The Devil's armour eog-2

by John Marco

  As he’d hoped, only the single guardian awaited Duke Erlik. More lucky still, he had his back turned toward Lorn. Without pausing, Lorn drew his sword, walked up behind the man, and put the blade through his back. Quickly covering his victim’s mouth, Lorn held him as he convulsed, spewing blood from his throat onto Lorn’s hand. When he was sure the guard was dead, Lorn dragged him into the shadows next to the outhouse, where he quickly wiped his bloodied hands on the dewy grass. A glance toward the Ram told him no one else was coming. Lorn seized the chance. Standing at the very threshold of the stone outhouse, he grabbed hold of the door very quietly, paused to prepare himself, then flung the door open.

  Squatting over the seat was Erlik, his trousers around his ankles. Lorn had his blade at the duke’s throat at once.

  ‘Oh, Fate. .’ gasped Erlik, holding up his hands. His head pinned to the wall by the sword, he looked desperately at Lorn. ‘Don’t kill me!’

  ‘Don’t say another bloody word,’ Lorn whispered. With his free hand he closed the outhouse door behind him, so that only a sliver of light entered through the chamber’s tiny window. ‘Scream and you die.’

  ‘I won’t,’ promised Erlik. His powdered face began to sweat. ‘You want to rob me, take it, whatever you want.’

  ‘Gods above, but you’re a coward,’ hissed Lorn. He pressed harder on his sword, nearly breaking the silky skin of Erlik’s throat. ‘At least act like a man, even if you can’t dress like one.’

  The insult riled Erlik. ‘Who are you?’

  ‘Why don’t you figure that out for yourself? I’m Norvan. Does that help?’

  The little colour fell from Erlik’s face. ‘Lorn. .’

  ‘Indeed,’ replied Lorn hatefully. ‘How much did you think you’d get for me, Erlik? Did you really think I’d let you sell me to that bitch Jazana Carr?’

  ‘You’re insane,’ sneered Erlik. ‘A mad-dog king, just like everyone says.’

  ‘Maybe,’ said Lorn. ‘But at least I’m alive.’

  Then, for the third time that night, Lorn bloodied his blade.

  By dawn the next morning, Lorn had left Dreel far behind. Remarkably, he had escaped the city with ease, leaving through the main gate as soon as he’d emptied Erlik’s pockets. Travelling had been difficult without a horse, but he remained on the main road throughout the night, hiding in the dark woods whenever he heard others approaching. When the sun finally rose he had put a good distance between himself and the city, and was sure no one had followed him. He did not look like an assassin, after all, and he knew it would take time for anyone to find the two bodies of the soldiers, which he stuffed down an old abandoned well. Erlik himself was probably found minutes after his death, but by then Lorn was already through the city gates.

  Exhausted, he continued on the wooded road south, ignoring his blistered feet and enormous fatigue. He was glad Eiriann had followed his orders to leave the city; he had seen nothing of them on the road. With luck he would meet up with them in Ganjor. If not, he hoped they would go across the desert without him. Poppy didn’t need him to be healed — she needed the magic of Grimhold, and that was all. Perhaps he had taken her far enough. Perhaps Eiriann would take her the rest of the way.

  ‘A good woman,’ he told himself as he walked, and the thought of her pretty face eased his many aches. They were all good, and he trusted them. Poppy was in capable hands.

  For an hour more Lorn continued on his weary way. His swollen feet threatened to burst from his worn-out boots, but he was driven by a mad urge to reach Ganjor. He remembered from the maps that it was a three-day ride between Ganjor and Dreel, and he knew it would take him much longer on foot. He had money now but that was little good to him, for he trusted no one on the road and could not risk buying passage south. If he came upon a town he might be able to purchase a horse, and it was that single hope that kept him going.

  Then, to his surprise, Lorn heard voices. He stopped in the road to listen. There was no movement up ahead, no horse hooves or wagon wheels. Whoever it was had stopped, too, but the bend in the road prevented him from seeing. There was a group of people, unquestionably, and for a moment the sound was familiar. He dared to hope that it might be the Believers. .

  As he crept up the road, his hope was rewarded. There they were, all of them, pulled off on the side of the road, waiting. Lorn stepped out from the bend and stared in happy shock. Atop the wagon, Eiriann was first to notice him.

  ‘Lorn!’ she called.

