The Sword Of Angels (Gollancz S.F.) (98 page)

‘I know what you did, you jealous harlot!’

Stunned, Jazana tried to speak, her words coming out in a stutter. ‘Thorin, what . . . ?’

‘You killed her! Bitch!’

His open palm shot forward, catching her across the jaw. The jolt spun Jazana backward, splaying her across the bed. Stunned and gasping, she looked up at Thorin’s maddened visage, tasting blood from her crushed lip.

‘Thorin . . . what?’

‘You sent your mercenaries after me, didn’t you?’ He stalked over to her. ‘You killed Mirage.’

‘What?’

‘Stop saying that!’ He grabbed hold of her leg and dragged her off the bed until she hit the floor. ‘Whore! I know what you did!’

Jazana grabbed desperately at the bed, terrified and confused. Thorin’s shouts rang in her ears, but his words were senseless.

‘Why are you here?’ she cried. ‘What happened to you?’

He stooped and took hold of her hair, wrenching her up to her knees. Holding her, he put his spitting face against her own. ‘Now you lie? You think I’m so stupid?’

Again he struck her, knocking her down. The pain of the blow made Jazana’s skull shake. She clawed away, searching the darkness for escape. Thorin snatched up her wrist and yanked her bodily off her feet. Her blinking eyes fought to focus. Blood drooled down her chin. His mouth curled upward with a snarl as he held her.

‘Let go of me!’ she hissed.

‘After all I’ve done for you, you repay me with treachery!’

‘What are you saying?’

‘Thorin!’

The shout came from behind him. Thorin turned to see Rodrik Varl in the threshold of the chamber. Still in his bedclothes, the fiery mercenary had a sword in hand.

‘Let her go,’ he ordered. ‘Or can you only beat up on women?’

Thorin held fast to Jazana’s wrist, crushing it in his iron grip. ‘Of course you come to help her. Varl, you water-headed ass . . .’

‘Let her go,’ repeated Varl sharply. ‘Now, Thorin.’

Like a doll Thorin tossed Jazana back onto the bed. She scrambled away from him. ‘Roddy, don’t!’

‘Yes,
Roddy
,’ taunted Thorin. ‘Be a good boy and don’t get hurt.’

‘Roddy, he’s raving,’ said Jazana. ‘Get away, please!’

‘I won’t leave you to be beaten like a dog, Jazana,’ said Varl. He stood his ground, hefting his weapon. ‘Thorin, go. Leave her alone and get yourself together.’

Thorin turned toward him, smiling as an idea lit his face. ‘This is just right,’ he mused. ‘Perfect, even.’ To Jazana he said, ‘You took the woman I loved, bitch. And so I will take this man that you love, and our score will be settled.’

Jazana leapt from the bed. ‘No!’

Thorin seized her by the shoulder and pushed her aside, then turned on Varl. ‘Come and get your lesson, Norvan.’

‘Roddy, don’t! He’ll kill you!’ screamed Jazana.

‘Yes I will,’ said Thorin. He took a step toward Varl, holding up his armoured arm as his only weapon. ‘How long have you wanted this, Rodrik? How long have you waited?’

‘A very long time,’ sneered Varl.

Wrapping both fists around his sword pommel, he unleashed his attack, slashing down ferociously at Thorin. Thorin’s arm shot up to parry. The sword sparked as it slid from the metal. Jazana screamed, crying for help that wouldn’t come. Varl hacked again and again, each blow blocked by Thorin’s swift moves. To Jazana, the meˆle´e was a blur, swathed in the darkness of her pitch black chamber. The combatants danced noisily through the room, knocking over furniture and tangling in bed linens.

‘Stop it!’ begged Jazana.

Varl barraged Thorin, quickly raining blows, each one expertly parried. At last Thorin’s hand shot up, catching the blade in flight. Varl tried yanking it free, but a flexing of the baron’s fist shattered it like glass. Thorin tossed the remnants aside, leaving Varl with the weapon’s useless stub. Before the mercenary could retreat he reached out and grabbed his
neck, lifting him off the ground. Varl’s hands flew to his throat to pry loose the iron fingers, gurgling helplessly as Thorin carried him toward the nearest wall.

