by John Marco
Poppy slept, undisturbed by her father’s words. He turned, and to his surprise saw Eiriann standing near the curtain. Her eyes drooped sadly, watching him. She shook her head in sorrow.
‘Why are you leaving us?’ she asked.
She had yet to confront him, but could no longer resist. Inexplicably, she loved him. To Lorn, there seemed no good answer to her query, nothing that could make her understand the need he had to go and fight for Norvor. He shrugged, almost an apology.
‘I am a leopard who cannot change his spots,’ he said.
Eiriann waited for him to say more. When he did not, she nodded and closed the curtain.
68
Gilwyn sat in the windowless catalogue room, pondering the massive machine sprawling out before him. His oil-covered hands drummed absently on the wooden desk, the portal that unlocked the machine itself. The hard chair beneath his rump creaked as he leaned back in it perilously, just as he had seen his mentor Figgis do a hundred times before. A bank of hastily lit candles illuminated the machine, setting its rods and pulleys aglow. For days now Gilwyn had tinkered with them, trying to figure out the ingenuity of their design. Now, thoroughly vexed, he let out a mumbling groan, not really hearing himself as he stared at the miraculous, confounding catalogue.
‘What in the world makes this thing go?’
The mystery of the machine made the young man bite his lip, mightily wishing he had paid Figgis more attention. Over their years together, Figgis had tried to teach Gilwyn the machine’s intricacies, but Gilwyn had always given up in frustration, sure that only the brilliant Figgis could understand its complexities. The machine had sprung from the genius’ own mind, like a dream made real. He had built the thing with his own feeble hands, somehow cobbling together the remarkable pieces from all across the continent. The catalogue machine was more than just a marvel. Some believed it could actually think, but Gilwyn knew better. To truly bring the machine to life had been the greatest part of Figgis’ ambition, and one he had never achieved. Still, the myth of the catalogue lived on.
For weeks now, Gilwyn had spent time stalling, pretending to try and work the machine in those hours he did not spend with Thorin. Thorin seemed to believe his endeavours, mostly. At least the old baron seemed satisfied. They had been good weeks for both of them, and Gilwyn had tried his best to keep Thorin’s madness at bay. But the catalogue machine still loomed over both of them, a nagging reminder that Malator was still on his way.
‘I think,’ said Gilwyn, ‘that this thing should have died with Figgis.’
He straightened out his chair, lowering his head to the desk and resting his chin atop his clubbed hand. It was hard for him to imagine Thorin ever killing White-Eye, or any of the other Inhumans. Yet that was the baron’s bleak promise. Claiming no choice in the matter, Thorin had told Gilwyn that the Akari — and their hosts — needed to pay for what they had done to Kahldris.
How did one kill a spirit, Gilwyn wondered? Really, wasn’t that what Thorin wanted? The Akari were already dead, and yet somehow Kahldris wasn’t satisfied. He wanted them removed forever from the earth, and there was, of course, only one way to do so. The Akari lived among the living because they had living hosts. Kill them, Gilwyn supposed, and the Akari would flee, leaving the world forever in the hands of the demon Kahldris.
At first, Thorin’s horrible proposition had kept Gilwyn awake for weeks. Thorin — who had once been so gentle — openly planned to do Kahldris’ bidding, surrendering bodily to the spirit. First, though, they would deal with Malator. And that alone gave Gilwyn hope. It gave him time to plan.
‘We’ll find a way, Ruana,’ muttered Gilwyn.
The great, inscrutable machine stretched out before him. With Thorin’s help he had managed to make the machine move, starting up its apparatus so that now it clanked and whistled with life. But that was all, and it frustrated Gilwyn. He did not really believe that the catalogue could help him find a way to stop Kahldris, but he had so few other options. He had combed the library for any scrap of information that might help him, but in all the books and scrolls there was almost nothing about the Akari, just vague references to spirits that might — or might not — live across the Desert of Tears.
Gilwyn, you are tired, said Ruana. Stop now and rest.
Gilwyn spied the food he had brought with him, sitting at the edge of the desk. He had not eaten for hours, and the smell of the cheese drew him to it like a mouse. Karlina, the woman who ran Lionkeep’s kitchen, had taken good care of him over the weeks he had been in Koth, fattening him on hearty cooking and tempting him every night with baked treats. Thinking of her now, Gilwyn smiled.
