The Devil's armour

27

West of the Agora river, deep in a valley circled by a noose of mountains, lay the city of Dreel. The last important province before the fabled crossroads of Ganjor, Dreel was a bastion for those from the north, where merchants and traders still unfamiliar with the desert kingdoms could fill their bellies with familiar foods and contemplate turning back. In the streets of Dreel, among the darkly rising towers and slave markets, men from Liiria and Marn and Reec, bent on making a fortune on Ganjeese spices, did their last bits of horse-trading before riding south. Dreel was a stronghold, a fortress city that had long had good relations with the kings of the north. For a price, the dukes of Dreel had protected the north from an invasion that had never come. To Lorn and his companions, Dreel was a remarkable and frightening city, and they had paid dearly to enter it. The tax at the city gate had sorely depleted their pockets. But unlike the merchants and traders who had homes in the north waiting for them, there was no turning back for Lorn.

The journey south had been long and difficult for the Believers. There had been thirty of them when they’d left Koth, but they had lost three of their number in the terrible weeks since. Two of them, both women, had died from a lung sickness during the rains in Nith. The third, a man named Orus who had never been hearty, stumbled on his crippled legs and slipped into a ravine. Now, whittled down to twenty-seven, Lorn led the Believers through the gates of Dreel. The black and towering wall of the city rose up above them like a gargoyle’s wing, shadowing their faces with sooty torchlight. The sliver of a moon struggled through swarming clouds. Eiriann and her father Garthel exchanged worried glances from their place in the wagon. The toll had been great because they were so many, and none of them had expected it to be so high. Dreel soldiers at the gate snickered as they passed. They were, Lorn knew, a desperate-looking bunch.

‘I have been rich and I have been poor,’ he said as he led the wagon’s horse by the reins. ‘Rich is better.’

Eiriann, who was holding Poppy, grimaced as she surveyed their surroundings. Despite the hour, Dreel’s main thoroughfare remained active. Armed men in the employ of Duke Erlik, the ruler of Dreel, patrolled the streets and ogled the whores on the corners. Destitute beggars and merchants in fabulous coaches roamed the avenue, while the taverns kept busy with thirsty workmen. Dreel was well known for its debauchery, where anything could be purchased for a price. Here, the vaunted laws and courts of the northern kingdoms were but a happy memory. Yet Lorn was glad to see the city. For all its ugliness, it meant they were nearing Ganjor at last.

‘Don’t fret,’ he told Eiriann. ‘We’ll spend a day or two here and rest. Then we’ll head for Ganjor.’

‘We’ll need money,’ Garthel reminded him. ‘Or when we get to Ganjor we won’t have enough to buy passage through the desert.’

The old man’s words made the other Believers nod with worry.

‘We’ll manage,’ said Lorn. ‘Somehow.’

He himself was unsure how, but they had already made it so far with so little. It had been many weeks since they’d left Koth, but despite their infirmities and the hardships of the road Eiriann and the others had proved remarkably resilient. Lorn was proud of them. He was proud to be leading them. He had not wanted to become their leader, but because he was healthy and because he could fight the Believers had looked at him for guidance within the first day of leaving the library. It seemed not to matter to them that he was nearly as old as Garthel. He was King Lorn the Wicked, and though they had feared him they admired him now, the way he had led them.

For Lorn, it felt good to lead again. The Believers had become a tiny army in his mind, and certainly more loyal than the one that had betrayed him in Carlion. He was needed. Even when they were in Nith, soaked with rain from a storm that seemed to follow them everywhere, he was glad that he was with them, and that he had not stayed in Koth to fight Jazana Carr. At least now Poppy would have a chance. One day she would be whole, he told himself constantly, and that would be enough reward.

‘Where will we stay?’ asked one of the group, a young man named Bezarak. Blind since birth, Bezarak nevertheless walked much of the way, leaving the space in the wagons for those who could not. He was a hearty fellow who always urged them to go on further, no matter how tired he appeared. Like all the Believers, Bezarak was sure a cure awaited him in Jador. As if he could see, he glanced up into the sky. ‘Are there many clouds?’

‘No,’ answered Garthel. ‘We can sleep in the wagons tonight.’