  Every head turned at her cry. Lorn hurried toward them. Eiriann, holding the baby as always, got down from the wagon and went to him, followed close behind by her father, then Bezarak and the others.

  ‘You waited?’ asked Lorn. ‘I told you to go on to Ganjor.’

  ‘Yes, you told me,’ said Eiriann. ‘But I knew you’d make it out.’ Her smile, like her faith in him, seemed boundless. She handed him Poppy, who cooed at his familiar touch. ‘Remember what I told you? You belong with us, Lorn.’

  ‘Aye,’ agreed Majis. ‘We knew you’d make it out.’

  Lorn’s expression grew stormy. ‘I should be angry with you. You took a great risk.’

  Eiriann gave him a wicked smile. ‘Well, we could leave you here if you prefer, or we can all go to Ganjor. What say you, King Lorn?’

  None of them expected his thanks. It was not his way and they knew it. So instead Lorn reached into his pocket and pulled out the gold coins he’d stolen from Erlik. Showing them to the Believers, he said, ‘I say we ride for Ganjor. And this time when we get there we won’t have to beg for help.’

  28

  The Valley of the Kreels

  For two days and nights, Gilwyn travelled east across the desert with only Emerald and the enigmatic Ghost for company. He had enough supplies for the journey and had promised Minikin he would return — unharmed — with as many kreels as he could manage. It had been a bold promise, and often during his trip Gilwyn wondered how he would keep it. The valley of the kreels was little known to him, and despite the tutoring of friendly Jadori warriors he didn’t really know what to expect there. He would find kreels there; that he knew for certain. Hour by hour, as he drew closer, he could feel them ever stronger in his mind. Better than any compass or map, the powerful sense of their reptilian lives directed him across the desert.

  His companion offered little company. Gilwyn had never really liked Ghost, not since their first meeting during the Liirian war. The albino was everything Gilwyn was not — brash and arrogant and skilled in battle — and after two days of travelling Gilwyn simply decided they had little to talk about. Mostly, he had agreed to Ghost’s presence to appease Minikin, who had insisted he take a bodyguard on the trip. It annoyed Gilwyn that no one thought he could take care of himself, even with Emerald’s help, but in the end he was grateful for Ghost’s meagre companionship.

  All that second day the pair rode quietly, Gilwyn atop Emerald, Ghost riding an ugly, single-humped drowa. The drowa were the horses of the desert, and like the kreels they were capable of going great distances without water. They had no beauty at all and the plainness of his mount seemed to irritate Ghost, who was an accomplished horseman. The drowa, however, did an excellent job of keeping up with Emerald, a feat Ghost grudgingly admitted when at last they bedded down for the night. Ghost made the fire while Gilwyn unrolled their bedding and broke out some food. Their rations were simple but Gilwyn was famished and looked forward to eating. They had made great progress through the day, and both men were pleased. As Ghost blew on the tiny embers, coaxing up a fire fit for cooking, Gilwyn dropped down next to him, holding a pan filled with bacon in his good hand. Ghost saw the food and smiled, taking a whiff of the uncooked meat.

  ‘Not long now,’ he predicted, ‘and I can eat all of it myself.’

  ‘There’s enough still,’ said Gilwyn. ‘We’ve been good about making it last.’

  Ghost fanned the growing flames, carefully waving his hand over them. Now that the sun was down he had lowered his heavy garb, revea
ling his strangely handsome face. Gilwyn watched him curiously. Sometime tomorrow they would reach the valley, and he still hadn’t really gotten to know the Inhuman. Ghost pretended not to see Gilwyn staring at him. He cocked his chin toward Emerald.

  ‘She’s hungry, too,’ he told Gilwyn. ‘She needs to hunt.’

  Gilwyn turned his mind toward Emerald, feeling her hunger like a sharp pain. Without him to slow her down, she could hunt her own meal among the snakes and rodents of the desert.

  Go on, girl, he told her, not bothering to speak.

  Her grateful response came to him across the distance. Then she was gone, slipping quickly away and vanishing into the night. He could hear her claws padding through the sand, but only for a moment. A second later he heard nothing at all. If he concentrated, he could feel her still. But he let the link with her fade as he turned his attention back to the fire. Ghost was talking about bread.

  ‘I still have some in my packs. We should eat it now, before it gets too old.’

