The Devil's Armour (Gollancz S.F.) (31 page)

A week later it began to rain. The bad weather kept patrons out of the Red Stallion, leaving Lorn and the other workers time to relax, play cards, and drink too much. Lorn – who was known as Akan by Van and the others – had grown comfortable enough with the people of the inn to take his meals with them and sit with them at the end of the day. Tonight, as the wind whipped rain against the windows, he sat by the hearth in the main room of the tavern. With Poppy in his lap and a mug of beer on the table, he stretched his legs while he watched Vanlandinghale gamble with a pair of customers, the only two patrons in the pub. Deine and the other prostitutes sat with them, gabbing and cooing at Poppy while the innkeeper Foric swept the floor and bemoaned the lack of business.

His belly full and his feet warm, Lorn smiled as he looked at the window, studying the rain trickling down the glass. He had found a good hiding place here. Though it had been a struggle for him to adopt the identity of a commoner, he had been an impoverished king for so many years his lack
of funds hardly bothered him at all. More importantly, he knew he had been lucky to find Foric and his good-hearted band of whores. Kahlin, who had an infant of her own, had willingly wet-nursed Poppy, refusing any kind of payment, and the kitchens Lorn worked in were his to pick from whenever he got hungry. On more than one night he and Gleese the cook had sat down around the rickety butcher table for a kingly meal of mutton, cheese, and day-old bread. The bounty of Koth reminded Lorn of how little his people in Norvor had to eat. Guilt gnawed at him as he stared out the window. He wondered if Jazana Carr had done anything to stem the famine she had brought to their country.

‘I doubt it,’ he muttered. If anyone heard him, they didn’t bother to turn his way.

Still, it did not seem right to Lorn that his own stomach should be so full while his people starved. The notion made him grimace. Perhaps he was King Lorn the Wicked, after all.

But he was more important than anyone who had died in Norvor, more important than any of his loyalists he’d left behind. It was good that he’d survived, he decided. He nodded absently, gazing out the window, listening to the cleansing rain.

Van leaned back in his chair and gave a shout of triumph. He was not a good card player but tonight he was playing well. Kahlin, seated on his lap, squealed and kissed him as he laid down his winning hand. The patrons whose money he’d won cursed his good luck loudly. Lorn didn’t know their names but they were regulars in the Red Stallion, always ordering drinks but no food. At last one of them got up, retrieved his dingy cape from a peg on the wall, said his goodnights, and walked out into the rain. As he opened the stout door Lorn heard the wind howl with intensity. The breeze made the fire in the hearth shudder. Seeing that the game was over, Van’s other partner folded his cards and retreated with his tankard to a quiet corner of
the pub, away from Lorn, who was happy to keep the fire for himself. He bounced Poppy gently on his knee. The child laughed and crinkled her sightless eyes. Lorn smiled. Hearing her chuckle, the pretty prostitute Deine came over and, without asking, lifted Poppy away from Lorn, hoisting her high in the air until she almost touched the beamed ceiling.

‘Ah, what a happy girl, what a good girl Reena is!’ Deine chirped. The sensation of the ride made the infant gurgle with glee. Reena was the name Lorn had given Poppy, and so far he hadn’t slipped. Truly, it surprised him how well he had taken to his new identity. The pretty woman lowered Poppy and cradled her in her arms, sitting down in a chair next to Lorn. This time, however, Lorn didn’t mind the company. Across the room he saw Van nibble Kahlin’s neck, and wondered if Deine was seeking the same. She smiled at him, her green eyes full of affection.

‘You’re quiet tonight,’ she remarked.

‘I’m quiet every night,’ replied Lorn, not unkindly.

‘What are you thinking about?’

It was an innocent question, but unsettling for Lorn. ‘Ah, just the weather. It’s been raining for days now.’

The dodgy answer made Deine sigh. At once she turned her attention back to Poppy. ‘She’s been so good tonight. Hardly a peep out of her. Now look, she’s falling asleep.’

It was true, and it made Lorn curious. There was magic in Deine’s touch. Whenever she cradled the baby, Poppy quieted immediately.

‘She should eat before going to sleep,’ said Lorn, but the way Kahlin was already occupied made that unlikely. No matter, thought Lorn. There was milk and fruit juice for her upstairs. When she awoke during the night – as she always did – he would feed her.

