The Sword Of Angels eog-3

by John Marco

  ‘Aric, watch yourself!’ Brenor screamed. It was his mace that had split the man’s skull. He sidled up to Aric through the battle.

  ‘I can look after myself!’ Aric shouted.

  ‘Stay close! That’s what we all do!’

  Already another band of Norvans were breaking toward them. Trace emerged from the crowd, fighting his way back to Aric and Brenor, his emerald armour splashed with blood. As he reached his comrades an arrow plunged down, piercing his shoulder. He roared, spitting obscenities, and with two hands forced the pommel of his sword through the eye of a coming mercenary. Aric hurried toward him. Other Norvans had sighted Trace. Bearing down on the young man, they had almost reached him when the Reecian catapults began. Fire filled the sky as the burning missiles arced toward the Norvans, exploding like sunbursts amid the frenzied horses. Aric and Brenor pressed the distraction, and joined by charging Reecians forced the Norvans back. The slashing sword and flying spears blinded Aric but he kept on, faithfully fighting the way he had learned, the way his own father had once taught him. So far the battle was only minutes long, but Aric had not even taken a scratch, and a glamour of invincibility fell on him. He cried out in gleeful triumph, sure they would win the day, sure that his Reecian friends would easily best the dogs of Norvor. .

  Until Trace fell.

  Aric was laughing, cocksure and strong, and he had not even seen the lanceman’s charge. The weapon came from nowhere, like a cobra out off the crowd, striking Trace dead in the chest and blowing him backward. Aric’s laugh died in his throat as the Norvan lance carried off the impaled Trace, and as though a gentle rain had fallen, his spraying blood struck Aric’s face.

  Dazed, Aric let his guard down. He stared dumbly at Trace as the Norvan shook the corpse from his weapon. ‘Trace?’

  ‘Damn all!’ roared Brenor. ‘Aric!’

  His cry broke Aric’s stupor. The Nithin glared at him. ‘Brenor, Trace-’

  ‘He’s dead, now pay me some heed! Forget him and fight, Aric!’

  Aric shook himself, lifting his sword again. Trace’s blood tasted salty on his lips. He looked around, not sure where to go, the battlefield swollen with friends and enemies. Brenor was calling him, waving him on. Aric steeled himself again. Then, he heard a distant trumpet sound behind him, calling the Reecians soldiers’ attention. Something was happening, confusing Aric. The Reecians grew pale-faced. The Norvans cheered.

  ‘What’s happening?’ Aric asked.

  Then, he saw him. Baron Glass. His Father.

  Alone on his black charger, galloping toward them, his body glistening in living metal, Baron Glass drove toward the battle, towering over the men around him. The Norvans drew back, surrounding him at once, but Aric’s father remained clearly visible, like a giant, shaking his fist and shouting.

  ‘Fate alive, what’s he doing here?’ Brenor asked.

  The clash around them softened as Norvans and Reecians both looked to their captains. At the rear of his army, King Raxor had seen the Black Baron enter the fray. The old monarch’s face twisted with rage. Captain Grenel flew to his side, then barked orders at his men to regroup. Norvan leaders did the same, and soon the battle reignited. Aric and Brenor both fell back, sure that things had changed. Amazingly, King Raxor was riding forward.

  Then, realizing what was happening, Aric reined back his mount. Looking toward the Norvan line, he saw his father madly scanning the field.

  ‘It’s me,’ he said, coldly certain. ‘Brenor, it’s me.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘He’s here for me, I know it,’ said Aric.

  ‘Well you’re not going to him, that’s for sure.’ Brenor positioned himself between Aric and the Norvans. ‘Head to the rear, Aric. I promise, I won’t let him take you.’

  ‘No,’ said Aric, then turned his steed to fully face his father. ‘I’m staying.’

  ‘You’re not!’

  Brenor reached out and snatched the reins of his horse, jerking him forward.

  ‘Let me go, Brenor,’ argued Aric. ‘Let me face him!’

  Before Brenor could speak again the battlefield filled with Glass’ voice. ‘Raxor! I have come for my son!’

