The Devil's Armour (Gollancz S.F.) (98 page)

‘Baron Glass, what is it?’ queried his aide Colonel Thayus, noticing his distress.

Thorin steadied himself. On his body, the armour was coming to life again. Thayus and the others backed away at the sight, shocked by the animation in the armour’s many designs.

‘It’s all right,’ said Thorin. ‘Do not fear it. It is the magic of the armour making me strong.’

Along his breastplate and vambraces and pauldrons and skirt, the tiny figures of the armour came magically to life, moving like spirits over the metal. Their movements connected Thorin to the death world, the world of Kahldris.
He suddenly felt indestructible. The Devil’s Armour glowed.

He should have ridden a dragon into battle, but he had only a horse. Baron Glass fixed his helmet on his head once again and saddled his stallion, then rode down the hillside to join the bloody combat.

Sweat and blood darkened Lukien’s vision as he battled through the street. For hours he had tried to hold the main avenue, but he had been pushed back into a side street by the relentless onslaught of Norvans. A company of Royal Chargers had joined him in the street, holding back the Vicvarmen as they swarmed through the nearby houses. Armed with axes and maces, the infantrymen stalked like wolves against the better trained Chargers, outnumbering and surrounding them. One by one, Lukien had watched his comrades fall. He could not guess at their losses. A chaotic haze had fallen over the city, blanketing it with noise and suffocating smoke.

Only the amulet gave Lukien strength. When he faltered, it filled his failing body again with power. He continued to fight now, dragging Norvans to their screaming deaths, forcing his weary horse through the crowded street. He had no idea how his comrades fared, or even if Breck was still alive. He had heard chatter about the east side of the city, and how it had fallen to Norvan mercenaries. Lionkeep, they said, was in flames. Lost and blind in the narrow street, Lukien couldn’t tell fact from rumour. He could only watch as Thorin’s army poured from the hills.

Then, a voice reached Lukien’s ears.

‘Lukien!’ it cried. ‘Here!’

Near the intersection rode Aric, waving frantically. Blood trickled down his face, staining his battered armour. He was alone, amazingly, having somehow pulled himself free of the melee. Lukien slashed his blade from left to right, cutting a path toward Aric through the men.

‘Where’s Breck?’ he cried. ‘Does he live?’

Young Aric sped his horse forward. ‘This way, Lukien,’ he called, pointing back toward the main avenue. ‘Near the Rolgan lord!’

Not really understanding, Lukien squeezed his warhorse through the street toward Aric, who turned his own mount and led the way back out. As they rounded the corner, Lukien saw what Aric had meant – the Rolgan commander had entered the city beneath his standard, pinning down a group of Chargers. Lukien peered through the storm of steel and arrows, stunned by the number of Norvans. He could barely make out the Chargers stuck between them, now surrounded and certainly doomed.

‘Breck!’

Mad with rage, Lukien ordered his horse into the horde, striking in every direction as he struggled toward Breck. Atop his wobbling horse, Breck’s exhausted face caught a glimpse of him, his expression grave and hopeless as he tried to break from the garrotte of men. Chargers fell around him, dying under Norvan swords. Lukien cursed as he tried to move forward, almost in tears as the mass frustrated his efforts.

‘Breck, hold on! I’m coming!’

Behind him, Aric Glass gave a shout. A trumpet sounded somewhere in the distance. Lukien looked toward the city gates. Beyond the Rolgan cavalry and soldiers from Vicvar, another standard was moving down the hillside. Lukien let his sword fall loosely at his side, stunned at the sight.

Thorin Glass, his body almost luminescent in his black armour, had come down from his hill to enter the city. With the great horned helmet shielding his face, he was the most unholy thing Lukien had ever seen. He gathered darkness to him as he rode, unhurried, sitting proud atop his snorting charger, keeping pace with the Norvan flagman marching beside him. Aric gasped when he saw the baron, almost forgetting the raging war.

‘Father . . .’

Unable to reach Breck, Lukien cried out in anguish. The
Rolgan commander had closed the distance between them, homing in on Breck with a feathered javelin. Breck saw the Rolgan racing toward him. Failing to free himself, he shook his fist over the crowd at Lukien.

‘Lukien!’ he cried. ‘Find Thorin!’

And then he was gone, lost behind the Rolgan horsemen. Lukien imagined him skewered on the javelin. There was nothing to be done for Breck now, he knew. Even the Rolgan lord was of no consequence. Breck’s last words rang in Lukien’s skull.

‘Aric, get out of the city,’ he said. ‘Get out now – take whoever you can with you and leave.’

‘What?’ sputtered Aric. ‘You mean retreat?’

‘Yes!’ said Lukien. He spun his mount to face the avenue. ‘Breck’s dead. Koth is lost. The library doesn’t stand a chance, either. Now do what I say, boy – get out now.’

‘What will you do?’ asked Aric. He looked around frantically for a way to escape. ‘Will you come with me?’

‘No,’ said Lukien, fixing his glare on Thorin as he made his way toward the city. ‘There’s something else that needs doing.’

Thorin had made it halfway to the city when he saw the figure of Lukien riding furiously toward him. Amazingly, he had fought his way past the Norvans in his gore-slicked armour, shouting Thorin’s name over the din. The sight of him made Thorin rein back his horse. The rest of his company came to a sudden halt. Lukien was galloping like a maniac now, sword in hand, breaking away from the army that pursued him. As he approached Thorin’s aides rushed forward.

‘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 Armour 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 unrecognisable. 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 armour – 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 humour 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 on to 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 armour. 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 armour. Lukien could hear it in his plea. Yet it remained unmoved by every bit of logic, and Lukien realised 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 levelled 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 armoured 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 armour 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 armour, 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 armour, making Lukien reel. Air rushed out of his chest. Choking, he fell back, barely able to lift his sword before a second blow came, paralysing his shoulder. Lukien screamed at the horrible pain. Dashed to his knees, he looked up at Thorin in disbelief.