The Sword Of Angels (Gollancz S.F.) (99 page)

Baron Glass left Lionkeep that morning and walked out to the orchards at the edge of the castle. Alone, he ordered that no one follow him or come to disturb him. It was a long walk to his destination, but Thorin did not care. Kahldris was with him, and he needed to be away from Lionkeep and wash himself in the river. The river that ran through the orchards cut a wavering swathe across the apple trees. Stones lined its bubbling banks. In the seclusion of the trees, Thorin stripped off his blood-stained clothes until he was naked, leaving only the armour of his magical arm. The water was cold but he submerged himself, dreading the possibility that no amount of water could clean him. There he swam for two long hours, climbing out finally to dry himself in the sun.

Staring up the sky, Thorin mourned for Jazana.

He had memories of her that could still make him smile. It had been Jazana who rescued him from exile, giving him a home in Hanging Man, where they fell in love. He had served her loyally in those years and she had repaid him with pampering and womanly affection. And she had always been beautiful, stoking such hunger in him that he could never refuse her. With Kahldris guiding his hands, his lust for her had been insatiable . . .

He closed his eyes, remembering with horror their last love-making. It had not been love at all, but an act of vengeance. She had screamed and screamed, and he had ignored her, taking her until she bled and his rage finally quieted.

What was wrong with him?

Thorin opened his eyes. Above him, the limbs of a tree obscured the sky, and in the tree a bird hopped from branch to branch.

‘I am not myself,’ he whispered.

Kahldris answered,
You are better than yourself alone. We are one now. We are strong.

‘We killed her,’ lamented Thorin.

She is gone now, but we don’t need her.

Thorin fought back a sob. ‘We murdered her.’ The thought was too much to bear. ‘Last night a madness descended on me . . .’

Kahldris flittered above him, barely visible, like a ghost. He came as an old man, smiling down at the divested baron. ‘We have killed our enemies, Baron Glass. But there are more of them. They still plot against us.’

‘Who? Who plots against us?’

‘The ones across the desert. The Jadori plot against us. And my brethren Akari.’

‘You mean your brother?’

‘I feel him, Baron Glass. He is in the world again.’

Thorin sat up. ‘No.’

‘The Bronze Knight is with him.’

‘Lukien?’ The news stunned Thorin. ‘Why are you keeping this from me?’

Kahldris shimmered just of reach. ‘The Bronze Knight has found my brother and brings him here to destroy us. Do you see, Baron Glass, how many hate us?’

‘Even Lukien.’ Thorin leaned against the tree, contemplating the problem. ‘Where is he?’

‘He comes across the great desert. He bears a sword. I have seen it.’

‘This sword – can it break your armour?’

The demon darkened. ‘I do not know.’

They were words Kahldris rarely spoke, and the admission shook
Thorin. They were in danger. Malator was more of a threat than Reec or any other of their enemies. ‘How did Lukien find this sword?’ he wondered aloud. Nothing made sense to him anymore.

‘There is another thing,’ said Kahldris. ‘Another secret I have kept from you.’

‘Tell me.’

‘The boy, Gilwyn Toms. He has come for you, Baron Glass. He is here in the city.’

‘Gilwyn?’ Thorin leaned forward excitedly. ‘The boy is here? In Koth?’

‘At last, yes,’ drawled the demon. ‘Now he nears Lionkeep.’

Thorin leapt to his feet. ‘Why do you keep these things from me? I must know these things, Kahldris!’

Kahldris smiled. ‘To protect, my sweet friend. We must protect each other.’

‘Yes,’ Thorin agreed, ‘but—’

‘The boy comes to save you from me, Baron Glass. Just as all the others have tried.’

Thorin bristled at the hint. ‘We will not harm him. I will not have it, demon. I love that boy.’

‘No, we will not harm him,’ said Kahldris. His grin was impish. ‘We will keep him and adore him. Then he will use the machine and he will help us defeat my brother and the knight.’