  Impossibly, the voice squashed every sound, effortlessly reaching over the armies. Already Aric’s father was cutting his way forward. Reecian soldiers swarmed to stop him, forgetting their private skirmishes. The baron’s mercenaries fanned out to meet them. Unsure what to do, Aric watched as his father churned toward him, his crazed voice ringing from his helmet. The Devil’s Armour swam on him, the tiny figures on it writhing with life. A Reecian spear crashed against it, splintering. The strange sword in his father’s hand pointed its way toward Raxor.

  ‘My son, Raxor! Give him to me!’

  King Raxor and his captains galloped forward. The old man raised his axe hatefully at Baron Glass.

  ‘You’ll not take him! You’ve taken a boy from me already, monster. You’ll not have this one!’

  His pledge brought a cheer from the Reecians, who surged forward again to fight. From the rear the catapults renewed their fire, tossing up their burning missiles. Reecian archers drew their beads, loosing their arrows against the baron. One by one the shafts bounced off Glass’ breastplate. Aric’s father took the blows, raising his strange sword high in the air and cursing Raxor’s cowardice.

  ‘King Raxor, stay back,’ said Captain Grenel. ‘Take the boy with you, back to the rear.’

  ‘No, I won’t run from him,’ swore Raxor. He looked at Aric. ‘You stay, hear me?’

  ‘My lord, no!’

  ‘Stay put,’ said Raxor. He hefted his battle axe and prepared to ride. ‘I won’t let him take you.’

  ‘He’ll kill you!’

  ‘Let him. He’s taken my son and the woman I loved. He’s taken everything from all of us.’ The old king took a deep breath and smiled sadly at Aric. ‘I told you, I wasn’t coming back from this one.’

  The argument was lost and Aric knew it. Raxor ordered Brenor and his Watchmen to stay with Aric, then galloped off with Captain Grenel toward the Norvans. Aric moved to follow him, but Brenor and the others held him back. All he could do was cry for Raxor to come back.

  The old king heard him, Aric was sure, but he rode off anyway, toward a fate of certain doom.

  Thorin had cleared the first wave of Reecians, easily batting them back. His body roared with burning energy as the magic of the armour filled his muscles. Eye-sight and endurance, vigour and strength, all were enhanced by the Devil’s Armour, which hung nearly weightlessly on Thorin’s frame so that he moved more like a cat than a soldier. His Akari sword flashed menacingly, too swift for the normal eyes of his enemies. Just as he had been upon the bridge that day, he had become a killing machine. Unstoppable.

  Look! Kahldris’ voice exploded in his head. He comes!

  Without needing to look up, Thorin saw the king approaching. He had brought a band of bodyguards with him, all dour-faced men eager to bring the baron down. Past them, Thorin could make out the figure of his son, Aric, struggling to join the fight. Other men, Watchmen, surrounded him.

  ‘Let him go!’ Thorin thundered, and without knowing how he heard his voice carry across the field. ‘Aric! Son, I’m here for you!’

  ‘No!’ Raxor shouted. ‘You won’t take him!’

  The king’s men cleared a path for him, letting him ride into Thorin’s view. Thorin held his own men back, ordering them to let the Reecian come. Around them the battle raged on, but in that small space a circle was cleared, allowing the rivals to tangle.

  ‘You won’t have your son today, Baron Glass,’ said Raxor. ‘By all the gods, you won’t.’

  Thorin trotted closer to his nemesis. Aric was shouting in the distance, begging Raxor to come back.

  You see, Baron Glass? He taunts you! Kahldris was in a rage, and in his rage drove Thorin mad. He keeps your son from you, your flesh and blood. He has turned your son against you!

  ‘Come, then, damn Reecians!’ bellowed Thorin. He
fought the temptation to tear the helmet from his head and spit at Raxor. ‘Finally you are man enough to face me, old man!’

  King Raxor jerked his horse to a halt. He wore no helmet himself, only a golden crown of kingship. He looked remarkably calm as he studied his opponent.

  ‘Murderer. You have slain my son and taken the flower of Reecian manhood. Be warned, Baron Glass, we will not leave the field today until you are dead.’

  ‘Then it will be a long day of butchery,’ said Thorin wearily. He knew that Kahldris was driving him, and yet he barely cared. All he wanted was his son returned. After that, he would be the demon’s plaything. With the finger of his gauntlet he waved Raxor closer. ‘Come and face me, old man.’

  Raxor’s men surrounded him, preventing him from riding closer. But the king ordered them away.