‘I loved her, Jazana,’ Thorin moaned. ‘I loved her!’

‘Fate above, Thorin, don’t!’

But the demon inside him had seized the baron completely. Jazana saw the madness in him, pure like crystal water. His eyes glowed red as he held Rodrik near the wall, cocking back his arm. Rodrik Varl sputtered hatefully, knowing what was coming. Thorin looked remorseless. His arm snapped forward, smashing Varl into the wall. Made of stone, it shattered his skull like a melon, spraying blood and smearing brains against the rough surface. Jazana Carr shrieked. Thorin dropped the twitching corpse to the floor.

‘You may deny it all you wish, Jazana,’ he said. ‘But I know what you did.’

Jazana could not speak, not even to defend herself. Her gaze remained on Rodrik’s body and the gory stream across the wall. Finally, a hint of regret showed on Thorin’s face. He shook his head, studying the dead mercenary.

‘He was loyal to you until the end. Why could you not be as loyal to me?’

‘Madness,’ groaned Jazana. Her broken lip continued dripping blood. ‘You’re mad.’

Thorin went to her bed and leered at her. ‘What will you do? Leave me? You will never leave me, Jazana. I will never let you go.’

The lust in his face brought bile to Jazana’s throat. ‘Gods, no . . .’

He fell on her, stripping off her gown and driving her down into the bed, smothering her with his heavy body. Stripping himself, he forced her legs apart with his spiky gauntlet. Jazana’s screams filled the chamber.

This time, no one came to help her.

When it was over, Jazana laid alone in her bed in shock and horror.

Thorin had gone an hour before, leaving her in her tattered nightgown to stare at the corpse of Rodrik Varl and endure the thousand bruises he had inflicted on her body. The keep remained unbearable quiet. The frightened servants, locked in their chambers, left their queen and her murdered mercenary to themselves. Jazana supposed they were waiting until morning. When they came, they would find her battered. She thought about this, about her bruised and bloodied face, and wondered what they would think of her now.

In the urn at her bedside, the jagged diamonds remained, undisturbed by the shattering events. Beside them rested the bottle of wine. Jazana
picked it up and surveyed its half-full contents. Then, without hesitation, she selected a gemstone and placed it in her mouth, swallowing it down with a swig from the bottle. This she did again and again, each little gem cutting her throat as it slid down to her stomach. She knew her death would be an agony, but Jazana did not care. With Roddy’s visceral remains spilled across her bedroom floor, a lesser death seemed cowardly.

Stay awake, Gilwyn, urged Ruana. It’s not much further.

The Akari’s voice coaxed Gilwyn to lift his head. Ahead of him, the forest road seemed to stretch on forever, with no hint of Koth except the marks made by carriages and horse hooves. Gilwyn licked his dried lips and swallowed, trying to stem the sickness overtaking him. The slow canter of his horse made him sway from side to side. The motion stoked his illness. Wanting to vomit, Gilwyn nevertheless swallowed it back. He had been this way for the past five days, exhausted and dizzy, brutalized from the long trip north. The rass venom that remained in his blood had plagued him the entire journey, but now, when his terrible trek was near its end, it threatened to knock him from the saddle.

‘I need to rest,’ he groaned. ‘Just for a little while.’

You can’t rest here, said Ruana. It’s not safe. It will be dark again soon.

‘But we don’t know where we are.’

We are near Koth, Gilwyn. Don’t you remember?

Gilwyn nodded, vaguely recalling the trees of the forest. He had been a boy in the city, and had sometimes ventured out of the library to be among the trees and wildlife here. Instinctively, he knew he was home, but the day’s ride had wearied him and he longed to lay his head down and sleep. It had been weeks since he had left Roall, leaving behind the kind-hearted Kelan and his wife Marna. Gilwyn had been happy there, content to help them on their little farm in the valley between the mountains. Everything had been idyllic there. His troubles had seemed a thousand miles away. But Kahldris had shattered his peace, and Ruana had reminded him of his mission. Gilwyn had done his best to make it to Koth quickly, but his lame leg and the relentless sickness of the venom had slowed him to an almost embarrassing pace. He had begged for money in the towns along the way and slept in small villages where people took pity on him, but he had never given up, slogging all the way north to Koth.

