The Sword Of Angels eog-3

by John Marco

  Baron Glass realized what he had done. Through the haze of rage and despair, he saw Gilwyn slide across the floor, then lay still on the stone tiles. Like Aric. The baron stopped breathing. At his side, the figure of Kahldris saw what had happened and was silent. The demon looked at his host. Thorin sat motionless, staring at Gilwyn, unable to speak. He had emptied himself of tears, spending them on Aric, and yet somehow this was so much worse, a thought so horrible that tears seemed inadequate. Thorin’s mind snapped like a twig. He got to his feet, glaring hatefully at Kahldris.

  ‘This is our work,’ he said, his voice breaking. ‘This is all we have ever done!’

  Running from the chamber, screaming like a madman, Baron Glass tore at the latches of his Devil’s Armour, desperate to shed its unholy grasp.

  83

  The way to Library Hill was remarkably empty. Lukien, Lorn and Ghost rode on the outskirts of the city, avoiding the populated streets and sticking to the meadows and farmlands that surrounded Koth. Because the hill was clearly visible from almost everywhere in the city, Baron Glass’ hideout was plain to the companions as they rode, as was the small army of Liirians he had positioned at the bottom of the hill. The sight of them made Ghost groan. They had already fought their way through one army, and now it seemed Baron Glass had evaded them again. King Lorn looked dour, sizing up their situation.

  ‘It’s too late to turn back,’ he said, sensing Ghost’s wariness. ‘They’ve already seen us.’

  Common sense told them all to slow down, bringing their horses from a gallop to a canter. The Liirians milled under their own flag, looking disorganized. There were at least a few hundred of them, men who Thorin had somehow convinced to join his cause. Far too many for the three of them to fight through, Lukien knew. Already those soldiers closest to them were pointing, calling to their comrades. Some wore the midnight blue of Royal Chargers, though that fair breed was long extinct.

  ‘We have to go back,’ said Ghost, ‘wait for the others.’

  ‘The others may not get here at all,’ Lorn reminded him. ‘It’s up to us to get to Baron Glass, remember?’

  ‘Well I can get past them but what about you?’ challenged Ghost. He said to Lukien, ‘If I could make you invisible I would, my friend.’

  Lukien studied the men ahead of them. ‘They’re Liirians,’ he mused.

  Ghost shrugged. ‘So?’

  ‘He’s one of them,’ said Lorn, guessing at Lukien’s meaning. He asked the knight, ‘Will they listen to you, Lukien?’

  ‘Look at them — they don’t even know what they’re doing here.’ Lukien shook his head. ‘Something’s wrong. Why has Thorin left the battle? Why isn’t he out here with his men?’

  ‘If he knows you’re here, perhaps he fears you,’ Lorn suggested. ‘The demon in him senses the sword no doubt.’

  Lukien closed his eye, concentrating on his Akari. Malator was already probing the library.

  ‘Malator? What do you feel?’

  Emptiness, replied the spirit. Lukien could sense his confusion. Baron Glass is still in the library, but my brother. .

  ‘What?’

  I do not know, Lukien. He hides himself from me. He knows we are here, and yet. . I can’t tell.

  ‘Lukien?’ Ghost asked anxiously. ‘What’s he telling you?’

  Malator’s words worried Lukien. He told the others, ‘He’s in there. Malator can’t tell anything else.’

  Lorn braced himself as they neared the Liirians, who were crowding closer for a better look at them. Liirian riders were preparing to run them down. ‘Time to decide, Lukien. If we’re going to head back we have to do it now.’

  ‘It’s too late anyway,’ said Ghost as he drew his weapon.

  Lukien said firmly, ‘Put it away.’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘Both of you, don’t do anything. Just follow me.’

  Lorn and Ghost shared a worried glance but did as Lukien asked, riding at his flanks as the knight led them toward the hill. As the soldiers started to gather, a smaller group coalesced at its centre, all of them on horseback. A single man of rank stood out among them, looking weary beneath his flag. He and his captains waited for the riders to approach, ordering the hundreds of other soldiers to move aside and let them see. Lukien studied the man carefully. Once, he had known every man of rank in the Liirian military, but time had changed that and made them all too old to recognize. Still, it was obvious to Lukien that the man in charge was a Liirian, and that meant they had a kinship. Careful not to threaten them, Lukien remained relaxed in his saddle. Guards sprang out of the crowd to confront them. Near them, crossbowmen aimed at the trio. Ghost leaned over to Lukien and groaned.

