The Devil's Armour (Gollancz S.F.) (38 page)

She is weak
, Ravel thought to himself, remembering what he had told Simah the night before. Bern and his other men had warned him against approaching Jazana Carr, but he was certain of the move. There was simply no way the Diamond Queen could best him. She had blustered by mustering forces at Hanging Man, but she was a woman and that meant she didn’t have a military mind. Worse, she had moved far too quickly to make the bluff believable. Her grip over Norvor was only a few months old.

Not just weak
, Ravel realised.
Stupid, too
.

For a moment he was disappointed. Oddly, he had expected more from Jazana Carr. He reached for the decanter, chose one of the identical goblets, and poured himself a portion of the thick wine. He drank to his easy victory.

Moments later, Bern fell back from his lead position and waited for Ravel’s carriage to catch up. When it did, the big colonel rode alongside. He looked uneasy, the way he always did when broaching the subject of Norvor. Unlike most of his men, Bern wore nothing to remind him of his days as a Royal Charger. Instead he wore the common garb of a mercenary, without a crest of any kind. His cape was dusty from the road and his leather gauntlets were cracked from overuse. Dark sweat ran down his grooved face. The sun had turned his neck and balding head crimson. Baron Ravel plucked a handkerchief of yellow silk from his vest and held it out the open window.

‘Here, wipe your face.’

Bern took the cloth, vigorously wiped the perspiration from his brow as he rode, then offered it back to his lord, who winced in disgust.

‘Thank you, no.’

Colonel Bern shrugged and tucked the cloth into his shirt. ‘Warm,’ he commented. Always a man of few words, he let his dour expression speak for him.

‘We’re making good time, yes?’

Bern nodded his sunburned head. A year ago he’d been in Jador, like many of his men. The desert kingdom had turned his skin into bronze leather. According to Bern’s lieutenants, his time in Jador had also made the colonel quiet and sullen, but Ravel had never bothered asking Bern about his days in Jador. Bern was a good soldier. Men followed him, and that was all that mattered to Baron Ravel.

‘We may reach the bridge by noon tomorrow,’ said Bern. His lips twisted at the prospect. The bridge at Roan-Si spanned the river Kryss. More importantly, it would bring them into Norvor. From there it was only a few hours more to Hanging Man.

‘What about the border?’ Ravel asked. ‘Do you think they’ll be trouble?’

‘No,’ replied Bern. ‘I’m certain of it.’

The news relieved Ravel. He hadn’t wanted any trouble with the Reecians, who had been very quiet in the past year while Liiria disintegrated. It was said that King Raxor had been watching Liiria, waiting to see who took power. Raxor, like his deceased brother before him, had long been an ally of the Liirians, but when Akeela died that had all abruptly changed, and no one knew for sure what the Reecians were doing on their borders.

‘If they give us trouble we’ll have to buy our way out of it,’ said Ravel.

‘They won’t,’ said Bern confidently.

Ravel didn’t argue. He was, after all, a businessman, and so left military matters to Bern. He had given most command decisions over to Bern in fact, and the old colonel had proved a brilliant choice. With Bern’s help Ravel had defeated Lakrin and the other merchants, scattering their armies and sometimes hiring their own soldiers right out from under them. The merchant-baron
leaned back in his plush carriage, letting the cushion swallow his backside. He studied the hundred horsemen he’d brought with him – only a small portion of the army he’d assembled – and thrilled at the sight. Soon, he would have everything he’d ever wanted. After making his peace with Jazana Carr, he could at last finish off the fools at Koth’s library.

Baron Ravel closed his eyes and sipped his wine. For some reason, the taste reminded him of Simah.

As Bern had promised, Ravel and his caravan reached the bridge at Roan-Si at noon the next day. A contingent of Jazana Carr’s soldiers waited on the other side to greet him, all dressed in different types of uniforms yet all united under the flag of Norvor. The sight of so many soldiers disturbed Ravel, who stuck his head outside the carriage for a better look. Worse, the bridge was narrower than he’d thought. Would his carriage make it over? He hoped so; he was far too heavy to ride a horse the rest of the way. Up ahead, Colonel Bern called the column to a halt. One by one the horsemen reined back their mounts.

‘We’ve stopped, my lord,’ called the carriage driver.

