by John Marco
“No!” Thorin roared. “Let him come!”
His aides regarded him, stunned. Colonel Thayus could barely keep himself from riding toward the knight. “Baron Glass, think clearly, now,” he protested. “That man comes to slay you . . .”
“Let him come,” repeated Thorin. He did not draw his blade or make any move forward. “All of you, hold your positions. Tell the men to keep back and break off the chase.”
Thayus and the others unhappily complied, calling out Thorin’s orders. At once his bodyguards backed away; the men giving chase fell back. Lukien took no notice of any of it. When he was twenty paces from Thorin, he jerked his horse to a halt.
An angel of death . . .
The words popped into Lukien’s mind the moment he saw Thorin. The Devil’s Armor had come alive on him, writhing with magic and shining blackly in the sun. The man that had once been Thorin Glass had been suffocated by it, his face hidden behind a horned death’s head. He looked enormous to Lukien, a giant from some netherworld, his eyes two dark orbs, his teeth like those in a flesh-stripped skull. He watched Lukien, unafraid, unmoving, all his loyal cutthroats standing aside. His terrifying head nodded in greeting.
“Hello, my friend,” he said, his voice booming. The sound of it was almost unrecognizable. Lukien fought hard to contain his revulsion.
“Thorin . . .”
“I knew you would come, Lukien. I knew you would never let me be.”
“Thorin, I’ve come to save you,” said Lukien. Very carefully he trotted forward a few paces, then stopped again. “Listen to me now—you are possessed. You’re not in control of yourself. That thing inside the armor—it has taken your mind.”
If the face behind the helmet moved, Lukien could not see so.
“You are wrong, Lukien. Kahldris has helped me. He’s made me whole again.” Thorin flexed his left arm, the arm that should not have been there. “You see? I am an entire man again! And better and stronger, too.”
“No, Thorin, look!” said Lukien, gesturing over his shoulder toward the smoking city. “You see how he’s maddened you? That is his doing! Baron Thorin Glass would never occasion such a thing!”
“It is the way of things, Lukien. Liiria needs a ruler to be great again. Once I’ve conquered Koth I will take the whole of Liiria. Then there will be order.”
“Whose order, Thorin? Yours?” Lukien shook his head. “The Baron Glass I know would never harm Liiria. He loves Liiria.”
“Love is cruel, my friend. Is not a father’s love as cruel sometimes? You would have Liiria suffer forever, wallowing in its own filth. It cannot be that way; I’ll not allow it.”
“And I’ll not let you go any further, Thorin.” Lukien put up his sword and glared at his friend. “If you will not listen to reason, you may not pass.”
The brave statement seemed to humor Thorin’s aides. The baron silenced them with a raised fist. “Lukien, you cannot stop me. I beg you, do not try.”
Quelling his fear, Lukien held onto his sword. “I wear the amulet, Thorin,” he said, remembering what Amaraz had said months ago. “It will not let me die or be defeated.”
“You are wrong, Lukien. Kahldris has told me about your Akari. He does not have the means to end this.”
Was that true? Lukien wondered. Amaraz had told him he would find the means to defeat the armor. But when? He was out of time. All he could do was trust the amulet.
“I will not yield, Thorin,” he declared, calling on the amulet to strengthen his exhausted body. “The greatest of all Akari is with me. He will not let you best me, and I will not let you through.”
“Please, Lukien. You will not last against me, and I have no wish to harm you.”
“Gods, then if there is humanity left in you leave here, Thorin! Turn back and fight the thing that has you!”
A metallic sigh issued from the helmet. “You do not understand. Be on your way. Ride past me now and never come back. I grant you your life—take it, please.”
There was still a vestige of Thorin left inside the armor. Lukien could hear it in his plea. Yet it remained unmoved by every bit of logic, and Lukien realized there was no way left to reach it. Praying silently to Amaraz, he steeled himself for combat.
“You have made me do this, Thorin,” he said. He feared his voice would break with tears. “At least know that before one of us dies.”
“I will not die, Lukien. I will never die.” At last Thorin drew his enormous Akari sword from its sheath. “But if you insist on testing your amulet, then come and have your lesson.”
