The Sword Of Angels (Gollancz S.F.) (56 page)

Reluctantly, Aric nodded. ‘Yes, my lord.’

‘Then it will be me,’ said Roland. He looked sanguine. Glancing at his father, he watched the old man agree.

‘Very well,’ said Raxor. ‘Choose who will go with you and make ready.’

‘No one needs to go with me,’ said Roland. ‘If it is a trap, a handful of men aren’t going to help. They’ll only die along with me.’

‘Prince Roland, that’s stupid,’ said Craiglen. ‘I’m going with you, like it or not.’

‘You’re not,’ Roland boiled. ‘I’m going alone to speak with Baron Glass. Much as I hate to admit it, you’re needed here, Craiglen.’

Aric expected Raxor to protest, but instead saw a flash of pride in his eyes. The king looked at his hot-headed son and smiled.

‘My son means to prove himself,’ he said. ‘I say it is time.’

Baron Glass took a seat at the edge of his encampment, sipping on a sherry from crystal glass as the sun fell behind him. Though there were other chairs arranged around his fire, the baron sat alone, staring pensively into the distance. Thorin’s mind stretched in a hundred different directions. He heard Kahldris in his skull, talking to him, berating him for agreeing to meet. He thought of Jazana, too, and of her beautiful body laying next to him, and how much he owed her. And then he thought of Raxor, his old enemy. Surely Raxor was afraid. That was why he wanted to talk, why he had agreed to send his son across the river. The baron tasted his sherry, swirling it in his mouth, patiently waiting for Roland to arrive. According to his scouts the prince had already crossed the bridge. In just a few minutes they would be face to face.

Just a few minutes.

No time to think. There was never enough time these days. There was only work to be done. Thorin leaned back in his canvas chair and tried getting comfortable. Nearby, Colonel Thayus stood beside a tree, waiting for Prince Roland. The colonel from Carlion craned his neck to see over the camp. He had told Thorin what an impressive man Raxor was, still, and how the old man had baited him. He was not backing down easily. Thorin respected that. He swallowed his sherry and looked down into his glass.

Talk, he told himself. It’s just talk.

Kahldris had said Jazana had gelded him, that he was not a man any
more, but the puppet of a woman. Jazana’s lapdog. Thorin knew the demon was wrong. He simply did not understand.

‘Kahldris,’ he whispered, ‘you live because of me, because I am a man and you are nothing but smoke. Without me you cannot taste the wine. Remember that.’

He felt the Akari squirm through his brain, twisting angrily at his statement. Since deciding on this meeting, Kahldris had been in a bitter mood.

I hunger, Baron Glass
, he reminded Thorin.
It is time to feast.

Thorin shook his head. ‘I’ll not be controlled.’

His arm began to burn, his armoured arm, the one that no longer existed.

‘I feel you,’ he grumbled loudly.

Then take my meaning,
Kahldris warned.
Don’t forget what I have given you.

Colonel Thayus, who was used to Thorin’s seemingly one-way conversations, turned to regard the baron, then quickly looked away.

So? We need each other, Thorin told the spirit.

Then give me what I need. Give me blood.

Thorin set his sherry down on the little table next to him. ‘First we talk.’

In his mind, Kahldris screamed. But Thorin had become deaf in shunting the demon away, and so ignored him as he looked out over his army. Many had come, though many were mercenaries and few were Liirian. It stung him to realize how right Rodrik Varl was, how the Liirians still feared him. But Rodrik Varl was back in Koth, and Thorin knew that he was in charge now. The mercenaries would not question him. They, too, feared the Black Baron.

The minutes passed and the sun finally disappeared. Thorin waited by his fire, growing impatient, until finally he heard Thayus give a shout.

‘He’s coming,’ said the colonel, then went to stand beside the baron.

‘Sit, Thayus,’ Thorin told him, gesturing to the chair beside him.

Thayus took his seat reluctantly, looking uncharacteristically nervous. He was a man who’d been through many campaigns, and had even been a loyalist to King Lorn. He was not afraid of the coming battle, yet seemed disturbed by the turn of events.

‘What will you say to him?’ asked the colonel.

‘We’re just talking.’

Thayus shrugged. ‘I don’t understand any of this.’

A moment later Thorin saw his men approaching. The dark-skinned man was in the lead, looking pleased with himself as he escorted Roland through the camp. Like Thayus, Kaj had been key to winning Koth. A free-lancer from Ganjor, he was one of Jazana’s best commanders, and his
men, the Crusaders, had almost single-handedly taken the north side of the city. Kaj nodded as his eyes met Thorin’s, then stepped aside for Prince Roland. The mercenaries halted, and Roland the Red grimaced.

