The Sword Of Angels (Gollancz S.F.) (121 page)

Lukien at last pulled free his sword. As he did, the blade burst with light. ‘I have the means to best your baron, Norvan. Behold!’ A ripple of surprise went through the Norvan ranks. Lukien pressed his advantage. ‘I know you men!’ he shouted to the mercenaries. ‘Listen to me now. The reign of Baron Glass is over. I have come to undo him!’ He laughed, full of malice suddenly, and looking straight at Cajanis hissed, ‘And I have not come alone.’

Lukien lowered his sword, pointing it at the rows of Nithins behind him. The signal caused the soldiers to part like a curtain, revealing a single rider who trotted out from the crowd. King Lorn the Wicked had dressed for the occasion, looking as princely as Daralor himself in a silver breastplate and gleaming chainmail, his arms covered in scarlet fabric, his head crowned with a feathered helmet that left his hard-bitten face naked. He held an axe in his hand with a sword at his belt, his white horse garbed in golden armour that reflected like rainbows on the field. His appearance stunned and confused Cajanis. The duke frowned as he tried to make out the rider’s identity.

‘That’s an old man,’ spat Cajanis, then began to chuckle. ‘It’s that your champion, Prince Daralor?’

Lorn held up the axe in his meaty fist. ‘I am Lorn,’ he declared. ‘And I live!’

As though they were arrows his words shot the men through, stunning Duke Cajanis and his soldiers. Whispers and shouts ran through the Norvan ranks. Cajanis, too shocked to speak, looking dumbly at his aide, and from the rows of mercenaries a cry went up.

‘It’s him!’ said the single, distant soldier. ‘That’s Lorn!’

Lorn drove his horse to a gallop, hurrying to Lukien’s side. To Lukien,
he had never looked more like the manic king of legend. His rock hard eyes froze Cajanis in his glare as both Thon and the nameless noble drew back.

‘I am King Lorn of Norvor, rightful ruler of our land, and you Cajanis are a usurper’s lapdog. Save your warnings, coward. We are deaf to them.’

‘You can’t be Lorn,’ sputtered Cajanis. ‘Lorn is dead!’

Lorn tossed back his head and gave a shuddering cry. ‘I live!’ he shouted, half-mad with laughter. ‘And I’ve come back for my throne and to kill all who defy me. Look at me, wretched duke! Call me a ghost one more time and you will die first today.’

Duke Cajanis struggled with his horse. Behind him, his usually orderly soldiers had broken into gossip. He turned to Lukien, spitting with anger.

‘You’ve made an unholy alliance for yourself, Bronze Knight. You bring a devil back to Norvor!’

‘Yield to us now, Duke Cajanis,’ Lukien ordered. ‘You cannot kill me, and once the dogs are loosed you’ll have no chance of it. I have prayed for death and been denied it by heaven, and no Norvan fop will be the end of me.’

‘Don’t bargain with these piss buckets, Lukien,’ said Lorn. He forced his horse closer to Cajanis. ‘You may run from me, but wherever you go I will find you, Cajanis. And when I have my throne again you will be my jester.’

‘They taunt you, Cajanis!’ grumbled Thon. ‘Who are they? Look at them and look at us.’ The mercenary scoffed at Lukien. ‘You shouldn’t have come back, Lukien. You’re over.’

His filthy grin drove all the fear from Lukien’s mind. Now, like the old days, he hungered for a fight. ‘Well, Cajanis?’ he asked. ‘Which will it be? Will you let this pile of shit speak for you? Or will you use your brain and yield to us?’

Cajanis was frothing now. ‘You are outnumbered! Even without Baron Glass you have no chance against us.’

‘Shall I lose my war dogs, then?’ asked Daralor casually. ‘The kennel masters have kept them hungry.’

‘Damn your war dogs, you eight fingered freak.’ Duke Cajanis pulled his reins up. ‘Let them lose and we’ll show them what Norvan blades are made of.’

The duke swiveled his horse quickly about, barking at his comrades to follow him as he returned to his army. Before Lukien and Daralor could turn themselves back, Lorn heaved his axe after Cajanis, missing the duke by inches. Cajanis roared in hatred.