He let Deine amuse the child, not saying anything but enjoying the quiet company. Foric continued fussing with his broom, while the prostitutes excused themselves and went upstairs, except for Deine and Kahlin. Van told jokes
that Lorn couldn’t hear but had Kahlin chuckling wildly. They were both more than a little drunk. Lorn smouldered a little as he watched the girl carry on, unhappy about letting his daughter drink from the breast of a whore but knowing he had little choice. And really, what did it matter? Poppy was happy and healthy and safe.

He reached for his mug of beer, long gone flat, and took a sip. Liirian beer was sweet and weak, and he was about to comment on it when the door to the tavern opened again. The stiff breeze surprised everyone, who turned to see a young man hurry in from the storm. His clean-shaven, boyish face was covered with rain. After closing the door behind him, he stomped his feet loudly to shake off the mud. He was barely twenty years old by the looks of him, but more surprising was the uniform he wore – that of a Royal Charger. The mere glimpse of him made Van wither, and he immediately shooed Kahlin from his lap and turned his face away. Noting Van’s discomfort, Kahlin excused herself and went up the creaking stairs to join her ‘sisters’. Lorn’s eyes panned between Van and the stranger as he slowly sipped his drink. The Charger’s young face was drawn. He looked haggard, or perhaps frightened. Happy to see a new customer, Foric put his broom aside and greeted the fellow.

‘It’s a witch of a night! Come in, come in . . .’

The man – or was he a boy? – looked around in some confusion. The exhaustion on his face was plain as he let Foric guide him toward the hearth.

‘You sit here, by the fire,’ said Foric. There was one free chair across from Lorn. The young soldier collapsed into it with a grunt. Then, realising his cape was still on, he rose in embarrassment and handed the wet garment off to Foric. Surprising Lorn by smiling at him, the fellow took his seat again.

‘I’d appreciate a drink, and maybe something hot to eat if you’ve got it,’ he said politely.

‘A mug of hot cider will start you off,’ said Foric, ‘and I’ll see what I can do in the kitchen.’

The young man nodded in thanks, then dug into his pocket for a silver coin, which he tossed onto the table between himself and Lorn. Foric grinned when he saw the coin, then went off to fetch the man’s order.

‘Gods, what a night,’ the soldier sighed. ‘I’ve been on patrol all day in the rain, went to my post to report, and now I’m just plain dog tired.’

‘Your post?’ queried Lorn. ‘You mean the library?’

The soldier nodded. Lorn couldn’t believe his luck.

‘Shouldn’t you be there now?’ he asked.

‘I should, but I needed to get away.’ The young man’s eyes turned glassy as he gazed into the fire. He was obviously troubled.

Lorn did his best to seem nonchalant. Next to him, Deine continued playing with Poppy. He turned to her with a practised smile, saying, ‘Deine, I think it’s time Reena got some sleep. Would you see to that for me, please? She likes it when you put her to bed.’

The older prostitute beamed, eagerly agreeing, then took Poppy upstairs, leaving only Lorn, the stranger, and Vanlandinghale in the main room. Van kept his back turned to them, but surprised Lorn by staying put. A moment later Foric returned with a tall glass full of steaming cider. He handed it to the stranger, who took it gratefully.

‘Ah, thanks,’ said the soldier. With both hands he tilted the drink into his mouth, then gave a loud smack of content.

‘I’ll have food for you shortly,’ said Foric. ‘We’ve had hardly any customers all day, so the ovens aren’t warm.’

‘I can wait,’ said the soldier. ‘Thanks.’

As Foric disappeared toward the kitchens the man leaned back in his chair, clutching his hot drink desperately in his hands. Rivulets of water dripped down from the curls on
his forehead. He bit his lip as he stared into the fire, as if lost in faraway thought.

‘So,’ began Lorn carefully, ‘how long have you been a Royal Charger? You look rather young.’

Across the room, Van heard the question and cocked his head to listen.

‘I’m not really a Charger, not like the others,’ said the soldier. ‘I just wear the uniform. But Breck says I’m a Charger, and I guess that’s good enough.’

Lorn nodded as if he understood. ‘So you’re a soldier, then.’

‘I volunteered, like a lot of others.’ The young man focused on Lorn suddenly. ‘You’re not from around here, are you? You have an accent.’

