The Devil's Armour (Gollancz S.F.) (67 page)

She let the gathered howl in defiance, cursing their enemies in the desert and building up their own courage. After a moment she held up a hand to silence them again.

‘None of us wanted this, I know,’ she said. She was gentle suddenly, feeling the pain of her own heart. ‘You Seekers most of all. You came here for a life better than the lives you left behind. But war has a way of following even the best of us.’

Again she paused, considering her words. It was true that the haven she had built had been cracked open like an eggshell. Once Grimhold had only been a legend, and Jador its quiet, peaceable defender. That was over now, and it saddened her.

‘In the morning we will fight,’ she went on. ‘And I will not lie to you – many will quite probably die. But you will know why you die, and for what good cause. I see it in your faces.’ She grasped the amulet with her tiny fingers. ‘I feel it in your minds.’ She closed her eyes and smiled, sensing the great warmth of their commitment. ‘Ah, it is like a wave! And it can never be stopped, not by any prince or tyrant. Jador will go on.’

The crowed raised their hands, defying Aztar and his horde. In the farthest ranks even the Jadori children shouted, though Minikin knew they did not understand or
fathom the true fate that might befall them. Her dark eyes lingered on them. They were the most innocent of the crowd, born without say into the centre of this cauldron.

Oh, help me, Lariniza
, she pleaded, looking out over the crowd and hiding her lament from her fellow Inhumans.
Don’t let this happen
. . .

Lariniza’s reply was gentle as summer rain.
Minikin, I am with you. We will stop this together, as we have planned
.

Minikin nodded, though the prospect grieved her.
If we must
.

If we must
.

Like her brother Amaraz, there was steel in Lariniza. She would not let Grimhold be destroyed, no matter the cost. Minikin struggled to smile at her gathered people.

‘Friends, will you obey me on the morrow?’ she asked. ‘My Inhumans especially. My children. Will you do as I ask? Will you give of yourselves to save this place?’

Not really understanding the depth of her meaning, the Inhumans in the crowd hurriedly replied.

‘Yes!’ they shouted, and banged their feet against the ground. ‘We are with you, Minikin!’

Of them, only Gilwyn and Greygor were silent; Greygor because he never spoke, Gilwyn because his heart was troubled.

‘Fix your swords and your minds to the battle,’ Minikin told them. ‘Forget that these are men we fight, or that this place is sworn to life. And do not be shocked by what you might see. Trust in me, and know there is no other way to defend our lives than to spill blood on the sands.’

Then, knowing she had no more to say, Minikin turned from the gathering and began her slow descent down the stairway. The crowd still watching her, she was silent as she made her way through them, ignoring even her beloved Inhumans. Trog was quickly on her heels, blocking her from sight as the little mistress made her way to the wall’s tower.

There, she would await the coming morn.

It was the coming morning that was on the mind of King Lorn the Wicked, too. Across the Desert of Tears, north enough from Aztar’s army to keep themselves hidden, Lorn and his companions had made camp for the night after an exhausting day of riding. They had not stopped until the last sliver of sunlight disappeared, and then only reluctantly, for they had been in the desert for days now and knew they were very near Jador. Princess Salina had supplied them with everything they needed for the journey across the desert, including fresh horses and donkeys and two wagons with large wheels specially designed for the desert sands, which was hard in places but soft as a bog in others.

Lorn was happy to be rid of their old mounts and equipment. Now he had a horse of his own to ride, a fine gelding with a military gait that easily bore his weight. After three days in the desert it still amazed Lorn that Salina had been so willing to help them. Along with Kamag and Dahj and some hidden others, she had created something not unlike a smuggling ring or one of those misguided slave-freeing cabals that had so often troubled him while king. The desert had given him time to think about the young princess and about the risk she had placed herself under. She was an amazing girl, really, and Lorn admired her. Absently he poked a thin stick into their small campfire, his mind still turning on her. Someday, perhaps, he could repay her kindness. If he ever made it back to Ganjor. If he ever had anything valuable to give her. If he didn’t die fighting Aztar.

So many dark possibilities. Lorn’s smile twisted on his bearded face. It was late now, and most of the exhausted Believers slept. Only Eiriann sat by him near the fire, nursing Poppy. His daughter had been restless during their journey through the desert, disturbed by the sun which never gave them quarter during the day. Eiriann sat peaceably as she nursed the child, her face flushed from the day’s heat, a skin of water on the sand beside her. She looked beautiful, so young she made Lorn feel old. She made no effort to hide
herself as she nursed the child, either, letting the top she wore hang freely open. Lorn glanced up from the fire and stole a longing look at her. She caught him and, unembarrassed, clasped her clothing closed a bit.

‘You look good with the child,’ he decided out loud. ‘She belongs with you now.’

Eiriann’s reaction was impossible to read, for she merely smiled demurely at Poppy. It surprised Lorn how unafraid she was about their danger. She was a girl of boundless faith, not only in the magic of Mount Believer but in him, too. She was sure he would protect them, and the added burden made Lorn ever more determined to do so.

‘You look like Rinka sitting there,’ he said softly.

‘Your wife?’ Eiriann asked.

Lorn nodded. ‘She was young, like you.’

Eiriann held Poppy a bit closer. ‘You never speak of her.’

‘No?’ Lorn thought about that and realised she was right. ‘Perhaps there is not so much to tell. She was young and I was old and I was fortunate to have her. Rinka was not like other women. She was like you, Eiriann – wilful.’

‘Oh, now that’s not a good thing for a Norvan woman, is it?’

‘It’s not an insult.’

‘It sounded like one.’

