The Sword Of Angels (Gollancz S.F.) (72 page)

‘Oh . . .’

She was a little girl again, looking up at everything because she was so small. Above her head reigned the cathedral, all vaults and frescoes, alive with the dancing lights of the candles on the wall. Ahead loomed the hall, wide and fabulous, pulsing with the echoes of her own rapt breath. Stately and wise looked the eyes of the scholars, depicted in paint and gazing down from their heavenly perch, watching the intruder who had awakened them. Like a pool of shimmering fire, the marble floor guided her forward, beckoning her down the puzzling hall.

‘Come on,’ whispered Gogin, annoyed. ‘He’ll be in the catalogue room.’

Mirage snapped back to reality. ‘What’s that?’

‘It doesn’t matter. Just follow me.’

He continued on as Mirage followed, deeper through the hall, the entrance falling back behind them. The columns along the way shrouded them with shadows, creating a maze of dimly lit alcoves and unseen hazards. Gogin, who clearly knew the way, ignored the frightful visages, walking quickly through the giant corridor. Then, like he’d hit a wall, he stopped. Mirage stopped behind him, focusing her eyes on the darkness ahead. She gasped when she saw the figure. Gogin stuttered a feckless greeting.

‘My lord, I’m sorry,’ he said quickly. ‘I’ve brought this woman here. She says she knows you . . .’

The man in shadows held up a silencing hand. His eyes, the only thing truly visible, fell on Mirage like glowing jewels. Mirage felt all her bravado slip away under his withering gaze. Of all the tales she had heard of him, none had prepared her for the truth.

‘Thorin . . .’

Thorin Glass stood like a statue in the corridor, a terrible shadow of the man he had been. His left arm glistened, the living metal of the armour making flesh out of the air. His thin face, boney now and ripped with lines, grimaced like a mask, twisting when he saw her. His brow raised over his troubled eyes, filling with surprise. His mouth opened, but he did not speak. He simply watched her in amazement.

Mirage took a step toward him, trying to smile. Like a cancer, the Devil’s Armour had savaged him, but she warned off her pity, knowing he would read her in an instant.

‘Thorin, it’s me,’ she said gently. ‘Mir—’ She stopped herself. ‘Meriel.’

‘My lord, this woman insisted she be brought to you,’ Gogin explained. ‘She says she is from Jador.’

‘Go,’ Thorin ordered, not looking at the soldier.

The simple command was enough to send him scurrying. Without a good-bye or wish of luck, Gogin left Mirage, fleeing back down the
gloomy corridor. Silence swarmed in after him. Thorin stood, unmoving, blinking in disbelief. Instead of anger or glee, pain filled his countenance.

‘Meriel . . . why?’

‘I’ve come to see you, Thorin,’ said Mirage. Throughout the long ride to Koth, she had rehearsed what she would say to him, but her practiced words fled her mind.

‘But why?’ he asked again. ‘Where’s Lukien?’

‘I don’t know,’ she lied with a shrug. ‘He left me. I’ve been on my own ever since.’ She took another step toward him. ‘That’s why I’m here, Thorin. I have nowhere to go.’

‘You’re alone?’ Thorin leaned closer. ‘And still with your new Akari. I had forgotten how beautiful you are now.’

Mirage couldn’t help herself. His tenderness struck her hard. ‘Thorin, what’s happened to you?’ she sighed. ‘You’ve changed. You look so different, so much older.’

Embarrassed, he turned his face away. ‘I’m ugly now. Please – don’t speak of it.’

‘It’s the armour,’ she said flatly. ‘It’s devoured you, just like Minikin said it would.’

He put up his hands. ‘Stop.’

Undeterred, Mirage stepped closer. As the light struck his face she could see the deepness of the damage, the almost demented look of his eyes, the thin curl of his lips. ‘Thorin . . .’ She shook her head, unable to hide her pity. ‘Look at you.’

She reached out to touch him, but his armoured arm rose up, clenching around her wrist with its ice cold gauntlet.

