The Devil's armour

8

In Norvor, word travelled northward of King Lorn’s demise, and with it travelled Lorn himself, out of the Bleak Territories and into the Novo Valley, over the river Kryss and — at last — into Liiria. Along with his infant daughter, he had listened to the rumours following him from town to town, proclaiming his death in a great battle against Jazana Carr or his suicide in Carlion or his last, tearful words before being executed. But to Lorn’s great relief, none of the rumours had him travelling to war-torn Liiria.

It had taken weeks for Lorn and Poppy to reach Liiria. His first horse had expired in the Bleak Territories and he had been forced to walk with the infant in his arms until he was able to steal another. His money — that which he had carried out of Carlion or stolen off the Rolgans he had killed that very first day — had been very nearly exhausted by the time he and Poppy reached Liiria’s first city, Andola. By then his beard had grown back and the filth of the road had covered his face. He was no longer afraid of being recognised because he no longer looked anything like a king. On the border of Norvor and Liiria, near a tumultuous part of the river Kryss, he and Poppy rested in Andola. There he spent the last of his silver coins on a room and good food, and did not venture outside again for days. Both of them exhausted, they slept and enjoyed the roof over their heads, eating more than their fill because they were both half-starved. The innkeeper, a stout, pleasant woman named Hella, took care of Poppy and bathed her. Because the city was run by a notorious merchant-baron, a warlord who had sprung up in the chaos of the old king’s death, the innkeeper was accustomed to close-mouthed patrons and asked no questions of her guests, a trait for which Lorn was grateful.

After his spell in the city, Lorn discovered he didn’t want to leave Andola. Poppy seemed happy there, oblivious to the war raging around her, and Lorn felt safe in the chaos. Chaos was the very reason he had come to Liiria. He had known that no one would follow him here or be able to locate him among the mercenaries and their employers, all vying for little bits of the shattered kingdom. On his third night in Andola, Lorn finally left the shabby inn and walked the city streets. Once, when Akeela had been king, Andola had been a jewel on the riverbank, a hub of commerce second only to Koth, Liiria’s capital. As he walked with the moonlight on his shoulders, Lorn could see the remnants of what Andola had been, its grand old buildings now gutted by fire, its gardened avenues trampled by warhorses and siege machines. The highest building in the city — that of Ravel the Merchant-Baron — glowered over the streets like a brooding gargoyle perched on a hill. Lorn paused in the middle of a trash-strewn street to stare at it. Suddenly, he was overcome with melancholy.

‘Usurper,’ he muttered. Like Jazana Carr. Ravel and others like him picked at the bones of Liiria, fighting among themselves for scraps of flesh and gold dust. Andola was Ravel’s now, but he had designs on Koth as well. The two cities had already clashed in the year since King Akeela’s death; that news had reached Lorn all the way in Carlion. Lorn shook his head as he stared at Ravel’s impressive home. It was a mammoth place, not tall but wide, the kind of villa Norvan merchants favoured before they’d lost all their wealth in the civil war. A snaking road led up the hill to the home’s ornate gate, but beyond that much of the place was hidden behind trees and gardens. Lorn imagined the house’s owner, said to be a fat, pampered fop with too much money and too much ambition. Lorn had no use for usurpers. As he stood there, he imagined the day when Jazana Carr’s army would rumble through Andola and disembowel the merchant-baron.

But that was months off yet, certainly, and King Lorn the Wicked still had much to do. Penniless, he walked back to his little room at the inn and found Hella with Poppy, the infant asleep in a cradle the portly woman had loaned him. There was sadness in her eyes when Lorn returned; she enjoyed having a child in her house again, but knew that Poppy would soon be leaving. Lorn said nothing to her as he entered the chamber, keeping the door open behind him. It was very late and he expected Hella to go at once. When she lingered, he grew annoyed.

‘Will you be leaving in the morning?’ the woman asked.

Lorn nodded. He had already told her that. He sat in a wooden chair and pulled off his boots, trying to be quiet.

‘I will pack food for your trip,’ said Hella.

‘I cannot pay for it,’ said Lorn.

Hella’s smile was faint. ‘You and the child will need it, and I have enough. It’s been a pleasure having the little one here. I will miss her.’ She hesitated, not saying anything but not leaving the room, either.

‘Thank you,’ said Lorn. He leaned back and studied her with his heavy eyes. ‘Is there something else?’

‘Just wondering,’ began the woman carefully, ‘where you will go now. This is a dangerous country, as you’ve seen.’