  He got up and let Gilwyn start cooking the bacon while he rummaged through his bags. The drowa sat watching him with big, bored eyes. He’d feed the beast later, Gilwyn knew, but not before he fed himself. Ghost returned with the bread he had saved and a leather bag of plump dates, a staple among desert travellers. Unable to hold the pan and grab a date at the same time, Gilwyn opened his mouth so Ghost could toss one in.

  ‘Thanks,’ he said, chewing and shuffling the pan. Already it smelled wonderful. Ghost leaned back on his elbow, patiently eating dates while watching Gilwyn cook. He remained quiet for a long time. Then, finally, he spoke.

  ‘We’ll be in the valley tomorrow. By noon, I’d say.’

  Gilwyn nodded. ‘Yes. I can feel the kreels. We’re very near now.’

  ‘You can feel them.’ Ghost shook his head. ‘That’s weird.’

  ‘No weirder than making yourself disappear, I’d say.’ Gilwyn chuckled. ‘To tell the truth, I think you’re the odd one, friend.’

  Ghost tossed a date high into the air, catching it on his tongue. ‘Sure you do.’ He chewed a moment then swallowed hard. ‘That’s what everyone thinks.’

  ‘I didn’t mean offence. .’

  ‘No, nobody means offence. I know that. In Grimhold everyone looks odd, yet they stare at me because they’ve never seen a person with my colouring. Think about that, Gilwyn Toms — here’s a place where half the people are blind or hunchbacked, yet they stare at me.’ Ghost laughed good-naturedly, covering his anger. ‘Am I offended, though? No. So go ahead and stare. Get a good look.’

  Gilwyn felt his face beginning to redden. ‘I stare because you’re interesting-looking. I never saw an albino before, and neither have a lot of the other Inhumans.’

  ‘Interesting-looking? That just sounds like another word for ugly.’

  ‘No, that’s not what I mean at all.’ Gilwyn gave the bacon an expert toss. ‘You’re striking, that’s what I mean. Some of the other Inhumans are hard to look at, I admit. But not you. You’re. .’ He smiled. ‘Interesting.’

  ‘Ah, now if only the fondness of a young man made my heart race!’ joked Ghost. ‘Unfortunately I like girls. And there’s not too many of them who want a white-skinned freak for a suitor, especially not the girls in the village.’

  ‘They don’t know you. Here, bring those plates over. .’

  Ghost did as asked, extending two dull metal plates they had brought with them from Jador. Gilwyn slid some bacon onto one, then the other, then set his pan down into the sand beside the fire. The pan hissed as it seared the earth.

  ‘You hide behind those wraps all day,’ Gilwyn continued. He settled back, picking up a stout chunk of bacon with his fingers. ‘You need to let people see you.’

  ‘I have to cover myself,’ said Ghost. ‘And if you’re going to be nasty I won’t share my dates with you.’

  ‘Spend some time in the village at night, then, when you can be more yourself. Let the girls get to know you. If you did, they’d like you.’

  ‘You’ve been learning at the knee of Lukien, eh? He has a way with the women, too. Looks like his talent is rubbing off on you.’

  ‘I know about as much about women as I do about being regent,’ said Gilwyn. The turn in the conversation ruined his appetite. ‘I just think you should stop hiding, that’s all. Maybe being able to disappear isn’t such a good thing.’

  Ghost took a moment to eat, considering Gilwyn’s words and falling back into his usual quietness. Gilwyn glanced down at his plate, sure he had said too much. As he raised his head to apologise, he saw something odd rising behind the albino. He stared at it, thinking it the drowa. .

  Gilwyn tossed his plate aside, shouting and reaching for Ghost. He grabbed the Inhuman and dragged him forward just as the thing plunged forward. A great blur of snakeskin and shadow collided with the fire, scattering embers like fireworks. Gilwyn scrambled to get away, fumbling to pull Ghost to safety.

  ‘Rass!’ he shouted. ‘Run!’

  Ghost was on his feet in an instant, diving for his sword. The huge shadow rose up over the darkened camp, its hissing tongue tasting the air. Gilwyn rolled from the fire, the rain of embers catching his hair and skin. His clubfoot twisted in the sand as he struggled upward. He had no weapon. The gigantic cobra fixed him in its lidless gaze.

  He needed to run but couldn’t. Ghost cried out and waved his sword.

