The Sword Of Angels eog-3

by John Marco

  ‘Who knows what baneful magic they bring against us,’ he lamented. ‘I have been among them. I know they are powerful. They are good and decent, too, but they have joined against us and so they too are our enemies. Perhaps, when we are done with this grisly work, we will settle the score with Jador as well.’

  Gilwyn sat bolt upright at this. They were Kahldris’ words, without a doubt. It was Kahldris who threatened Jador, Kahldris who hated the Jadori and their alliance with the Akari. Gilwyn shook his head vehemently at Thorin, but the baron ignored him. Before he could protest, however, another voice joined the fray.

  ‘What of your son, Baron Glass?’

  The question shattered Thorin’s oratory. He searched the room for the culprit, fixing on a Liirian officer in the second row.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Your son, Baron Glass. What about Aric?’

  ‘What about him?’ Thorin growled.

  The officer held fast. ‘It is well known that your son was in league with the Reecians at the battle of the Kryss, and that he was one of the Royal Chargers defending the library when you invaded Koth with Norvor. I’m asking only what part he might play in the coming battle.’

  The crowd held its breath. Stunned, Gilwyn watched as Thorin’s face twisted with discomfort. He almost never spoke of his son Aric, and certainly never in such a public forum. His suffering looked unbearable.

  ‘My son has decided to defy me,’ he said. ‘He will ride against us when the time comes, I have no doubt.’

  ‘Will he rejoin the Reecians?’ asked the officer. ‘I ask because that might make a difference in our plans. We may attack Raxor’s forces, but none of us has the wish to harm your son, Baron.’

  Thorin shrugged off his concerns. ‘When the library fell to us, the Royal Chargers who were left alive melted away. They are brigands now. Some will join with the Reecians, certainly, others with the Nithins. And others will not have the courage to join either one. My son has courage, but it makes no difference.’

  The reply confused the audience, prompting Duke Cajanis to speak. ‘Baron Glass, if your son goes to Raxor’s side, then the man unlucky enough to slay him in battle will have your doubts to deal with. How can you assure us that it matters so little to you? He is your flesh and blood.’

  Thorin said simply, ‘If my son chooses to join my enemies, then it is his conscience that should be troubled, not mine.’ He clamped his hands together and smiled. ‘That is all I have to say. We are done.’

  They had their orders, and the officers of Thorin’s armies rose and took up their noisy conversations, some thanking Thorin for his time, others shaking their heads. Gilwyn remained seated, unsure what to do next. Duke Cajanis was always in need of him these days, but the duke was one of the first to exit the chamber, off on one of his many errands. Thorin stayed at the table for a long while, shaking hands and making promises to the sycophants in the crowd. Eventually, the chamber thinned of people. Gilwyn stood and watched them go, waiting for his chance. Finally, when the last of the stragglers left the room, Thorin strode softly toward Gilwyn.

  ‘I’m glad you came,’ he said warmly. ‘It is important that you know what we’re up against.’

  Gilwyn tried hard not to look the way he felt — angry and dejected. ‘You asked me to come, so I came,’ he said.

  ‘What did you think?’

  ‘You were very. . spirited.’

  Thorin nodded. ‘To lead men in battle, one must have spirit, Gilwyn. These men need to see that I am committed to them completely.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sure they saw that,’ sighed Gilwyn.

  ‘You are upset with me.’ Thorin put his hand on Gilwyn’s shoulder and led him back to his chair. They both took seats facing each other. ‘I know I have not spent much time with you lately. I’m sorry.’

  Gilwyn laughed. ‘Is that why you think I’m angry? No, Thorin.’

  ‘No? Then what?’

  ‘All of this!’ Gilwyn swept his arm across the chamber. ‘All the things that have been done to the library. The war, Thorin!’

  ‘Ah, the war. Yes, of course. Gilwyn, how many times have I told you this day would come? I never lied to you. I could not have been clearer.’

  ‘I know,’ said Gilwyn. ‘You did tell me. But I thought-’

  ‘You thought to save me from Kahldris! Yes.’ Thorin stood up, exasperated. ‘Have I not told you a thousand times that I owe Kahldris everything? And look! Did he not prophesize all of this? My enemies are coming for me, Gilwyn, just as Kahldris said they would. Just as I told you they would!’