Lukien prepared himself as Baron Glass trotted forward, barking at his men not to interfere. Beneath him, Lukien’s tired horse clopped at the earth, readying for one more charge. Lukien summoned the last of his strength, concentrating on the warm energy of the amulet. Then, when he knew the time had come, he punched his heels into the flanks of his horse and bolted forward.
Sword in hand, he leveled the weapon toward Thorin, spotting openings everywhere. Thorin’s almost casual stance told Lukien just how unprepared the old man was—he had not fought in years. His horse almost pranced forward in meeting Lukien’s attack, not even trying to dodge or gain speed. As Lukien neared, he saw Thorin’s sword come up slowly to block his blade. Lukien chose his opening, ducked low on his charging steed, and attacked.
A wall of iron struck him dumb. He was tumbling suddenly, careening off his horse from Thorin’s unseen blow. A numbing cold ran up his sword arm—then his armored body hit the earth. Shocked and in pain, he struggled to lift himself, shaking the fog from his brain. His horse had kept going, but he had fallen backwards. Thorin, still on horseback, circled menacingly around him.
“You see? This is no tournament, Lukien.”
Lukien scrambled for his sword, finding it some feet away. Thorin made no move to stop him. As the air returned to his lungs, Lukien grabbed his weapon and staggered to his feet. His arm ached from the blow he had dealt, yet Thorin’s armor seemed unscathed. Remarkably, Thorin stopped his horse from circling and climbed down from the black beast, shooing it away. The surprising gesture seemed wholly unlike the devilish face staring from the helmet.
“Thorin,” Lukien gasped, “if you’re in there, help me.”
He lunged forward, seizing the surprise, slashing his sword in a wide arc and catching Thorin easily. No parry came to block the blade, yet Lukien’s weapons slid effortlessly off the armor, sending a sharp jolt of pain up Lukien’s arm. Before Lukien could spin away, Thorin brought his own sword up, smashing it broadside into Lukien’s chest. The impact of it buckled the bronze armor, making Lukien reel. Air rushed out of his chest. Choking, he fell back, barely able to lift his sword before a second blow came, paralyzing his shoulder. Lukien screamed at the horrible pain. Dashed to his knees, he looked up at Thorin in disbelief.
The dark shadow of the Devil’s Armor fell across his face as Thorin drew near. A gauntleted fist swung round to strike his jaw and knock off his helmet. Lukien’s head exploded with pain as once again he was propelled like a rag doll into the dirt. For a moment he lay there, staring skyward, blood dripping into his one good eye. He felt his fingers coil over his sword, but his hand was useless suddenly. All he knew was agony.
“Amaraz,” he pleaded. “Help me . . .”
Upon his chest the Eye of God burned a dangerous crimson, pumping new life into his shattered body. Somehow Lukien managed to rise. As he wobbled to his feet, Thorin shook his head regrettably.
“A wise man would stay down, Lukien,” he said. “Please, do not follow me.”
Amazingly, Thorin turned his back and began to walk away. Seeing his last chance slipping fast, Lukien let out a furious howl and raised his sword, intent on burying the blade in Thorin’s back. In a move impossible for a mere man, Thorin spun and caught the sword in his gauntlet. Yanking it free, he grabbed hold of Lukien’s breastplate and lifted him with one arm off the ground. His other hand shattered the sword like an eggshell.
“Will you not learn
?” he bellowed, shaking Lukien violently. “I have asked you to leave me! I have offered you your life! Must I take it instead?”
Lukien’s blackened eye rolled open contemptuously. “He takes you to hell, Thorin . . .”
The words brought thunder to Thorin’s mask. Again he slammed his fist against Lukien’s face, smashing his lips and sending blood spurting. The black energy of the armor raced through Lukien’s body like an icy wind, rattling his bones and smothering the warm light of the amulet. Lukien cried out as Thorin relentlessly shook him. Finally, with both fists on his bronze armor, Thorin lifted Lukien over his head and slammed him into the earth. Every nerve in Lukien’s body screamed.
And then came darkness.
Thorin stood over Lukien, watching the blood trickle from his many scars. His swollen face lay to one side in the dirt, his one eye closed, his body unmoving. A twisted arm lay beneath him, unnaturally crumbled. Filth covered his once grand armor. A wind blew over the field, stirring his fine hair.
