The Sword Of Angels (Gollancz S.F.)

by John Marco

  Still, he had work to do. He surveyed the stack of books awaiting him, unsure where to start again. They were books on varied subjects, but all with an underlying theme of death and the spirit world. The fact that none of them even mentioned the Akari no longer bothered Gilwyn; he had given up on that tack. Now, all he wanted to know was how the bond between man and spirit was formed. And how it could be broken.

  He thought of White-Eye again, and how she had lost her beloved Akari, Faralok. It was pain that had driven him away from her, the intense pain of the desert sun. According to Minikin, the pain had shattered the bond between human and Akari forever. It seemed a simple enough plan, but how could anyone inflict such pain on Thorin Glass? When he wore his armour, he was invincible. And he had lost an arm in battle years ago. He knew pain already, and how to cope with it. To Gilwyn, the notion of inflicting such pain on Thorin seemed hopeless.

  ‘White-Eye was young,’ he mused aloud. He considered this, and how little pain she had really endured up until she lost Faralok. ‘She didn’t know pain until then, not really.’ He rubbed his temples distractedly. ‘And if I’d been there to protect her . . .’

  Stop, said Ruana. There’s nothing to be gained.

  Gilwyn nodded, but in his heart felt the emptiness. It was good to be back in the Koth, among his books and his own people, but more than anything he wanted to see White-Eye again. He told himself that soon this nightmare would be over, and that Lukien would return to save Thorin from himself, but he didn’t really believe it. Too many months had passed. And he could not leave Thorin, not after the promise he had made to him.

  ‘I have to save him, Ruana,’ he whispered desperately. ‘It’s up to me.’

  Then, like a cold breeze, he felt Kahldris roll into the room. At first he did not see the demon. There was only the chill on his skin and the strange sense that they were not alone. Frightened, Gilwyn looked to the threshold of the chamber, then saw a shadow growing beneath the archway. The shadow poured itself like treacle, rising from floor to ceiling into the black shape of a man. A dark maw opened to speak.

  ‘There once was a boy named Gilwyn Toms,’ came the booming voice, ‘who thought he could save the world.’

  ‘Fate above,’ Gilwyn gasped.

  The black mass congealed and solidified, changing suddenly into Kahldris. The demon stood in the doorway, smiling, holding a book in his hand. The book opened effortlessly, the pages turning. Kahldris shook his white head.

  ‘You can look and look forever, boy,’ he taunted. He snapped the book closed and tossed it into the room where it landed near Gilwyn’s table. ‘What have you found? Anything? Is there anything at all in this whole cursed place that’s any help at all?’

  Gilwyn rounded the table to face the spirit. ‘You finally decided to come yourself, eh? No more apparitions of my mother?’

  ‘Your mother tires me,’ sighed Kahldris. ‘Don’t worry, boy – I will think of other nightmares for you.’

  ‘Go ahead,’ challenged Gilwyn. ‘I’m still here. You can’t frighten me away, no matter what form you come in.’

  Kahldris floated into the reading chamber. ‘I have frightened you. You haven’t come back here for days. My little trick scared you, didn’t it, boy?’

  Gilwyn hardened. The way Kahldris had turned the familiar library into a labyrinth had indeed frightened him, but he would never admit it to the demon. ‘You can’t keep me away from here. Somewhere in here there’s a book that will tell me what I want to know.’

  ‘You’re wasting your time,’ said Kahldris. He waved his ethereal hand at the books on the table. ‘All this superstition and nonsense, writing of shamans and charlatans. What do you hope they will tell you? Your own Akari can’t tell you how to beat me!’

  ‘Get out,’ Gilwyn thundered. ‘Go, get away from me.’

  Kahldris looked hurt. ‘Oh, now you’re angry. What will you do? Tell Baron Glass? Go run to him like a little boy? You haven’t done that yet, and you won’t because he won’t have anyone speak against me. Don’t you see? You’re losing him.’

  Infuriated, Gilwyn stood his ground. ‘If I was losing him, you wouldn’t be here. You’re the one who’s afraid, Kahldris. That’s why you’re here to threaten me.’

  ‘No, indeed, Gilwyn Toms,’ said Kahldris. His expression was mischievous. ‘I’m here to warn you, that’s all.’ He cupped a hand to his ear. ‘Listen . . .’