‘My lady, I have been taking care of myself since I was a boy. You don’t have to worry about me, or where I’m going.’

‘But the child. . she’s so young.’

Lorn laughed, though he wasn’t amused. ‘Why is it that every woman thinks every man incapable of caring for a child? I can look after my brother’s daughter,’ he said, continuing the pretext he had perpetuated since meeting Hella. ‘But if you must know, we travel west from here, to Koth.’

‘Koth?’ The woman grew alarmed. ‘There’s nothing in Koth for anyone, especially a child. I know how to care for children. I raised two girls myself.’ Her alarm became a thin greyness. ‘They’re gone now.’ Looking at Lorn hopefully she added, ‘I can take care of this child if you’ll let me. Why should a man be burdened with an infant in such bad times? Go and make your way to Koth if you must. And when you return the child will be here, safe and waiting for you.’

Lorn pitied the woman. Though her offer was generous, it was impossible. He had never thought of Poppy as a burden, not even when carrying her through the Bleak Territories. She was the only thing precious to him now, and the only link he had to his dead Rinka.

‘You are kind,’ he told Hella, ‘but the girl is family. Her father — my brother — is in Koth,’ he lied. ‘He wants to see his daughter again.’

The argument was futile; Hella knew she couldn’t win. She drifted toward the open door. ‘I understand,’ she said. ‘It was nice having her here. Thank you for bringing her.’

Hella left before Lorn could reply, and he found that he was too stunned and too tired to reply after all. As the woman closed the door, Lorn looked over at his daughter, asleep in the wooden cradle. Hella had given her a blanket. It wasn’t new but it was carefully laid over the infant’s shoulders, the way it had been laid over Hella’s own daughters, no doubt. For a moment, he wondered at the wisdom of bringing Poppy to Koth. His plan was dangerous, and risky for the child. But he had come so far and lost so much already. He couldn’t stay in Andola, no matter how safe they felt. Koth was the key. Koth was the capital. Koth was the diamond Jazana Carr wanted for her crown.

‘I am King of Norvor,’ he whispered. ‘I must press on.’

What else was he if not king? Besides his daughter, his kingship was the only thing keeping him alive.

Too tired to go to his bed, Lorn leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. Sleep came quickly, and with it came a dream of a vast library on a hill, and a last chance at victory.

Just as he’d promised Hella, Lorn left Andola the next day with Poppy, leaving behind the comfortable inn and heading west toward Koth on the horse he had purchased with the last of his money. They had food and milk for the trip and that was good, but Lorn cursed himself for not taking more gold and silver with him, though he admitted to himself that even in Carlion he’d had very little gold. It had all been spent months and years earlier, fending off a woman whose coffers knew no limits. As he cantered along the road, it occurred to him that he was comfortable in his poverty; he had simply gotten used to it. Then he remembered something his wife Rinka had said to them in one of those moments of despair.

No man is poor who has family.

That was all Lorn had now, just his daughter, bouncing merrily in a leather backpack sort of thing Hella had given him for the ride. When he had first heard his wife’s platitude, Lorn had laughed. His amusement had hurt Rinka. He remembered her wounded face now and sighed. Over his shoulder he spoke to his daughter.

‘It is a shame you never saw her, Poppy. She was beautiful, just like you’ll be when you grow up. Just like the sun and the stars.’

There were no stars yet, though the sun was starting to sink beyond the horizon. Because they had rested frequently during the day, Lorn decided to go on a bit further before camping for the night. They were only a day or so from Koth now, but they had passed very few travellers on the road, and that concerned him. The war between the Liirian factions had slowed commerce to a crawl, but he had hoped to see at least one friendly face to offer help should they need it. Still, Lorn kept on, heartened by the fact that their long trek was nearing an end, and by the time another hour had passed the sun was almost completely gone behind the tree line. It was then that he saw the stranger.

It was just a glimpse, but it was enough to unnerve him. Being king of such a fragile throne had made Lorn paranoid, and he was always in the habit of looking behind him from time to time, tossing a casual glance over his shoulder to make certain no one was following. Because they were on a particularly straight parcel of road, he gave in to his habit and peered down the way they had come. To his great surprise he saw a figure on a horse outlined in the waning light. He wore a hat, a cape, and Lorn couldn’t tell what else. Not wanting to look suspicious, he turned his attention back to the road, but only for a moment. When he looked back again the figure was gone. Lorn stared, puzzling over its disappearance. It wasn’t customary to follow without introducing oneself, especially on a road so empty. But night was falling quickly and Lorn thought it might just have been the darkness obscuring the man.