‘You are dead, old man!’ the duke promised. ‘Today Norvor will be free of you at last!’

‘Come and kill me, then!’ Lorn challenged. ‘The moment you’re man enough.’

Daralor had heard enough. The time for talk was over. He did not ride back to his army or tell his men to wait. He merely glanced at his lieutenants and with a nod gave the order to unleash the dogs.

In all his life, Aric Glass had only been in battle twice before. On both occasions others had protected him from the worst of it, but not today. Today, as a volley of arrows sailed overhead, the full stink of death singed his nose and the terrifying cries of dying men shook his skull. It had all happened so quickly, Aric had barely seen it coming. First there were the trumpets, the martial music of his Reecian comrades. The Norvans had seemed so far away, like toy soldiers on their horses. Then they had come like a wave across the battlefield, sweeping Aric into combat. His sword was up and his horse was charging with the rest of them, carrying him headlong into the clash. Beside him, the Nithin bodyguards Trace and Brenor rode at his flanks, into the teeth of Norvan lances. The stampede of cavalry shook the ground. And Aric was in chaos.

The world around him blurred. From atop his horse he saw Norvans and Reecians and his own slashing sword, blindly shooting out to parry. Time slowed and had no meaning, and though he heard the voices of the Reecian captains, he could not understand them over the din. Toward the rear of their ranks, King Raxor rallied his soldiers, shouting as he held a battle axe aloft. Horatin and others members of the Red Watch swarmed around him, protecting him as Norvan riders strained to reach him. Aric pivoted, trying to find his comrades in the meˆle´e. Trace and Brenor, distinctive in their green Nithin garb, battled back the curved blades of a band of tattooed mercenaries. Aric had seen their likes before, in his first clash against them, each of them dark-skinned and crazy-eyed. Trace barreled his stallion into them, disappearing for a moment as a single, pony-tailed brute rose up in Aric’s sight. His blade fell quickly, knocking Aric back as he blocked it. The horse beneath him whinnied, then spun to help its master, letting Aric return the blow. The mercenary’s own horse reared, kicking dirt into the air as Aric broke away. He had no shield to slow him down, and when the big man’s horse came down Aric’s blade was there, mercilessly slashing its neck. Its rider cursed as the horse collapsed, falling headlong into a swinging Reecian mace.

‘Aric, watch yourself!’ Brenor screamed. It was his mace that had split the man’s skull. He sidled up to Aric through the battle.

‘I can look after myself!’ Aric shouted.

‘Stay close! That’s what we all do!’

Already another band of Norvans were breaking toward them. Trace emerged from the crowd, fighting his way back to Aric and Brenor, his emerald armour splashed with blood. As he reached his comrades an arrow plunged down, piercing his shoulder. He roared, spitting obscenities, and with two hands forced the pommel of his sword through the eye of a coming mercenary. Aric hurried toward him. Other Norvans had sighted Trace. Bearing down on the young man, they had almost reached him when the Reecian catapults began. Fire filled the sky as the burning missiles arced toward the Norvans, exploding like sunbursts amid the frenzied horses. Aric and Brenor pressed the distraction, and joined by charging Reecians forced the Norvans back. The slashing sword and flying spears blinded Aric but he kept on, faithfully fighting the way he had learned, the way his own father had once taught him. So far the battle was only minutes long, but Aric had not even taken a scratch, and a glamour of invincibility fell on him. He cried out in gleeful triumph, sure they would win the day, sure that his Reecian friends would easily best the dogs of Norvor . . .

Until Trace fell.

Aric was laughing, cocksure and strong, and he had not even seen the lanceman’s charge. The weapon came from nowhere, like a cobra out off the crowd, striking Trace dead in the chest and blowing him backward. Aric’s laugh died in his throat as the Norvan lance carried off the impaled Trace, and as though a gentle rain had fallen, his spraying blood struck Aric’s face.

Dazed, Aric let his guard down. He stared dumbly at Trace as the Norvan shook the corpse from his weapon. ‘Trace?’

‘Damn all!’ roared Brenor. ‘Aric!’