  ‘I know!’ cried Gilwyn in frustration. ‘But you’ve given up on yourself! You don’t even want to think that I might be right, that maybe somewhere inside of you is the man you used to be.’

  Thorin said calmly, ‘That man is a memory now.’

  ‘Like Jador, you mean? Have you forgotten them, too?’

  His accusation stung Thorin. ‘Jador should no longer concern you. You’re here now, with me.’

  ‘Yes, I am, but I’m still a person of Jador, Thorin. And you are too, like it or not. How can you turn on them? How can you even think of such a thing?’

  ‘I am the ruler of Liiria. I do not have time for sentiment.’

  ‘No,’ said Gilwyn bitterly. ‘Not even for your own son.’

  ‘My son? You have no idea how my son has broken my heart, Gilwyn. He’s not like you. You came here to save me. Aric comes to kill me.’ Thorin turned away. ‘But he is still part of me, damn all. I won’t let Raxor take him from me.’

  Gilwyn looked up. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean,’ said Thorin, ‘that I will not let anyone claim him for their own. He already has a father who is a king, he does not need to look to

  Raxor for that.’

  ‘You can’t stop him, Thorin. He’s probably already there.’

  ‘I have no doubt of it,’ grumbled Thorin. ‘But he cannot remain with Raxor. I will not allow it.’ Thorin smiled suddenly. ‘But let’s not talk of that now. Gilwyn, I am afraid for you. Things will not be safe here much longer. You cannot stay.’

  Gilwyn was startled. ‘What?’

  ‘It’s too dangerous here in Koth.’ Thorin touched his shoulder again. ‘I am grateful for your loyalty, boy. You are braver than most. But this is no place for a librarian.’

  ‘Thorin, it’s a library.’

  Thorin laughed. ‘Not anymore. Until the battle is over it is a fortress. And you are a civilian.’

  ‘But where will I go?’

  ‘I’ve already made arrangements. You’ll leave in two days for Borath. There’s a farm there where you’ll be safe. You’ll have bodyguards to protect you. When this is over I’ll send for you.’

  Gilwyn got to his feet. ‘No.’

  ‘Yes, Gilwyn.’

  ‘No,’ said Gilwyn adamantly. ‘I’m not leaving. I told you I’d stay by you. You’re not pushing me away, Thorin.’

  ‘You’re being stubborn. .’

  ‘I don’t care.’ Gilwyn folded his arms over his chest, living up to the accusation. ‘I made a promise to you, Thorin. You can’t make me break it.’

  Instead of looking angry, Thorin beamed. ‘You are brave,’ he crowed. ‘Stupid, but brave. Very well, then, Gilwyn, you may stay.’

  He started toward the exit. Gilwyn called after him.

  ‘Thorin?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘What about your son? What are you going to do?’

  The baron thought for a moment, then replied, ‘I’m going to do just what you’re trying to do, Gilwyn. I’m going to get him back.’

  Then he left, leaving Gilwyn behind and bewildered.

  76

  Through the hard sheets of rain, Aric glimpsed the village nestled between the mountains, surrounded by Raxor’s resting army. The village was called Kreat and it had taken Aric and his cohorts four days to reach it, riding through the never ending rain and the sad, familiar terrain of Liiria. Raxor’s army had been too big to keep a se
cret, and in fact the old king had not even tried to hide his presence. In all the towns they crossed to reach Kreat and all the travelers they questioned on their way, the five riders heard the same predictable tale. King Raxor’s army had come across the border days earlier and had made camp in Kreat, waiting for their chance to march on Koth. No one had challenged them, either, not a single of Baron Glass’ men. In the midnight rain, Aric could see the sleepy village ensnared like a noose by the rolling encampment, smothered by the countless Reecian soldiers. Pinpoints of light glowed from smouldering campfires, and in the little homes of the village candles flickered against the night. Aric blew into his hands, frozen now from the chill and breathing a sigh of utter relief. The last few days had been an agony, a break-neck trek across Liiria that had tested all of them, even Horatin. Next to Aric, the trio of Nithin bodyguards let their own relief show on their wet faces. Cold and hungry, each of them longed for the peace of the village.