‘I can see that,’ said Ravel. He waited for Merwyn to shuffle down from his bench and open his door before lumbering out of the carriage. Now that he could see more clearly he realised that the Norvans had come with at least as many soldiers as he had. Immediately he looked north. Thankfully, the border with Reec was quiet. Baron Ravel straightened his garments and walked as assuredly as he could toward the bridge. Colonel Bern and a pair of his lieutenants had already dismounted, waiting for him. Across the river the men of Jazana Carr waited on their black horses. A man with a red beard and floppy beret raised a hand in greeting. Bern returned the gesture.

‘He wants us to come ahead, my lord,’ said Bern. ‘They’re our escort.’

Ravel thought for a moment, considering the risks. It
unnerved him that Jazana Carr had sent so many soldiers to escort him to Hanging Man. Once across the river, it might be impossible to turn back.

‘Do you smell a trap, Bern?’

The colonel seemed annoyed by the question. ‘This was your idea, my lord. If the Diamond Queen wants to trap us, we’re dead already.’

Baron Ravel agreed. ‘Come with me,’ he said, then sauntered toward the bridge. Bern and his two lieutenants followed on foot. Seeing this, the man with the red beard selected two of his companions, then dismounted and came to meet them. The short walk up the bridge winded Ravel. By the time he reached the apex he was breathing heavily. Seeing his discomfort, Bern handed him the handkerchief he’d taken yesterday. It was still filthy, but Ravel used it anyway. The man with the beard came up to greet them. Behind his strange grin was unmistakable iron.

‘Baron Ravel?’ he asked. He spoke with a peculiar brogue.

‘Aye,’ Ravel replied. ‘I am Ravel.’

The man surprised him by bowing. ‘Greetings, Baron. Jazana Carr welcomes you to Norvor. I am Rodrik Varl, her man-at-arms. I’m to escort you to Hanging Man. My mistress awaits you there.’

‘Indeed, that’s good news, Rodrik Varl,’ said Ravel. He had heard of this man, who he knew to be more than a simple mercenary. Varl was Jazana Carr’s top soldier, and rumoured to be quite dangerous. ‘May I ask why you’ve come with so many men?’

‘Jazana Carr wishes only to provide for your safety, Baron,’ said Varl. He glanced at Bern and his grin widened a little. ‘This is still a dangerous part of the world.’

‘As you can see I’ve brought my own men to protect me, Rodrik Varl, but your queen’s concern is appreciated. How far to Hanging Man?’

‘Not far, my lord. Bring your men and carriage across; we’ll reach the fortress by suppertime.’

Ravel nodded. Now that he was on the bridge he could
see it was wider than he’d originally thought, stout enough for his elaborate carriage. ‘Very well,’ he agreed. He looked at Rodrik Varl, examining his grin for any sign of treachery. ‘I look forward to meeting your queen.’

They parted, and Ravel and his men returned to their side of the bridge. When they were out of earshot Colonel Bern began to mutter.

‘A dirty mercenary, that’s all he is. He’s not really a soldier at all, never was.’

The baron ignored Bern’s annoyance, climbed back into his carriage, and let his driver carry him over the bridge. Fifty of his soldiers preceded him, fifty came after. Rodrik Varl, true to his word, led them away from the bridge and south into Norvor, riding along the river Kryss toward Hanging Man. For the first few moments Ravel remained apprehensive. He scanned the horizon for any sign of ambush, but when he realised none was forthcoming he finally relaxed. He reminded himself that he was dealing with a woman. Jazana Carr would not ambush him; she wanted peace between them more than he did.

Perched on a cliff overhanging the river Kryss, the fortress of Hanging Man was like nothing Ravel had ever seen. It was a thousand-foot dive from the towers of Hanging Man to the churning waters below, but that was not how the fortress got its name. Years ago, Norvan kings had hung the bodies of traitors from the towers like flags, letting them undulate in the wind, a ghastly warning to anyone who opposed them. Surprisingly, the barbaric land had moved beyond that practice, but Ravel could easily imagine Jazana Carr or the deposed King Lorn reinstituting it. He was in a dangerous nation now and Baron Ravel had no illusions. If he offended Jazana Carr, she could easily send him back to Andola in pieces. The sight of Hanging Man reminded him of her power. As their caravan hoofed toward the fortress, slowly climbing the steep road that wound toward Hanging Man’s entrance, Ravel’s mind for numbers quickly counted
up the men as he noticed them. Soldiers like the ones escorting him surrounded the fortress, parading through its dusty yards and standing watch in its towers. The standards of Norvor and a dozen of its conquered cities coloured the landscape, each pronouncing its loyalty to the Diamond Queen. The great stone turrets of the place stood stark against the blue sky. The scarred skin of the ancient fortress told its bloody history, its high walls pitted with dents from catapult shots, its crenellations smoothed by the freezes and thaws of countless seasons. For a moment, Baron Ravel envied Jazana Carr. In all of Andola – even in all Liiria – there was nothing like this fortress. It was an echo of another age, before men turned their fortunes to building libraries, and Ravel doubted the world would ever see its like again.