‘No,’ he hissed. ‘I’m not a wounded dog, Meriel. And you had your chance to love me once.’

‘I came to help you.’ She did not pull free of his iron grip, but instead very calmly said, ‘You’re hurting me, Thorin.’

He released her at once.

‘You’re here to talk me free of the armour,’ he chuckled. ‘You forget yourself, girl. The armour’s made me invincible.’

‘Thorin, no. It’s made you a monster. I can see it in you!’

Thorin reared back, but it was a new voice this time that shook the hall.

‘She lies!’ came the cry, with so much force it staggered Mirage backward. She looked at Thorin, then at the air beside him, shimmering. Pulling itself free of Thorin came another figure, shrouded and wavering, more like a ghost than a man. Its fierce face snarled hatefully at Mirage as it separated from its host, ripping free with a wail from Thorin. ‘You’re an imp,’ accused the figure. ‘A sniveling little slut here to blind him.’

Mirage steadied herself, stunned by the sight of the spirit. Instantly she
knew it was Kahldris. The Akari pinioned her with his fiery eyes, pointing a bony finger.

‘She has an Akari, Baron,’ he spoke. ‘She comes in disguise!’

‘She is a friend,’ Thorin gasped, clearly weakened. ‘Her Akari keeps her well.’

Kahldris smiled in discovery. ‘Her Akari is a mask.’ He drifted closer. ‘I can see the ugly truth behind it.’

‘Keep away from her,’ ordered Thorin. ‘I already know the truth.’

Kahldris paused. ‘I want to see for myself.’

‘Get away,’ hissed Mirage, backing off from the demon. Inside she could feel Kirsil’s terror. Kahldris lifted his hands, reaching out for her. ‘No!’

He was on her before she could move, dropping over her, smothering her, his immutable hands cupping her face, pulling Kirsil from her like the way he himself had torn free of Thorin. Mirage heard herself scream, heard too the awful cry of Kirsil as their bodies ripped apart. The Akari – her Akari – faltered, losing grip on the hold between them. Past Kahldris she should could see Thorin, his mouth hung in shock, and above her the struggling form of Kirsil writhing toward the ceiling. Kahldris stood triumphant in his rape, holding a handful of Mirage’s hair and dragging her toward Thorin.

‘Look and see the
true
Mirage,’ he demanded. ‘Look at this hideous creature.’

Mirage buried her face in her hands, crying out for Kirsil. She could feel the spirit’s battle to reach her through the powerful wall Kahldris erected between them. She struggled against Kahldris’ grip, but it was Thorin who rescued her, bounding forward and pulling her free of the demon.

‘Leave her!’ he bellowed, shielding her in his arms.

‘Kirsil!’ cried Mirage. Overhead, the girl Akari floated helplessly.

‘Why don’t you look at her, Baron Glass?’ goaded Kahldris jealously. ‘Before you fall for her charms, look at her ugliness.’

‘I have seen her,’ spat Thorin. ‘Bring back her Akari – now!’

Kahldris shook with rage. ‘She’s not here to help you!’

‘Do it, beast!’

Kahldris looked disgusted as his eyes met Mirage’s. Then, just as quickly as he had appeared, he vanished from the dark hall, leaving Mirage shuddering in Thorin’s arms.

‘Don’t look at me,’ she pleaded, hiding her face.

‘It’s over,’ said Thorin. ‘Your Akari has returned.’

It
was
over. Mirage could feel Kirsil again, part of her once more. Yet somehow she could not bring herself to face Thorin or show her lovely
mask to him. The ordeal, over in mere moments, had shaken her. How easily Kahldris had torn away her magic!

‘He’s gone,’ Thorin assured her. ‘Meriel, look at me . . .’

Finally, Mirage brought up her eyes. Thorin was smiling at her. He looked exhausted, like a beaten dog, but he had saved her.

‘You’re the only one who can understand,’ he told her. ‘I’m glad you’ve come. I need you . . . Mirage.’

