by John Marco
‘Take up the helmet, Baron Glass.’
Thorin shook his head. ‘Not yet.’
‘It is time. The sun comes quickly.’
‘I have questions,’ said Thorin softly.
Kahldris looked surprised. ‘Now? It’s not the time to be pensive.’
‘I want to know things. Before I become a butcher again, I want to know what you know, Kahldris.’
‘You know everything I know, Baron Glass. I have never hidden anything from you.’
‘No, it’s not so simple.’ Thorin stalked back to the window, biting his lip as he looked toward the horizon. Already Daralor’s forces were on the move, slowly cantering into the city. The start of the march made Kahldris uneasy, but Thorin held firm. ‘I am unstoppable in this armour, but they will try to stop me anyway,’ he said. ‘And I’ll be forced to kill them. You will blind me to their agonies and I’ll feel nothing, but right now my mind is clear, Kahldris, and I know what they are facing.’
Kahldris’ old face twisted. ‘Get on with your question.’
‘My question is this – what will happen to them?’
‘You know what will happen,’ growled Kahldris. ‘They will die. Why do you care? They come to kill you, Baron!’
‘No,’ Thorin argued, ‘that’s not what I mean.’ He looked imploringly at the spirit. ‘I mean what will happen to them after they die?’
Kahldris reared back, looking thoughtful. ‘Ah . . .’
‘I need to know this, Kahldris. Ease my conscience. Tell me what will happen. They will live on, yes? I send them only to their glory?’
‘Is that what you have believed?’ The Akari’s tone was slightly mocking. ‘All our time together, and now you want enlightenment.’ He shook his head doubtfully. ‘I wonder, Baron Glass, if you have truly looked outside that window.’
‘I know what we’re facing,’ said Thorin calmly. Truly, it hardly mattered to him. His mind was full of questions, because his hands were full of blood. ‘I killed Jazana and all those others. What’s happened to them? They live on, yes?’
Kahldris smirked with impatience. ‘Yes, they live on. You know this already.’
‘Where do they live on? In a world like this? Or in the kinds of worlds you’ve shown me?’
‘The world of the dead is different for everyone,’ said Kahldris.
‘But they do live on. Minikin told me that once. It’s not just Akari who go on.’
‘Why do you ask me this now?’
‘Because I’m going out there!’ Thorin raged. ‘Because I’ll kill a thousand men today. Do I send them to hell or to heaven? Tell me, Kahldris, please.’
Kahldris glanced away, turning from Thorin to stare contemplatively out the window. The pull on him was mighty; Thorin could see him struggling. ‘My brother is coming,’ he whispered. His voice cracked with nervousness. ‘There’s just no time to unravel this mystery for you. It is unknowable.’
The answered vexed Thorin. ‘How can that be? You exist in their world. Do you not see them, encounter their spirits?’
‘I am in your world as much as their worlds,’ Kahldris explained. He put his unearthly hands to the window, leaving no mark at all as he looked longingly at the armies ready to clash. ‘Let us go, Baron Glass.’
‘How is this unknowable? You have said there is a world beyond this one.’
‘Yes, yes . . .’
‘And what is beyond that? What gods are there? What angels or heavens?’
‘It is unknowable!’ shrieked Kahldris. ‘I have no answers for you! I live, and that is all. Those you kill will find their own worlds. Or they will not. I cannot know everything!’
Thorin stared in amazement. ‘You don’t know what lies beyond your world? What gods rule you?’
‘I rule myself,’ said Kahldris, desperate to end the talking. ‘You rule yourself. We are our own gods! We decide who lives and dies. Do you not see that? That is the power I have given you’ He fixed on Thorin, trying to make him understand. ‘Today, you will be the only god who matters to those men out there. Forget the Great Fate, Baron Glass. This day, you are a god.’
His awesome words left Thorin dumbstruck. It was a terrible gift he had taken from Kahldris, one that had rotted his mind and his morals both. There was no turning back from it; he knew that plainly. Liiria still needed him. There was still good he could do in the world, surely. Suddenly, more than anything, he wanted to see his son again. Thorin swallowed down the questions plaguing him, glancing one last time at the vision through the window. Kahldris, satisfied that he had convinced Thorin, dissolved into the air. His wordless voice rippled through the baron’s mind.