His cry broke Aric’s stupor. The Nithin glared at him. ‘Brenor, Trace—’

‘He’s dead, now pay me some heed! Forget him and fight, Aric!’

Aric shook himself, lifting his sword again. Trace’s blood tasted salty on his lips. He looked around, not sure where to go, the battlefield swollen with friends and enemies. Brenor was calling him, waving him on. Aric steeled himself again. Then, he heard a distant trumpet sound behind him, calling the Reecians soldiers’ attention. Something was happening, confusing Aric. The Reecians grew pale-faced. The Norvans cheered.

‘What’s happening?’ Aric asked.

Then, he saw him. Baron Glass. His Father.

Alone on his black charger, galloping toward them, his body glistening in living metal, Baron Glass drove toward the battle, towering over the men around him. The Norvans drew back, surrounding him at once, but Aric’s father remained clearly visible, like a giant, shaking his fist and shouting.

‘Fate alive, what’s he doing here?’ Brenor asked.

The clash around them softened as Norvans and Reecians both looked to their captains. At the rear of his army, King Raxor had seen the Black Baron enter the fray. The old monarch’s face twisted with rage. Captain Grenel flew to his side, then barked orders at his men to regroup. Norvan leaders did the same, and soon the battle reignited. Aric and Brenor both fell back, sure that things had changed. Amazingly, King Raxor was riding forward.

Then, realizing what was happening, Aric reined back his mount. Looking toward the Norvan line, he saw his father madly scanning the field.

‘It’s me,’ he said, coldly certain. ‘Brenor, it’s me.’

‘What?’

‘He’s here for me, I know it,’ said Aric.

‘Well you’re not going to him, that’s for sure.’ Brenor positioned himself between Aric and the Norvans. ‘Head to the rear, Aric. I promise, I won’t let him take you.’

‘No,’ said Aric, then turned his steed to fully face his father. ‘I’m staying.’

‘You’re not!’

Brenor reached out and snatched the reins of his horse, jerking him forward.

‘Let me go, Brenor,’ argued Aric. ‘Let me face him!’

Before Brenor could speak again the battlefield filled with Glass’ voice. ‘Raxor! I have come for my son!’

Impossibly, the voice squashed every sound, effortlessly reaching over the armies. Already Aric’s father was cutting his way forward. Reecian soldiers swarmed to stop him, forgetting their private skirmishes. The baron’s mercenaries fanned out to meet them. Unsure what to do, Aric watched as his father churned toward him, his crazed voice ringing from his helmet. The Devil’s Armour swam on him, the tiny figures on it writhing with life. A Reecian spear crashed against it, splintering. The strange sword in his father’s hand pointed its way toward Raxor.

‘My son, Raxor! Give him to me!’

King Raxor and his captains galloped forward. The old man raised his axe hatefully at Baron Glass.

‘You’ll not take him! You’ve taken a boy from me already, monster. You’ll not have this one!’

His pledge brought a cheer from the Reecians, who surged forward again to fight. From the rear the catapults renewed their fire, tossing up their burning missiles. Reecian archers drew their beads, loosing their arrows against the baron. One by one the shafts bounced off Glass’ breastplate. Aric’s father took the blows, raising his strange sword high in the air and cursing Raxor’s cowardice.

‘King Raxor, stay back,’ said Captain Grenel. ‘Take the boy with you, back to the rear.’

‘No, I won’t run from him,’ swore Raxor. He looked at Aric. ‘You stay, hear me?’

‘My lord, no!’

‘Stay put,’ said Raxor. He hefted his battle axe and prepared to ride. ‘I won’t let him take you.’

‘He’ll kill you!’

‘Let him. He’s taken my son and the woman I loved. He’s taken everything from all of us.’ The old king took a deep breath and smiled sadly at Aric. ‘I told you, I wasn’t coming back from this one.’

The argument was lost and Aric knew it. Raxor ordered Brenor and his Watchmen to stay with Aric, then galloped off with Captain Grenel toward the Norvans. Aric moved to follow him, but Brenor and the others held him back. All he could do was cry for Raxor to come back.