‘Come ahead,’ Thorin called to him.

Prince Roland was a tall, well-dressed young man, with a handsome, cocky face. Thorin at once saw the shadow of his father in him, though Raxor was certainly more muscular. In contrast, Roland was lean and wiry and walked with a long, bouncing gait. The prince had come empty-handed into the camp of his enemies, without even an arming sword at his side. Around his neck hung a chain of gold with a diamond dangling from it, the kind of thing a woman might wear. He fixed his jaw when he saw the baron, summoning his courage.

‘I’m Baron Glass,’ Thorin thundered, letting his armoured arm rest in his lap. ‘Welcome, Prince Roland.’

Roland at once tried claiming the high ground. He said curtly, ‘I am here to talk for my father, Baron Glass, the King of Reec. He wishes to know your mind.’

He was a child. Thorin realized it at once. Like a dog, Thorin could smell the fear on him.

‘Will you sit?’ he asked the prince.

Roland thought for a moment, then stepped forward. Despite his awkwardness, Thorin admired his courage. While Kaj and the others kept back, Roland went to sit before the baron and his colonel. As he settled down, Thorin grabbed another glass and filled it with sherry.

‘Here,’ he offered. ‘A drink will steady you, I think.’

Roland’s hand paused in mid-air. His temples began to pulse. ‘Let us talk, Baron Glass, about why you are here. About your designs.’

‘We’ll talk. Just take the drink, boy.’

The prince took the drink, and without smiling tipped the glass over, spilling the wine into the dirt. His long fingers opened, dropped the glass, and sent it shattering downward.

‘Why no feast, Baron Glass? Why no dancing girls or musicians? I haven’t come to make merry. So let us speak our minds.’

Next to him, Thorin felt Thayus tense. Inside him, he heard Kahldris gasp.

Insolence.

Thorin steadied them both. He said easily, ‘Your father is the one that should explain himself, youngster. Why has he moved so close against the Kryss?’

‘To defend what is ours,’ said Roland.

‘You mean what was given to you,’ Thorin corrected.

Roland snorted in disgust. ‘I knew that was why you came here, Baron Glass. To take back the Kryss. If you expect us to capitulate . . .’

‘The Kryss is ours,’ said Thorin. ‘It was given to Reec in a time of weakness by King Akeela who was brainsick. But you’re wrong, Prince Roland – I don’t expect you to give it back to us. You’ve come ready to fight, haven’t you?’

‘We have,’ said Roland confidently.

Thorin smiled. ‘And that’s what you want, isn’t it?’

‘We are not afraid to fight, Baron Glass.’

‘No, boy, I’m talking about you. You have no idea how obvious you are, do you? Your father wants peace. That much is obvious. He’ll fight for the Kryss because he must, but you’ll fight because you want to fight. You’re a whelp. And like all whelps, you have something to prove.’

The prince bristled. ‘You talk big, old man.’ He looked down at Thorin’s gleaming arm. ‘That armour of yours – you think it will save you from a whole army? Have you seen what we’ve brought with us?’

‘I’ve seen,’ said Thorin confidently. ‘A goodly force, to be sure.’ He shrugged with nonchalance. ‘If you think it’s enough, then make your move. That’s why you came alone, so no one else would hear your bargain. Please don’t insult me by denying it.’

Sweat began erupting on Roland’s upper lip. Outwardly, though, he controlled himself. ‘I’m here at my father’s request, to tell you there is no bargaining about the river Kryss. It was given to Reec by the King of Liiria. It belongs to us now.’ A flash of hatred ran through his eyes. ‘And Baron Glass, if you’re so good at reading my mind, then you know I’m not afraid of you. Nor is my father. So do not try to cow us. We are Reecians. We are not afraid of anything.’

‘You are your father’s son,’ laughed Thorin. ‘If he were here, those would be his words exactly.’

Why do you play with him? He insults you!

Thorin paid the spirit no mind, but Kahldris quickly erupted with such force it jolted Thorin forward.

Do not ignore me!

Struck like a hammer, Thorin put his hand to his head and closed his eyes, willing Kahldris to be silent. But the Akari’s anger pushed forward, demanding to be loosed.

I need blood! Blood to live!

Thorin got to his feet, fighting for control. Prince Roland looked at him, plainly confused. Colonel Thayus jumped up and stood before the baron.

‘Baron Glass? What is it?’

The world began to spin. Thorin opened his eyes and saw a red haze. His head began to pound. His armoured arm twitched. He tried to speak but could not, and realized too late that he had pushed Kahldris too far.

‘Don’t,’ he managed to sputter. ‘No . . .’