Now, Baron Glass. It’s time.
Thorin agreed reluctantly. Despite everything he’d done, only Kahldris had carried him so far. It was time to repay the demon’s kindnesses. As Thorin turned from the window, however, he spotted Gilwyn at the end of the chamber, the boy’s face partially hidden in shadows. Thorin had not heard him come in. Gilwyn stared at Thorin with a hopeless frown. His empty hands hung at his sides. Every other man in the library was dressed for battle, but not Gilwyn. Attired in his usual shirt and trousers, his boot with the special hinge wrapped around his clubbed foot, he looked as if the day was like any other, to be spent studying the library’s vast shelves. His gaze told a different story, though, penetrating Thorin with his odd mix of love and shelter. Despite Kahldris’s insistence, the baron could no longer rush away.
‘You shouldn’t have come,’ he told Gilwyn gently. ‘This is my quiet time. I won’t have any more of it today.’
‘It’s dawn,’ said Gilwyn. ‘I had to come.’
Thorin made his way to the table where his helmet waited. There he paused, reaching for it then stopping. The death’s head face of the thing leered at him, taunting him to pick it up.
‘I wish you had listened to me,’ said Thorin. ‘I wish you had gone when I told you, left when you had the chance. Now . . .’ He shrugged. ‘You’re stuck here.’
‘I’m not afraid,’ said Gilwyn. He managed to smile at his old friend. ‘I told you, I’m not leaving you.’
‘You should have given up on me, instead of trapping yourself here,’ Thorin groaned. ‘I can’t change, and the dead are dead.’ Finally, he picked up the helmet, holding it by one shining horn. ‘After all this, how can you still see the good in me?’
Gilwyn’s face darkened with sadness. ‘I remember it. So I know it’s there. But I failed you, Thorin. I thought I could break the hold Kahldris has over you, but I can’t. I tried to find a way in the library, but . . .’ He shrugged hopelessly. ‘Maybe there is no way, not if you don’t help me. You have to fight him. You have to want to give him up.’
‘Then I am doomed,’ said Thorin with a crooked smile. ‘No matter how I try to explain this, I don’t think you could ever understand. I cannot give up Kahldris, Gilwyn. He’s part of me now.’
Gilwyn made no effort to argue with the baron. Instead, he simply stepped aside and let Thorin leave the room.
Dawn’s light splashed colour on the yard of Library Hill, illuminating the men gathered there for Thorin’s arrival. A huge, black charger awaited the baron, held by stable hands whose mouths fell open as Baron Glass entered the yard. Duke Cajanis, patiently waiting near his own horse and surrounded by Norvan bodyguards, straightened to attention as Thorin approached. Dressed completely now in the Devil’s Armour, his head encased in the frightful helmet, Thorin’s visage froze the waiting men. The long road leading up to the library bristled with men and weapons. At the base of the hill a thousand Liirians were positioned, ready to defend the stronghold. Throughout the city other divisions were scattered, all carefully positioned to rebuff the Nithin and Reecian advances. A cool breeze reached Thorin through his armour, which rested on his body as lightly as a feather. Kahldris pumped magic energy into his blood and muscles. His sword, an Akari weapon he had stolen from the cellars of Grimhold, bounced at his thigh. Thorin wasted no time as he bee-lined to Duke Caj
anis.
‘Report.’
Cajanis said confidently, ‘We’re ready. Arand is waiting for us at the west end and Karris’ men are in Chancellery Square. The Reecians have started to move down on him. Lothon and his Liirians will stay at the hill. They’ll take care of anyone who makes it through.’
At the base of the hill Thorin caught a glimpse of Lothon as he rode slowly amongst his men, Liirians who had joined with Thorin to remake their army. It was a small band, only about a thousand men, but the terrain of Library Hill made their job of defending it much easier. Lothon was an old man now, a friend of the baron’s from the old days when Akeela had been king. Long retired, he had been one of the few to see the hope of a better Liiria. As Thorin spied the old man far below, he felt a pang of sorrow. Things hadn’t turned out the way either of them had hoped, and yet Lothon had stayed loyal to him.
‘Make sure no one gets through,’ Thorin told Cajanis as he headed for his mount. ‘If Lothon dies today, I’ll make sure you do as well, Duke Cajanis.’