‘There’ll be raisin cake tonight,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Too bad you can’t have any, Ruana. You don’t know what you’re missing.’
You’ll eat enough for both of us, retorted the Akari.
‘I will,’ Gilwyn pronounced, then sat up to stretch his aching back. He realized that he had already been in Koth for nearly two months, and in that time had made many friends among Lionkeep’s prodigious staff of servants and stable hands. His arrival had lightened Thorin’s mood considerably, that’s what they all claimed, and because of it they were happy to have Gilwyn with them. Karlina was fond of saying that Gilwyn was their charm, like a talisman to ward off the baron’s black moods. Over the weeks he had kept his promise to Thorin, deciding not to abandon him no matter how bad things got. They would get bad, Gilwyn knew, but not yet. For now, life in Koth was good again, and even Thorin seemed better every day.
You are pleased, said Ruana, smiling in Gilwyn’s mind. You should be, Gilwyn. I am proud of the way you have handled Baron Glass.
Gilwyn nodded, feeling proud himself. ‘He is better, isn’t he, Ruana? He really is. I knew he would be. I knew I could reach him.’
Ruana paused. Gilwyn. .
‘I know. There’s still a lot to do. But I am reaching him, and we still have time. There’s no way Lukien could get here before another month or so. By then, who knows?’
I know, Gilwyn. And you know. And Baron Glass knows, too. He has surrendered to Kahldris. He told you so already, many times.
‘I have to hope, Ruana,’ countered Gilwyn. ‘It’s all I have.’
Ruana understood, graciously letting the matter go. You know him better than I do, Gilwyn. If you say that he is better, then it is so.
‘It’s the time we spend together,’ Gilwyn pointed out. ‘It makes him remember the way he used to be. You saw him when we were riding yesterday, Ruana. He was like a kid!’
A very big, demented kid perhaps.
‘No. He’s the way he was, before all of this happened to him.’ Gilwyn sighed, fondly recalling their ride through the countryside. Thorin had even sung while they rode. ‘When was the last time that he sang, do you think?’
A long time ago, Ruana conceded.
‘That’s right. And Karlina and the rest of them have seen the change in him. He hardly ever speaks of Kahldris any more. I tell you, Ruana, his grip is slipping.’
Ruana was quiet, which was really her way of saying she disagreed. Not really caring, Gilwyn collected his bag of food and left the catalogue room, happy to be out of the dark chamber. He stepped immediately into the light of a stained glass window, putting his face to the sunlight with a smile. The day was mild and pretty, a good day for being outside, but Gilwyn still had work to do. First, though, he would break his fast. Out in the hall, he pointed himself quickly to one of his favourite reading rooms, a little nook that let the afternoon sunlight splash through its windows. Bag in hand, he left the catalogue room far behind, happy to forget about it for an hour or so. As usual, the library was empty. While he worked with the machine, only a handful of artisans and carpenters had come to finish up their reconstruction, and today Gilwyn had the entire, massive building to himself. He had long ago grown accustomed to the eerie quiet of the place and it never frightened him, not even at night. To him, the library was always a place of fabulous peace.
/> Reaching the reading chamber, Gilwyn put down his bag of food beneath the window, then scanned the polished shelves for something promising to read. It didn’t really matter to him what he selected, because he found all of it fascinating, and after the dearth of books he’d endured in Jador, even the worst tome of poetry delighted him. Eventually, he selected just such a book, a collection of ancient prose from long-dead Marnan writers. Gilwyn paged through it as he made his way back to the window and sat down, absently opening up his bag of food and pulling out some fruit and cheese, which he nibbled happily while he read. The sun coming through the glass touched the ancient book, lighting the dust particles that took flight as he turned the pages.
As they always did when he read, the minutes ticked away unnoticed.
Gilwyn ate his fill, settling in for a long read which stretched well beyond his planned hour. When he realized how long he’d been away, he closed the book and leaned his head against the darkly paneled wall. Ruana was in his mind, skimming quietly across its surface. Something puzzled him. He glanced back at the book and remembered the last story he had read, about a man who would not tell his daughters the names of the princelings he had sent them to marry. The secret struck him as strange, and he didn’t know why. For some reason, he thought about Kahldris.