‘Hello? Rider, come ahead. Show yourself.’

There was no answer. When Lorn stopped his horse there was no sound, either. Suddenly it seemed very dark.

‘Do not think I am afraid of you,’ he grumbled, his eyes narrowing. He was unused to the tactics of highwaymen. Did they follow and watch before they robbed? Deciding they should go on before bedding down, Lorn ordered his horse forward again and rode deeper into the darkness, carefully trotting along the road by the light of a growing moon. They didn’t have to go far, Lorn told himself. Just far enough to make him feel comfortable again. Finally, when it grew too dark to continue, Lorn stopped his horse. He listened intently before dismounting, then, satisfied they were safe, got down and spotted a place for them to camp. Thick trees and bushes lined the side of the road. It took time for Lorn’s eyes to adjust and locate anything like a clearing. Lorn led his horse off the side of the road into the only space he could find, barely more than a patch of grass. He tied his mount to one of the trees. Then, eager for a fire, he slung Poppy from his back and set her down away from the horse. The girl squirmed in her leather harness, her back against a tree, kicking to get free.

‘Easy,’ said Lorn. ‘I’ll have you out of there as soon as I get a fire going.’

At once he set to making the fire, taking all he needed from his saddle packs. His little spade came first. Scraping its sharp edge along the ground, he dug a small hole and cleared it away. He then surrounded the hole with rocks to protect against flying sparks, and when he’d done that he searched for kindling. All these things he had done dozens of times since leaving Carlion and he was careful about it now, following his method with precision. It took him longer in the dark, but soon he had the kindling arranged, mostly twigs and dried leaves, and when that was set he gathered a pile of bigger sticks to keep the flames alive. Dry sticks were best of course, but locating these in the dark was a challenge so he took what he could find. All the while Poppy remained in her restrictive sack, occasionally pitching over to crawl closer to him. Somehow, she knew instinctively where her father was, and that pleased Lorn immensely. Poppy seemed to have senses beyond his own. Lorn picked her up and straightened her against the tree once again.

‘I know you’re hungry,’ he told her. ‘So am I. Soon we’ll have a warm fire and we’ll eat.’

The spark for the fire came from the flint he’d had the foresight to pack for himself, and soon he had a fragile flame brewing. He nurtured it, blowing on it gently, allowing it to spread through the twigs and dried leaves. It was work that needed patience, a virtue the king had never possessed in abundance. Driven by hunger, he blew too hard and extinguished the flames.

‘Damn it!’

His voice carried with amazing clarity through the forest. He lifted his head, cursing his stupidity. Thankfully, only the normal sounds of the forest replied to his shout. He set to work again, more carefully this time, and in a few minutes had a satisfactory fire. Any highwayman that wanted to find him could simply look for their light, so he kept it contained to the small hole he had dug.

Next came food. Hella the innkeeper had kindly given them milk, and he began by feeding Poppy from a waterskin filled with the stuff. The infant was grateful for the food, but even more grateful to be free of her constrictive harness. As Lorn leaned against a tree near the fire, Poppy nestled comfortably in his arms, sucking from the waterskin with an expression of pure contentment. Lorn’s empty stomach rumbled at the thought of food. He was patient with his daughter, though, and took his time feeding her.

Night fell quietly. The crackling of the fire put them both at ease. Lorn soon forgot about the caped figure and turned his thoughts toward Koth. He was eager to see the city, though he knew it was ruined now

‘A shame,’ he whispered.

The mad King Akeela had made Koth envied and feared, stretching its influence across boundaries and endless miles. While Norvor wallowed in civil war, Liiria and its capital had grown strong and fat. But that, too, had ended and it saddened Lorn. Why did the world have to fall into chaos, he wondered? Why did the old order change?

‘Because men are ambitious,’ he told himself. He chuckled darkly. ‘Women, too.’

Poppy continued drinking, ignoring her father. Lorn looked at her and smiled. He had been profoundly lonely since leaving Carlion, unable to speak to anyone for fear of divulging his identity. He missed Uralak and the others back home, and knowing they were dead — and that he had abandoned them — haunted him.

‘Indeed I am King Lorn the Wicked,’ he said. ‘But my cause is just.’

When his daughter had finished her meal she remained nestled in his lap. For some reason, Lorn had lost his own appetite and didn’t bother disturbing her. Instead he let her sleep and occupied himself by staring into the fire. Occasionally he moved to throw another stick or strip of bark into the flames, but mostly he was still, lost in his own lonely musings. Exhausted, he soon fell into a fitful sleep against the tree.