  ‘No one’s seen us yet,’ said Horatin. Of the five, the Reecian was the most understated, and seemed disappointed at the lack of fanfare. The lateness of the hour had most of Raxor’s army asleep, and it had been Horatin that had insisted on the night-time ride. ‘Stay with me,’ he instructed the others. ‘Don’t say anything — let me do all the talking.’

  Aric and the Nithins happily agreed, driving on their weary mounts. Despite the desperation of their pace, it had been a mostly uneventful ride through Liiria, and the quiet had unnerved them. They had all expected to encounter trouble, especially Aric, but the countryside had been unusually silent and only once had they encountered any soldiers. That had been two days ago, when Horatin had spotted a platoon of Norvan mercenaries marching north toward Koth. The encounter had forced them into a detour, taking them further out of their way, but they had ridden hard and fast to make up the time, and had reached the Reecian border in short order. Amazingly, they discovered the truth of the rumours they’d heard. Raxor wasn’t on the border — he had already crossed it.

  Tucked into the side of his horse’s tack, Horatin carried a small, unlit torch, its head wrapped with old fabric. As they neared the village he pulled the torch free and turned to his Nithin comrades.

  ‘Trace,’ he said, ‘let me have your lamp.’

  The bodyguard named Trace kept an oil lamp in his hand as they rode, containing a tiny flame that helped to cut the dark night. Even in the rain the glass lamp had managed to retain its flame, but now they needed a signal to announce them. Trace, who was not much older than Aric, handed the lamp to Horatin, who unceremoniously lifted the glass portion and touched the flame to his torch, setting it quickly ablaze.

  ‘That should get their attention,’ quipped Aric. ‘It feels good not to be hiding anymore.’

  The five men rode purposefully toward the encampment, Horatin holding aloft his torch, waving it from side to side. The rain poured down from the black heavens, blinding Aric and stinging his face. He longed for a warm place to spend the night, but the size of the homes and the many men already camped outside told him how unlikely that was. Horatin called out to his fellow Reecians, and before long they were sighted. Men began climbing out of the sodden bedrolls or mounting their horses to greet them. A trumpet sounded somewhere in the darkness, and all at once the camp roiled to life, undulating like a big, black mass. Aric kept close to Horatin as the Watchman had instructed. Trace and the other Nithins crowded around to protect him.

  ‘It is I, Horatin of the Red Watch!’ bellowed Horatin. ‘I have returned!’

  Men gathered around them as they reached the outskirts of the huge camp, squinting to see them through the darkness. A few bold soldiers drew their swords to challenge them. Horatin quickly reined in his horse, holding up both hands.

  ‘Hold,’ he ordered the soldiers.

  ‘It’s him,’ someone mumbled, and then the others quickly agreed. Another man, an officer, shouldered through the crowd.

  ‘Horatin?’ he queried.

  Horatin peered through the rain, unsure of the voice alone. When at last he saw the man’s face clearly he laughed.

  ‘Corvat, it’s me,’ said Horatin. ‘I found them — I found the Nithins!’

  ‘Living Fate, did you?’ The Reecian spied Aric and laughed. ‘Just the four of them?’

  ‘There are many others,’ said Horatin. ‘Where’s the king?’

  The man named Corvat pointed toward the village. ‘In the house by the river,’ he said ‘I’ll take you.’

  Horatin agreed, and let Corvat lead them through the throngs of men, shouting out orders to make way and inform the king of Horatin’s return. Aric and his companions remained on their horses, trotting slowly through the rain under the curious gazes of the soldiers. Corvat shouted at them to disperse, ordering them back to bed, and soon the way ahead was clear. At last Aric could see the flapping flags of the Reecians through the gloom. The chimneys of the village houses belched smoke into the air. It occurred to Aric as they rode that he was still shrouded by the darkness and rain, and that no one had yet recognized him. Horatin picked up on this immediately, leaning over to whisper to Aric.

  ‘Say nothing,’ he said lowly. ‘I’ll get you into see the king. It will be our surprise.’