  Against the silent backdrop, Gilwyn heard footfalls suddenly. His heart tripped. ‘What’s that?’

  ‘A surprise,’ said Kahldris.

  ‘Another of your tricks.’

  ‘Not a trick,’ said the demon. He stepped aside so that Gilwyn could see down the hall. ‘You have visitors.’

  Gilwyn heard voices rolling down the corridor, the rough sounds of men. He looked around suspiciously, but so far nothing in the library had changed.

  ‘I assure you, it is not my conjuring,’ said Kahldris. ‘Go and see for yourself. And remember what I said, Gilwyn Toms – you are losing Baron Glass.’

  As quickly as he’d come, Kahldris disappeared, blinking out of the chamber, leaving Gilwyn alone and bewildered. From the corridor outside, he heard the voices nearing, swarming through the library on booted feet. Alarmed, he hurried out of the chamber toward the noise. It wasn’t Thorin, Gilwyn knew – he would have recognized Thorin’s voice immediately. But Thorin hadn’t told him about any visitors to the library, and as Gilwyn rounded a bend in the hall he was stunned by what he saw at the other end.

  A man was moving through the library, backed up by a dozen Norvan soldiers. More soldiers moved behind them, fanning out through the halls and varied chambers. As Gilwyn came to a halt, the man caught sight of him and stopped, and suddenly a wide grin cut his rocky face. He was dressed like a nobleman, his vestments velvet and expensive looking, his black boots polished to an ebony shine. A blue cape drifted off his wide shoulders, flowing down his arrow-straight back. He acknowledged Gilwyn immediately, summoning him forward like a stable hand.

  ‘You, boy,’ called the man. ‘Come here.’

  Gilwyn hesitated. The soldiers were Norvan; he could tell by their dark uniforms. Norvans were common in Liiria, but he had never seen the stranger before. ‘Who are you?’ he asked. ‘What are you doing here?’

  The man in the blue cape strode toward him, followed directly by his bodyguards. ‘Your name is Gilwyn Toms, yes? I expected to find you here. Baron Glass told me to find you.’

  ‘Thorin? What’s he to do with this? Who are you?’

  ‘I am Duke Cajanis,’ the man pronounced, as if offended Gilwyn didn’t know. ‘You are Gilwyn Toms, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Gilwyn cautiously. He had heard the name Cajanis before, mostly among the Norvans who protected Lionkeep. ‘Duke Cajanis, from Hanging Man?’

  ‘There is no other Duke Cajanis, boy,’ laughed the nobleman. Like sycophants, his bodyguards laughed, too. ‘Why do you look so surprised?’

  Gilwyn wasn’t sure how to answer. ‘I wasn’t expecting anyone here today, my lord. I was working alone when I heard you and your men.’ He shrugged. ‘I don’t understand why you are here.’

  Duke seemed puzzled. ‘We’re here to protect the library. Don’t you know that?’

  ‘Protect the library? No, my lord . . .’

  ‘Yes, boy, yes,’ Cajanis insisted. ‘We’re here to see what’s needed.’ He looked over his shoulder, saying to his men, ‘It should be easy to defend. Frial, go with your men. Have them go around the back of the hill. I want to see if there’s any other way up here.’

  One of the man nodded and broke away. Another offered his own appraisal. ‘We can dig in on the road, my lord. And barricade the courtyard. We can station archers in the towers to keep from being charged.’

  ‘What?’ Gilwyn blurted. ‘What’s going on here?’

  Duke Cajanis turned on him, annoyed. ‘I told you, boy, we’re here to start defending the library. There’s a lot to do, you know, and you’ll ju
st be in the way.’

  ‘Duke Cajanis, I don’t understand,’ Gilwyn pleaded. ‘No one told me anything about this. I wasn’t expecting you or anybody! Please tell me what’s going on.’

  The duke’s eyebrows knitted, seeing Gilwyn’s distress. He told his men to go about their business, then put his big hand on Gilwyn’s shoulder as he led him down the hall. ‘Gilwyn Toms, you can help me,’ said the duke. ‘Baron Glass says you know this place better than anyone.’

  ‘Baron Glass hasn’t told me a thing about this!’

  The duke guided Gilwyn away from the others. ‘I see that,’ he said, not unsympathetically. ‘How old are you, boy?’

  ‘Nearly nineteen,’ replied Gilwyn.

