The Devil's Armour (Gollancz S.F.) (16 page)

‘Yes,’ said Thorin. ‘But we cannot. There are things we must do first, you and I. We cannot leave these lives behind, not yet.’

‘You lie to yourself, dear Thorin. You are not so shackled to this place as I. You can go back to Liiria any time you wish.’

‘Nonsense. The boy needs me. Jador needs protection.’

‘Jador has Lukien and all the Inhumans to protect it. You’re a good man, I grant you, but not even you are quite so valuable.’

Baron Glass’ expression grew stormy. ‘You are cross today. Why do you taunt me?’

‘Because I am tired of us both being here!’ said Meriel. At last she got to her feet. She walked to the very edge of the cliff, her body stiffening. ‘Thorin, if I had the courage I would leave Grimhold, but I can’t. I am too afraid to go back into the world with this ugly face. But you . . .’ She turned to face him. Behind her many scars, Thorin saw her beauty. ‘You do not belong here, Thorin. You belong in Liiria.’

‘There is war in Liiria, my dear,’ Glass reminded her.

‘Yes, and you belong in war as well! You think you are half a man because you have one arm. But I see the fire in you, and I know what good you can do for Liiria.’ Meriel thrust out her burned hand. ‘I torture myself, ’tis true. But what about you? Every day you twist your mind into knots over your family, worrying about them, worrying about Jazana Carr. And I know you covet the armour, Thorin. You may have secrets from the others, but I know you too well. You can’t hide your lusts from me.’

Embarrassed, Glass had to turn away. ‘Lusts? Do you see me so clearly, lady? To know my heart’s troubles so exactly?’

Meriel did not back down. She stood, watching him, and for a moment Thorin wanted to confess his love for her, but could not. He longed for her to say it for him.

‘Whatever else is in your heart, you may keep it to yourself,’ said Meriel. ‘Whatever else you lust for . . .’ She smiled sweetly. ‘But I know this, Thorin – you crave the armour.’

‘No,’ said Thorin quickly, ‘I don’t . . .’

‘You do. Each time we speak of Liiria your mind turns on it.’

Baron Glass could not contain his discomfort. He looked around, suspicious of other ears. ‘All right,’ he hissed. ‘I do think of it.’

The armour was the Devil’s Armour, and it had enchanted Thorin Glass from the first time he’d set eyes on it. Locked away in its dungeon under Grimhold, it had managed to sing to him. It held the promise of making
Baron Glass whole again, of making him invincible, or so the legend said.

‘How can I not think of it?’ he whispered. He was used to sharing secrets with Meriel, and it all came tumbling out of him. ‘I swear, sometimes I think it’s calling to me. That devil inside it – Kahldris – I think I hear his voice sometimes.’ The baron looked grave. ‘Could that be true, Meriel? Could he be tempting me?’

Meriel gave a knowing nod. ‘Kahldris is very powerful. That’s what Minikin says, at least. You need to beware him, Thorin. If you do steal the armour—’

‘I am not a thief,’ snapped Thorin.

‘
If you do
, you must be careful.’ Meriel’s gaze seized him. ‘Don’t you think I see the truth? It is a constant battle in you. Minikin tells you the armour is forbidden, and what are you to believe? You’re an outsider. The ways of the Akari are unknown to you.’

‘So she lies?’ Baron Glass laughed. ‘You do your mistress dishonour, lady. I believe Minikin has warned me off the armour for my own good.’

‘Perhaps,’ said Meriel. ‘Or perhaps you are strong enough to control Kahldris. Perhaps you are the one to tame the Devil’s Armour.’

It was dangerous, tempting talk, and it made Thorin’s pulse race. From the dawn of Grimhold the Devil’s Armour had been locked away, saved only because Minikin had never found a way to destroy it. It was said that the armour could not in fact be destroyed, and that the Akari who possessed it was sinister beyond words. To Thorin it sounded like a fairy tale, much like Grimhold itself. It vexed him that such a powerful weapon should go to waste, or that any Akari – a race that had helped the Inhumans so unselfishly – could be so evil. But Minikin had never given Thorin cause to doubt her, and so the one-armed baron had been left to wonder over the armour’s true nature, or if he was powerful enough to control it. Minikin thought not.

‘She doesn’t know me, though,’ whispered Thorin. For a
moment the idea transfixed him, and it was not until Meriel touched his hand that reality refocused.

‘Forgive me, Thorin,’ she said. ‘I should not entice you with such talk. I am an Inhuman; we are not to speak of the Devil’s Armour.’

Thorin took her hand in his own. He could feel its scars, but didn’t care. ‘The armour is not the only thing that entices me,’ he said. ‘I do not stay close to Grimhold for the sake of the armour alone.’

Meriel’s face, which was often red, deepened in colour. It was not pride that made her flush, though, but embarrassment. She retracted her hand, ignoring Thorin’s hint at love, saying, ‘Mind my words. If you have designs on the Devil’s Armour, be sure about yourself. Be sure you can handle Kahldris.’

Thorin smiled weakly. ‘I will, lady, do not fear.’

Then, leaving Meriel to her own dark company, he left the ledge and headed back toward Grimhold.

Baron Glass returned to the keep in a foul mood, angered by his conversation with Meriel and the stupid way he had pursued her. In Jador, Gilwyn had his hands full with the Seekers and Prince Aztar’s raiders and the myriad problems of rebuilding a devastated city, and Thorin knew his place was with the boy. He had struck up a fine relationship with Gilwyn in the past year, becoming like a surrogate father. Yet his attraction to Meriel had kept him away from Jador far too much lately. Meriel’s heart belonged to Lukien – a stupid thing considering Lukien’s own heart belonged to a dead woman – and the baron knew he would never win the woman’s affections.

