The Sword Of Angels (Gollancz S.F.) (119 page)

‘Lorn,’ Lukien asked quietly. ‘Why aren’t you asleep?’

‘Can’t sleep.’ The old king took a deep breath. ‘I’m too close now to sleep.’

‘Too close?’

‘To Norvor, Lukien. To home.’

Lukien stared into the fire. ‘This was my home once. Maybe it can be again.’

‘Oh?’ Lorn turned toward him. ‘You’ll stay here, then?’

It was the same question Daralor wanted answered. ‘Tomorrow you’ll have a chance to prove yourself,’ said Lukien, changing the subject.

‘No,’ Lorn grunted. ‘I have proven myself, again and again. Tomorrow, Lukien, will be your chance, not mine. Whatever happens tomorrow, my conscience is clear. If we win, Norvor will be mine again. Then I can send for my daughter and Eiriann and return to my life. My real life.’ Lorn looked imploringly at Lukien. ‘That’s all I want. Don’t you see?’

Lukien did see. Finally, it was clear to him.

‘We all want that,’ he replied. ‘Just to be home. To be with a woman we love. We all want that, Lorn.’

It was a single, simple point of agreement, but for Lukien it was enough.

Like a slithering tentacle, Kahldris’ words wrapped themselves around Thorin as he stood by the window. The great expanse of the city lay beneath them, brightening in the rising sun. On the grasses on the outskirts of Koth, the army of their Nithin enemies watched the coming dawn, poised for battle. The sight thrilled Kahldris. The old general within him stirred, filling Thorin with his unholy passions.

‘Today I will watch you shine, Baron Glass. Today your life will change forever, and the whole world will know you are its master.’

As he had done so frequently lately, Kahldris did not hide himself within Thorin’s mind, but rather stood next to him bodily, his figure dressed in his ancient battle garb, his form shimmering in the weak light coming through the window. From their place within the library’s tower they could see the entire west side of the city, its houses and store fronts locked up tight against the coming mêlée. Green Nithin flags waved in the breeze. Men and dogs scurried through the ranks of cavalry, preparing to march into the city. At the forefront of the army sat its leader, the strange and stately Daralor, barely visible at such a distance yet somehow unmistakable. Thorin let his gaze linger on the prince and the men around him. His preternatural eyesight – like a hawk’s or better – spied their tense faces. Among them sat Lukien, stoic and one-eyed, his blond hair slowly greying, his weathered face full of pain. It should have been impossible for Thorin to make out such detail, but it was not. Kahldris’ magic swelled in him, filling his mind’s eye with the image of his old friend.

‘He bears the sword,’ said Kahldris. ‘Look . . .’

Through the wavy glass Thorin could see across the miles, could see in the hand of his good old friend the weapon of his demise. Crude and plain, the sword seemed no more than the Akari sword Thorin himself would wield today. He closed his eyes to see it better. Letting the demon’s magic guide him, he saw the weapon perfectly, then felt Kahldris shutter madly. The potent force within the sword shook the spirit.

‘Your brother,’ Thorin muttered. He opened his eyes and expelled a sigh. ‘I can feel him. He’s powerful. Like you.’

Kahldris nodded his ethereal head. In the darkened chamber, he gave off a ghostly light. ‘He has found a willing ally in your friend, Baron Glass. You are sentimental about the knight Lukien. I warn you, do not be. Great things are undone by such feelings.’

Thorin stared out across the city. On the eastern side of Koth, invisible from his westerly perch, Raxor and his Reecians had gathered for the siege, weighing in from the farmlands to press against the city. His army had swelled considerably in the last few days, bolstered by loyalists ready to die for the old king. Because they were so near their own homeland, their supply lines had been easy to maintain. Raxor’s men were rested and well fed, and armed with everything they could drag across the border. Thousands of men, most on horses, had heeded Raxor’s call to battle, eager to avenge their dead Prince Roland and regain the pride Thorin had stripped from them. It had been an awful miscalculation, letting Raxor live that day. Thorin saw that now. He should have pursued his adversary across the Kryss and ended things. He should have cut the old man’s heart out and eaten it.