As always, Lorn dreamed while he slept. They were troubling, guilt-ridden dreams, so realistic he could not distinguish them from the waking world. Nor could he hear the footfalls of those approaching his camp. He did not open his eyes until the blade was at his throat.

His eyes snapped open, staring straight into a wild face. A mouth of broken teeth smiled at him menacingly. The tip of a sword poked at his windpipe. Startled, he moved back and bumped his head into the forgotten tree. Thankfully, Poppy was still in his lap.

‘Wake up now,’ said the man with the sword. ‘Be a good fellow and no one gets hurt. Especially not the little one, hmm?’

‘What is this?’ growled Lorn. He held Poppy close, but he couldn’t move to his feet. There were two of them; he saw the other one now by his horse, rummaging through his saddlebags. ‘God-cursed brigands!’

The man with the sword pushed lightly on the pommel, pushing the point a little harder against Lorn’s throat. Even at that length Lorn could smell the stink on him. Both men were bearded and covered in filth, their clothes ragged. ‘Be nice to us,’ warned the sword-bearer, ‘or be a dead man.’

Tempted to spit, Lorn said, ‘You’d kill the child too, then. Is that what you are? Baby killers?’

The insult stung the man. ‘We’re not murderers unless you make us murderers. So keep your mouth shut.’

‘If you rob me I’ll be dead just the same,’ said Lorn. He knew he needed time, enough to think of a plan. ‘If it’s food you want I’ve got some to share. But if you’re looking for gold I’m as poor as any man.’

‘You’ve got good boots and a good coat. That’s enough to be starting with.’ The sword slackened a bit as the man inspected Lorn. He was young, despite his broken teeth, but he wasn’t the man Lorn had seen earlier. As the other thief picked through the saddlebags, an awful thought seized Lorn. He had only one lump of gold in the world now — his ring of kingship. In his saddlebags.

The man with the sword looked over his shoulder. Calling to his companion, he asked, ‘Well?’

Lorn slipped his hand to his belt. He felt the round hilt of his dagger and pulled it free.

‘Nothing,’ replied the other. ‘Just food.’

‘Take it.’ The first man looked back at Lorn. ‘You’d better have something more than meat, old man. .’

‘You’re Norvan,’ said Lorn. ‘I can tell — your speech. Why are you in Liiria?’

‘What’s in Norvor to keep us, eh?’ The man glared at Lorn. ‘And why so many questions? If you don’t shut that mouth of yours that little brat will be without a grandfather.’

‘Grandfather? I’m her father, you dolt!’

‘Stay down!’ hissed the brigand. His rapid breathing told Lorn he was afraid. A dangerous man to be sure, but vulnerable. He was losing time, though, and needed the blade away from his throat. If they found the ring. .

‘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.’

‘So you became one,’ said Lorn.

‘Aye, I became a Charger. I served with General Trager. And do you know what he had us do?’

‘You marched into Jador. I know the story.’

‘That’s right. We marched across the desert and when we got to Jador we slaughtered people by the hundreds, all because King Akeela and Trager were both out of their minds with madness. I followed orders because that’s what I thought a good soldier was supposed to do. But I was wrong. A good man doesn’t kill innocents, no matter who gives the order.’

Van stared into the fire, his lips twisting, holding back angry words. Lorn didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing. Instead he waited for Van to compose himself and finish his dark tale.

‘Akeela and Trager both died in Jador,’ he said finally, ‘but I didn’t come home with the rest of the army. I left. I simply said goodbye to all that and headed for Norvor. That’s where I spent the last year, fighting for Jazana Carr against that piss-bucket Lorn. I heard about those other Chargers defending the library, of course, but I didn’t care. Still don’t. I’m my own man now. I don’t take orders from anyone.’

‘But you’re going back to Koth,’ said Lorn, still confused. ‘Not to help defend it?’

‘I told you, I’m not one of Liiria’s pawns. I have no quarrel with Jazana Carr, but I won’t help her conquer my homeland either. I just want to be left alone.’

‘But you won’t be left alone, don’t you see that? If you’re right and Jazana Carr comes for Koth, what will you do then? Just let her have it?’

Van smiled wickedly. ‘Why shouldn’t I?’

‘Because this is your country,’ flared Lorn. ‘Because a man doesn’t run; he fights!’

