by John Marco
Gilwyn stopped himself, struggling with the story. Lorn remained quiet.
‘White-Eye can’t go out into the sunlight, you see. It drove her mad with pain.’
‘And that blinded her,’ said Lorn, understanding. It was a horrible tale, and he felt for the girl. ‘This Kahldris is a monster.’
‘He is,’ said Gilwyn, ‘and it’s my fault he went after White-Eye. He was after me, my lord.’
‘You? Why?’
Gilwyn explained the happening, how Kahldris had known of his close relationship with White-Eye, and how he had attacked the girl to hurt him. Lorn listened curiously, surprised by the spirit’s vitriol. It made sense to him that an enemy should attack his foe’s loved ones; he had done the same from time to time.
‘But why you?’ he asked Gilwyn. ‘What does Kahldris hope to gain by harming you?’
‘I don’t know,’ Gilwyn confessed. ‘Minikin doesn’t know either.’
Lorn’s eyes narrowed to slits. ‘And what else?’
‘Eh?’
‘You didn’t come to me just to tell me this story, Gilwyn Toms. There is more you wish to tell me, I can see it in your eyes. Out with it. . what’s your other bad news?’
‘A request.’ Gilwyn leaned closer and lowered his voice. ‘You’re the first person here I’m telling. Minikin and the others in Grimhold already know, but nobody here in Jador. I’m leaving. I’m going after Baron Glass myself.’
Lorn gave a wolfish grin. He was not surprised at all. ‘I guessed as much. It is what a man would do.’
Gilwyn sat back. ‘You mean you approve?’
‘I do. This creature has wronged you. It is right that you should have your vengeance.’ Lorn paused for a moment, considering what he was saying. ‘But. . well, I must say this — you are hardly a warrior. If you do this thing it will be at your peril. It’s a cruel road north, and then you’ll be in Liiria, and Liiria is not the way you left it, Gilwyn Toms.’ He couldn’t help notice the boy’s clubbed hand, which suddenly stood out as if throbbing. ‘You may not be ready for this.’
‘I don’t intend to fight Thorin, my lord. I just want to talk to him, try and make him listen to reason. He cares about me; he always did. When we came south he protected me. He won’t harm me.’
‘You sound so sure of yourself, but I can see the truth in you. Your friend, Baron Glass — did he care so much for you that he stopped this spirit beast from harming White-Eye? Clearly not. What makes you think he is even in control of himself any longer?’
Gilwyn was hesitant. ‘I don’t know.’
‘And this Kahldris? Why did he attack your girl and not you directly?’ Lorn reached out and poked a finger insistently into Gilwyn’s chest. ‘You must think on these things, boy. You must think of every small possibility. Can you not see that this is what the beast wants? It wants you to come. It attacked the kahana to move you forward.’
‘I thought of that,’ said Gilwyn. ‘But why?’
‘Why? How should I know? It’s you the creature wants. Why do you think?’
Gilwyn’s face was blank. ‘I can’t think of anything. I’ve tried. .’
Lorn sighed in anger. ‘You should not go alone. It’s too dangerous. You’re not prepared.’
‘I have to go, and I have to go alone. There’s nobody else I can trust, and besides everyone else is needed here.’
They looked at each other, not saying a word. Between them they knew the choice was obvious. Lorn wondered if that was why Gilwyn had come to him. Suddenly he saw his peaceful life slipping away.
‘Ask me,’ he said, ‘and I won’t refuse you.’
Gilwyn smiled. ‘I know you wouldn’t. But that’s not why I’m here. I don’t want you to come with me, my lord. You have a new life here. You belong here with the others.’
‘Then what?’ Lorn asked, sure there was more. ‘You must want something from me.’
‘I do,’ said Gilwyn. ‘And I don’t ask this lightly. I’ve had time to think, and I think this is the right thing to do. King Lorn, Jador needs someone strong to look after it now. Without me here, the people will need a leader.’
‘And. .?’
‘And you’re the obvious choice.’ Gilwyn waited for Lorn’s reaction. ‘What do you think?’
‘I think you should think again,’ said Lorn. He laughed at the notion. ‘You see? You are too innocent for this world, boy. If you knew me you would never ask such a thing.’