Kahldris was on him, suffocating him. Thorin tried to move backward, to run, but the demon held him firm. Prince Roland got to his feet and stared, his mouth agape as Thorin’s face began to twist. Inside Thorin’s head, he heard Kahldris’ voice, calm and lilting.

It is time.

Thorin jerked forward and shoved Thayus aside. Unable to stop himself, his enchanted arm shot out and grabbed Roland by the throat. As if watching a dream, Thorin saw the gauntlet close about the prince’s neck. The prince writhed as the arm lifted him to his toes. He gave a stunted, gasping scream. Thorin watched as the gauntlet tightened. He wanted to turn away, but no part of him would obey, not even his horror-stricken eyes. Roland’s throat became smaller and smaller, until it was just an impossible reed. Colonel Thayus was shouting, roaring for Thorin to stop.

‘Fate above, enough!’ Thorin cried.

Crushed in Thorin’s vice-like fist, Roland’s neck ruptured. The veins bulged and exploded, spraying blood against Thorin’s face. The head lolled back with a death rattle. Like a snake the armoured arm coiled around Roland, soaking up the blood. Nausea swam through Thorin’s brain. Thayus and the others began to wretch. As it had before, the Devil’s Armour began to feed. Thorin’s armoured arm writhed with life, glowing as the figures embossed in its metal danced with animation. Thorin shook the dead prince, wringing every drop of blood from his neck, carefully smearing it along the gauntlet and mail. And then, when he was done, he dropped the wizened corpse to the ground.

Power flooded Thorin’s body. Inside him, Kahldris let out a sigh of ecstasy.

Glorious!

Thorin’s will buckled. He looked down at Roland’s violated body, wanting to vomit but then succumbing to the demon.

‘The Kryss is ours,’ he said in a voice not quite his own. ‘It is time.’

By now Kaj and the others had joined Thayus, circling Thorin in shock. Thorin looked at them in challenge.

‘Do you hear? Kaj, to your men! Thayus, my friend, it is time!’

Baron Glass did not wait for his men to follow. Locked away in his private tent, the rest of the Devil’s Armour called to him.

Aric was napping when the commotion awoke him. He had been dreaming of a woman he had once met in Calon, a town in southeren Liiria known for its prostitutes. When he heard the shouts of men around him, he opened his eyes with a groan. Around him, the soldiers with whom he shared the tent were pulling on boots and hurriedly dressing themselves. The pleasant memory of Aric’s harlot quickly fled as he sat up, looking around in dazed confusion. The Reecian soldiers were talking loudly but he could not understand their words. Most were fleeing the tent. Aric tossed his naked feet over the side of his cot and tried to get their attention.

‘What is it?’ he asked.

A young man who Aric recognized looked over at him as he was buttoning up his jacket. His eyes were wild as he said, ‘They’re coming!’

‘Coming? Who . . .’

But then Aric understood. His mind wrapped slowly around the happenings. Prince Roland had gone to his father to talk. Was is it over? Aric wondered how long he’d been asleep.

‘Don’t just sit there. Get your boots on!’ cried the young soldier. And then he was out of the tent, following his brethren in to the night.

Aric jumped to his feet. Outside he heard the crescendo of men making ready for battle. He found his boots beneath his cot, pulling them on to his feet, then grabbed his coat from the edge of his mattress and ran outside. As he pulled his arms through his coat’s leather sleeves, he looked about in disbelief. The camp had erupted into activity. All around him men were shouting, galloping past on horses or running in aimless directions. Officers called out orders over the din, directing the chaos while dogs barked and squires stumbled past with arm-loads of arrows. A full moon lit the camp, and through its silvery haze Aric could see men marching toward the Kryss. Colonel Craiglen sat atop a grey charger, his face red with effort as he yelled to his officers. Overwhelmed by the scene, Aric stumbled forward, unsure what to do or even what was happening. Craiglen saw his confusion and galloped toward him.

‘Aric Glass!’ he called. He jerked his grey horse to a halt. ‘Protect yourself, boy.’

‘Protect myself?’ Aric sputtered. ‘What’s happening?’

‘Your father is attacking,’ sneered Craiglen. ‘Under the very truce of peace! His men are making for the bridges. We have to form our lines. Find yourself cover!’

‘No!’ Aric cried. ‘I’m not going to hide!’

‘Look at you! You’re not ready for this. You—’ Craiglen stopped himself with a growl. ‘Oh, fine!’ He stretched down his hand. ‘Come on.’

Aric took his hand and let the old soldier pull him onto horseback. Wrapping his arm about Craiglen’s chest, he held tight as the colonel galloped away.