Cajanis chuckled as if Glass was joking. ‘Not much chance of that, Baron Glass. Once the Nithins see you in your armour they’ll know they have no chance.’
‘They won’t be seeing me yet,’ said Thorin. Without the help of the stable hands he hoisted himself onto his horse. ‘You’ll be in charge of Arand and his men. I’m going to the square.’
‘What?’ puzzled Cajanis.
What? erupted Kahldris.
‘Chancellery Square,’ said Thorin. ‘That’s where Raxor will be. That’s where I’m going.’
Cajanis began to sputter. ‘But Baron Glass, the Nithins!’
Thorin spun his horse toward the road. ‘Go, Cajanis. You know what to do.’
Duke Cajanis stared at Thorin as the baron rode away. Passing the scores of soldiers positioned on the road, Thorin hurried down the hillside toward the waiting Liirians at the bottom. Lothon, hearing the commotion, looking skyward at the racing baron, raising his glove in greeting. But Thorin had no time for sentiment. Barely acknowledging his comrade’s wave, he focused on Chancellery Square instead. From the hillside he saw it, choked with tall buildings and Norvan mercenaries, its parade ground dotted with lancemen. Coming out from the distant hills toward the square, Raxor and his Reecian army slowly bore down on the Norvans.
What are you doing, Baron Glass? asked Kahldris angrily.
‘To do some good,’ Thorin replied. ‘To get my son back.’
My brother is with the Nithins!
‘Your brother will wait. First I have to rescue my son.’
No! Kahldris raged. Go west, Baron! West!
Thorin ignored the demon’s orders. At the bottom of the hill, he rode quickly through the amazed ranks of Liirians, passing Lothon and his lieutenants and heading for the heart of the capital where the spires of the old chancellery buildings stood.
‘I’ll kill for you today, Kahldris,’ he cried as he galloped through the open lane. ‘But first I want my son back!’
79
On a field filled with ghosts, Lukien and his comrades faced the city of Koth. In the shadows of the capital the Norvan mercenaries poured from the streets, lining up to fight for the duke that led them. Lukien, seated stoically atop his horse, watched as their enemies formed their ranks. Next to him, Prince Daralor minded his own men, calmly ordering his soldiers to hold their position. A great, green flag unfurled above him. Stately armour gleamed on his person, shining like copper in the new light of morning. His army stretched out proudly behind him, silently awaiting the coming battle, while dozens of war dogs strained at the leash, barely held back by their burly keepers. Deep in the ranks, the battle hawks stood tethered to their perches, madly screeching as they sighted the Norvans. Their cries scratched at Lukien’s ears. On a horse beside him, Ghost swiveled anxiously in his saddle, his arms and face covered in a Jadori gaka to protect his pale skin from the sun. Ghost’s grey eyes turned to slivers as he watched the Norvans. His hand twitched as he gripped his thin sword.
They had strategized and planned, and now they were ready, and Lukien saw confidence in Daralor’s men. They had marched to this foreign land to follow their beloved prince, and still Lukien wondered why. Daralor had puzzled him with talk of honour and of men living free, and now that the hour of battle had come, he saw that Daralor had meant every word of it. With his face shadowed by his high-flying flag, Daralor looked like a hero to Lukien.
Duke Cajanis was easily recognizable in his blue cape and long golden hair. At the front of his army, his horse prancing as if in a parade, he looked both fearsome and foppish as he entered the field. The force of Norvan mercenaries that followed him impressed Lukien with its numbers. Norvan regulars loyal to Cajanis peppered the group. Despite Jazana Carr’s death, her legacy lived on, and Lukien knew there was only one reason why so many men still followed Thorin. He was the big dog in this part of the world, and now had claim to Jazana’s vast fortune. He was also indestructible, which meant no one could challenge him.
‘Except today,’ he whispered.
Ghost heard his words and flicked his gaze toward Lukien. The young, cloud-coloured eyes sparked with fire. Of all the Inhumans, Ghost was certainly among the best fighters. Only Greygor, Grimhold’s guardian, was more frightening to behold in battle, and that was because Greygor was more monster than man. But Ghost wasn’t the only spirit on the field, and as Lukien watched the Norvans approach he remembered another time, not so long ago, when he had fought on this very same soil. Then, it had been Thorin who was the invader, leading these same Norvan whores to sack the city. It had been a brutal battle and his confrontation with Thorin had left Lukien near death, and remembering that made him shudder now.