‘We’ll have to,’ said Eiriann. ‘We can’t afford better.’

None of them complained, but their plight was bitter to Lorn. For a moment his mind skipped back to Carlion, with its soft beds and decent food. Even during the famine times he’d never truly gone hungry.

‘We’ll find a quiet place,’ he told them. ‘There must be someplace like that in this city. Then, in the morning, we’ll see what we can trade.’

There was very little left to trade, but they all nodded. Bezarak hurried his pace to stand near Lorn.

‘What’s it look like?’ he asked softly.

‘What?’ asked Lorn. ‘Dreel?’

‘Yes.’ The young man swivelled his head, listening to all the noise, then took a breath. ‘It smells funny.’ They were passing a street corner where a gaggle of prostitutes were waiting. Bezarak smiled. ‘Women.’

Lorn laughed. ‘Aye, women, and if I had a gold coin to my name I’d have them make a man out of you.’

Garthel and the other men laughed now, too, but young Eiriann made a disgusted face.

‘Ah, you’re all pigs. Bezarak, you won’t find a worthy woman in this province, to be sure. If you weren’t blind already, staring at those harlots would make you so.’

‘Fate above, let the fellow have some dreams,’ said her father, Garthel. ‘If I were younger those ladies would have something to worry about.’

Eiriann rolled her eyes in embarrassment; the weary group enjoyed a laugh. Together they struggled deeper into town, to the place where the streets were wide but crowded by tall buildings. Lorn looked around, wondering where they should rest for the night. Eiriann was right; they had no money for shelter and would have to retire under the sky once again. Luckily, there were only taverns and closed shops in the area. The streets were mostly deserted of people. Without shopkeepers to shoo them off, Lorn decided the place was good enough. If they crowded together, there would be room in the wagons for all of them, at least while one or two of them remained awake and watchful. He told them to get comfortable, and without complaint the Believers set to work, rolling out blankets to prepare for sleep and unhitching their depleted horses and donkeys. Majis and Jollin, two of the more able-bodied of the group, took the beasts to water them from a trough not far up the street. Eiriann began readying Poppy for sleep, though the baby was already slumbering in her arms. Lorn watched, satisfied, then noticed movement from the corner of his eye.

Two men approached from across the street. Both soldiers, they wore the dark capes and stylised helmets of Dreel. Men of Duke Erlik, Lorn guessed. There were other men of means in Dreel, but it was well known that Erlik ruled here. Lorn relaxed, preparing to launch into his well-rehearsed pretext.

‘Ho,’ called one of the soldiers. They had come from the gate, but had left behind their long spears. They bore only swords, but left these dangling unthreateningly in their sheaths. Eiriann stopped what she was doing and held Poppy a bit closer, glowering at the men from atop the wagon.

‘Evening,’ replied Lorn. He remained as casual as he could. ‘Is something wrong? We paid our toll at the gate.’

‘Nothing’s wrong,’ replied the other man. Like his darkly draped twin, this one had a young voice. Now that they were closer, Lorn could see their youthful faces, cleanly shaven and callow. ‘We noticed you come in,’ the soldier continued. ‘You’re not from around here.’

‘We answered this at the gate,’ said Lorn. ‘We’re travelers from Liiria.’

The first soldier nodded. ‘We understand. We’re men of Duke Erlik, ruler of Dreel. We’re here to help you.’

‘You look like you could use some help,’ added the other man. He gestured toward Poppy. ‘Especially with the child. The duke greets all visitors to his city if he can, especially those from the north who need aid.’

‘Oh? Why is that?’ asked Lorn.

‘Sir, look around you,’ the soldier went on. ‘You’re new to Dreel, but this can be a tough city, and if you’re not careful harm may come to you. Duke Erlik tries to protect his northern cousins. If you need food, maybe some money, the duke wants to help.’

The news made all the weary travellers smile. Old Garthel clapped his hands together. ‘Your duke is generous indeed,’ he said. ‘We could use some supplies, maybe someone to fix the wheels of this wagon. .’

‘Fresh water, too,’ added Bezarak. ‘If we can help ourselves from your wells.’

‘The wells are for anyone,’ said the second soldier. He tilted up his helmet, revealing fronds of blond hair. ‘Take your fill of water. As for food, we can talk about that.’ He looked at Lorn. ‘You lead these people?’