  ‘Nineteen? Then you are man enough to know the truth. Liiria is in danger. The Reecians are on the march again, and word from Marn is that Nithins are coming, too. They’re making ready to war on us, and we’re making ready to defend ourselves. That’s why I’m here.’

  Gilwyn was shocked. ‘Thorin didn’t tell me about this . . .’

  ‘Baron Glass likes to keep you in the dark, it seems. No matter. You’ll know it all soon enough. He sent for me and my army to help defend Koth. The rest of them will be coming in the next week or so. We’re going to make sure nothing happens to the library this time, so don’t be afraid.’

  ‘No, this can’t be right.’ Gilwyn reeled away from the duke. ‘Thorin would have told me!’

  Duke Cajanis stiffened. ‘Ask him yourself if you don’t believe me. War is coming, Gilwyn Toms. The Reecians have already reached the Kryss. There are five-thousand of them, and no telling how many Nithins are on the way.’

  It was all too much for Gilwyn, who could barely believe what he was hearing. If the Nithins were on their way, that meant Lukien might be with them. But what about the Reecians? Hadn’t they been trounced already? Gilwyn tried gamely to keep calm, wondering just how much Thorin had withheld from him, his heart breaking with the thought.

  ‘Duke Cajanis, what’s going to happen now? I mean, what is Thorin planning?’

  ‘Planning? What he’s always been planning, boy! To kill his enemies.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Gilwyn with a nod. ‘His enemies . . .’

  ‘They’re all coming now. They mean to take Koth for themselves. Norvor too, if we let them.’ The Duke put his hands together, cracking his knuckles. ‘But we’re stronger than they think.’

  ‘Yes.’ Gilwyn grimaced, knowing the duke was infected by the same paranoia as Thorin. ‘So Thorin sent for you, then. He told you to come here to the library?’

  ‘This is where we’ll make our stand,’ proclaimed the duke. ‘Not in Lionkeep.’ He smiled at Gilwyn with warm insanity. ‘This time, we’re going to make sure nothing happens to the library.’

  Speechless, Gilwyn could only watch as Duke Cajanis turned back to his men and began shouting orders. The Norvan soldiers swarmed through the library, checking through the windows for good vantage points and sizing up the thick walls. As the duke walked away, he waved for Gilwyn to join him.

  ‘Come along, Toms,’ he chirped. ‘You can help us.’

  But Gilwyn couldn’t move. Distraught and deceived, he thought only about Thorin and all the good times they’d spent together. Had he made progress? He had thought so, but now he knew the truth. Then, like a flickering candle, Kahldris’ face flashed across his mind.

  You see? the demon whispered. You are losing.

  As he followed after Duke Cajanis, Gilwyn’s ears rang with Kahldris’ laughter.

  74

  Between the principality of Nith and the vast country of Liiria, only the city-state of Farduke stood as a barricade. For the army of Prince Daralor, that meant only a week-long march between home and their enemies, with only Farduke to stand in their way. The princes of Farduke had seen the army coming from their towers of bronze, having been made aware of the Nithins days before by Daralor’s heralds. Word had come back from Farduke’s rulers that they would not join the crusade to oust Baron Glass, but neither would they obstruct the Nithins in their march. Prince Daralor, who had openly voiced his disgust for Farduke during the trek north, laughed when his heralds returned with the news, and told his men to be careful when crossing Farduke territory.

  ‘Don’t crush the flowers,’ Daralor ordered his lieutenants.

  It was the kind of contempt Lukien had come to expect from Prince Daralor, a man with so many contradictions he was impossible to predict. He kept to himself, surrounded by his council of trusted advisors, but he spoke openly and warmly with Aric Glass, treating the young man like a little brother. At times, he barked fierce orders at his men, hissing at them to keep their pace or to better groom their animals, but every night while the army camped Daralor made sure to visit every campfire and see that his men were all right.