Kahldris hadn’t come to him again, not in all the long weeks he’d been in Koth. The demon had visited him only once, and only then when he was far from Koth, safely away from Thorin. Gilwyn chewed his lip pensively, sure that something plain was being overlooked. In the story, the man was frightened of his daughters, and so never told them of the princes they’d be promised to. The story made no sense to Gilwyn, and neither did his suspicions. His pensiveness snagged Ruana’s attention.
She asked him, What are you thinking, Gilwyn?
‘I’m thinking about Kahldris,’ said Gilwyn, still unsure why. ‘He still hasn’t come to us again. Don’t you think that’s odd? I mean, I expected him to, didn’t you?’
I’m sure he has nothing to say to either of us.
‘But isn’t that strange? He was the one who wanted me here, and now he ignores me. I thought for sure he’d be after me about the catalogue.’ Gilwyn set the book aside and stared blankly across the chamber. ‘It makes no sense.’
Thorin is protecting you from him, perhaps.
‘That’s what I thought, but. .’ He shrugged. ‘He hasn’t even mentioned Kahldris to me, which means that Kahldris isn’t pushing him.’
That’s good, then. Ruana thought for a moment. Isn’t it?
‘I don’t know.’ Gilwyn glanced at the book again, and then it came to him. ‘I think he’s afraid of me, Ruana. I think he’s afraid of the influence I have over Thorin. Remember? You told me that the first time he came to us in Roall. You were right, but he didn’t even know it then. Now he sees how Thorin feels about me.’
He stood up, then started pacing. His theory made sense. He was sure it did.
Yes, Ruana agreed after a moment. He knows that if he harms you, Thorin will be angry with him.
‘Right! So maybe he doesn’t have such a stranglehold on Thorin after all.’
Gilwyn’s mind was racing suddenly, thinking through the possibilities. He had been working like a madman to find out about Malator, any little scrap that might help him defeat Kahldris. Now, it seemed Kahldris himself was afraid of him. Surely that meant an opportunity.
‘I can drive them apart,’ he mused. ‘That’s what he’s afraid of.’
No. Ruana’s voice was adamant. Forget what you are thinking, Gilwyn.
But Gilwyn had already convinced himself. ‘Let’s see how tough he is, Ruana.’
No!
‘Yes! How can I know how to beat him if I don’t know anything about him? I have to face him!’
Gilwyn picked up the remnants of his lunch and hurried out of the chamber. There was a lot to do, a lot to plan. Somehow, he needed to tempt the demon out of hiding.
Gilwyn spent the next several days spending all the time that he could with Thorin. Rarely leaving the baron’s side, the two took every meal together, rode for long hours in the crisp countryside, and whiled away their time at the ponds that surrounded Lionkeep. Thorin, who still wore the arm of his Devil’s Armour everywhere, nevertheless ignored the subject of Kahldris completely, focusing instead on the progress he had made in Koth the last few months. Since Gilwyn’s arrival, Koth had prospered, he explained ecstatically, and for the first time in a long while Baron Glass seemed very much like the man Gilwyn had known before. They were good days, full of laughter, but Gilwyn had his own reasons for spending so much time with Thorin. Slowly, he wedged himself between the baron and the demon that controlled him.
On those rare times when he wasn’t with Thorin, Gilwyn carefully badmouthed Kahldris to anyone who would listen. He found a willing — even fascinated audience in Karlina — who listened intently as Gilwyn told her about how weak he thought the armour really was, and that the demon who dwelt within its metal was a coward. When he told this to the stable boys, he had them enraptured, and when he repeated this to the maids they were scandalized. Gilwyn was cautious, however, and never let Thorin hear what he was saying. He knew, however, that Kahldris heard everything. Day by day, he made it his mission to criticize the unseen spirit, sparing no insult in his attempt to rile Kahldris from his hiding place. After a week, however, Kahldris still had not appeared to him. Gilwyn kept up his verbal assaults, but knew that he needed to take a more direct approach.