Lorn nodded. ‘My name is Akan,’ he said. ‘We’re all together, but if anyone speaks for them it’s me.’

‘Good, then you can speak for their needs. Duke Erlik isn’t far. He’d be pleased to talk with you, I’m sure. We’ll escort you.’

Eiriann perked up. ‘The duke himself?’

‘Yes, madam,’ replied the first soldier. He took immediate notice of her pretty face. ‘The duke is a good man. You may come to meet him, too, if you wish.’

‘No,’ said Lorn immediately. ‘She has work to tend with the others.’

Eiriann’s face hardened. ‘I’d like to go,’ she said, then added tartly, ‘Please, let me go with you, Father.’

Lorn flashed her an angry glare. Her own father, Garthel, held back a grin.

‘Yes, have your daughter come, Akan,’ said the first soldier. ‘The others can stay behind for now, at least until the duke tells us where to put you all.’

‘Put us? He means to shelter us?’ asked Lorn.

‘If that’s your wish,’ the soldier answered. ‘Please, at least come and speak to him.’

Lorn gave the soldiers his most practised smile. ‘Duke Erlik honours us. All right, then. We’ll come and speak with him. Our needs are few, and I can thank him properly for his kindness.’ He looked up at Eiriann. ‘Let Garthel look after the baby. . Daughter.’ He offered her a hand. ‘You come with me.’

‘Thank you, Father,’ said Eiriann. Playing the part perfectly, she let Lorn help her down from the wagon. Her feet clacked when they hit the cobblestone street. ‘Get some rest,’ she told their comrades. ‘We shouldn’t be long.’

Lorn kept hold of her hand. ‘We’re ready,’ he told the guardians.

The soldiers waved agreeably to the others, wished them well, then turned and started off down the avenue, leading Lorn and Eiriann away. Lorn looked around carefully, surveying the street. They were surrounded by tall buildings and flickering lamps spewing smoke into the night. Glancing over his shoulder, he could see his companions and, behind them, the gateway of Dreel getting ever smaller. They were heading deeper into the city, though Lorn knew not where. Up ahead he noticed the main thoroughfare splitting off into a myriad of smaller, narrow roads. A handful of soldiers milled along the walkways, taking no notice of them. Drunk businessmen and tradesmen caroused in little pockets, polluting the street corners. Lorn kept Eiriann close as they walked. With their armed escort they were safe from brigands, he knew, yet there were other dangers, as yet unknown to her.

‘Where resides the duke so late?’ Lorn asked. He tossed the question off casually, not wanting to arouse the soldiers.

‘Duke Erlik keeps to the Blue Ram most nights,’ said the blond man.

‘A tavern?’ Eiriann asked.

‘Aye. He owns the Ram. Most nights he’s there.’

‘All night?’ probed Lorn.

‘Till he gets tired,’ the blond man replied. ‘Come. It’s not far. .’

Lorn waited, pleased to see the crowds around them thinning. They were still on the main avenue, however, still too much in view. He scanned the dark windows of the storefronts and high apartments. Without looking he checked the sword at his side, then felt for the dagger in his boot. Blood and excitement coursed through his mind. In his ears he felt his pulse pound.

Turn off, he thought, willing them out of the broad street. His eyes darted madly about. Just turn off. .

He’d have to move quick, like a leopard. Waiting, he prepared himself with steady breaths. Next to him, Eiriann suspected nothing. Lorn let go of her hand as the avenue at last began to darken. She had wanted to come, damn her. Arguing would have made the men suspicious.

At last, the two soldiers turned a corner. The street, far narrower than the avenue, funnelled the shadows from the high brick buildings into every crevice. Up ahead lay another street, brighter and broader. Lorn knew the moment had come.

And, like the leopard, he exploded.

With his left hand he pushed Eiriann aside; with his right he drew his sword. Metal rang as the blade sprang forth. The soldiers heard the sound and began to turn. Lorn’s sword swiped powerfully forward — severing the man’s neck. Eiriann screamed. The blond soldier faltered back as his comrade’s head somersaulted, sprinkling blood through the street. Before the corpse could fall Lorn was on the blond man. Before the soldier drew his sword Lorn had pinned him. Before he could shriek a single cry his head was battered against the nearby wall. Lorn manhandled him, driving his helmeted skull again and again against the bricks. Stunned, the young man went limp. As he slumped to the ground Lorn turned to Eiriann.