‘All right,’ said Thorin, relieved. He looked around for his clothes, excited by the thought of seeing Gilwyn. ‘We must get back to Lionkeep before he arrives. I want to see that boy at once!’

By the time Gilwyn reached Lionkeep, he was exhausted once again. Overwhelmed by the sights and sounds of Koth, the sickness from the rass venom had made his skin clammy and his eyes too blurry to see clearly. The sun was going down past the keep. Soldiers milled along the avenues, dressed in uniforms Gilwyn knew weren’t Liirian. In his day, when King Akeela had been alive, Royal Chargers had paraded around the residence, but those days were long ago and only faintly echoed by the current occupants of Koth. Gilwyn kept his head down as he approached Lion-keep, careful to avoid eye contact. His whole body ached. His head split with the effort of riding. Triumph, smart enough to sense his master’s distress, trotted carefully along the cobblestones, letting Gilwyn lean against his neck. Ruana lingered at the back of Gilwyn’s mind, remaining quiet but plainly enthralled by the sights. Lionkeep, though damaged and neglected, remained an impressive structure, replete with sculpted figures and catwalks that tied together the many towers. In the courtyard of the keep, Gilwyn could see a handful of soldiers taking notice of him. He kept to the road, approaching unthreateningly, his clubbed hand barely
holding the reins of his mount. Behind the men stood the main entrance to the keep, a big bronze portcullis crowned with spikes. The portal slowly began ascending as Gilwyn approached, a curiosity that puzzled Gilwyn. Alarmingly, the soldiers pointed at him.

‘Ruana, they see us,’ said Gilwyn weakly. Suddenly he was afraid. He began to shiver. ‘I think I have a fever.’

Soon you can rest
, said Ruana in her soothing voice.
Gilwyn, protect yourself.

‘What? Why?’

It is Kahldris. I can feel him.

The soldiers began coming toward him. Gilwyn slowed his horse. ‘What do you mean? Where is he?’

He is coming
, said Ruana.

The portcullis rose to reveal the inner darkness. Gilwyn strained to see. The soldiers were waving to him, calling out. Ruana braced herself. Gilwyn’s skull began to throb as his heart raced. A mercenary hurried up to him. He was in the courtyard now, his eyes fixed on the open walkway.

‘You boy,’ said the mercenary. ‘Are you Gilwyn Toms?’

Hearing his name surprised Gilwyn. He nodded, staring with blurry eyes. ‘Yes, I am.’

‘Get down,’ the man ordered. He had stopped the horse and offered Gilwyn a hand. ‘Let me help you. You don’t look well.’

‘Yes,’ said Gilwyn haltingly. He began to shake. ‘No, I’m ill.’

As he slid off Triumph’s back he kept his eyes on the keep, waiting dreadfully for Kahldris to appear. His legs turned to jelly when his feet hit the ground.

‘You’re lame,’ the mercenary commented. Other soldiers had gathered now. The man looked at Gilwyn oddly. ‘How can you ride with such a hand? And what’s that boot you wear?’

‘Stop with your questions!’ thundered a voice. ‘That boy is twice your better and more!’

The men stepped away, leaving Gilwyn to gape. Out of the portcullis stepped a figure, big and terrifying and barely a man. His face was familiar, as was his voice, but it was a demon visage that came out to greet him, and Gilwyn weakened in his fiery gaze. Like a serpent, the man’s left arm twisted with life, enchanted by some unholy metal. A grim smile upturned his thin white lips. He was the shadow of a man Gilwyn had once known, speaking with a voice stolen from another time. Stepping out into the courtyard, the wraith that was Thorin opened his arms wide.

‘Gilwyn!’ he cried. ‘My boy, it is good to see you!’

Overwhelmed by the sight of him, Gilwyn fainted.