‘I do fight,’ argued Van. ‘Fate above, I do nothing but fight! I’m sick of fighting. I want to be left alone.’

‘Even if it means your country falls to a witch like Jazana Carr? Even it if means brave men die in your stead? There’s a time to retreat, yes, but there’s also a time to make a stand.’

Van stared at Lorn as if he couldn’t believe his ears. ‘Who are you to lecture me? Will you fight if Jazana Carr comes to Koth?’

‘I will,’ declared Lorn. ‘Gladly.’

‘Then you are a fool.’ Van sighed and picked up the wedge of cheese. As he scraped his knife over its surface he shook his head in obvious confusion. ‘A Norvan heading to Koth to fight. Is that your business in Koth, Akan? To join those fools at Library Hill?’

‘No,’ said Lorn, though that wasn’t quite the truth. ‘I just want to look after my daughter in peace. Maybe I can find a job there. But I fought Jazana Carr in Norvor and lost. If she comes to Koth, I’ll fight her again.’

‘You mean you fought for Lorn? Great Fate, now I’ve seen everything. You seemed liked a good man, Akan. I can’t believe you fought for that tyrant.’

‘I was a soldier,’ Lorn lied. ‘Like you. I did what I was told.’ Then he thought for a moment and said, ‘Lorn was a good man. I was honoured to fight for him. You Liirian fools don’t understand that. You’re so full of that nonsense King Akeela constantly spouted, about freedom and men and women being the same. Well, they are not the same, and if I could kill Jazana Carr and send her soul to an everlasting hell I would do so gladly. That woman is a pestilence. If not for her, Norvor would have been great again, and Lorn would have been a great king.’

‘Stop,’ said Van, holding up his hands. ‘I’m pleading with you, enough now. I don’t care about your politics. You’re a man with causes. I’m not. Let’s leave it at that, all right?’

But Lorn wasn’t sure he could let it lie. Vanlandinghale was a strange man, and not easily figured out. Was he dangerous? Lorn didn’t know. Men without a cause had always puzzled him.

‘A man should have something to believe in,’ said Lorn. He fussed a little with Poppy, waking her as he got himself more comfortable. The baby gave an irritated cry. ‘You say you don’t care what Jazana Carr does, yet you won’t help her take Koth. It makes no sense. What is a man who refuses to take sides?’

Vanlandinghale looked bored. ‘Is this a riddle?’

‘A coward,’ said Lorn.

The Liirian bristled. ‘I’m not a coward.’

‘You have no fear of a fight, I’ll give you that. But loyalty takes courage, too. Any man can sell his sword to the highest bidder. But you. .’ Lorn sighed, unsure what to say. ‘I am afraid of men with no loyalties.’

‘I am loyal,’ said Van. ‘To myself.’ He pulled his cape around his shoulders, annoyed with the conversation. ‘You’ve not done the things I’ve done, Akan, nor seen the things I’ve seen. I think your judgement of me is too harsh.’

‘Perhaps,’ said Lorn. Through the bouncing firelight he could see Van’s face. It looked sincere to him, trustworthy. ‘Then let’s speak no more of it. We are different, you and I, that’s all.’

‘Agreed. And when we reach Koth we will lose each other and have this argument never again.’

This surprised Lorn. ‘Will you ride with us to Koth, then?’

‘I’m good with a sword, as you’ve seen. If you’ll take my protection, I’ll have your company and food for the favour.’

The offer seemed fair to Lorn. He knew nothing about Koth, and this strange Liirian seemed a wellspring of information. If they rode together, he could find out more about the library and its defenders. Besides, he rather liked the fair-haired fellow.

‘Your offer is fair,’ he told Van. ‘We’ll ride the rest of the way to Koth together.’

The Liirian smiled. ‘Good. And no more talk of politics?’

‘If that’s what you want,’ replied Lorn. ‘But I would like to know more about Koth.’

Vanlandinghale leaned back and yawned. ‘Tomorrow. While we ride.’

Satisfied, Lorn ended his inquiry and returned to eating. He ate slowly, watching the Liirian pull his hat down over his face then quickly fall asleep to the sound of his own snoring. Lorn’s whole body ached from the fight with the thieves, but he did not soon join the man in sleep. When he was sure Vanlandinghale would not wake up he slipped his hand into his pocket and retrieved his ring, the ring he’d thought he’d lost forever. It was the only means he had to prove his identity; not even Poppy could do that for him. He would need the ring when the time came, he knew, and he wasn’t sorry at all that he’d killed the thief named Nolas.