  ‘This was a great plan, Lukien. Really.’

  ‘Go on, then disappear,’ snarled Lorn. ‘Any time you’re ready.’

  ‘Shut up, both of you,’ snapped Lukien. He took a moment to prepare himself, and before the guards could utter a word shouted, ‘My name is Lukien of Liiria! Brothers, hear me!’

  The mere utterance of his name sent a ripple through the army. For a moment the crossbowmen faltered. Lukien seized on it.

  ‘We’re not here to fight!’ he promised. ‘We’re here to help you!’

  The nobleman near the centre of the army came charging forward. ‘I know you, Lukien!’ he proclaimed with ire. ‘Do you not remember me?’

  He was still difficult to see so far away. Lukien shook his head. ‘I don’t know you,’ he said. ‘Who are you, then?’

  ‘I am Count Lothon. You should remember your betters, Sir Lukien. We all remember you, the one who bedded the king’s wife and left us all to rot here. How dare you show your face among us?’

  ‘I am Liirian, just as you, Count Lothon,’ replied Lukien. He did now remember the man, a member of the House of Dukes when that body held sway. That was many years ago, and time had not been kind to Lothon. ‘And just like you I’ve come here to save Liiria, not to bury her.’

  Count Lothon’s men began to bristle, wondering what was happening. Lothon himself came trotting out to face Lukien under the cover of his bowmen. The count stayed their weapons with a wave of his hand and the bowmen backed off a bit. The entire army seemed to have its eyes on the three riders.

  ‘Who are these you bring with you?’ Lothon asked.

  ‘Friends of Liiria,’ said Lukien. ‘Like myself.’ He said nothing about their identities, especially Lorn’s. ‘They ride with me because they want to rid us all of a tyrant. Count Lothon, I beg you — listen to me. Baron Glass is not the man you remember. You’ve seen him yourself, you know this to be true.’

  For the first time, Lukien noticed the object dangling from Lothon’s saddle. The count nodded as he saw Lukien’s expression darken. The thing was a helmet.

  ‘Baron Glass has been here today,’ sighed Lothon miserably. ‘And I will not lie and say he is anything but what you claim, Sir Lukien. He is a tyrant, true. And a madman now, too.’

  ‘I can stop him,’ Lukien promised. ‘You know my prowess, Count Lothon.’

  ‘Aye, and I know you bear the Sword of Angels. It does not matter, Bronze Knight. We are pledged to Baron Glass, all of us.’

  ‘You’re pledged to Liiria, first and always.’ Lukien addressed them all, letting his voice carry through the ranks. ‘Will you let the Norvans take everything from you? Your manhood, even? Baron Glass is no Liirian, not anymore. He’s as foreign to this land as Jazana Carr and the mercenaries she brought with her. The creature inside Baron Glass has no loyalty to you at all. It’s using you, all of you, to get its revenge on the people of Jador. That’s it. That’s all it’s ever wanted.’

  His words fell heavily on Lothon. The count hefted the helmet wearily from his side, unhitching it from the tack. He held it out disgustedly. ‘I despair to even touch this thing,’ he told Lukien, ‘but by no means is Baron Glass finished. He wears the armour still.’

  ‘Does he? You have seen him?’ Lukien asked.

  ‘I have not followed him into the lib
rary. None of us have,’ said Lothon.

  It was obvious to Lukien how much the men disliked Glass now, but the count seemed reticent to explain what had happened.

  ‘Then let me pass,’ said Lukien. ‘Let me end it, for us all.’ He put up his hands in a gesture of peace. ‘You know me, Count Lothon. You knew me before Liiria was the ruin it is now. Baron Glass left Liiria too, but you found forgiveness for him.’

  Lothon’s aides shot him worried glances. The nobleman stared with a grimace at the helmet in his fist. The army was hushed as Lothon considered Lukien’s proposal. Even the soldiers lining the long road up the hillside stood unmoving, wondering what was happening.

  ‘He’s mad,’ said Lukien sadly. ‘You said so yourself.’

  ‘Aye, mad,’ admitted Lothon. ‘Because of this wretched thing.’ His eyes filled with pity. ‘He was a good man once, you know. He loves Liiria dearly even still. But it’s a twisted love.’ He held the helmet out for Lukien. ‘Take it. Destroy it with your sword.’

  ‘You’ll let us pass?’

  Lothon nodded. ‘Do what you must, Bronze Knight, but do it with mercy.’