‘Go back to the others,’ he ordered, trying hard to check his volume. The soldier was still conscious. Eiriann stood, horror-struck.

‘What. .?’

‘Eiriann, hurry. Get back before we’re found!’

‘What happened?’ the girl stammered. There was blood on her face and shabby dress. Her wide eyes watched as Lorn hastily removed the soldier’s helmet.

‘They know it’s me,’ he said. ‘They must!’

He set the helmet aside and slapped the stunned man’s face, waking him. The soldier’s eyes fluttered open, confused. Blood from his fractured skull trickled down his forehead.

‘Do you want to live?’ Lorn asked pointedly.

He kept his big hand clamped around the man’s throat. Amazingly, the soldier nodded.

‘Then tell me the truth. Duke Erlik was waiting for us, wasn’t he?’

The man nodded, fighting to breathe.

‘Why?’

‘To bring you,’ croaked the soldier. ‘To kill you. .’

‘What?’ Eiriann gasped. She looked at Lorn helplessly.

‘Erlik’s a snake, Eiriann,’ said Lorn. ‘I know of him from Norvor. Believe me, he’s no one’s benefactor. He must have gotten word I was coming south.’ He shook the dazed man savagely. ‘Tell me,’ he demanded. ‘Is that what happened? Were you waiting for us?’

Again the bloodied head nodded. ‘Yes,’ gasped the man. ‘Waiting. .’

‘But why?’ asked Eiriann.

‘Eiriann, go!’ Lorn snapped. ‘Duke Erlik means to capture me, to sell me to Jazana Carr, no doubt. You and the others have to leave!’

‘We won’t abandon you!’

‘I’m a danger to you, don’t you see? You have to leave Dreel now, while you can. Take the road to Ganjor.’

‘Without you? Lorn, no. .’

‘I’ll meet up with you if I can,’ Lorn said. He looked around, hunching over the soldier, trying to stay in the shadows. ‘Gods above, girl, I’ve just killed a man! No more arguing!’

‘But what will happen to you?’

‘Go!’

Eiriann started sputtering, then stopped herself. She looked desperately at Lorn and knew he was right. She turned and ran back down the street. Lorn watched her go, terrified for her safety. Already time was slipping away. He thought for a moment, steadying himself. The blond man’s groggy eyes looked up at him, pleading.

‘Don’t. . kill me. .’

Lorn tightened his fingers around the gasping throat. ‘Ah, but you’re fading fast, my friend. If you don’t get help soon, you will die. Shall I help you die?’

‘Please, no. .’

‘Does Erlik know I’m here? Has he sent others after me?’

‘No, no others,’ the man fought to explain. ‘We were told. . to look for you.’

That gem of information made Lorn smile. Suddenly he was in control again — at least until the bodies were discovered.

‘Where’s the Blue Ram?’ he demanded.

The blond man struggled to answer, consciousness fading fast.

‘Tell me!’ hissed Lorn.

‘Down. . there. .’

A feeble finger rose to point left. Lorn looked down the alley. Torches lit the area. Street noise tumbled toward them. Lorn was sure he’d find the tavern.

‘All right,’ he said, still holding his sword. ‘I mean to find your duke, assassin. And when I do I’m going to send him to the same hell as you.’

The man’s eyes filled with horror. A strangled plea rose from his throat. Ignoring it, Lorn quickly ran the edge of his blade over the man’s neck, cutting off his cry.

In less than an hour, Lorn was in the Blue Ram.

He had washed himself of blood, then taken the cape and helmet from the soldier. These he kept under his table, the helmet wrapped up in the cape, tied like a bundle of belongings. Lorn’s table was at the far end of the tavern, away from the hearth and a good distance from the busy bar. A tankard of ale that had gone flat sat before him, nursed carefully so he did not have to pay for another. A group of men played cards at a table nearby, ignoring him completely, while the barkeep kept occupied with a steady stream of patrons. It had not been hard for Lorn to locate Duke Erlik among them. The grand man sat at his own table near the hearth, laughing and drinking with a pair of fine-looking women and occasionally getting whispered reports in his ear from his caped guardians, who seemed to be everywhere in the city.