  ‘Back away, all of you,’ he said. ‘Let me face him alone.’

  ‘Yes, let them see how a real man dies,’ said Thorin. He shook his head, almost pitying his rival. ‘You have no chance at all, Raxor.’

  ‘And you have no heart, but it matters not, Baron Glass. My death will be an example to the others.’

  ‘A martyr? Fine,’ sighed Thorin. He slid down from his horse, stepping into the empty circle. The arrows had ceased firing, but the sky still whistled with catapult shots. Behind him his men scattered to avoid the burning blasts. ‘Man to man, Raxor. Just you and me.’

  King Raxor did not hesitate. Against the calls of his men he dropped from his mount and, axe still in hand, prepared to face the baron. Around him his men fell back. The fighting closest to them ceased as soldiers on both sides watched. Many yards back, Thorin could see his son Aric struggling with the Watchmen, shouting as he tried to break free of them. As their king closed in on his opponent, Aric’s protectors faltered, too fascinated by what they were seeing. At last Aric broke away and began galloping toward his father.

  ‘Look, Raxor,’ said Thorin gleefully. ‘My son comes to me!’

  ‘He comes to save me,’ Raxor gloated. ‘Not to help his father.’

  The accusation stung Thorin, and he lashed out at Raxor, just enough to clip the old man’s armour. Raxor stumbled back, dazed by the blow. Thorin stalked after him, spreading his arms wide and dropping his defenses.

  ‘Here I am, Raxor,’ he declared. ‘Put your axe through my heart!’

  Raxor screamed and bolted forward. With two hands upon his axe he plunged the weapon down, catching the unmoving baron squarely in the chest. Thorin felt the blow the way a mountain might, hardly feeling it as his magic armour repelled the blade. Raxor cried out, dropping his axe and staggering backward as the power of the armour numbed his arm. This time, Thorin didn’t use his sword. With only his gauntlet he struck the man across the face. Blood burst from Raxor’s lips as he tumbled to the ground. This time, his men rushed in to help him. The circle closed all at once as men on both sides took up the fight.

  Don’t let him get away from you this time, Kahldris insisted. Kill him.

  Thorin craned his neck over the surging crowd, looking for his son. ‘Where is he?’

  Listen to me, Baron Glass. Your enemy is at your feet. End him!

  A lurching rush of power flooded over Thorin, clouding his mind and strangling his judgment. Through the haze of Kahldris’ rage he saw Raxor on his knees, blood covering his face as he struggled to his feet. Aric was coming; Thorin could feel him. The thought of his son and the way he’d been stolen maddened Thorin.

  ‘You took him from me,’ he seethed. ‘You turned him against me.’

  Before the king could rise again Thorin reached out and lifted him from the ground, hoisting him bodily into the air. Raxor tried to grab his sword but Thorin’s gauntlet stopped him, grabbing his wrist and crushing the bones.

  ‘He was all I had,’ Thorin groaned. He was shaking suddenly, overcome by emotion. ‘My only family. .’

  ‘He despises you,’ Raxor spat. ‘And everything you stand for now. .’

  ‘No!’ Thorin shook the king, snapping back his head. ‘He’s my son, not yours!’

  ‘Father!’

  Thorin turned to see Aric blazing toward him. The boy had his weapon raised. The blade shot out, smashing hard on Thorin’s helmet. The surprise shot opened Thorin’s grip, dropping Raxor to the ground. As the king rolled away Aric turned again to face his father. His horse reared up, and Aric’s sword pointed hatefully at the baron.

  ‘Enough! You want me, I’m here!’

  Raxor staggered to his feet. ‘No! I won’t let you take him,’ he cried, and finally drawing his sword came crashing back against Thorin. Again the blow did nothing and again the old man fell back. Thorin spun and kicked at him, pulling the blow.

  What are you doing? asked Kahldris frantically. Kill him!

  His rage unbalanced Thorin. His screaming rattled Thorin’s skull.

  They’re your enemies, said the demon. All of them. Even your son tries to kill you. I’m your only friend.

  ‘Aric,’ Thorin cried. ‘Leave here!’