  ‘Here, monster!’ he sneered. He lunged, slashing the beast then quickly falling back, trying to draw the rass away. Annoyed, the snake coiled quickly to face him.

  ‘Disappear!’ Gilwyn cried.

  Ghost backpedalled. ‘I can’t! It’ll see me!’

  It was a trick for human minds, Gilwyn realised suddenly. Ghost was helpless. Gilwyn reached down and found his frying pan in the sand. With all his might he winged it at the creature’s hood. Again the monster turned to face him.

  It wants food. .

  The realisation struck him squarely. Suddenly he was in the beast’s skin, just as he’d been in Emerald’s and the other kreels. He focused, standing very still, penetrating the black eyes of the serpent, reaching deep into its primeval brain.

  No food. Danger here!

  The rass wavered, its wide hood blocking out the moon. Watching Gilwyn, its eyes grew distant. Gilwyn knew the beast could hear him. Sweat beaded down his forehead as he fought to hold the thing in sway.

  ‘Get out of here!’ Ghost shouted. ‘Run, for Fate’s sake!’

  Slowly, Gilwyn raised his hands, opening his palms as if to calm the creature and hoping Ghost understood his gesture. Vaguely he could see the Inhuman backing up, shaking his head in confusion.

  ‘I’m all right,’ he said, his voice trancelike. ‘Ghost, keep stepping back. Be ready. .’

  ‘Ready? For what?’

  Gilwyn couldn’t answer. All his mind-power focused on the task. His body started shaking. Carefully he split his thoughts, sending out a tiny tremor to Emerald.

  No food, he told the rass. Leave here. .

  But the rass would not go. Gilwyn dipped deeper into its fearsome mind, picking his way through the primitive urges, searching for something — anything — to scare the creature. He could feel Emerald, too, very near and closing fast. The kreel had sensed his need.

  Kreels are coming, he told the rass. His heart beat like thunder as he stared into the snake’s fanged maw. A dizzying ache split his skull. Kreels. .

  Then, like a giant’s angry fist, Emerald exploded over the dune. Claws bared, she howled and collided with the mesmerised rass, raking her knifelike nails against its underbelly and burying her teeth into its face. The two reptiles tumbled in the darkness, showering the camp with sand. The tail of the rass whipped around to seize the kreel, wrapping as it tumbled, working its way along Emerald’s bulging body. A spray of blood struck Gilwyn’s face. Dazed, he fell back just as Ghost tossed himself into the melee. Sword flashing, the albino slashed the snake’s leathery skin. Emerald gave an angry hiss, burying her snout into the r
ass’ hood and ripping out a great chunk. Her claws worked like those of a digging dog, spilling guts from the rass’ ruined belly. With a mighty shudder, the snake rose up and shook off its attackers. It stared at Gilwyn, seized by disbelief.

  Then fell like timber.

  Ghost collapsed to his knees. Emerald sniffed at the beast’s twitching body. And Gilwyn, so exhausted he could barely stand, sent his kreel his silent thanks. The camp lay ruined. But all was blessedly silent. Ghost stuck his sword straight up in the sand.

  ‘Gilwyn,’ he gasped, ‘next time you send your kreel hunting, try keeping her a bit closer.’

  By morning the next day, Gilwyn knew they were close to the kreel valley.

  They had abandoned their camp after the rass attack, travelling by moonlight for an hour until Gilwyn found a place he felt sure was free of rass. Now that he had encountered one and sensed its mind, he knew what the creatures felt like and how to avoid them, a trick which Ghost reminded him would have been a lot handier had it been discovered an hour earlier. After a restless night’s sleep, they awoke at dawn and quickly took to travelling. The drowa seemed particularly pleased to see the sun again, though all of them, even Emerald, were grateful for the light.

  The morning had been wonderfully uneventful. They had not encountered a single trouble, not even a scorpion. By desert standards, it was even cool. Gilwyn took the lead as they rode, using his mind to search out the valley, sure that they were getting close. All around the sands had given way to hard earth, sprouting with hearty greenery and rocks. Miraculously, they had found a fruit tree defiantly growing between the cracks in a gigantic boulder. Ghost had climbed up the rock and brought down a bounty of the tangy citrus, which he called goak and rightfully claimed was delicious. The fresh fruit replenished them, and both young men had smiles on their faces as they rode the last few miles to the valley.