  Then he gave the order to his aides, calling to all of them to let the riders past. The word was quickly passed throughout the ranks, rising up to the hillside and the soldiers stationed there. Amazingly, the soldiers cheered. Lukien could not contain his smile, so relieved was he to have won his gambit. He rode up to Count Lothon and placed a hand on the man’s shoulder.

  ‘I will best him,’ he promised, ‘and Liiria will be free again for men like you.’

  Lothon said nothing, overcome with regrets, and handed the helmet of the Devil’s Armour to Lukien. The metal felt cool in Lukien’s hand, but the death’s face was no longer alive, nor was the black surface glowing. Still, to hold the thing made Lukien shudder. He looked grimly at Lorn and Ghost.

  ‘Ready yourselves,’ he told them. ‘This isn’t over.’

  To Lukien, it seemed like a lifetime had passed since he’d last been inside the library. Then, it had been the Liirians who had held the place, holding it against the twin tides of Baron Glass and Jazana Carr. Hundreds of men had died that day, brave souls all, many of them friends. Under the punishing bombardment of Norvan catapults, the library had collapsed in places, but it had all been rebuilt with Jazana’s fortune and Thorin’s obsession, and as he walked within its great hall Lukien could not help but marvel at the way it sparkled. Thorin had spared no expense in remaking the library. It was every bit as fabulous as it had been in its heyday, or so Lukien supposed. He had never actually seen the place in its glory days. He had been away, in exile.

  ‘Everyone’s gone,’ Ghost whispered.

  It was as the servants in the yard had told them. They had seen Baron Glass stumble into the library like a drunkard, raving insanely, and had rightfully been afraid of him, abandoning the place for the protection of the soldiers outside. Count Lothon had known this but had not revealed that important bit of truth, a fact that made Lukien smile at his cleverness.

  ‘Lothon is a fox,’ he said with a nervous laugh. ‘Now he has us to do his dirty work.’

  ‘Never mind,’ said Lorn. ‘Where’s Glass? Lukien, can you tell?’

  Lukien listened for Malator. The Akari was out ahead of them, searching the halls with his mind. The sword that held his essence burned in Lukien’s fist, thrumming musically through the hall. Ghost and Lorn had drawn their weapons as well.

  I can feel my brother, said Malator. There was a trace of awe in his voice. He’s here.

  ‘Where, Malator? Take us to him.’

  Not precisely knowing what he would do when he found Thorin, Lukien let Malator guide his steps. The three men moved cautiously but with purpose, leaving the grand hall for another, smaller one, then finally up a long flight of winding steps. Like the main hall, the others were deserted as well, lending a sad aura to the place. Lukien remained as patient as he could, his heart galloping in his chest as he tried to bury the memories of his last encounter with Thorin. That one had left him near death. He glanced at Ghost and saw the same spark of dread in the young man’s eyes. Amazingly, Lorn showed no such fear. He was resolute as they rounded the halls, as hard as ever, like iron.

  Then, Malator spoke again. He’s here.

  Lukien stopped. ‘Where?’

  Up ahead. Malator seemed to sigh. Don’t be afraid, Lukien. It’s over.

  ‘Over?’ blurted Lukien. ‘What. .?’

  Go on. See for yourself.

  Torchlight lit the way, guiding them through the hall. They were in the highest part of the library now, in the tower where Lukien himself had spent hours, laying plans for the hill’s defense. He knew that a chamber lay ahead, a kind of meeting room with a great view of the city. Before the chamber was another hallway, dimly lit. It beckoned to them as they turned a corner. When they did, all of them saw what Malator had seen already.

  Balled up against the wall beneath a flickering oil lamp was Thorin, his face buried in his one remaining arm, his knees pulled up tightly to his chest. His shoulders shook; his legs and hands trembled. His white hair hung in limp, filthy strands down his back. Hunched like an animal, he took no notice of the others, nor of the suit of armour discarded in a pile beside him. Lukien gripped the Sword of Angels tightly, then let his grasp wane as pity overtook him. Ghost mumbled a prayer.

  ‘Thorin,’ Lukien said gently, ‘it’s me, Lukien.’

  Slowly, Baron Glass lifted his head. His glassy gaze met Lukien, bloodshot and full of pain. He was barely recognizable, a withered shell of a man. Once again, there was only a stump where his left arm had been. His wizened face showed off his insanity, a mask of twisted muscles and thin, pale lips. Like a dog he began to pant when he saw Lukien, as if unable to speak. Lukien hurried over to him and dropped to his knees beside his old friend.