  They rode on, passing a number of small houses and farmsteads, some of which still were occupied by Liirian families. Aric could see them through the windows, toiling with housework even at midnight. Surprised, he wanted to pepper Corvat with questions, wondering why the villagers had not fled. He supposed they were being held prisoner by the Reecians, a notion that infuriated him, but he held his tongue as they continued on toward the river, where a small, pretty house of cobblestones rose up from the rolling green grass, surrounded by a fence and a yard filled with soldiers. The men in the yard all stood, obviously awaiting them.

  ‘That’s it,’ said Corvat. The soldiers dragged his palm across his forehead to wipe away the rain. ‘He’ll be waiting for you by now.’

  ‘Tell me, Corvat, how does he fare?’ asked Horatin.

  ‘Some days better than others. You’ll see what I mean. Just don’t expect too much of him. It’s late.’

  ‘He’ll want to talk about what I have to tell him. You should gather your officers.’

  Corvat agreed, and as Horatin and the others dismounted the Reecian started giving orders to the men in the yard. A captain came forward, introduced himself to Horatin as Grenel, and offered to take them inside while Corvat gathered the other officers. Aric and his Nithin bodyguards got in line behind Horatin. Captain Grenel looked them over, but did nothing to question them or Horatin’s judgment. Horatin, whose reputation obviously proceeded him everywhere, told Grenel firmly to take them to King Raxor.

  ‘He’s waiting for you,’ said Grenel. ‘This way.’

  The little house was warm and quaint, and the moment Aric stepped inside he felt its homey embrace. Typical of Liirian farmsteads, it had one main room where the family gathered, furnished sparsely with wooden chairs and chests and a table where the occupants could take their meals. Because this home was slightly grander than the rest, it had an open-air hallway leading to the kitchen, a common way of keeping fires at bay. Aric could see the kitchen across the covered walkway, noting an older woman working there over the fiery pots. Hearing them come into her home, she shot a glare at Aric, who quickly looked away.

  The newcomers had barely taken two more steps when out of the adjoining chamber stepped Raxor, startling them all. Raxor paused when he saw Horatin, looking immensely pleased. Horatin bowed quickly to his king.

  ‘My lord, I’ve returned,’ he told his liege, and in his bow revealed the young man behind him. Raxor’s old eyes danced quickly from face to face, then stopped dead when he spotted Aric.

  ‘Great Fate above,’ he gasped. His weary face broke with emotion. ‘Aric. .’

  Aric quickly parroted Horatin’s bow. ‘King Raxor,’ he said solemnly, but there was more than ceremony in his tone. Straightening, he smiled broadly at the king. ‘I�
��m back.’

  Raxor went from exhausted to glowing. ‘And it is good to see you back, boy! Horatin, you surprise me!’ The king stepped forward, surmising Aric’s bodyguards. ‘And Nithins, too! You’ve brought the news I want, then?’

  ‘I have, my lord,’ reported Horatin happily. ‘These are Prince Daralor’s men, my lord. They came with us to protect Aric Glass, and to prove to you their prince has come.’

  All the Nithins bowed to Raxor, but it was Brenor, the eldest who spoke for them. ‘Prince Daralor sends you greetings, King Raxor. He is honoured to be joining you in your struggle against Baron Glass.’

  ‘Is he?’ Raxor asked. ‘That is well. Your prince is a brave man, far braver than the cowardly kings who’ve turned their backs on us. Where is your prince now, Sir. .?’

  ‘My name is Brenor, my lord, of the Green Brigade. This Trace and Jason, both under my command. We’ve come to tell you that Prince Daralor is on the march as well. His armies have crossed the border by now, I am certain, and march toward Koth.’

  ‘As do we,’ said Raxor, pleased by the news. ‘Your prince and his army will have little resistance. These Liirians are like sheep this time. No one has even tried to stop us.’

  ‘Yes, what about that?’ Aric asked. ‘We didn’t expect to find you this far from the Kryss.’

  ‘I will tell you about it,’ said Raxor, ‘but first. .’ He turned to his Watchman, Horatin. ‘You have things to tell me, my friend, I’m sure.’