“Lukien?”
There was no answer, nor did Thorin expect one. Behind him, the noise from the embattled city continued, but Thorin was lost to it, anguished by the sight of his fallen friend. He searched his mind for Kahldris but could not feel the demon’s touch. Respectfully, Kahldris had backed away. Thorin took off his helmet. Standing over Lukien, he began to weep.
It made no sense to him that Lukien had not seen the truth, when the truth was so plain. He could have easily rode on, a free man, away from Koth and back to Grimhold, but he had stupidly chosen to fight.
“And now this,” choked Thorin. He wanted to touch Lukien, to kneel down and pray over him, but the Great Fate was a cruel deity and had already touched Lukien with its omniscient hand.
“Baron Glass?” asked Thayus, coming forward. The colonel looked at Lukien. “What shall we do with him?”
“Leave him,” said Thorin.
“He was your friend, Baron. We can bury him if you wish it.”
“Leave him,” Thorin flared, turning on his aides. “None of you touch him! You will leave him here, right where he lies!”
Colonel Thayus grimaced at the order. “You leave him to rot, then.”
“I leave him in the hands of the Fate,” retorted Thorin. “Follow my orders and leave him untouched. We will not be this way again.”
Turning away from Lukien, Thorin found his horse and mounted. Then, without looking back, he resumed his ride toward the city.
53
BETWEEN TWO WORLDS
Lukien floated.
Below him lay his body, prone in the dirt, his limbs askew and broken, his armor soaked with blood. His head ached—but he had the sensation of no longer being alive. He looked around for Thorin but could not find him; the baron and his army had vanished. Gone too was the noise. Lukien could hear nothing but the singing of birds and the rustle of squirrels in trees.
Apple trees.
Lukien knew he should feel afraid, but he did not. Instead he was captivated by the strangeness, the oddity of seeing his own body beneath him. The dull pain in his head seemed to fade when he thought about it, and as he looked around he realized he had been in this place before.
“I am dead,” he told himself.
He had no mouth yet heard the words.
He glanced down to see his hands but found none. His eyes—if he had any—searched the familiar orchard. An easy feeling took him. Somehow, he knew he was not alone in this place.
And as he hoped he saw her, appearing from the apple trees, draped in mist and smiling, her heartbreaking face radiant with youth, her black hair shining like a raven’s wing. She was dressed as she had been that morning, her long nightgown around her naked feet, feet that danced on the air without touching the ground. She was ghostly, yet as real as stone, and the sight of her made Lukien weak.
“Cassandra . . .”
Cassandra, his beloved, reached out to touch his invisible cheek. Somehow he felt the touch, warm with life. He saw in her face all the distance they had endured, all the misery of being apart.
“My love,” she said, “don’t fear. It is really me.”
In this place that she had died, Cassandra had lived on. The notion bewitched Lukien.
“It is you,” he moaned. “Cassandra, you’re alive!”
She smiled cautiously. “Not alive, Lukien, not the way you believe. But yes, I live on in another place.”
“What place?” asked Lukien. “The place of the dead?” Again he looked at his body. “Cassandra . . . am I dead?”
Cassandra’s pretty face grew sad. “Very near,” she said, “but it is not your time, and the amulet keeps you alive. Now listen to me, Lukien . . .”
Lukien could only half hear her, so overjoyed was he to see her. He wanted to touch her, to sweep her up and kiss her, but he had no arms and the frustration maddened him.
“How is this possible?” he crowed, near tears. “You have always been here? Always alive like this?”
“Not alive,” Cassandra repeated. “I live in the world beyond yours, Lukien. I’ve come to this place between the worlds to see you.”
“Then we will not go back, either of us!” said Lukien. He began to laugh joyously. “We can stay here together, forever you and I.”
“We cannot,” said Cassandra. Her pale image began to shimmer. “You have not died, Lukien. You cannot stay here, and I have only come as a messenger. Now you must listen . . . you must go back, my love. You are not done in your world yet.”
“What?” Lukien’s joy began to crumble. “Go back?
Why must I? I am dead, Cassandra, look at me! I will not go back and leave you, never again!”
“You must,” Cassandra implored. Her eyes filled with grief. “Thorin Glass cannot be stopped without you.”