  ‘It’s over, Thorin, it’s over,’ he said, trying to comfort him. ‘Listen to me now, I’m here. Everything is all right now.’

  Thorin’s haunted eyes widened. ‘Lukien. .’

  ‘Yes, Thorin, it’s me.’ Lukien attempted a smile. ‘Just me.’

  ‘Lukien. .’

  ‘Don’t speak too much, Thorin. Just tell me — where’s Gilwyn? Is he here with you?’

  A shaking groan came out of Thorin then, his hand clutching Lukien. ‘Gilwyn and my son. .I. .’

  ‘Thorin?’ Lukien held him tightly. ‘What?’

  The baron’s boney finger pointed to the chamber down the hall. ‘In there,’ he stammered. ‘Dead.’ He began to sob. ‘Gilwyn.’

  Panic seized Lukien. He sprung to his feet. ‘No. No. .’

  Ghost dropped his weapon at once. ‘I’ll go see,’ he said quickly.

  ‘No!’ Lukien steeled himself. ‘Stay with him. Both of you, just stay with him.’

  It was something Lukien wanted to face himself, because he knew what would happen if he saw Gilwyn dead. He would weep like a woman, and for that he wanted no audience. His legs like water beneath him, he made his way down the corridor, toward the chamber where Thorin had pointed, leaving his companions behind with the maddened baron. The Sword of Angels still rested in his hand, but as he reached the open doorway he sheathed the weapon, pausing at the threshold before peering inside. The chamber was quiet, and as big as he remembered it. A huge window — its curtains drawn — dominated an entire wall. In the feeble light it was difficult to see, but Lukien saw Gilwyn at once, not far from the window, sprawled and broken-looking on the tiles. Blood smothered his chest, collecting on the floor beneath him.

  Lukien began to cry like he were a child.

  ‘Gilwyn. .’

  He went to him, stooping over him, looking down at his white face, the blood drawn from it. The wound in his chest ran deep, a jagged gash like one might get from a morning star. Lukien wiped his eyes with his fingers, then knelt down next to his beloved friend. He put a hand on his face and felt its chill. The moment he did, Malator popped into his mind.

  He’s not
dead!

  ‘What?’

  He’s alive, Lukien, barely.

  ‘Alive? Are you sure?’

  His Akari has not left him. I can feel her, Lukien. She clings to him still.

  Lukien groped frantically for an idea. ‘How can I save him? Look at him, Malator!’

  Lukien, the amulet. Give it to him. Put it on him quickly.

  Instantly Lukien reached under his shirt and pulled out the Eye of God. ‘Will it work?’

  You give it to him freely, Lukien. The magic will keep him alive.

  ‘Oh, Amaraz, I beg you,’ Lukien pleaded. He place the amulet on Gilwyn’s bloody chest, holding it there and praying to the Akari inside the Eye to spare his friend. ‘Bring him back to me, Amaraz, please. Heal him. Keep him alive.’

  Keep it on him, Lukien, said Malator. You don’t need the amulet any longer. I will keep you alive.

  Without a thought for himself, Lukien pressed the Eye hard against Gilwyn’s motionless chest.

  Out in the corridor, King Lorn stood apart from Ghost and the broken Baron Glass, staring at the heap of black armour laying uselessly nearby. The helmet of the armour had been left upright, deposited next to the rest of the metal suit by Lukien in his haste to save his friend. Doing just as Lukien had asked, Ghost remained with Baron Glass, kneeling next to him and comforting him. Glass himself was a pitiful mess, barely able to speak much less control his womanly tears. At first, Lorn had pitied him. But then he’d heard a voice.

  The voice echoed inside his skull and was not his own. Lorn stared at the helmet. The helmet stared back. The voice spoke gently, like a lullaby, talking to him about his kingdom and all he had lost, and about the many people who had wronged him in his life. Somehow, Lorn knew instantly that the voice belonged to Kahldris. Yet he was not afraid. The demon’s words were so sensible.

  *

  For long minutes Lukien knelt over Gilwyn, pressing the amulet against his chest and waiting for any tiny sign of life. Malator assured him that his young friend was still alive and the Akari had not yet left his body, but Lukien could sense only the barest warmth within Gilwyn and a heartbeat he wasn’t even sure was there. The war that raged outside the library had flown from Lukien’s mind, forgotten. Now, he thought only of Gilwyn and the amulet, and did his best to will Amaraz to save the boy.