Why then did he try?

Because I am a silly old fool
, he told himself.

The baron had his own room in the keep, shunning the teeming village that was part of Grimhold, so he could be close to the Devil’s Armour. He made his way through the halls of the keep to his humble chamber where he kept to
himself, brooding, taking a lonely meal by the light of a few candles. As he ate, he thought of all the women he had known.

Jazana Carr was never far from his mind. Nor was his wife, wherever she might be. The two were inexorably linked now. Before he had left Jazana in Norvor, the Diamond Queen had vowed vengeance on his family, a family he hadn’t seen in years. Thorin had children, too, grown now, who had no doubt forgotten about their infamous father. The thought of his family dangling on Norvan pikes ruined Thorin’s appetite. Nor did he have any desire to see Lukien or Minikin now, either.

Time enough for that
, he told himself.
Later, when they’ve settled in. Or perhaps in the morning
.

Thorin would have looked outside, but his room had no window. He longed to be free of Grimhold.

Baron Glass felt remarkably old. Alone in his chamber, he sat staring at his plate of cold food, rubbing the stump where his arm had been. As too often happened these days, he began to feel sleepy.

Old men take naps
, he told himself. Without arguing he gave in to his grogginess and laid himself down on his bed, which felt extraordinarily comfortable. Reaching out with his only hand, he dragged the wooden table close to the bedside and pinched out the candles. The darkness felt good. He would sleep, he decided, and see Lukien later. His troubled mind began to ease, and soon he drifted off.

Baron Glass slept. And as he slept he dreamed.

He had not told anyone of the vivid nightmares he’d been having, not even Meriel. In that strange, knowing state viewing one’s own dreams, it did not surprise Baron Glass that the images started up again, pulling him from a peaceful netherworld to a place of living colours. It was the doing of Kahldris, the spirit of the armour – he knew this now with certainty. He had never before seen the things his brain was showing him, yet he knew they were real experiences lived by someone other than himself.

A man on a warhorse, on a hill, overlooking a valley. White hair, long and straight, stirring in the breeze and across his hardened face. Black armour encased his chest and arms and legs, fitting him like a living thing, sprouting spikes and glistening with light. Behind the man rode a standard bearer with a triangular flag, and behind the flagman rode an army.

Baron Glass looked deeper into his dream. He studied the face of the white-haired man, who turned his own face toward the watching baron with a disquieting expression. Staring eyes pierced the baron, but he was not afraid. He knew that this was Kahldris, as he had been, as he might still be in some world of the dead.

A general
, thought Thorin. He had been told that Kahldris was a general, a leader of men as he himself had been. And when this revelation struck him Kahldris nodded, as if to agree. Instantly an understanding passed between them.

Thorin’s disembodied eyes gazed out over the valley. There he saw a city dotted with towers with a river running through it. Because it was a dream, he could see beyond the city, too, beyond the desert to another army in the sands, marching slowly, herding kreels, a dark-skinned band snaking purposefully through the sun. These were Jadori; Thorin recognised them easily. But he was perplexed by the vision, and so looked back to Kahldris for answers.

The man on the horse still sat there, but it wasn’t Kahldris any more. Baron Glass saw his own face staring back at him. He looked youthful, strong again. His body filled the armour like an athlete’s. In his right hand he held the stallion’s reins. In his left hand – a hand attached to an arm he’d lost ages ago – gleamed a sword.

Thorin awoke, gasping. He sat up, looked around the darkened room and felt for the stump of his arm. As always it was there, taunting him.

‘Great Fate . . .’

He caught his breath and calmed himself. Suddenly cold,
he craved the light of the candles he’d extinguished, but was too shaken to light them or move from his bed.

‘Kahldris,’ he whispered, his eyes scanning the blackness. ‘Are you here?’

The Akari didn’t need to answer. Thorin could feel his presence in the cold against his skin. He knew the spirit was with him, maybe sitting next to him on the mattress, whispering like a demon in his ear, telling him about the armour, wordless but clear. Thorin rubbed his shoulder stump as he listened to the faint voice, deciphering its dark intentions. He felt a warmth flood his shoulder that shouldn’t have been there, and then he knew what Kahldris meant.

‘The armour will make me whole again.’

It had been years since Baron Glass had shed a tear but he felt like crying now. This bitter battle had raged in him since he’d come to Grimhold, and he knew his resolve was weakening. The Devil’s Armour could be his, for it was waiting for him in its dungeonlike hold, and all the doors barring his way would be unlocked. Somehow, whenever he secretly went to gaze upon the armour, the doors were always unlocked.

‘No,’ he said, steeling himself. He looked around the darkened chamber. ‘Do you hear me? Whatever beast you be, listen to me now – I am not a thief. I will not steal or go against these good hosts.’ He rose in anger. ‘Do you hear me? Answer me, you devil!’

There was a pause and an awful silence. Then the coldness of the room increased and the voice of Kahldris rang in Thorin’s head.

Then why do you stay?

Thorin could not – would not – answer the Akari. The answer was simply too frightful. The cold and Kahldris finally retreated. Thorin stood without moving for a long time. When at last he had the courage, he left his chamber in search of a taper to light his candles.

The great fortress of Grimhold had been built into a mountainside by a race who thought little of such monumental tasks. The Akari were peaceful poets and thinkers, mostly, but the warriors among them were wary of their distant neighbours in Jador. Once, the Akari civilisation had flourished in its desert valley, a cultured oasis surrounded by sand. Grimhold had been built on the outskirts of the Akari world, on its frontier fringes. It had taken a decade for the Akari to build the keep, tunnelling out its labyrinthine core and moulding great, smooth turrets from the excavated rock, so that the fortress looked as if it had been there forever and was difficult for enemies to spot.