Lorn averted his eyes, mostly, as he waited patiently in his wooden chair. His place afforded him a good view of Erlik and quick egress from the nearby door, but he was sure there was a back exit to the place, and that Erlik would be using it soon. Before entering the Blue Ram, Lorn had surveyed the place’s outhouse, a shabby structure of stone at the rear of the street. The hour was perfect; the outhouse itself had little traffic now. And Erlik was doing a good job filling his bladder with beer. Soon, Lorn knew, he would have to empty it.

Lorn took a sip from his own ale. A barmaid asked him pointedly if he wanted another. Lorn reached into his pocket and slapped a bronze coin onto the table, one of his very last.

‘Here,’ he said gruffly. ‘Bring me another, then stop bothering me.’

The harried-looking maid greedily took the coin, then went to the bar to bring him another drink. When she was gone Lorn settled down. Sitting in the Ram had given him time to think. He’d been surprised by Erlik’s ambush, but he knew he shouldn’t have been. He’d been a king once, and certainly there were too many flapping lips in Koth to keep them all closed. It annoyed him that he’d not foreseen this, and he wondered how many other assassins were waiting for him on the road to Ganjor.

So close. .

Too close now to be stopped by some greedy duke.

Duke Erlik himself was no less impressive than the ladies he entertained. Back in Norvor, Lorn had heard stories about the man and his handsome face. It was said that Erlik pampered himself like a princess, importing oils and perfumes to keep his skin supple. A foppish man, Erlik sat tall in his thronelike chair, his lean body draped in brightly coloured clothes and a coat that looked more suited for a woman. His face, powdered white and rouged at the cheeks, held two glassy eyes that jumped insanely, admiring the bosoms of his laughing entourage. Surprisingly, Lorn did not hate Erlik. Though looking at the fop disgusted him, he nevertheless admired him, and all he had attained. Ransoming a criminal — even a noble one — was simply good business.

I would have done the same, thought Lorn darkly.

He pondered that for a moment, wondering if it were true. In another life he would have ransomed a man without a second thought. Now? He wasn’t sure.

‘It doesn’t matter,’ he mumbled. ‘Business or not, it won’t save him.’

A few long minutes later, Erlik finally rose from his seat and headed toward the rear of the tavern. A caped soldier saw him rise and followed him, no doubt a bodyguard. Lorn checked his eagerness, took a calm drink from his tankard, then got up himself, carefully taking his bundle from beneath the table. He gave one casual look over his shoulder as he headed for the front door. Then, sure nobody had noticed him, he went outside. The night wrapped him in its silent mantle. Up and down the street he saw only distant figures, too far away to see him clearly. With his stolen cape and helmet in hand, he walked around the brick building toward its rear, his boots sinking into the loamy earth as shadows swallowed him completely. There he fixed the cape around his neck and shoulders and put the helmet on his head. Hand on his sword, he stalked toward the outhouse.

As he’d hoped, only the single guardian awaited Duke Erlik. More lucky still, he had his back turned toward Lorn. Without pausing, Lorn drew his sword, walked up behind the man, and put the blade through his back. Quickly covering his victim’s mouth, Lorn held him as he convulsed, spewing blood from his throat onto Lorn’s hand. When he was sure the guard was dead, Lorn dragged him into the shadows next to the outhouse, where he quickly wiped his bloodied hands on the dewy grass. A glance toward the Ram told him no one else was coming. Lorn seized the chance. Standing at the very threshold of the stone outhouse, he grabbed hold of the door very quietly, paused to prepare himself, then flung the door open.

Squatting over the seat was Erlik, his trousers around his ankles. Lorn had his blade at the duke’s throat at once.

‘Oh, Fate. .’ gasped Erlik, holding up his hands. His head pinned to the wall by the sword, he looked desperately at Lorn. ‘Don’t kill me!’

‘Don’t say another bloody word,’ Lorn whispered. With his free hand he closed the outhouse door behind him, so that only a sliver of light entered through the chamber’s tiny window. ‘Scream and you die.’

