The Sword Of Angels (Gollancz S.F.) (66 page)

A flash of distant lightning lit the open doors to the library, bringing the murky interior to light. Jazana Carr, wet from rain, stared down the maw of the corridor, noting the vast emptiness. A clap of thunder rang in her ears, spooking her horse. Somewhere far away an owl hooted. Library Hill stood starkly in the moonless night, cluttered with abandoned equipment and the tools of workmen. The long, meandering road up the hill coursed with muddy rainwater. Jazana Carr shook the rain from her face and stared into the library. Thorin had not lied to her about the progress. An enormous amount of work had already been done. The grand interior, once collapsed by Norvan catapults, was gradually returning to life.

‘Let me come with you, Jazana,’ said Rodrik Varl. ‘It’s dark and unsafe. You don’t even know where he is.’

‘I know where he is,’ Jazana replied. There could only be one place. ‘Just wait for me. I don’t know how long I’ll be.’

Rodrik looked up into the threatening sky. So far the worst of the storm had missed them, but the clouds were rolling south toward the hill. Rodrik pulled up his collar, soured by her decision. He had argued against coming so late, but Jazana had insisted.

‘Come back in the morning,’ Rodrik suggested. ‘If Thorin hasn’t returned by then, I’ll take you back.’

‘How long should I wait?’ Jazana retorted. ‘I want to see him. Tonight.’

‘When there’s a monster in the wardrobe, a wise man waits till morning, Jazana. He won’t take well to this intrusion.’

Jazana stiffened, trying to look brave. She wasn’t afraid of Thorin, at least not completely, but she didn’t blame the others for being so. Since the fall of the Kryss she had seen him only sparingly, but he had been shocking to behold. Drenched in blood, he had returned to Lionkeep like a madman, followed by tales of his unbelievable carnage. Two days later, Jazana had ridden out herself to the river to see the stacks of corpses. Some said the Kryss would never be clean again.

‘He’s avoiding me,’ Jazana confessed. ‘And he made me a promise.’

Varl smirked. ‘A promise from a devil is no promise at all.’

‘He’s not a devil,’ Jazana shot back. ‘You should all know better than to talk that way of him.’

‘I know what I know, Jazana. And I know what I saw with you at the Kryss.’ Varl scoffed. ‘Ah, but what use is it? You see none of it, only your love for him.’

‘Stop now,’ Jazana urged. ‘I have to go.’

‘Then go.’

‘He needs me,’ Jazana tried explaining.

‘Norvor needs you, Jazana. But go on . . . go to him. I’ll wait.’

They had endured this argument a hundred times. Jazana surrendered, slipping down from her horse and standing at the library’s threshold. Through the twin oak doors she saw a handful of candles along the walls, lighting a path. Listening, she heard nothing. The workmen reconstructing the library had all quit for the day, long ago. So had the painters and sculptors and all the other artisans Thorin had brought to Koth for his grand obsession. His projects and passions had bled Jazana’s coffers nearly dry. And still he dwelt here, slipping day by day deeper into the grip of his magical armour.

Jazana hesitated.

‘Are you going?’ Varl asked.

‘Yes.’

‘Then go.’

‘Shut up,’ Jazana snapped, then crossed the threshold without looking back. The vast hallway swallowed her down its inky throat. The walls swam with shadows. Overhead, a mural of intense looking scholars spied Jazana as she followed the candles down the hall. Most had burned down to nubs, providing only enough light for her to grope her way along, helped by an occasional blast of lightning through the stained glass windows. Jazana glanced over her shoulder and barely saw the outline of Rodrik Varl and the horses standing in the rain. She took a breath to steady herself. The catalogue room was a the other end of the library. A long walk, especially in the dark, but as she continued through the halls Jazana noticed that the candles continued guiding her along, perfectly placed to lead her to the hidden chamber. She moved quietly, listening to her shallow breathing, noting the rows and rows of empty book shelves and the small, lonely reading rooms.

‘The Cathedral of Knowledge.’