Why hadn’t he, then?

‘I was covered in blood,’ he mused aloud, addressing Kahldris without turning toward him. He felt grossly alone suddenly, the chamber echoing and empty. Beneath him, his own armies massed around Library Hill or spread out through the city, ready to defend him. They too numbered in the thousands, and yet not one of them loved him. Not the way they loved Lukien. Or Daralor. Or Raxor. Only Gilwyn loved him now, and that was a mystery Thorin could barely understand.

‘Baron Glass?’ Kahldris was staring at him now. Amazingly, he smiled. Putting his hand on Thorin’s shoulder, he said, ‘Thorin. Do you believe in me?’

Thorin looked at him but could not return his grin. ‘I am grateful to you.’

‘That is not enough. Not today.’ Kahldris pointed out the window. ‘Those men come to kill us. Your friend, Lukien – he comes to destroy you, not to save you. He is not Gilwyn, with all his stupid innocence. He and the rest of them want to take what you have fought so long for, Baron Glass.’

‘I’ve killed so many . . .’

‘It does not matter!’ thundered Kahldris. ‘Their blood fed us, made us strong!’

‘No,’ said Thorin, unable to shake the nightmarish memories. ‘They are men, not goats to be slaughtered.’ He stepped back from the window. ‘Will today be like that again?’ He glanced down at the armour covering
his person. Like Kahldris, he was dressed for battle, every inch of him shielded in his shiny black suit. The hideous helmet with its upturned horns waited on a nearby table. Kahldris followed his gaze to the helmet.

‘Take up the helmet, Baron Glass.’

Thorin shook his head. ‘Not yet.’

‘It is time. The sun comes quickly.’

‘I have questions,’ said Thorin softly.

Kahldris looked surprised. ‘Now? It’s not the time to be pensive.’

‘I want to know things. Before I become a butcher again, I want to know what you know, Kahldris.’

‘You know everything I know, Baron Glass. I have never hidden anything from you.’

‘No, it’s not so simple.’ Thorin stalked back to the window, biting his lip as he looked toward the horizon. Already Daralor’s forces were on the move, slowly cantering into the city. The start of the march made Kahldris uneasy, but Thorin held firm. ‘I am unstoppable in this armour, but they will try to stop me anyway,’ he said. ‘And I’ll be forced to kill them. You will blind me to their agonies and I’ll feel nothing, but right now my mind is clear, Kahldris, and I know what they are facing.’

Kahldris’ old face twisted. ‘Get on with your question.’

‘My question is this – what will happen to them?’

‘You know what will happen,’ growled Kahldris. ‘They will die. Why do you care? They come to kill you, Baron!’

‘No,’ Thorin argued, ‘that’s not what I mean.’ He looked imploringly at the spirit. ‘I mean what will happen to them after they die?’

Kahldris reared back, looking thoughtful. ‘Ah . . .’

‘I need to know this, Kahldris. Ease my conscience. Tell me what will happen. They will live on, yes? I send them only to their glory?’

‘Is that what you have believed?’ The Akari’s tone was slightly mocking. ‘All our time together, and now you want enlightenment.’ He shook his head doubtfully. ‘I wonder, Baron Glass, if you have truly looked outside that window.’

‘I know what we’re facing,’ said Thorin calmly. Truly, it hardly mattered to him. His mind was full of questions, because his hands were full of blood. ‘I killed Jazana and all those others. What’s happened to them? They live on, yes?’

Kahldris smirked with impatience. ‘Yes, they live on. You know this already.’

‘Where do they live on? In a world like this? Or in the kinds of worlds you’ve shown me?’

‘The world of the dead is different for everyone,’ said Kahldris.

‘But they do live on. Minikin told me that once. It’s not just Akari who go on.’

‘Why do you ask me this now?’

