The Sword Of Angels

29

King Raxor of Reec watched in silence from the bridge as the messenger from Koth trotted out from the army. Riding a white horse and flanked by a dozen soldiers, the messenger sat tall as he approached, looking unafraid as he neared the Reecian king. Behind him, the gathering army of Baron Glass readied for the coming clash, positioned a good distance from the river yet close enough to smell their fires. It had taken nearly a week for Glass’ army to arrive, and Raxor had watched it with dread, sure that his request to talk had fallen deafly on the Baron. While his own army rested and prepared, the forces of Liiria slowly took form on the west side of the river, rumbling into place beneath the banner of Liiria.

Raxor waited and did not say a word. With him were his son and a handful of bodyguards, all of them mounted on armoured horses. Ten days had passed since Raxor had made his offer to talk, and ten days were all he had given for his offer to be considered. After so long a time, he had not expected any reply. Like the others, he had been shocked to see the riders coming toward them in the morning light. Behind them, their encampment buzzed with excitement. Old King Raxor licked his lips. He was not a man who panicked, but the sight of the arrogant rider made his courage wane.

‘Look,’ said Roland. ‘He comes with Norvans.’

Roland spoke with disgust in his voice, a sentiment shared by most of the Reecians, for although the messenger rode under the banner of Liiria, the men who accompanied him were clearly mercenaries, brought and paid for by the Norvan queen. In fact, there seemed to be very few Liirians in Glass’ army, a hodge-podge of different uniforms and colours. Though they had come at Glass’ order, Raxor could tell that the rag-tag army consisted mostly of Norvans from various regions of that fractured land, with only a sprinkling of Liirian regulars among them.

‘You see, Father?’ Roland commented. ‘Baron Glass has not the love of his people. Not even the messenger rides with Liirians!’

‘He goes with those he trusts,’ said Craiglen, Raxor’s old friend. ‘You underestimate them, I think, Prince Roland.’

Roland snorted, ‘Look at them, Craiglen. They are a bunch of hoodlums, not an army.’

‘And they broke the will of Breck’s Chargers at the library,’ said Raxor angrily.

‘They’re a horde,’ said Roland.

‘They’re a plague,’ said Craiglen. ‘And only a stupid man is unafraid of plague.’

Roland smouldered at the insult. ‘But they come to talk, you see? Baron Glass plays games with us. It is brinksmanship, but I for one would rather fight.’

‘Quiet,’ Raxor rumbled, never taking his eyes off the approaching messenger. He could see the man more clearly now, a seasoned looking soldier in the distinct garb of Carlion, the Norvan capital. A scarlet cape blew from his shoulders. His silver breastplate gleamed. A dozen mercenaries rode behind him, some with bows on their backs, others with daggers lined in bandoliers across their chests. A dark-skinned man rode closest to the Norvan. Like a Ganjeese man or some other desert ilk, he wore no armour at all over his person, just a loose-fitting tunic. A jumble of black hair sprouted from his head. Raxor regarded him curiously. He knew from Aric Glass that men of every colour served Jazana Carr, made loyal by her endless wealth. He wished suddenly that Aric was with him now, but he had kept the boy far from the river so that he wouldn’t be seen, leaving him anxiously waiting in camp.

On the bridge, the Reecians waited, counting the lines of their enemy. There were three such bridges within sight of the armies, but neither side had yet to claim them, keeping safely distant so as not to provoke the battle. It surprised Raxor how cautious Baron Glass was being, and he took it as a hopeful sign. At least a thousand men had made camp in the past week, but they had not moved within half a mile of the Kryss. Nor had they brought heavy weapons with them the way Raxor had, with his siege wagons and catapults. The old man held tight to this glimmer of hope.

And yet the messenger was fast approaching, and might quickly dash the old king’s fragile hope. Raxor barely moved upon his horse, refusing to look afraid or betray the turmoil roiling inside him. When the messenger and his gang were only twenty yards away, he turned to the trusted Craiglen.