‘I’m Norvan,’ replied Lorn. ‘New to the city.’

‘So you probably don’t know, then. About the library, I mean. Most of the real Royal Chargers left Koth. They fled to become mercenaries or just deserted. But some others stayed. Breck was one of the old ones. He knew King Akeela. He even knew the Bronze Knight.’

‘Really,’ drawled Lorn.

The stranger took a pull of cider. ‘It’s true. Breck and Lukien are old comrades. The Bronze Knight is in Jador now, across the Desert of Tears.’

Was that interesting? Lorn didn’t know. He had heard of the Bronze Knight’s legend, but that was so long ago it hardly seemed to matter now. He was far more interested in Breck.

‘So Breck, your commander,’ he continued. ‘He has a lot of volunteers like you?’

‘As many as he can get. He calls all of us his Royal Chargers so we don’t forget the old days, the way it was before the wars. He and the real Chargers train us. We’re the defenders of Koth.’

‘The old days, eh?’ Unable to stop himself, Lorn’s eyes flicked toward Van, who remained still, seated with his back to them. ‘And you’re keeping the city safe,’ he told the
young man, loudly enough for Van to hear. ‘That’s admirable. Loyalty is a good thing. A man should defend his home.’

The stranger frowned. ‘So why’d you leave Norvor?’

‘Because,’ said Lorn crossly, ‘there was nothing left for me. Jazana Carr took over my country.’

The soldier nodded and leaned back, his expression miserable. ‘I know. And now she’s got her eyes on Liiria.’

Lorn sat forward. ‘Oh?’

‘She’s on her way,’ said the young man. ‘I was just out on patrol with some others, riding the Norvan border. I was gone for days, around Andola mostly. Jazana Carr is massing near the city.’

‘Are you sure?’ Lorn asked. ‘You saw them?’

‘Hard to miss them! She’s got an army five times the size of Ravel’s at least, and more on the way. Baron Ravel’s forces are rallying to stop her, but they won’t be enough. Neither will we.’ The soldier’s face tightened with dread. ‘Ravel’s got a stronghold in Andola, a castle that should be able to hold Carr’s forces for a while. And he’s been building defences along the border. Still, it won’t matter for long.’

It was stunning news, and it had come sooner than Lorn had expected. For a moment he was speechless, his mind racing with possibilities. At last Jazana Carr had come. Was he ready? Could he make this fellow Breck believe him? He glanced over at Van. The former mercenary had put down his drink, sitting with slumped shoulders. His silence and defeated posture angered Lorn.

‘Van, come here,’ he commanded. Van heard him but took his time answering.

‘What is it?’ Van replied without turning around.

‘I want you to hear this,’ said Lorn.

‘I heard already.’

‘Did you? And you’re just going to sit there ignoring it?’

It was enough of a jibe to get Vanlandinghale out of his
chair. He stood and regarded Lorn with a peculiar expression.

‘We had a deal, Akan,’ he said evenly. ‘No more talk about politics, remember?’

‘I remember. But this young fellow has news even you should care about – news about Jazana Carr.’ Lorn gestured to the stranger, who was obviously confused, and asked him his name.

‘My name is Aric,’ he answered. ‘Aric Glass.’

‘Glass?’ Lorn reared with surprise. ‘There’s only one Liirian I know of with that surname.’

‘Aye, Baron Glass is my father,’ admitted Aric, none too keenly. ‘Or he was, before he abandoned us. Captain Breck told me about him.’ A shadow darkened young Aric’s face. ‘My father was in Norvor with Jazana Carr. All those years the rest of the world thought he was dead, he was in bed with that whore. Now he’s in Jador with the Bronze Knight.’

‘I know about your father,’ said Lorn. He struggled to keep the bitterness from his tone. ‘I know about him helping Jazana Carr.’ He turned to Van, asking, ‘Did you know him? When you worked for Carr?’

Van shook his head. ‘That was before my time with her.’

Aric didn’t seem interested. ‘Don’t expect me to defend him, sir. My father left me and my family to rot here in Liiria, all the while living in luxury with the Diamond Queen. Breck says he’s a good man. I say he’s a bastard.’ The young soldier laughed mirthlessly. ‘And now he’s safe again in Jador, while the rest of us have to fight off his old lover! Fate above, what a father!’