The moment Gilwyn awoke, he knew the bed was unfamiliar. The heaviness in his head began to lift. His eyes opened slowly. In his chest he felt the grip of panic, but the chains of his own lethargy kept him pinned to the downy pillow. As his blurred vision focused, he saw the ceiling, dark and tiled with ornate metal. Wood and velvet covered the walls. A window on the other side of the room revealed the blackness of night, draped with open, scarlet curtains. Gilwyn took a breath and held it, his eyes darting around the chamber. Very slowly his memory returned. He remembered the gate rising and the figure coming from the shadows.

Thorin!

Ruana’s gentle touch was on him instantly. She whispered into his troubled mind.
You are safe, Gilwyn. Don’t be afraid.
And then she told him,
He is with you.

The room was dark but for small candle burning on a distant table. Gilwyn’s eyes went to it, then saw a figure seated near it, its two big hands clutching the arms of a high-backed chair. The face met his, the red eyes softened, and the grimacing smile animated the mask, bringing the visage to life. Gilwyn stared, mesmerized, his heart galloping. A gleaming hand of living metal rose to gesture.

‘You’re awake, my boy?’

It was Thorin’s voice, and yet it was not. Gilwyn broke down when he heard it.

‘Gods above,’ he moaned. ‘What’s happened to you, Thorin?’

Thorin Glass rose from his chair and took two big strides to Gilwyn’s bedside. His face was wraith-like, shadowed by the night and lit by his two burning eyes. His brows lifted in concern.

‘You have slept long,’ he said. ‘How do you feel?’

Gilwyn stared at him in dread. ‘Where am I?’

‘You are in Lionkeep. You came here, remember? You fainted.’

‘Yes,’ groaned Gilwyn, ‘I remember.’ He licked his dried lips, still in disbelief. ‘Thorin?’

‘It is me, Gilwyn,’ assured Thorin. ‘Do not be afraid of me. I beg you, please.’

Behind the crimson eyes, Gilwyn saw a spark of love, a tiny of hint of Thorin’s humanity locked behind the madman’s mask. He recognized it unmistakably. Wearied, he could not help the tears from falling.

‘It is you,’ he choked. He looked away and brought up his hands. ‘I didn’t believe it. They told me but I didn’t believe.’

‘Don’t look away from me, Gilwyn, please.’

‘But I see madness in you!’ Gilwyn cried. ‘Oh, Thorin, what’s happened?’

Thorin knelt beside the bed. ‘You have come to save me. My appearance is too much for you. I know I have changed. But I am Thorin, my boy, and it gladdens my heart so much to see you that I could weep.’

Gilwyn struggled to control his sobs. The thousand challenges of his long journey caught up to him at last. He felt like a little boy suddenly, lying sick in some huge bed. And Thorin, like a father he’d never known, gazed down at him helplessly. Gilwyn forced himself to look at Thorin, studying his twisted features. The Devil’s Armour had poisoned him.

‘It has maddened you, Thorin,’ Gilwyn groaned. ‘I had heard it but I didn’t believe. Look at yourself!’

‘I have seen myself, Gilwyn,’ said Thorin gently. ‘I am fearsome to behold, I know. I have done things, horrible things. But you must look at me. I am begging you to see me!’

‘I’m looking, Thorin,’ said Gilwyn, holding his gaze. ‘And what I see scares me.’

Thorin keened as though his heart was breaking. ‘See me as I was, not as I am. Remember who I was, Gilwyn, when I was your friend.’

‘It’s the armour,’ said Gilwyn. ‘The armour did this to you.’

Thorin nodded. ‘I am one with Kahldris now. This is the price of it.’

‘You can fight him.’ Gilwyn struggled to sit up. ‘You can beat him, Thorin.’

‘Hush.’ Thorin put a hand on Gilwyn’s shoulder. ‘Lie back.’

‘No . . .’

‘Lie back, boy,’ Thorin ordered. ‘You are sick. Rest and tell me what has happened to you.’

Gilwyn took a breath. Fighting was no use, so he sank back against his pillow, feeling the pain of an enormous headache. ‘It was a rass,’ he said. ‘When I first left Jador. It found me in the desert. Its venom did this to me.’

‘You’re very weak. Has it been this way since then?’