  The armour moved on its own now. Thorin knew his mind was not his own. Raxor was coming again, the sword slicing down. Thorin brought his arm up, staying the blow, but the old man kept coming. He glanced around, searching for Aric and saw his son racing toward him. This time, Thorin acted. His sword was out in an instant, instinctively, and when Aric was upon him the great Akari blade broke through his son’s own sword, shattering it on the way to Aric’s chest. A stunned look of terror filled Aric’s face as he tumbled from his horse, his breastplate crumbling and filling with blood. He hit the earth hard.

  And did not move.

  Thorin stood for a moment, frozen. The Akari sword dropped from his hand. He stared at Aric, unable to speak. He could only scream. From deep within him, his agonized wail rocked the battlefield. Raxor, broken and defeated, stumbled and fell to his knees.

  ‘You’ve killed him,’ Thorin heard him say. The old Reecian started to weep.

  ‘I’ve killed him,’ Thorin cried. ‘I’ve killed my son!’

  His keening continued as he faltered backward. The battle went on around him, but Raxor and his bodyguards were still, and all the mercenaries who followed Thorin looked at him in shock. Aric’s body lay in blood, his chest ripped up from the massive strike. His lifeless eyes stared blankly skyward. In his mind, Thorin could hear Kahldris speaking, urging him to fight on. The words fell deafly on the baron’s ears.

  ‘No,’ he stammered. He raised his hands in surrender. ‘No. .’

  His horse still waited where he’d left it. Thorin ran for it. Ignoring Kahldris’ spite-filled orders and the shouts of his own men, Baron Glass mounted the beast and quickly pointed it back toward Library Hill. Behind him, he heard Raxor’s hateful calls, swearing vengeance. Thorin buried his head against the neck of his galloping horse. All he could see was Aric, dead and helpless, and the image drove him on, back to the safety of his library.

  81

  Amid the mass of men and horses, Lukien and his cohorts rode through the heart of the Norvan enemies, their bodies slick with gore as their weapons swung overhead. The wild cries of war dogs echoed through the battlefield as the beasts ran between the legs of the startled horses, bringing down the steeds in ravenous packs. Daralor’s army numbered in the thousands, and Lukien was surrounded by them. He had ridden on the heels of the dogs, using them as shields as they tore through the front ranks. With Lorn and Ghost at his side, he had ridden right past Cajanis and his hireling Thon, stabbing at the heart of the Norvans in his mad bid to reach the other side. Prince Daralor was too far away to see now. All Lukien could see behind him were soldiers, the familiar scene of chaos as the battle engulfed him. The roaring in his ears told him that the Nithins had engaged, charging the Norvan lines with their lances, their foes softened by the mad jaws of the war dogs.

  Lukien had seen dogs used in battle before, on both sides of the fight, and always been frightened when he’d seen the canines coming toward him. So he flinched a little no
w when he watched the beasts leap on the mercenaries, launching themselves against the horsemen to tear their throats out. It was a horrible way for a soldier to die, and watching it around him sickened him a bit. Just yards away from Lukien, Lorn fought like a man possessed, shouting the dogs on as he pushed his way deeper through the Norvan ranks. It had taken nearly an hour for them all to get this far, and the numbers of the war dogs had dwindled down to dozens. Along with the corpses of men and horses, the broken bodies of the deadly pets smothered the ground. Lukien did his best to add to the body count. With the Sword of Angels writhing in his grip, he slashed his way across the field, swaying from side to side as he cut down all-comers. The Eye of God tumbled on its chain, bouncing from his chest and burning with red fire. The power of it flooded him, mingling with the strength of his own Akari, and in his mind Lukien could hear the voice of Malator, spurring him onward. The enchanted blade was everywhere, blocking every blow, and those few that did get through dealt him only glancing strikes, cuts so minor that the magic of his two great artifacts healed them instantly. Lukien cried out in bloodlust as he muscled past the mercenaries. Sweat and blood flew from his face.

  ‘Keep going!’ he bellowed to his comrades. ‘Stay with me!’

  Lorn was clearly visible beside him. The axe he had tossed at Cajanis had been replaced by a sword. The old man rode expertly, like a cavalryman half his age, using his weapon in every conceivable way, stabbing and striking and holding the blade in his metal-garbed hands to block the Norvan attacks. His face shone with a frightening glamour as he gutted his foes, mercilessly avenging his stolen kingdom.