‘It was not meant to,’ said Lorn. ‘Rinka was kind and good and everything else a woman should be, but she was also strong. I admired that in her. It is not easy to find women like that. I miss her.’

At last he had said something to make Eiriann uncomfortable. She looked at him over the fire, her lips disappearing in confusion. Her expression made him weak.

‘Why do you think so well of me?’ he asked. ‘Why, when everyone else thinks me a butcher? Rinka saw good in me, too, but I never understood it.’ He shook his head, exasperated. ‘No matter what I did she stayed with me. All of Norvor thought me a tyrant at the end, but not her. Not her, ever . . .’

Angrily he tossed his stick into the fire and stood up.

‘I don’t know what’s happening to me,’ he sneered. ‘Why am I thinking of this tonight? I have a battle to win!’

‘Are you afraid?’ asked Eiriann.

‘I have never been afraid,’ said Lorn. But then he looked at Poppy lying helplessly in Eiriann’s arms, and knew he had lied. ‘Yes,’ he sighed. ‘I am afraid. I’m afraid for all of you. You’re all trusting me, and what have I led you to? Death in the desert.’

‘You don’t know that,’ said Eiriann. ‘And we came of our own choice.’

‘Aye, like fools you followed me into this.’ Lorn kicked angrily at the earth, unable to look at her. ‘You followed me like so many others, and like so many others I’ve brought you ruin.’

‘A new life,’ Eiriann corrected. ‘That’s what you’ve brought us. I would rather die here in the desert than starve in Liiria, never having tried to make it here.’

It was the answer Rinka would have given. Lorn looked at Eiriann helplessly, and knew that he loved her now. She was a tiger. Her fearlessness brought out the king in him.

‘Eiriann,’ he said seriously, ‘I want you to be careful tomorrow. We’re not far from Jador now. That means we’re not far from Aztar, either.’

The young woman nodded. ‘I know.’

‘Do as I say. Do you hear? Keep yourself and Poppy safe.’

‘Yes, Lorn, I understand,’ said Eiriann. Poppy had stopped nursing and was squirming at her breast, but the woman continued looking up at him. There was more he wanted to say to her, and Eiriann waited for it.

‘Promise me you’ll do as I say,’ said Lorn. ‘Promise me you’ll keep yourself safe.’

‘I promise.’

For a moment they stared at each other, letting the unspoken thing hang between them. Eiriann’s eyes were full of patience as she waited for Lorn to speak the words on the tip of his tongue. But the words would not tumble.

‘Good,’ he said finally. ‘Then we should rest. Tomorrow will be upon us soon enough.’

‘Yes,’ said Eiriann. Was it disappointment on her face? Relief? Lorn couldn’t say.

Realising he would say no more, Eiriann closed her shirt and took Poppy off to sleep.

Sleep was far from the mind of Prince Aztar as he finished his prayers beneath the starlit sky. He had met with his Zarturks – his generals – and had already laid confident plans for the siege tomorrow. His men – over a thousand of them – had settled down for the night to sleep or tell stories or simply to clean their weapons and wonder about the morning. After meeting with his Zarturks, Aztar had declined their requests to drink and dine with them, a tradition among the Voruni on the eve of battle. Instead he had wandered a league away to be alone and to pray undisturbed in the desert. There, amid the scorpions and sleeping rass, he had knelt on the warm sand and unwrapped his dark headdress, divesting himself to his god, Vala. Spreading his arms, he prayed to the deity for strength and victory and the usual things a man would ask of a god before battle, but he also prayed for understanding and peace of heart. His was a good and gentle god. His god wept over innocent death. And as Aztar prayed, he prayed as much to explain himself as he did for victory, and hoped the lord of the heavens understood his need.

They had come like a plague across his desert, Aztar told Vala, bringing disease and false gods with them. Jador had become an evil place, and if the great Desert of Tears was ever again to be godly it had to be cleansed. It
had
to be; there was no choice for Aztar.

So he declared himself the instrument of his god, Vala’s right hand, and with tears in his dark eyes begged the Serene One to forgive the blood he might shed in battle.

‘Let the blood feed your desert, Vala,’ he pleaded. ‘See the good in what I do for you.’

Aztar bowed his head to the sand and kissed the desert, finishing his prayer. For a moment he remained on his knees. Surrendering himself to Vala always drained him. The touch of the god on his soul was indelible, sometimes crippling. Aztar wiped the tears from his face and slowly stood. The desert was remarkably quiet. He could see the dimming fires of his men, but he could not hear the soldiers. Nor could he hear the defiant cries from the Jadori. He turned toward that distant city, barely visible now, and regretted having to destroy it.

‘The desert demands it,’ he told himself. Lowering himself again, he scooped up a handful of sand and let the stuff seep carefully through his fingers. The desert was his lover. From the time he was a boy he had worshipped it. But he knew it was not just the desert demanding the death of Jador. He had other, more mortal reasons for his plans.

He only hoped Vala understood that, too.

Aztar turned from his prayer place and began walking very slowly back to his men. It did not surprise him at all to see the figure of Baraki, his half brother, waiting for him near a dune. Baraki greeted him with a furrowed brow. As one of Aztar’s trusted Zarturks, Baraki wore a gaka trimmed with gold and a red sash across his waist. He was a large man, heavier than his half brother but with the same piercing eyes as their shared mother. And like Aztar, Baraki had no weapon on his person, for to bring a blade to prayer was a high heresy.

‘You have prayed?’ Baraki asked his brother. The moon was gone almost completely, and Aztar could barely see the man’s face.

‘I have,’ Aztar answered. He paused before his half brother. ‘It is well.’

‘Hmm, you look . . . troubled,’ Baraki said. ‘You are thinking of the girl still.’