No, Lukien, came Malator’s soothing voice. Do not be afraid.
At Lukien’s side the Sword of Angels burned against his body. Malator essence glowed within it, setting the blade strangely alight. There seemed to be no fear at all within the Akari, and the calmness he felt helped to soften Lukien’s mood.
‘I don’t see him,’ said Lukien, as much to Malator as to the others. ‘I don’t see Thorin.’
‘He has to come,’ said Daralor. ‘He knows you’re here, Lukien.’
But looking past the ranks of Norvans, no one could see Baron Glass or the slightest hint of his terrible armour. Lukien pondered Library Hill, clearly visible above the city.
‘He’s in the library, maybe,’ he surmised. ‘He doesn’t need to come and face us yet.’
‘He lets his hirelings do his dirty work,’ grunted Ghost. ‘He thinks he has us bested already.’
Baron Glass is not in the library.
‘Eh?’
My brother is with him, Malator explained, and they are not in the library. Baron Glass goes to find his son, Lukien.
‘Oh, gods, no . . .’
‘Lukien?’ asked Daralor. ‘What is it?’
‘Thorin’s not here. He’s going after Raxor first,’ replied Lukien.
No one asked how he knew such a thing. The magical sword at his side gave them their answer. Even the Eye of God, still burning against Lukien’s chest, bespoke of the sorcery Lukien commanded.
‘This changes things,’ said Ghost.
Daralor shook his head. ‘It changes nothing. You still must reach Baron Glass, Lukien.’
Ghost protested, ‘But he’s on the other side of the city . . .’
‘No, Daralor’s right,’ said Lukien. ‘It doesn’t matter where he is, we have to get to him.’
Daralor grinned at the young albino. ‘That shouldn’t be a problem for a man who can make himself invisible.’
His levity broke the tension, and his lieutenants gave a laugh. Lukien nodded.
‘We’ll reach him,’ he promised Daralor. ‘We’ll find him once you loose the hawks.’
It had been agreed, and Daralor said nothing more about it. They had all approved the plan, even Lorn, who waited unseen within the ranks of Nithins, ready to appear at the proper time. Lukien put his
hand on the pommel of his sword, letting Malator’s strength course through him as Duke Cajanis at last came to a stop. The duke’s army halted with amazing precision, spears and lances tipped skyward. At Cajanis’ flanks rode two men, one a mercenary Lukien remembered, one a Norvan nobleman. The mercenary, a man named Thon, smirked at Lukien distastefully.
‘You know him?’ whispered Ghost.
‘I know him,’ grumbled Lukien. ‘I was one of them, remember.’
He had spent years in Jazana Carr’s employment, and Lukien knew most of the mercenaries of any importance. Thon was from Jerikor, and like the warriors of that land he never wore armour or any coverings at all over his arms, preferring instead to display his many tattoos. He was an unsavoury character and Jazana had never liked him, but he was good at his work and so had earned a place in her vast army. Lukien was not surprised at all that he had remained with Thorin. Thon, like many mercenaries, cared only about money.
Duke Cajanis wheeled his horse to face his men. He had arranged his army so that his cavalry came first, just as Daralor had, with foot soldiers scattered among them. He had brought no archers with him, though they were surely stationed at the library, Lukien reasoned. Cajanis spoke loudly to his soldiers, rallying them, and his bold words were echoed by lieutenants in the ranks. Then, when he finished his speech, the duke turned around again toward the Nithins. Amazingly, he broke away from his army and began riding forward, accompanied by Thon and the Norvan noble.
‘Terms,’ spat Daralor in disgust. ‘Lukien, Godwin, come with me.’
Leaping at the chance to return the insult, Daralor broke from his army and trotted out toward Cajanis with his aide, Godwin. Lukien followed, leaving Ghost behind and sure that Lorn, hidden among the Nithins, was watching and fuming. Prince Daralor rode out grandly, his head held high, then reined his stallion to a halt just feet before Cajanis. The two leaders locked glares for a moment, until Cajanis noticed Lukien.