‘But I am asking,’ said Gilwyn. ‘You’re strong enough, and the Jadori respect you. I’m just asking for you to look after them, that’s all. If Prince Aztar comes back or something else happens, the city will need a leader. White-Eye can’t do it.’
‘Then Minikin shall.’
‘No, she can’t do it either,’ said Gilwyn. ‘She’s changed, and this thing with White-Eye has only made it worse. She has too much to deal with, too much responsibility. I don’t know; maybe she’s just getting old.’
‘And what am I?’ Lorn argued. ‘I am old, Gilwyn Toms.’
‘But you’re a king! You know how to run a city, how to defend it if need be, how to feed people. .’
‘Learn your history, boy. Norvor was in famine.’
‘I know all that,’ said Gilwyn. ‘I know they used to call you King Lorn the Wicked. But I don’t believe any of it.’
‘You should.’ Lorn found it hard to look at the earnest boy. ‘It’s all true.’
‘It isn’t,’ insisted Gilwyn. ‘I’ve seen you here, working with the Jadori, helping us all rebuild. I’ve seen you with your daughter, and how tender you are with Eiriann. If you were wicked you would have killed Poppy yourself. They throw children like her into rivers in Norvor, don’t they?’
Lorn nodded, unhappy with this dark practice.
‘But you didn’t toss her into a river. You saved her.’
‘Because she reminds me of my wife,’ said Lorn.
‘So? If she didn’t, would you have killed her? I don’t think so. I don’t really care if others think you’re wicked. I think you’re a good man, and that’s all that matters.’ Gilwyn smiled with cunning. ‘I’m the regent, after all.’
The boy’s faith was remarkable. Just like Eiriann, he was oblivious to Lorn’s unsavoury past. What was it about the young, Lorn wondered, that made them so trusting?
‘You honour me,’ he said. ‘You may think I deserve this honour, but I do not. I was a ruthless king. And I would not do anything different given the chance. I ruled in a time of chaos, you see. If chaos came to Jador, what do you think King Lorn the Wicked would do?’
‘Whatever necessary. I had books in Liiria, my lord. I was educated and I knew all about you and your reign. I know you stole the throne when King Mor died, and I know-’
‘Stop,’ bade Lorn. ‘I did not steal the throne. It was vacant and I took it. It was Jazana Carr who stole the throne, not I.’ Then his countenance softened a bit. ‘But I take your point. So if you know so much about me, then you know what I am, deep in my soul. Not a tyrant or a hero.’
‘Just a man who did his best, I think,’ said Gilwyn. He looked at Lorn imploringly. ‘That’s all I’m asking for, my lord. Someone to look after the city, someone who’ll do his best.’
Lorn couldn’t help but chuckle, for his life had taken such meandering turns. First Eiriann and her companions had trusted him, and now this naive boy. He’d done nothing to warrant such trust, yet it intoxicated him. So did the idea of governing Jador. At last, perhaps, he could right some old wrongs.
‘Very well,’ he agreed. ‘I will look after this city for you, Gilwyn Toms.’
Gilwyn’s face lit. ‘You will?’
‘I will. But you must do something for me.’
‘What?’ asked the boy guardedly.
‘Two things,’ said Lorn. ‘First, you must promise me you will look after yourself, and not leave this task in my hands forever. You will need aid in your journey, so when you reach Ganjor you must find Princess Salina.’
‘T
he princess? Why?’
‘Because she will help you, as she helped me. You will be exhausted when you cross the desert. She’ll give you rest and food, and probably anything else you’ll need. Ask around in the taverns for a man named Kamag or Dahj; one of them will know where to find Salina. Tell them I sent you.’
‘All right,’ said Gilwyn, a bit suspiciously. ‘What else?’
A sly smile curled Lorn’s lips. ‘I want you to deliver a message for me.’ He stood up, digging his fingers into the pocket of his trousers. There he found his ring of kingship, the only remaining proof of his once lofty station. He never wore the ring any more, yet he always kept it with him, like a charm. He held the ring out for Gilwyn to see.
‘What’s that?’ asked Gilwyn, his eyes becoming saucers.
‘This is my ring of kingship,’ Lorn said. ‘Look, see the seal? It means that I am the rightful King of Norvor.’ He admired the ring for a time. ‘Here, put out your hand,’ he ordered. When Gilwyn hesitated he snapped, ‘Do it.’
The boy obeyed, and into his upturned palm Lorn placed the ring.