‘I won’t,’ promised Erlik. His powdered face began to sweat. ‘You want to rob me, take it, whatever you want.’

‘Gods above, but you’re a coward,’ hissed Lorn. He pressed harder on his sword, nearly breaking the silky skin of Erlik’s throat. ‘At least act like a man, even if you can’t dress like one.’

The insult riled Erlik. ‘Who are you?’

‘Why don’t you figure that out for yourself? I’m Norvan. Does that help?’

The little colour fell from Erlik’s face. ‘Lorn. .’

‘Indeed,’ replied Lorn hatefully. ‘How much did you think you’d get for me, Erlik? Did you really think I’d let you sell me to that bitch Jazana Carr?’

‘You’re insane,’ sneered Erlik. ‘A mad-dog king, just like everyone says.’

‘Maybe,’ said Lorn. ‘But at least I’m alive.’

Then, for the third time that night, Lorn bloodied his blade.

By dawn the next morning, Lorn had left Dreel far behind. Remarkably, he had escaped the city with ease, leaving through the main gate as soon as he’d emptied Erlik’s pockets. Travelling had been difficult without a horse, but he remained on the main road throughout the night, hiding in the dark woods whenever he heard others approaching. When the sun finally rose he had put a good distance between himself and the city, and was sure no one had followed him. He did not look like an assassin, after all, and he knew it would take time for anyone to find the two bodies of the soldiers, which he stuffed down an old abandoned well. Erlik himself was probably found minutes after his death, but by then Lorn was already through the city gates.

Exhausted, he continued on the wooded road south, ignoring his blistered feet and enormous fatigue. He was glad Eiriann had followed his orders to leave the city; he had seen nothing of them on the road. With luck he would meet up with them in Ganjor. If not, he hoped they would go across the desert without him. Poppy didn’t need him to be healed — she needed the magic of Grimhold, and that was all. Perhaps he had taken her far enough. Perhaps Eiriann would take her the rest of the way.

‘A good woman,’ he told himself as he walked, and the thought of her pretty face eased his many aches. They were all good, and he trusted them. Poppy was in capable hands.

For an hour more Lorn continued on his weary way. His swollen feet threatened to burst from his worn-out boots, but he was driven by a mad urge to reach Ganjor. He remembered from the maps that it was a three-day ride between Ganjor and Dreel, and he knew it would take him much longer on foot. He had money now but that was little good to him, for he trusted no one on the road and could not risk buying passage south. If he came upon a town he might be able to purchase a horse, and it was that single hope that kept him going.

Then, to his surprise, Lorn heard voices. He stopped in the road to listen. There was no movement up ahead, no horse hooves or wagon wheels. Whoever it was had stopped, too, but the bend in the road prevented him from seeing. There was a group of people, unquestionably, and for a moment the sound was familiar. He dared to hope that it might be the Believers. .

As he crept up the road, his hope was rewarded. There they were, all of them, pulled off on the side of the road, waiting. Lorn stepped out from the bend and stared in happy shock. Atop the wagon, Eiriann was first to notice him.

‘Lorn!’ she called.

Every head turned at her cry. Lorn hurried toward them. Eiriann, holding the baby as always, got down from the wagon and went to him, followed close behind by her father, then Bezarak and the others.

‘You waited?’ asked Lorn. ‘I told you to go on to Ganjor.’

‘Yes, you told me,’ said Eiriann. ‘But I knew you’d make it out.’ Her smile, like her faith in him, seemed boundless. She handed him Poppy, who cooed at his familiar touch. ‘Remember what I told you? You belong with us, Lorn.’

‘Aye,’ agreed Majis. ‘We knew you’d make it out.’

Lorn’s expression grew stormy. ‘I should be angry with you. You took a great risk.’

Eiriann gave him a wicked smile. ‘Well, we could leave you here if you prefer, or we can all go to Ganjor. What say you, King Lorn?’

None of them expected his thanks. It was not his way and they knew it. So instead Lorn reached into his pocket and pulled out the gold coins he’d stolen from Erlik. Showing them to the Believers, he said, ‘I say we ride for Ganjor. And this time when we get there we won’t have to beg for help.’