‘Because I’m going out there!’ Thorin raged. ‘Because I’ll kill a thousand men today. Do I send them to hell or to heaven? Tell me, Kahldris, please.’

Kahldris glanced away, turning from Thorin to stare contemplatively out the window. The pull on him was mighty; Thorin could see him struggling. ‘My brother is coming,’ he whispered. His voice cracked with nervousness. ‘There’s just no time to unravel this mystery for you. It is unknowable.’

The answered vexed Thorin. ‘How can that be? You exist in their world. Do you not see them, encounter their spirits?’

‘I am in your world as much as their worlds,’ Kahldris explained. He put his unearthly hands to the window, leaving no mark at all as he looked longingly at the armies ready to clash. ‘Let us go, Baron Glass.’

‘How is this unknowable? You have said there is a world beyond this one.’

‘Yes, yes . . .’

‘And what is beyond that? What gods are there? What angels or heavens?’

‘It is unknowable!’ shrieked Kahldris. ‘I have no answers for you! I live, and that is all. Those you kill will find their own worlds. Or they will not. I cannot know everything!’

Thorin stared in amazement. ‘You don’t know what lies beyond your world? What gods rule you?’

‘I rule myself,’ said Kahldris, desperate to end the talking. ‘You rule yourself. We are our own gods! We decide who lives and dies. Do you not see that? That is the power I have given you’ He fixed on Thorin, trying to make him understand. ‘Today, you will be the only god who matters to those men out there. Forget the Great Fate, Baron Glass. This day, you are a god.’

His awesome words left Thorin dumbstruck. It was a terrible gift he had taken from Kahldris, one that had rotted his mind and his morals both. There was no turning back from it; he knew that plainly. Liiria still needed him. There was still good he could do in the world, surely. Suddenly, more than anything, he wanted to see his son again. Thorin swallowed down the questions plaguing him, glancing one last time at the vision through the window. Kahldris, satisfied that he had convinced Thorin, dissolved into the air. His wordless voice rippled through the baron’s mind.

Now, Baron Glass. It’s time.

Thorin agreed reluctantly. Despite everything he’d done, only Kahldris had carried him so far. It was time to repay the demon’s kindnesses. As Thorin turned from the window, however, he spotted Gilwyn at the end
of the chamber, the boy’s face partially hidden in shadows. Thorin had not heard him come in. Gilwyn stared at Thorin with a hopeless frown. His empty hands hung at his sides. Every other man in the library was dressed for battle, but not Gilwyn. Attired in his usual shirt and trousers, his boot with the special hinge wrapped around his clubbed foot, he looked as if the day was like any other, to be spent studying the library’s vast shelves. His gaze told a different story, though, penetrating Thorin with his odd mix of love and shelter. Despite Kahldris’s insistence, the baron could no longer rush away.

‘You shouldn’t have come,’ he told Gilwyn gently. ‘This is my quiet time. I won’t have any more of it today.’

‘It’s dawn,’ said Gilwyn. ‘I had to come.’

Thorin made his way to the table where his helmet waited. There he paused, reaching for it then stopping. The death’s head face of the thing leered at him, taunting him to pick it up.

‘I wish you had listened to me,’ said Thorin. ‘I wish you had gone when I told you, left when you had the chance. Now . . .’ He shrugged. ‘You’re stuck here.’

‘I’m not afraid,’ said Gilwyn. He managed to smile at his old friend. ‘I told you, I’m not leaving you.’

‘You should have given up on me, instead of trapping yourself here,’ Thorin groaned. ‘I can’t change, and the dead are dead.’ Finally, he picked up the helmet, holding it by one shining horn. ‘After all this, how can you still see the good in me?’

Gilwyn’s face darkened with sadness. ‘I remember it. So I know it’s there. But I failed you, Thorin. I thought I could break the hold Kahldris has over you, but I can’t. I tried to find a way in the library, but . . .’ He shrugged hopelessly. ‘Maybe there is no way, not if you don’t help me. You have to fight him. You have to want to give him up.’