‘You’ll be going into the realm of Jazana Carr,’ said Lorn. ‘Your friend, Baron Glass — he’ll be with her, most likely.’
‘No,’ said Gilwyn, almost laughing. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘Boy, you have no idea how treacherous men are. He loved her once. And she has power.’
Gilwyn shook his head. ‘You don’t trust anyone, do you? Thorin’s not like that, my lord.’
‘It doesn’t matter. Even if you’re right, the bitch-queen will still be in your land. If you see her, give this to her.’ Lorn closed Gilwyn’s fingers around the ring. ‘Go and have your vengeance, Gilwyn Toms. Take your revenge on the creature that harmed White-Eye. But take my vengeance with you, too. Tell Jazana Carr that she has not beaten me. Tell her that I yet live, and that someday I’ll be back for her.’
It thrilled Lorn just to say the words. He stared at Gilwyn with icy eyes.
‘Will you do that for me?’
There was fire in Gilwyn’s eyes. He nodded gravely. ‘I will,’ he said. ‘If I see her, I’ll give this ring to her, and your message.’
Lorn swelled with a pride he hadn’t felt in months. ‘Good,’ he declared. ‘And one more thing — tell her not to lose the ring. Someday, it will be mine again.’
49
The Rolgan Drums
Baron Thorin Glass, his entire body encased in armour, rode to a ridge overlooking the city of Koth and peered through the slits of his miraculous helmet. In the hills and valleys surrounding his homeland he saw the great noose of men and war machines he had assembled. In the weak light of the moon they were all plainly clear to him. His eyes — like a cat’s — scanned every brigade and company, camped and ready for the coming siege. The ridge was good, he decided. From here he could command and wait for his forces to overwhelm the city.
Baron Glass looked north and saw the towers of the library winking at him. It had taken weeks to march his men from Andola, and days more to get them all in place. He could have taken Koth with half as many men, but he was not inclined to fight until the odds were devastatingly in his favour. Now, though, he had an army of ten thousand, and knew that victory would not slip him.
‘Here,’ he declared. He did not look over his shoulder but instead kept his gaze on the city. ‘This will be my command post.’
Rodrik Varl rode up closer, leaving behind his contingent of mercenaries. Thorin knew he had no need for bodyguards, but Jazana insisted on the precaution and Varl now went with him everywhere. Thorin could feel the man’s hatred, but Varl was a good soldier and never questioned orders. To Thorin, he seemed pathetic.
‘This slope is perfect,’ he remarked. ‘Not too steep.’
Varl acknowledged the incline half-heartedly. They could ride down from it easily and be near Koth’s gates. The men with Varl nodded but said nothing. Like most of the army, they feared Thorin. After what he’d done to Count Onikil none of them had guts enough to challenge him, and it sickened Thorin to be so surrounded by sycophants.
‘I’ll stay here until the gates fall, or until the Chargers are beaten,’ he told Varl, noting the many Royal Chargers that had already been moved into the city proper. Apparently, Breck had known they would try to take the city first before moving on the library, and had responded by placing horsemen and archers near the entrance to protect the population. His strategy pleased Thorin; there would be fewer men to defend Library Hill.
‘It will take the morning to defeat them,’ said Varl. ‘They’ll have the city and all its hiding spots.’
‘Kaj is in place at the other end?’
Rodrik Varl nodded. ‘All ready.’
Kaj and his mercenary Crusaders were to enter the other side of the city, splitting off from Varl’s men near the library. Like a pincer, Demortris’ and Kaj’s soldiers would clamp down on Breck’s brigade, forcing them to fight on two fronts. There would be no chance at all for them. Demortris, a Rolgan, already had his own men in position. Glass could see them below the ridge, many hundreds of them, at the head of his great army. He had promoted Demortris to head the Rolgans after Onikil’s death, an honour the ambitious nobleman acknowledged by kneeling to kiss Thorin’s enchanted hand. Demortris seemed to have no fear of Thorin or his strange armour. The only thing that motivated him was the need to win in battle. He was not a fop like Onikil, but rather a man who had spent a lifetime biting and scratching for everything he’d earned. It did not bother him at all that Onikil was dead or that Baron Glass had killed him. He had never liked the count and promised Thorin to earn his respect.
