The Devil's Armour (Gollancz S.F.) (20 page)

‘Hey now, what’s this?’

The other thief stepped away from the horse, toward his friend by the fire. He held an object up to the dancing light.

‘What?’ barked the first man, still not lowering his sword.

‘It’s a ring.’ The older thief stepped closer, his eyes leaping with joy. ‘With jewels!’

Finally, the first man lowered his sword. ‘Let me see that.’ He took two steps away from Lorn, who quickly placed Poppy on the ground beside him. Blood and anger surged through his veins, waiting to propel him forward.

Not yet
, he told himself.
Wait
. . .

The man with the sword took the ring from his
companion and studied it. ‘Looks valuable,’ he mused. His eyes darted toward Lorn. ‘Where’d you get this?’

‘It’s a family thing,’ said Lorn. His crest was clearly imprinted on the precious metal.

The first man studied the ring some more. ‘This a ruby?’

His companion pointed at the bauble. ‘Nolas, that’s the House of Lorn. This is a royal ring.’ He looked at Lorn suspiciously. ‘You steal this off a royal?’

Lorn nodded. ‘Yes,’ he whipered. ‘Right before I slit his throat.’

He sprang like a lion out of the bush, barrelling forward with his outstretched dagger. The man with the sword – Nolas – leaped back. Lorn screamed, falling upon him and knocking his sword aside, sending it tumbling from his grasp. So too went the ring, spinning through the darkness. The second man was drawing his sword. Lorn kicked at Nolas, catching him in the groin, then turned to the new swordsman . . .

. . . and saw to his shock another figure leaping through the shadows. A dark cape billowed, a silver blade flashed in the firelight. Lorn dropped back, startled. The figure careened against Nolas’ comrade, blasting him into the trees. Lorn glanced around in confusion. Already Nolas was back on his feet. Worse, he had his sword again. Doubled over, his face curdled in pain.

‘Bastard! Now you die!’

Had he forgotten Poppy? Lorn didn’t know. In the swimming darkness all was chaos. Nolas’ sword swept forward, forcing Lorn back. The dagger in his hand seemed woefully small. Quickly he retreated, drawing the brigand toward him, away from the baby. He could barely see her in the trees, crawling around blindly. Behind him rang clashing metal.

‘Come and get me!’ Lorn taunted.

‘I know you!’ roared Nolas. ‘I know you!’

Lorn became as a man possessed. He forgot the men behind him, forgot the advantage of his own foe. He flew at
Nolas, carving the air with his dagger, hissing and kicking as he pressed the thief toward the trees. The shocked Nolas raised a clumsy defence, unable to match the older man’s speed. Lorn spun into him, twirling and smashing a backhand into his face. The blow took Nolas off his feet. Lorn pounced, tearing the sword from the brigand’s hand and tossing it aside. With all his weight he pressed down on Nolas. This time, it was his blade at a throat.

‘You know who I am?’ he seethed. With his free hand he pinched the man’s cheeks like a vice. ‘Well? Answer me!’

Instead, Nolas screamed for help. But no help came. Lorn realised suddenly that no noise was behind him, either. That melee was over. Over his shoulder he could see the man with the cape standing unhappily over his fallen foe. Nolas’ comrade lay dead in the clearing. The caped man turned toward Lorn.

‘Let him up,’ he ordered.

Lorn was stunned. ‘What?’

‘They’re thieves, not murderers. One’s dead already. You don’t have to kill that one, too.’

But of course Lorn knew he had to kill the man. Left alive, he was dangerous. To the great, quaking shock of Nolas, Lorn pushed the long blade of his dagger through the highwayman’s throat. The scream that followed was more like a gurgle. Lorn covered Nolas’ mouth to stifle it.

‘Fate above!’ the stranger cried. A disgusted look crossed his face. ‘Why?’

Lorn didn’t answer. He waited for Nolas to die, which took longer than expected, wiping his bloody dagger on the grass. Then he rose and put his dagger back in his belt, heading for Poppy. As he did he searched the ground for his ring. To his astonishment he saw it near the fire, its ruby twinkling in the orange light. The stranger in the cape didn’t move. Lorn stooped for his ring, put it in his pocket without a word, then went and lifted Poppy off the grass. When he realised she was unhurt, a great relief washed over him. Finally, Lorn answered the stranger’s query.