Anxious, he poured himself some wine. If Jazana Carr meant to impress she had already done a fair job, but he was not wholly worried. He had expected to see many more soldiers camped around the fortress, and he decided that the rumours of her strength had been ill-founded. This bit of knowledge relaxed him, and by the time his caravan crested the road he was once again confident he’d made the right decision. Rodrik Varl gave the order to halt and his Norvans stopped in the rocky yard. He waved Ravel’s carriage ahead and had Colonel Bern ride alongside it until they too reached the soaring gates of Hanging Man, where at last the carriage halted. His back aching from the rough ride, Ravel didn’t wait for Merwyn to open his door. He got out of the carriage, stepping down onto the Norvan soil with a thud. Bern dismounted and together the two men raised their gaze toward the fortress, ever upward toward its faraway peak. The shadow of the place swallowed the courtyard. Two enormous gates of black iron stood open before them, dwarfing them. Ravel peered into the dark maw and saw the bleak recesses of the fort.

‘Welcome to Hanging Man,’ said Rodrik Varl in his peculiar, laughing brogue. ‘Baron Ravel, if you’ll have your
men dismount they may join you inside. Jazana Carr has arranged a welcome for you, with food enough for all.’

Ravel hesitated, but knew he could not refuse. ‘That’s very kind of your mistress. Colonel Bern, you come with me. Have the others remain behind to see to the horses and things. When we’re settled we can send for them.’ He smiled at Rodrik Varl. ‘I think it’s best I see your queen first, sir.’

‘As you wish,’ said Varl. ‘If you’ll follow me . . .’

Passing through the enormous gates, Rodrik Varl left his own men in the yard and led the baron and colonel into Hanging Man, into a hall that was dark and wide and decorated with armour and old weapons. The dimness immediately made Ravel claustrophobic, a feeling that worsened as the hall funnelled them deeper into the keep. Handfuls of mercenaries passed them, along with servants and page boys, and Ravel’s mind for accounting continued to total up the numbers. A little smile curved his lips, totally hidden by the darkness of the hall. Though it baked in the Norvan sun the only light in the place came from oily torches. The smell of age and sweat belaboured Ravel’s already overworked lungs.

‘Is it all like this?’ he asked Varl. ‘So . . . close?’

‘Not all, Baron,’ replied Varl lightly. ‘The feast room is much better. You’ll see.’

‘Will Jazana Carr be there?’ Ravel pressed. ‘I should like to see her as soon as possible.’

‘My lady lives by her own clock, Baron Ravel. Please, relax and enjoy her hospitality.’

Before he started grumbling, Ravel remembered his manners. Jazana Carr was Queen of Norvor, and this was her land. He offered Varl a diplomatic apology and continued down the hall. At last the dimness diminished. They entered a wide passage blessed with light from high windows. Ravel paused to catch his breath, then heard music. He cocked his head, discovering a pair of doors at the end of the vaulted hall.

Pipes
, he told himself.
More than one. And a lyre and a harp, too
.

His mood buoyed, then improved even more when his keen nose detected food.

‘The feast room?’ he surmised, pointing at the distant doors.

‘Indeed, Baron,’ said Varl. ‘You’re tired, I know, but you’ll be able to rest there.’

‘I admit, I’m as hungry as a dragon.’ Ravel rubbed his chubby hands together. ‘Let’s have at it, then.’

Colonel Bern remained circumspect. They followed Rodrik Varl to the doors. There the bearded man paused, beamed his infectious smile, and pulled open the wooden portals. All at once the hallway flooded with music. Beautiful, accomplished music, the kind made by skilled hands and fine instruments. The doors revealed a giant chamber filled with banquet tables, lit by leaping torches, heavy with platters of food, sweet with flowers and panelled in warm, glowing wood. Servants dressed in white gloves and velvet tended to the tables or stood at attention while wenches filled tankards full of foaming beer. A trio of wine casks lined the far wall, and a bevy of metal plates teetered on a nearby table, stacked high as they waited for the crowd.