Her whispered voice carried through the dusty hall. She smiled, enchanted by the memory of what the place had once been. It would be like that again, Thorin had promised, but his vow had taken on ominous proportions. Jazana’s smile quickly faded. So many dreams . . . what had gone wrong?

She continued through the maze of chambers, amazed to find each one lit for her and realizing that Thorin had no need for any of the other rooms. He was only interested in one, and needed only one route to it. Her pace quickened, spurred on by the terrible silence. Her feet padded eagerly across the dusty floor. She turned down a corridor lit like all the others, and finally saw her quarry at the other end of the hall.

Jazana paused. The catalogue room was always locked, but tonight its metal door stood open. A strong glow of candlelight flooded its threshold. Jazana held her breath a moment, not wanting to be overheard. Inching forward, she leaned ahead to listen, surprised to hear Thorin’s voice. His tone was gravely, almost strained, and she knew he was talking to himself. Again she hesitated. Coming here suddenly seemed like the worst of ideas, but she knew she could not turn back. Thorin needed her. Whatever had happened to him at the Kryss had changed him.

‘I can’t,’ said his distant voice, reaching her across the hall. ‘I can’t make it work.’

His voice sounded desperate. Jazana had never heard such weakness in him. She tiptoed closer, careful not to make a sound as she approached. The light wavered in the catalogue room as Thorin spoke, disturbing the candles. A clap of thunder shook the hall. ‘I have tried everything,’ came Thorin’s angry voice. ‘Do not tell me to try again! The boy will make the machine work. We must wait for the boy!’

Jazana paused. Was he alone? She heard no one else reply to him, yet his words seemed two-sided. She went ahead, finally coming to the threshold of the chamber. Peering inside, she saw the vast room lit by the candles on the walls and on the tables, filling the place with a reddish glow. Along the floor stretched the machine, the arcane invention of the dead genius Figgis. Jazana had never seen it lit so well, with every rod and armature exposed. Its sprockets glistened with oil. Its unmoving wheels rose to the ceiling. At the front of the machine sat Thorin, slumped over the simple wooden desk, his face buried in his armoured arm, his chest rising and falling with laboured breaths. His clothes hung limply from his powerful body, drenched in filthy sweat. The stench of him reached Jazana like a hot wind. He muttered to himself incomprehensibly, shaking his head. The machine – his obsession – sat mutely before him.

Jazana trembled, forcing herself to speak. ‘Thorin,’ she whispered. ‘Look at me.’

Startled, Thorin bolted up in his chair. He turned his wild eyes on her, wide with dread. Jazana stepped back, shocked by his face. The bones of his cheeks stood out from his swollen eye sockets, flushed an unhealthy red. His lips drew back, thin and purple. His burning gaze fixed on her, bloodshot. When his dried tongue moved to speak, she could hear his thirst.

‘What are you doing here?’ he rasped.

Though his visage stunned her, Jazana tried to stay calm. ‘Thorin? Are you all right?’

‘Why are you here?’ he asked again, his voice rising. ‘I am working!’

Jazana looked around the room. ‘Who were you talking to?’

Thorin reared back. His face twisted. ‘You were listening to me?’ He chuckled, covering himself. ‘Have you come to spy on me, Jazana?’

‘Thorin, I was worried about you.’ Jazana chanced a step toward him, studying his bizarre face. ‘You’ve been here for days. You haven’t come to Lionkeep or spoken to anyone in almost a week. Look at you! You haven’t even eaten.’

The baron turned away as if nothing were wrong. ‘I . . . have work to do, Jazana. And you should not have come. Go, please. You’re disturbing me.’

‘Thorin, no,’ Jazana insisted. ‘I won’t go, not until I know you’re all right. Why are you working so hard with this contraption? Why don’t you come home?’

‘I don’t need a wife,’ Thorin grumbled. ‘Or a mother.’

The insult riled the Diamond Queen. She went to him, grabbing his shoulder and forcing him to face her.

‘Talk to me,’ she insisted. ‘Something is wrong with you. Something has happened to you, Thorin.’