‘Why? Because they meant to kill me, that’s why. Because they attacked me and my daughter. What kind of fool would ask such a question?’

‘A fool that saved your life,’ replied the man. Now that he was closer, Lorn could see him clearly. His cape had military trim to it, old, threadbare, and definitely Liirian. With his feathered hat knocked off, Lorn got a long look at his clean-shaven face. Despite his weathered skin, he had a youthful quality. He was older than Nolas but not by much, with fair hair and a sharp, jutting chin. Not bothering to pick up his hat, he stood staring at Lorn.

‘Aye, you came to my aid,’ agreed Lorn. ‘For that you have my thanks. But I would have your name, sir, and an explanation. You were following us. Why?’

The question made the young man look away. Finally he stooped to retrieve his hat, carefully brushing the dirt from its velvet and long feather. ‘You are right,’ he admitted. ‘I was following, because like you I’m on the road to Koth. No other reason than that.’

‘Then why didn’t you answer me when I called to you?’

‘I hung back because that is my way. I’m a private man. When you camped for the night I did the same. I heard the commotion and came to help. I should think you’d be more grateful for that.’

The strange answer vexed Lorn. ‘So you deliberately stayed close to us?’

‘I know this road well enough to know its dangers,’ said the man. ‘When I saw you had a child with you, I thought it best to keep an eye on you. As I said, we’re both heading to Koth, no?’

Lorn nodded. ‘Yes, but . . .’

‘No, don’t ask so many questions,’ said the man. He fixed his hat back on his head, cocking it over one eye. ‘It’s just my way, that’s all. This used to be my country. Sometimes I feel the need to protect it, and its people.’

‘By following them?’

The stranger stayed vague. ‘I was on my way to Koth,
enjoying the peace of my own company. I had no wish to join you, or to frighten you.’

‘You did not frighten me,’ said Lorn. ‘I was suspicious, that’s all. Still . . .’ He glanced at the two dead men littering his camp. ‘I admit your timing was good.’

‘You didn’t have to kill that fellow,’ said the stranger. He pointed at the dead Nolas. ‘He was just a thief. There are men like him all over Liiria now. I doubt he would have hurt you or the child.’

‘You doubt . . . ?’ Lorn was apoplectic. ‘Listen, I look after my own. And I don’t take orders from some whelp deserter. If I’m attacked, I fight. And if I have to, I kill.’ He made his point by spitting with disgust on Nolas’ body. ‘Damn thief. You want to shed a tear for him? Go ahead. But don’t tell me who my enemies are.’

‘I’m not a deserter,’ said the man.

‘What?’

‘You called me a deserter. I’m not.’

Still holding Poppy in his arms, Lorn gave an annoyed shrug. His camp was a shambles, with all his precious food strewn about the ground. ‘I don’t want to argue with you. Look at this god-damn mess!’

The man nodded and started picking up the things from Lorn’s saddlebags. Lorn looked at him in shock.

‘What are you doing?’

‘Helping you,’ said the man. Then he laughed and added, ‘You’re not used to that, are you?’

‘Were you a slave before becoming a soldier?’ asked Lorn. ‘I can look after my own things, thank you.’

The man continued retrieving Lorn’s things. ‘You have a fire and food. I have neither. Would you consider sharing them with me? I could remind you of your debt to me, if I must.’

The reminder wasn’t necessary. ‘All right, stranger,’ Lorn agreed. ‘Help me pull this place together, and I’ll share whatever I have. The bodies first. Help me with them . . .’

Though he had protested the killing of the thief Nolas,
the stranger helped Lorn drag the man’s dead body into the trees and away from the camp. When that was done they did the same with the other corpse, piling it atop the first one. There was blood on the earth so they kicked fresh dirt over it. Together they gathered up Lorn’s belongings, mostly the food Hella had packed for them, and set these things around the fire. The fire itself had waned a little, and the stranger tended it while Lorn looked after Poppy, piling sticks onto it until it blazed anew.

‘My horse is nearby,’ he told Lorn. ‘I’ll bring her closer.’