Lukien rode his horse along the narrow road. Karoshin rode a donkey. The old priest led the way without saying a word, fully expecting Lukien to follow him. The day was hot and Lukien was irritated, and as he rode he cursed himself for agreeing to the journey. With no one else for company, the pair had ridden most of the afternoon, and Lukien could tell by the lengthening shadows that dusk would soon be falling. They would not make it back to the palace before sundown, but Karoshin seemed unconcerned. Up ahead, the mountains loomed high and foreboding. Snow capped the tallest peak, a colossal tyrant of a mountain rising up among its brothers. It was called the House of Sercin, and it was the first thing Lukien had noticed about Torlis when he had first seen the city from Akhiir’s little boat. It had captivated him then, and in the months since he had thought about the mountain often. It was where the Great Rass was said to dwell. Still, he had no idea why Karoshin had insisted on taking him there today.

For Lukien, the last few weeks had passed in a fugue. Since the death of Jahan, he stopped training Lahkali entirely, keeping to himself in the chamber they had once shared, venturing out only at night to walk the grounds of the palace alone. It was he who was responsible for Jahan’s death, and though he had avenged his friend by slaying the rass, there was nothing he could do to turn back the clock and return the gentle villager to life. His entire mission in Torlis seemed pointless now, because he had found no clues to the Sword of Angels and because he knew – knew – that Lahkali had no chance at all against the Great Rass.

The young Eminence had given Lukien time to grieve. She had scolded him severely upon his return from Amchan, but that was all. Master Niharn made his apologies, convincing Lahkali that he and Lukien were only doing what was necessary. Surprisingly, Lahkali had cried upon the news of Jahan’s death. Though the two of them rarely spoke, they had formed a strange understanding.

‘All right, Karoshin, enough now,’ Lukien grumbled. ‘We’ve gone far enough. Tell me why.’

‘We are not there yet,’ called the priest over his shoulder.

‘Then we should have left earlier! Karoshin, it’ll be dark soon.’

‘Dark? Yes,’ said Karoshin. ‘Do not be afraid, Lukien.’

‘You stubborn old fool, I’m not afraid. Just tell me where we’re going.’

‘To the mountains. That should be obvious.’

Convinced the old man was vexing him on purpose, Lukien bit back his insults. Karoshin had not told Lukien to bring anything but himself on the trip, but the priest’s own mount was laden with saddle bags, a sign that Lukien took as trouble. He had resisted the journey but Karoshin had been determined, and in the end Lukien didn’t really think he could refuse. He was still a guest in Torlis, after all, and priests like Karoshin held the power.

The road to the mountains snaked alongside the holy river. Here, the river rushed in a torrent, pouring down from the snow-laden peaks. In the lore of Torlis, the blood of the Great Rass would turn the river red, feeding the land for years to come. But that would mean killing the rass . . .

Lukien shook this thought from his mind. He had done his best, hadn’t he? And all his efforts had only made for a muscular Lahkali. The girl queen had continued her training without him, practicing every day in the courtyard of the palace just as he had taught her. He had seen her on occasion, expertly wielding the katath Aliz Nok had made for her, once again under the tutelage of Niharn. The old fencing master had many tricks to teach her, but Lukien knew they would not be enough. No one could fight a rass and win, not without years of training like the Jadori or the gift Lahkali’s lineage carried in their blood. Or, perhaps, a magical amulet to keep them alive. Lahkali’s cause was hopeless, and despite his promise to the girl to never give up, Lukien had surrendered the moment Jahan had died.

They traveled on for nearly an hour more, until at last they reached the foot of the mountains. Here, the trail petered off, surrendering to the rocks. The air grew cooler, too, and from where they stood Lukien could see the far-off city below them. At the end of the trail, a campsite had been cleared away, all of the rocks and brush set aside for travelers like themselves. To Lukien, it looked like the camp had been used many times over the years, though not for a very long time. He sat upon his horse, wondering why they had traveled so far. Above, the towering House of Sercin swallowed them in shadows.