‘Rubbish,’ he laughed, removing her hand.

‘It’s the armour, Thorin,’ said Jazana. ‘It’s changing you. Since the battle at the Kryss—’

‘No, no,’ Thorin warned, holding up a finger. He shook his head as though speaking to a child. ‘There’ll be no talk of that. Don’t speak of the armour, Jazana.’

‘Why? Why are you afraid to talk about it, Thorin? What’s it done to you?’

‘It’s made me strong! Gods, woman, isn’t that enough for you?’

‘No, it’s not enough! If it keeps you from me, no.’

Thorin steadied himself. He smiled. ‘You are right,’ he sighed. ‘I am sorry. I have neglected you. I should spend more time with you, Jazana. And I will, I promise.’

Jazana moaned in frustration. ‘Thorin, no! You’re not understanding at all. I’m not here because I miss you. I’m here because something has happened to you. The armour, Thorin . . . it’s killing you!’

‘It is not,’ said Thorin. He struggled to contain his fury. ‘It gives me power.’

‘It takes power! Have you seen yourself? You look like a shadow!’

‘Jazana, enough,’ Thorin warned her. ‘I have work to do.’

‘What work? This thing?’ Jazana waved her arm toward the machine. ‘Why, Thorin? What’s so important about this thing?’

‘It is a thinking machine, Jazana.’

‘I know what it is! I don’t care any more. You’re obsessed with it, Thorin. Why?’

‘I . . .’ Thorin stopped himself, looking away. ‘I cannot tell you.’

Jazana checked her growing rage. The urge to shake him felt overwhelming. ‘You’re lying to me,’ she said. ‘You’re keeping secrets from me. And you’re ruining us, Thorin. You’ve spent almost all our gold rebuilding this library. All your people are terrified of you. They do nothing but talk about you and the things you did to the Reecians. That’s what going on outside these walls!’

Thorin leaned back his head. ‘You exhaust me, woman. Let me be.’

Jazana glared at him. ‘You’re becoming demented. The armour has maddened you.’

‘Has it?’ Thorin lifted his left arm, flexing the armour covering it. It moved perfectly, like flesh. He moved his missing fingers in the enchanted gauntlet. ‘With this arm I can tear down the whole place, brick by brick.’

‘Yes,’ said Jazana. ‘You’re like a storm now, Thorin. Strong. And mindless.’

Thorin slammed his fist onto the table. ‘Go!’

‘No,’ hissed Jazana. ‘You made a promise to me. Or have you forgotten?’

‘I have not forgotten.’

‘Well then? The news from Norvor is worse everyday. When will we go?’

‘We will not,’ said Thorin. He turned his gaze back toward the machine. ‘I cannot leave now.’

‘What? Thorin, you told me we would go when you had done with the Reecians. They are beaten now.’

‘I cannot go, Jazana,’ said Thorin calmly.

‘You have to go! You have to help me get Carlion back!’ Jazana kicked at his chair, insisted he look at her. ‘Haven’t you heard anything? Carlion is gone and Vicvar will be next. I’ve had reports, Thorin. Everyday I hear more and more about Elgan. He’s not afraid of us at all! Doesn’t that mean anything to you?’

With a shake of his head, Thorin said, ‘I am sorry.’

‘We’re losing Norvor!’ screamed Jazana. ‘I’m losing it! You have to help me!’

‘I will,’ promised Thorin, ‘when I can. But not now.’

‘Why not now? Tell me why!’

Thorin gestured toward the machine. ‘Gilwyn Toms is on his way. He knows how to work the catalogue. I must be here when he arrives.’

Jazana felt hot blood rushing to her cheeks. ‘Thorin, Norvor is falling to our enemies! Liiria is falling apart around you and you’re worried about this cursed machine?’

‘You don’t understand, my love,’ sighed Thorin. ‘And I can’t explain it to you.’

‘You can! But you have to try. You’re shutting out everyone, Thorin, even me. You have to trust me. Tell me, please – what is wrong with you?’