‘A horse but no fire?’ This puzzled Lorn, but he decided not to press the man. Clearly, the fellow liked his privacy, and Lorn was grateful for his help. Most likely he would have been dead if not for the stranger. As the man fetched his horse, Lorn sat down by the fire and unwrapped the food from its cloth covers. He had meat and cheese and bread and even some fresh fruit, and this was how he said his thanks, by offering the best he had. There was even some wine in one of his waterskins. He placed it across from himself, in the spot he had selected for his guest. When the man returned with his horse he saw the feast and grinned. But he did not say anything. He simply tied his mount to the same tree as Lorn’s, then sat cross-legged on the grass. He reached for the waterskin first, gave it a sniff, and smiled wildly. Only after he had taken a long pull did he say a word.

‘Thanks.’

Lorn nodded. He took his dagger from his belt, wiped the blood from it thoroughly on a piece of cloth used to wrap the cheese, then began slicing long strips from the wheel and popping them into his mouth. He then cut the wheel completely in half and gave the second portion of it to the man, who accepted it gratefully.

The two ate in comfortable silence. They were both too hungry for words now anyway. It was not until he had slaked the worst of his hunger that Lorn began wondering about his odd guest. He didn’t even know the man’s name.
His garb, however, spoke volumes. A Liirian, formerly of that country’s vaunted Royal Chargers. Lorn had seen them before, in Norvor. After the fall of Liiria many of them had turned mercenary. They were among Jazana Carr’s favourite freelances.

‘So,’ he began casually, ‘you’re coming from Norvor?’

The man managed to nod as he gnawed on a length of tough sausage. ‘Uh-huh.’

‘You’re a soldier?’

This time a shrug. ‘In a manner of speaking only. I was a soldier. A Royal Charger, but they’re gone now.’

It was a well-known story. After the death of King Akeela and his general, Trager, Liiria and its military had collapsed. The Royal Chargers had fractured and gone their separate ways. Some were holed up in Koth’s great library. Others went to Norvor or scattered to the winds. And some, it seemed, didn’t know where they were going.

‘Why are you returning to Koth?’ Lorn asked.

‘I have my reasons,’ replied the man. He looked up at Lorn. ‘Don’t you want to know my name?’

‘I do. But names are dangerous things, and if you’re on the run . . .’

‘My name is Vanlandinghale, and I never run,’ the man declared. ‘I go where I wish when I wish, and I call no man master, not any more.’

‘Vanlandinghale? That’s a mouthful and a half!’

‘It is,’ the man agreed. ‘So people call me Van. You may call me that.’

‘Van.’ Lorn tried the name and liked it. ‘My name is Akan,’ he lied. ‘This is my daughter.’

‘I’m grateful for the food, Akan,’ said Van.

‘And I for the company,’ replied Lorn, surprising himself. It felt good to talk to another man, and he had so many questions. ‘I have seen Royal Chargers in Norvor, in the employ of Jazana Carr. Are you one of her men?’

‘I
was
one of her men,’ Van corrected. ‘I’m not any more.’

‘What happened? I heard her to be a generous employer.’

‘Aye, she’s generous, true enough. But she’s won the war in Norvor, and I heard rumours she has her sights on Liiria now. Call me a loyal fool, but that bothers me.’

‘Liiria? Are you sure about that?’

Van shrugged. ‘Soldiers hear things. Some things are true, others about as useful as a straw hat in a rainstorm. I don’t know for certain what Jazana Carr has planned, but it’s no secret she desires Liiria.’

‘No,’ Lorn whispered. ‘True enough.’ It was stunning news, though, and left his heart racing. ‘What do you know of Koth? Are you going home to defend it?’

‘Defend it? Defend what? There’s nothing left, friend.’

‘I heard there are men holed up in the great library, former soldiers like you. I heard they’re defending the city against people like Ravel, the merchant-baron.’

‘Did you also hear what fools these men are?’ asked Vanlandinghale. ‘Aye, it’s true about the library; there are men there. Some former Royal Chargers, even. An old fellow named Breck leads them.’

Lorn nodded. He had heard the name Breck before, but was glad to have Van corroborate it. ‘What about you? Don’t you want to defend your city?’

Van laughed a miserable laugh. ‘The men defending Koth are idiots. Whatever they’re defending died years ago.’ He lowered the sausage he was eating and stared at Lorn. ‘All my life I wanted to be a Royal Charger. When I was a boy we used to tell stories about them. They were good and brave. That’s what I wanted to be.’