‘Demortris takes the city before you move on the library,’ Thorin reminded Varl. ‘No one fires an arrow without my orders, understood? Just hold your lines, and keep them contained.’
‘We’ll bottle them up, don’t worry,’ Varl assured him. ‘My men know what they’re doing, Thorin.’
‘Just make sure they obey,’ Thorin cautioned, afraid that any one of them might enter the library and find the thinking machine first. He did not know why Kahldris craved the thing so badly, but the demon had made his demands plain — no one was to touch the thinking machine. ‘You’ll wait for me personally,’ Thorin continued. ‘After Breck and his men surrender the city, the library may fall without a drop of blood.’
‘It won’t,’ said Varl. His dark certainty irritated Thorin.
‘We can hope, at least.’
It did him no good to summon the strength of the armour or Kahldris’ seemingly endless confidence. He dreaded the morning. He was not the monster that possessed him; that much he knew for certain, no matter how Kahldris changed his appearance or opinions. There was much good in Kahldris, but there was much to fear as well, and Thorin did not want the Liirians to fear him. He wanted them to embrace him, and the greatness he would once again bring their city.
‘Look at that city, Varl,’ he said softly. ‘Once it was beautiful. Greater than Norvor or Marn or Reec or. .’ He shrugged. ‘Great because the idea of it made it great.’
Varl looked at the city, trying to appreciate it. ‘That was too long ago,’ he said with real sadness. ‘It will take much to make it great again. More than Jazana’s fortune, even.’
Thorin sat up tall. ‘It will take vision and strength.’
‘Breck has strength,’ offered Varl.
‘He does, but not enough to take Liiria where it needs to go, and not enough to forge a great alliance with Norvor.’
The idea thrilled Thorin. He could even feel Kahldris tingle within him. Together, Liiria and Norvor would be unstoppable, and it had taken Kahldris to show him the truth of it.
But he missed Jazana terribly, and the thought of killing Breck made all the glory fade. He wished he could fall into Jazana’s bed, to have her stroke his head and reassure him, but she was back in Andola, too far away to help him. Worse, the sight Kahldris had granted him had let him ask questions a mortal man should never know the answers to.
He knew Lukien had come to stop him. Even now Lukien was in the city with Breck, waiting for the morning and his futile chance to stop the things the Great Fate had ordained.
Baron Glass hid his sorrow behind his frightful helmet. He was about to dismiss Varl and the others when a strange sound reached his ears.
‘What is that?’ he asked, searching the hills.
‘Drums,’ said Varl after a moment. ‘The Rolgans.’
Thorin nodded. ‘Yes. .’
The Rolgan war drums pounded out their faint, fearsome music. The militant beat thrummed through the night like the insistent chiming of a clock, counting down the minutes till morning. Demortris’ drummers sent up a terrible call, summoning the men of Vicvar and the chariots of Poolv to their banner, and shaking the courage of Breck’s brave defenders. Thorin listened to the mournful drumbeat, hating it. He turned his horse away from the city.
‘Get to your men,’ he told Varl. ‘Tell them to sit tight. It will be a long morning before they do any fighting.’
Without looking back at Koth or its magnificent library, Thorin rode away from the ridge, eager to reach his pavilion and silence the Rolgan drums.
A scarlet moon hung over the city. The tips of countless spears glinted in the light. Towering catapults hurled shadows against the hills, and the creaking of chariot wheels floated on the wind. If he listened carefully, Breck could hear the distant voices of the Norvans surrounding Koth, whispering about the coming battle as they readied their machines and weapons. From his place in the avenue, he could see past the gates of Koth to the vast army facing him, near enough to count the sea of helmets. He had never seen so great an army, and the sight of it fascinated him. Thorin and his men had surrounded Koth. Perhaps four thousand men faced the front of the city. Another four thousand led by the mercenary Kaj threatened the east side, and yet another force, smaller than the others, had camped at the bottom of Library Hill. The invincible baron had chosen to attack the city itself, forcing Breck to leave the security of the library to protect those still inside the city. And though many of the populace had ridden south for Farduke and northeast for Reec, there were still many more who had remained. Despite its size, the library was too small to accommodate them all. Breck knew Thorin’s strategy was a good one, and that there was no way at all they could hold off his onslaught, not once his army breached the city. But he and his Chargers had sworn to protect Koth and its citizens. He would not let them be slaughtered while he watched from Library Hill.