‘Where are we going?’ Aric asked.

‘To Raxor,’ said Craiglen over his shoulder, and soon the two were darting through the camp, dodging men and machinery as they headed toward the front. Aric strained to see the distant river. In the moonlight and glow of torches he could see the horizon swarming with movement as his father’s forces gathered into position. Flags and flashing spears punctured the night sky. Barely visible, the main bridge stood over the river, still abandoned by either side, though Aric’s father’s mercenaries were nearer to it and quickly closing the gap.

‘What happened to the talks?’ Aric asked in Craiglen’s ear. ‘What about Prince Roland?’

‘I don’t know,’ snapped Craiglen. ‘Dead I think.’

‘Dead? How?’

‘Stop talking to me, boy!’

As Craiglen raced through the crowds Aric pondered his words. Roland was dead? It made no sense, but he asked no more questions of the busy colonel, instead holding on as the horse bounded across the camp. At last they spotted Raxor through the disorder, atop his charger and surrounded by men. The king had fixed his crown to his head and wore a full regalia of battle garb. The most disquieting look suffused his face. He turned toward them as he noticed Craiglen coming forward. The old colonel skidded to a stop and took measure of the horizon.

‘They’ve sent men toward the north and south bridges,’ Raxor informed him. ‘Looks like the bulk of them are coming straight for the main bridge.’

Craiglen nodded, but even Aric knew the news was grave. There were three bridges nearby, and his father planned to overwhelm them all. The main bridge, as Raxor called it, was the largest of the three. And the nearest. Days earlier, he had met on that bridge with the Norvan colonel.

‘Darltin took a troop north,’ Raxor continued. ‘Craiglen, you join them. Take Karik’s company with you. I’ll send Jakel to the south bridge.’

‘And the main bridge, my lord?’ asked Craiglen with dread. ‘What of it?’

‘I have the dogs, Craiglen, don’t worry,’ said Raxor.

‘This is where Baron Glass will come through,’ said Craiglen. ‘Let me stay with you.’

‘Do as I ask, and hurry,’ ordered Raxor. His eyes met Aric’s. ‘And you. Get down.’

Aric hurried off the back of Craiglen’s horse. He looked up expectantly at Raxor. ‘My lord, tell me what to do.’

‘Just keep yourself safe. Stay with me.’

‘But I can fight!’

‘I’m sure you can,’ agreed Raxor. He turned toward a group of squires, calling for a horse. ‘You’ll ride,’ he told Aric. ‘And you’ll keep back with me. Your father’s a snake, boy. I want to know what other tricks he might have for us.’

‘I’m sure I don’t know, my lord,’ said Aric. ‘Just let me fight—’

But Raxor was already ignoring him, berating Craiglen for still being there. He ordered his old friend away, and with a reluctant nod Colonel Craiglen galloped off, toward the northern bridge. Raxor shot orders to the other officers, sending most of them scurrying. Around them the catapults screamed like twisting metal as the crews began getting them into position.

‘There wasn’t time,’ Raxor growled. His eyes grew distant. Aric could tell he was thinking of his son. ‘They come like wolves.’

‘My lord?’ Aric probed. ‘Prince Roland?’

Raxor shook his head. ‘They just started coming, Aric.’ The old man looked lost. ‘There was nothing. No word, no warning.’

The words were horrible, made more so from a father’s lips. Aric stood frozen even as a squire hurried up to him with a horse.

‘My lord, I’m sorry,’ he offered. ‘But maybe—’

‘He’s dead,’ said Raxor, cutting him off. ‘Get on your horse, boy.’

The horse that had appeared was not Aric’s own but a larger, brown gelding already outfitted for battle, with iron plating along its flanks and hammered metal covering its snout. It chewed anxiously on its bit as Aric mounted then wheeled it about, wondering where they were headed.

‘What now?’ he asked the king.

Raxor was already on the move. Flanked by lieutenants, the old man was quickly giving orders, pointing out different regions of the battleground as he rode. They were woefully unprepared for the attack, that much was plain. Aric could see the trepidation on Raxor’s face.

‘The dogs,’ the king called back to him. ‘They’ll be first.’

Up ahead, the dog handlers waited, each of them holding a leash of ten snarling mastiffs. At least two-hundred of the beasts barked at the horizon, eager to race toward the bridge. The handlers looked at Raxor
anxiously. Cavalry men still gathered near the line. Aric imagined Raxor’s strategy. The dogs, he knew, would buy them time.

‘Let them go,’ Raxor ordered.