To home.

‘When I left here,’ he gasped, ‘there were always people on the forest roads. Where are they?’

Ruana had no answer for him, except to say the sad truth.
Things are different now, Gilwyn
.

‘Thorin is no tyrant. I don’t believe the things they say.’

He sat up, making a miserable face. All through his trip north, he had heard the stories about the Black Baron. They were calling him a demon, but Gilwyn knew the truth.

‘He’s corrupted. That’s all.’

He will not be the man you knew
, Ruana warned.
Gilwyn, you should prepare yourself.

‘I’m ready,’ said Gilwyn. ‘I know Thorin, Ruana. He won’t hurt me.’

Deep inside his mind, Gilwyn could feel his Akari’s discomfort. She was afraid for him.

You think on those stories we heard, said Ruana gently. Soon you will see him. Soon you will see the truth for yourself. Do not refuse the truth because it is ugly.

Gilwyn nodded, then took a deep, unsteady breath. His eyes drooped and his head swam, and it took all his strength just to guide the horse that Aztar had given him. The remarkable beast had taken him all the way from the Desert of Tears. Without complaint, the horse had borne him proudly. Gilwyn had named the beast Triumph, a name that had come to him in a flash of inspiration. After so many months spent with the stallion, he was almost as close to him as he was with his beloved kreel Emerald.

‘Almost there, boy,’ he told the horse, rubbing its neck. ‘It’s almost over.’

The thought of the journey’s end gave Gilwyn the wind he needed to continue. Fighting back his nausea, he urged Triumph onward through the forest, following the narrow road that he knew would lead them to Koth. Ruana slipped back into the darker recesses of Gilwyn’s mind, where he could feel her brooding. She had tried for weeks to reason with him, and he had always refused her counsel. Whatever else Thorin had become, he was still a friend, and Gilwyn was determined to help him.

Then at last Gilwyn glimpsed the end of the rest. Up ahead the canopy of trees thinned. The sky spread out above it, blue and beckoning. Cheered, Gilwyn hurried along the road until he reached a place where the trees parted. For the first time in years, he saw the city he called home. The breathtaking visage stunned him.

‘Oh, Fate . . .’

His horse slowed beneath him. Ruana tiptoed from her hiding place. Together the travelers stared at the city sprawling before them, and the first thing they saw was the library on its hill, rebuilt and beautiful,
glistening in the sunlight. Gilwyn’s heart tripped at the sight. His mouth fell open in disbelief. Koth had changed. To him, the city seemed lifeless and twisted. But the great Cathedral of Knowledge remained, engendering a flood of emotions in him.

‘Look, Ruana, look!’

I see it, Gilwyn. Remarkable.

‘Isn’t it beautiful? It’s still there!’

Still, because the Baron has remade it.

‘Yes!’

The sight swept the sickness from Gilwyn’s mind. Suddenly, the only thing he wanted was to see his old friend Thorin. At the base of Library Hill, the rest of Koth crawled with shadows. People meandered through the streets, and the buildings of the royal quarter rose up from the sloping avenues. A distinct change had gripped the city, a kind of invisible pall that darkened the shops and gardens. But above it all, the library remained. Gladdened, Gilwyn hurried on.

The morning after Jazana’s death, Thorin discovered her in her bed, naked and bruised. A pool of vomited blood lay at her bedside. Her dead face stared blindly at the ceiling from two pulpy sockets, her eyes clawed out from the pain. The discovery had sent Thorin to his knees, wailing like a child in the gory chamber. Near the wall furthest from the bed, the stain of Rodrik Varl’s blood and brains remained, dripping down toward his nearly headless corpse. Not a single maid or scullery hand had come to clean the room, nor to help the Diamond Queen in the throes of her agony. Thorin, who had heard her cries and dismissed them, had ordered her left alone, sure that her rantings were for her dead paramour. Thorin spent almost an hour in Jazana’s chamber, weeping, trying and failing to understand what had happened. Then, when he had finally collected himself, he left the room and closed the door behind him, ordering the servants to get to work cleaning the unimaginable mess.