Though he was certainly older than most in Lionkeep, Thorin rarely slept these days. The armour gave him unnatural strength, along with the ability to go for days on end without slumber. Gilwyn waited patiently for exhaustion to overtake his friend, knowing Thorin needed to be asleep for what he planned to do. Finally, on a night when rain clouds overtook the glorious day, Thorin retired late to his bedchamber, leaving Gilwyn on the other end of an unfinished game board. Gilwyn watched as Thorin excused himself, then waited an hour more to be sure the baron was asleep. At nearly midnight, the entire castle fell silent, leaving Gilwyn free to explore the cellar where he knew the Devil’s Armour waited.
He had prepared himself for the encounter, yet now felt a pull of fear holding him back. Ruana, who had never cared at all for his plan, muttered to him in his brain, warning him. Gilwyn ignored her counsel; he had made up his mind. There was only one way to find out the things he needed to know, and that was from Kahldris himself. The catalogue had proved useless. So had the library and its awesome stock of books. Not even Ruana knew how to defeat Kahldris. If he had any weaknesses at all, only he knew what they were. But getting him to reveal them was the challenge.
Remember, don’t let him into your mind, cautioned Ruana as Gilwyn made his way to the cellars beneath the keep. And never forget, he can kill you. No, wait — you have forgotten that. You must have.
‘I have to do this, so hush,’ snapped Gilwyn nervously. He peaked around the corner, making sure no one saw him. As expected, the corridors of Lionkeep were empty, and the doors leading down to the cellars stood unguarded. Amazingly, Thorin had never thought to post a guard to protect the Devil’s Armour. He claimed the armour needed no protection. Besides that, everyone in the keep was terrified of the enchanted suit, and could only rest knowing it was buried safely away in the bowels of the castle. Thorin, realizing how uneasy the armour made his servants, gladly tucked it away from sight. As long as he wore the pieces of his missing arm, he had no real use for the rest of the armour, except in battle.
Gilwyn went to the doors, twisting the ancient latches and pulling the portals open. The rusty hinges flaked and screeched, alarming Gilwyn as he hurried past them. He had brought a lantern with him, balanced expertly in his fused hand. As he closed the doors behind him, he saw the huge, curving staircase come darkly into view, spiraling down and disappearing in the murk. The light from the lantern bounced eerily off the stone walls, giving the descent a hellish quality. He moved carefully down the stairs,
slowly working the boot of his clubbed foot so as not to slip. There was no hand rail for him to grip, just the wall that curved alongside the stairs. Gilwyn felt the coldness of it on his fingertips, a hundred years of grime and filth. His eyes adjusted slowly to the darkness, stretching out the time so that it seemed to take forever to reach the solid ground. Finally, as he stepped off the last riser, he looked around at the chamber, noticing dusty crates of wine piled high atop each other. Moving his lantern, he let the feeble beams of light crawl across the cellar, illuminating the tools and odd bits of metal that littered the walls. Across the floor he saw an archway leading into another chamber, and crossing through it he found more of the same. Gilwyn looked around despairingly, afraid he’d be lost forever in the endless catacombs, but as he shuffled further along he noticed one more chamber in the distance, this one glowing with peculiar light.
‘That’s it,’ he whispered, studying the dark radiance. The chamber dazzled him with its dancing light, a kind of black glow that might have been moonlight on a stormy night. He inched toward it, feeling Ruana’s trepidation.
I feel him, she warned. Protect yourself.
‘He can’t hurt me,’ Gilwyn reminded her. ‘He won’t.’
At least that was his theory. But now that the time had come to test it, his feet moved leadenly toward the glowing chamber. When at last he reached the archway, he peered inside to see the source of the marvelous light, frightened into stillness by the image of the armour. It hung upon a tiny dais, suspended there in perfect form without a hint of ropes or wires to hold it erect. The horned helmet gazed at Gilwyn as if upon a living head, but there was no man inside it, just the essence of the great Akari. The left arm was gone, of course, but the right one rested easily at the figure’s side, the fingers of its gauntleted hand open. The magnificent metal shined like black liquid, throwing off its strange light in all directions. Gilwyn lowered his lantern to the ground, having no need of it in the presence of the armour. He studied the evil suit, enthralled by its pulsing life-force.