The handlers released the beasts. One by one they twisted the chains from their stout collars, sending the mastiffs snarling into the night. The air filled with their angry barks. Soon the field was flooded with them, their powerful bodies bounding toward the bridge.

Aric watched them go, sure that on the other side of the river, his father awaited them.

Baron Glass charged for the bridge, his body encased in his magical armour. Through the eyeslits of his helmet, night had become day, and he did not need the feeble moon to light his way. Like his enchanted, missing arm, his entire frame became one with the armour, animated by Kahldris and his powerful magic, and Baron Glass did not feel the weight of its metal or the constriction of its binds. As light as a robe, the Devil’s Armour danced on him, forming to him like a second skin. His fingers articulated perfectly in his spiked gauntlets, and the Akari sword he carried into battle felt like a twig, feather light as it whistled through the wind. Behind him, an army followed, straining to keep up with the baron as he hurried toward the river. Among them were the only Liirians in the battle, a company of loyalists to Thorin led by a man named Siagan. Siagan had answered Thorin’s call to arms, gathering Kothans to his banner with the promise of gold. Unlike Liiria’s Royal Chargers, they were outlaws and farmers, mostly, but they were Liirians still and so rode with their new king into battle.

Beside Thorin, the mercenary Rase fought to keep up with the baron. Like Siagan, he too had soldiers with him, nearly a thousand Norvan mercenaries. Rase, a friend of Rodrik Varl, had replaced Varl as Thorin’s top mercenary. Rase kept low in the saddle as he rode, his eyes fixed on the coming river and the men beyond. They had surprised their enemies, clearly. Across the Kryss the Reecian soldiers hurried to arrange their defenses. Thorin watched as the catapults screeched into place and the horsemen circled in confusion. In the centre of the Reecian army, the banner of King Raxor wavered in the breeze, lit by smoky torchlight. His army of ten-thousand moved like a wave on the horizon, undulating into action. They were more numerous than Thorin’s forces and better equipped, and yet Thorin had no fear at all.

No fear,
Kahldris whispered in his ear.

And Thorin knew the truth of Kahldris’ words, and did not fear the giant army on the river’s other side. He could not be nicked by a Reecian sword or felled by a Reecian arrow or overwhelmed by their great numbers. And when he saw the Reecian dogs, he simply nodded.

‘Look at that!’ cried Rase.

Swarming over the bridge came the mastiffs, spreading out like a screaming tide. Racing across the field, their necks encircled with steel collars, their bodies mailed and thickly muscled, the war dogs darted through the darkness, their open jaws snapping toward Thorin’s army. Siagan called back to his men, ordering them to ready themselves. Rase and his mercenaries tucked down on their mounts. Mastiffs choked the bridge as they fought to reach the field. Those already on the field made ready to pounce.

Baron Glass saw the dark eyes of the dogs and braced himself. At the point of his army, he raised his sword and commanded his men into the fray.

‘To the bridge!’ he cried.

Then like a hammer the first mastiff struck him. Leaping through the air, the great dog launched himself up and over Thorin’s horse, catching the baron square in the chest. Thorin’s ears rang with the scraping of nails and the slobbering snarl of a snapping jaw. Surprised, he caught the beast by the throat and hurled it aside, only to have two more swarm him. His armoured legs easily parried their insistent jaws as the beasts tried vainly to take hold. Thorin yelled out in anger, used his sword to dislodge the first, then wheeled his horse to face the second. Instantly other mastiffs joined the meˆle´e. Thorin found himself surrounded. Already Rase and Siagan were in battles of their own. The field filled with cries.

‘Come!’ Thorin taunted, waving his sword.

The mastiffs stalked closer, then leapt. Thorin felt their blows as the armour deflected them all. He had but to turn to and they were off him, sliding like water off his black metal skin. Around him, Rase and his mercenaries fought off the worst of them, their advance cut down by the wall of dog flesh. The monstrous dogs easily pulled the mercenaries down from their horses, dragging them screaming through the night. Siagan and his Liirians hurried to aid them, slashing a path through the mastiffs.

Thorin turned, then felt another of the dogs tearing at his boot. The fangs should have easily pierced the leather, but the magic of the Devil’s Armour surrounded every bit of Thorin, and as the dog hopelessly tried getting hold of him Thorin reached down and took hold of the mastiff’s metal collar. The dog growled and thrashed its huge body, fighting like a fish as Thorin lifted it from the ground. It snapped its jaws in Thorin’s face, trying to reach him. Bringing down his helmeted head, Thorin crushed its skull. As the mastiff went limp, Thorin tossed it aside, determined to make for the bridge.

There, he saw a hundred more mastiffs waiting to fight him. Undaunted, he slogged his way across the bloodied field.