  For such a small country, Daralor had arrayed an impressive army. Besides his cavalry, which numbered close to a thousand, there were twice that many infantry marching alongside the horses, proudly displaying the green flag of Nith above their armoured heads. Daralor’s kennel masters had also brought with them nearly a hundred fighting dogs, great, hardheaded beasts with skin like leather and wide, slobbering jaws filled with sharp teeth. Lukien, who had fought against dogs in battle before, made sure to keep well away from the barred wagons that housed them. At night, when the men bedded down, Lukien could hear the soulful howling of the dogs. More than a few Norvan soldiers would lose their throats to the monsters, he was sure, but it was hawks that truly intrigued Lukien. Prince Daralor had an obvious affinity for using animals in battle, and so had brought three dozen trained hawks with him to use against Thorin. Aric had explained to Lukien that Daralor was a master hawker, and that his flying pets would make awesome adversaries in battle. The birds, which were kept in giant mesh cages, looked at Lukien peculiarly as he trotted alongside them. Like the dogs, they frightened Lukien, because he could not understand how their little brains worked or what they were thinking. They were a mystery to Lukien, like Daralor himself, and whether or not any of them could be trusted still alluded Lukien.

  Lukien had spent very little time with Daralor since meeting him in Nith. A few days after reaching the principality, Lukien, Ghost and Lorn were quickly on the march again, this time heading for Liiria with Daralor’s army. The prince himself had not taken the time to meet with Lukien privately. He was cordial to Lukien, seemed impressed by him, and that was all. In the brief exchanges they had at the castle, Daralor explained to Lukien how important it was that Baron Glass be stopped, and how much he detested the cowardly kings of Farduke and Marn and Jerikor, all of whom had spurned Aric Glass’ pleas to join them. Yet Daralor did not elaborate on his reasons for joining the crusade. He simply said that it was necessary, and that was all, leaving Lukien to wonder about his motives. They were pure, Lukien was sure, but that did not keep him from being curious.

  Aric, on the other hand, seemed completely at ease with Daralor. Daralor was a man of principle, Aric told Lukien, one of only two such rulers on the entire continent. The other ruler was Raxor, of course, who Prince Daralor himself called a ‘courageous old fool.’ Now that they were nearing Liiria – and the border with Reec – Aric was looking forward to his reunion with Raxor. Rumours abounded that Raxor’s army had already taken up positions near the river Kryss, ready for his rematch with Baron Glass. Aric chaffed a little when he spoke of it, openly worried about the old king. Like the rest of them, he was eager to reach Liiria and find out what was really going on.

  Out of all of them, however, Lorn was the most anxious to return home. As they drew farther north, the rumours about Jazana Carr’s death continued to grow. Some said she had killed herself. Others, amazingly, claimed Baron Glass had killed her. And to confound them even more, some people they met on the way north told them nothing at all about Norvor or the Diamond Queen, completely ignorant about both. To Lukien, the rumours were fascinating, even frightening. But to Lorn they were intoxicating, tantalizing him wit
h the notion that he just might be able to win back Norvor without a fight. Lorn and Lukien had spent very little time together since leaving Nith. Day by day, Lorn became more withdrawn, keeping to the rear of the army as it snaked its way north and rarely joining others at meal time. Mostly, the Norvan brooded, and while he rode his mind was a thousand miles away, his steely eyes hiding the dark workings going on behind them. No one in the company trusted Lorn, especially not Prince Daralor, but no one had forbidden Lorn to accompany them, either. He was a willing sword in the fight against Baron Glass, for that reason alone Daralor accepted him.

  Lukien had spent a good part of his over-long life on the road with soldiers, and so it was easy for him to fall into the natural rhythm of the march. Even with his homeland looming ever-nearer, he managed to remain calm and appreciate the long days and quiet nights. He had almost given up on ever getting to know Prince Daralor, until at last the enigmatic prince called Lukien to his tent. It was on the second night out of Farduke. The army had marched for miles that day, making good progress in the cooperative weather. Men had begun to bed down for the night, and cooking fires were already roiling. Lukien and Ghost had prepared their own places for the night. Because both of them were famished, they waited in line with the other Nithins while the cooks prepared supper. Lorn, as usual, waited alone, not joining the line. As Ghost passed a comment about their quiet friend, the ubiquitous Alsadair made a surprise appearance, taping Lukien on the shoulder.

  ‘Prince Daralor wants to see you,’ he said. He looked at Ghost. ‘And you, too.’

  Ghost perked up. ‘What’s this?’

  ‘A meeting,’ said Alsadair. He was uncharacteristically stiff as he spoke, his tone without humour. ‘We’ll be at the border soon. It’s time.’

  ‘Time for what?’ asked Lukien curiously.

  ‘He wants to speak to you,’ said Alsadair. ‘He’ll tell you why when he sees you. Bring Lorn, too.’