Lukien shook his head. “There is no way,” he said, remembering the stunning pain. “Amaraz has failed me. He promised me the means but never gave it.”
“You are wrong. Amaraz could not help you, Lukien. He does not know where the means is hidden. He meant you to find me, so that I would tell you.”
“Cassandra, what is this gibberish?”
“A sword, Lukien. The Sword of Angels. In the Kingdom of Serpents beyond the Grimhold desert. The brother to Kahldris is in that sword, Lukien. He can defeat Kahldris.”
Lukien felt himself shake with anger. “No,” he growled, “I will not quest for this sword. All the Akari be damned! I will not leave you.”
Cassandra’s expression was agonizing. “Lukien, you’re still alive! You think you are with me but you are not, not yet. That day will come, my love, but your mortal life still calls you. Find the Sword of Angels, Lukien. Find it and stop the armor.”
Lukien wanted to roar with anger. “Why does Amaraz torture me? Why does he keep this all from me?” Raising his face to heaven, he cried, “Do you hear me, you monster? Why do you keep this from me!”
“Amaraz cannot help you, Lukien,” said Cassandra gently. “He knows of the sword but knows not where it lies or how to find it. It is hidden from him and all Akari, even Kahldris. I know of it because I am not one of them.”
The riddle angered Lukien. “Cassandra, enough. Do not play their game. Don’t you see how the Akari manipulate us? They don’t let me die, yet they keep me from you. They refuse to let you lie in peace yet summon you to tempt me. They are vicious creatures and I am done with them!”
Again Cassandra touched his face. “My love, stop now. The Akari only mean to help us. They have allowed me to bridge the worlds to come to you, so that you might see me one more time. It is a gift they give us, Lukien. Look at me! I am alive in the world beyond yours and someday you can join me! Is that not enough to ease your heart? It should thrill you to know this secret.”
“I want to be with you now, Cassandra.”
“You will be with me. Nothing can stop that. But not until it’s time. I cannot take you with me.” Cassandra cupped his face in her hands. “Find the Sword of Angels. Find it befo
re Thorin finds it.”
“I will do it,” Lukien spat. “And when I have done my work for these Akari I will join you, Cassandra.”
Cassandra’s face darkened. “Not until your time.”
“I will make my own time! And no Akari will stop me. My life is my own, and I will take it if I choose.” Lukien managed to hold back his tears. “I’ll find this Serpent Kingdom and the sword,” he pledged, “and I will end the reign of Baron Glass. But when I have done all this work for others I will declare myself free of these Akari and their curses.”
Cassandra drifted backward, suffering with pity. “I have said enough; we have no more time, my love. You will find the Sword of Angels in the land beyond Grimhold. All your questions will be answered there.”
“Cass, don’t leave me . . .”
“I must, my love, but know this . . . I am always with you. Only a veil separates us.”
Cassandra floated closer and placed a kiss on his unseen lips. The sense of it made Lukien shudder. He felt the pain in his head again, sharper suddenly, and knew his body was calling him back. The image of Cassandra began fading into the apple trees.
“I will see you again!” he cried, the darkness quickly growing. “We’ll be together!”
Then, like drifting off to sleep, Lukien fell into the unconscious void of his mortal world.
54
IN THE RUINS
Baron Glass finally reached the library at nightfall.
He had spent the bulk of his day in Koth, watching as his men routed the rest of the city’s defenders, claiming Lionkeep and Chancellery Square and imprisoning those who had yet to escape. A great line of refugees had fled the city shortly after Lukien’s demise; Thorin let them go. Many Liirian soldiers had been among them, but he had no wish to hunt them. Koth was his, and that was all that mattered. Yet he felt no joy in the conquest, for the sight of Lukien’s broken body haunted him throughout the day, and he was halfhearted in his ride through the city, sallow as he gave orders to secure the streets and see to the safety of the populace. The people of Koth had surrendered without delay, he told his men, and he strictly forbade them from looting the city or harming any of its women, a sport he knew to be popular among the Rolgans in particular. Lord Demortris accepted the order sourly, but by the end of the day he had carried it out to Thorin’s satisfaction, allowing the baron to ride for Library Hill.
