and fine wines and the faces of his friends, and summoning the last fibres of his horse’s mettle he drove the weary mount onward to the city, through the sands that sucked at its hooves and along the dunes that swept dust into their eyes. The glorious city loomed ahead, growing ever taller as Lukien approached.

  Together the silent trio approached the outskirts of Jador, and Lukien noticed for the first time the changes wrought in the city. How long had he been gone? A year, perhaps, he reasoned, and yet he saw a newness to the ancient wall. Battlements had been constructed along its length, and he knew these things did not belong. Puzzled, he drove on, and soon heard the murmur of the city. The populace in its hidden streets buzzed with mid-day business. Lukien steered his horse toward the palace, the grand structure clearly visible beyond the wall. When at last he reached the white edifice, he looked across its length to find egress, knowing there were gates built within it, the largest of which stood at the front of the city. Because he was miles away from there, Lukien waited, patiently trotting along the sands until he came at last to a gate manned by a trio of Jadori guardsmen. The gate was open, allowing kreel riders and people of commerce to flow in and out as they wished. The guardsmen, looking unconcerned, turned unexpectedly toward Lukien as he rode up to them. Not recognizing any of the young men, Lukien nevertheless smiled at them.

  ‘I am Lukien,’ he declared. ‘And I have returned.’

  Word of the Bronze Knight’s return spread quickly through the city, reaching White-Eye in the palace while she and Lorn were playing with Poppy in one of the palace’s numerous alcoves. Eiriann, who had been mending garments with the other women, had been the first to hear about Lukien’s arrival, and had raced into the alcove to tell the news. Lorn stood up with Poppy in his arms, staring at the amazed White-Eye as they listened together to Eiriann’s tale. Lukien had entered the city, she told them, and was heading for the palace. Hearing this, White-Eye had hurriedly dispatched a contingent of men to fetch him and bring him to her. Now, as excitement buzzed within the royal residence, White-Eye and Lorn waited for Lukien in a shaded terrace of the palace, a sprawling area of polished flooring with a fountain that bubbled continuously and a low ceiling to protect White-Eye from the powerful sun. The terrace echoed with the excited voices of those who had gathered to greet the returning knight. More than two dozen Jadori — soldiers and citizens both — clamoured for a chance to see him. White-Eye stood apart from them, straight and regal, her blank eyes looking out over the encroaching garden. Lorn, still holding the two-year old Poppy, kept close enough to the queen to seem like one of her advisors, yet far enough away to give her the importance she deserved. Lorn’s beloved, the young Eiriann, stood next to the old king, as excited as any of them to be seeing the legendary Lukien.

  ‘What will he look like, do you think?’ Eiriann wondered, ho
lding Lorn’s elbow. ‘I heard he was handsome once, but no more.’

  Lorn smirked. ‘Should I worry?’

  She laughed and pecked his rough cheek. ‘You are handsome. But are you not curious?’

  ‘I am. Don’t I seem so?’

  Eiriann did not reply, giving Lorn a taste of her recent aloofness. It had been easy for the perceptive woman to sense his dissatisfaction the last few weeks. Ever since the retreat of Baralosus and his army, Lorn had felt less and less useful, and Eiriann had tried to ease his unrest. Now, though, she keened like the rest of the crowd, eager to glimpse the returning Lukien.

  ‘There’s much he doesn’t know, don’t forget,’ rumbled Lorn lowly. ‘He’ll be expecting to see Gilwyn.’

  None of these things seemed to worry White-Eye, however. The Kahana had taken the time to brush her hair and change her dress for Lukien’s return. She looked proud and glamourous in the shade of the protective terrace, her back as straight as her pretty jet hair, her face flushed with anticipation. Even Poppy, deaf as she was, could feel the vibrations of the place, bringing a smile to her cheerful face. Lorn held his daughter close, unable to help himself from bristling. He had heard stories about the Liirian knight for years. Lukien had even helped his nemesis, the hated Jazana Carr, serving as one of her mercenary dogs for years with Baron Glass. As he waited for Lukien, Lorn prepared himself for the natural animosity he was sure would spring up between them.