‘Roan-Si. Do you remember, Craiglen?’

As if Craiglen shared his thoughts, the soldier nodded. ‘When we fought with Akeela. I remember, my lord.’

It had been so long ago, yet Raxor remembered the day with perfect clarity. They had been allies with the Liirians then. They had met on the

bridge at Roan-Si.

‘It was before you were born,’ said Raxor to his son. ‘In better days.’

Now at last the messenger was upon them. The man in his shining breastplate raised his hand and brought his group to a halt. Raxor, who had not so many men with him, returned his steely gaze. An air of arrogance hung around the mercenaries, making Roland bristle. Raxor cleared his throat, a warning to his son.

‘My name is Thayus,’ said the messenger. ‘I serve Baron Glass, ruler of Liiria. He has received your message, King Raxor.’

‘Thayus? You are from Carlion.’

The messenger frowned. ‘Yes.’

‘Why doesn’t the Ruler of Liiria send a Liirian to deliver his message?’ Raxor asked. ‘Please help me with this mystery. I am an old man and easily confused.’

Roland laughed, but the man named Thayus had a grin more of contempt than humour.

‘Norvor and Liiria are allies now, my lord,’ said Thayus. ‘They are like a giant with two big fists.’

‘Giants are clumsy,’ said Raxor. ‘And a two-headed giant is clumsiest of all. Tell your master to be careful, good Thayus, or he may trip and hurt himself.’

‘My lord surprises me!’ Thayus chirped. ‘But you need not pretend bravery, I have good news for you. Baron Glass will speak with you.’

There was silence among the Reecians.

‘Good,’ said Raxor quickly, pretending he wasn’t stunned. ‘He made the right choice.’

‘You or your representative may come across, King Raxor, at a time of your choosing no later than sundown,’ said Thayus. ‘I am prepared to escort you now if you wish.’

‘Not now,’ said Craiglen, ‘and not the king. If we decide to talk, I will speak for Raxor.’

‘Or I will,’ said Roland quickly. ‘You may tell your master that the King of Reec will not step lightly into a snare. You will have your answer by sunfall.’

Thayus, clearly a man of breeding, inclined his head politely. ‘I will tell Baron Glass your wishes,’ he said. ‘Is there anything else you require?’

‘We will bring men with us for safety,’ said Roland. ‘If they are turned away there will be no talk.’

‘Of course,’ said Thayus with a nod.

‘Return to your master, Norvan,’ said Raxor. ‘By sundown you will know our minds in full.’

Thayus thanked Raxor, and for a moment the contempt fled from his eyes. He was playing a part, Raxor knew, but this man who carried Glass’ messages was more than he seemed. Unafraid, surely, but not because of arrogance. It was clear that Thayus had been a soldier for a very long time.

Raxor waited on the bridge until the man from Carlion had turned his men around and began trotting back toward their camp. Roland began to speak, but the king snapped at him to hold his tongue.

‘Not now,’ he said. ‘I won’t sit here talking in the wind.’

When he was satisfied that Thayus and his men were far enough away, King Raxor turned his own horse about and headed back toward camp.

Aric Glass had been waiting impatiently near Raxor’s pavilion for the king to return. At Raxor’s orders he had remained behind, far out of sight of any Liirians or Norvans who might come to the bridge. He had been given a cot in a tent not far from Raxor’s, bedding down with soldiers who were among Raxor’s personal bodyguards. Just as they were charged with protecting the king himself, the soldiers had been given orders to see that no harm befell Aric, and that he did not wander away. He was, in a sense, still a prisoner of the Reecians, though he was treated more like a guest by the kindly old king. In the days since he had arrived in the Reecian camp, neither Raxor nor his underlings spent any time interrogating him, and the threat to send him to their infamous interrogator had ebbed. A tenuous trust had taken hold between Aric and the king, and Aric appreciated it. More, he worried now for the good man’s safety.

As Raxor spoke to Roland and the others, Aric watched and listened carefully. The invitation to the meeting had surprised him, though he was glad for it and planned to offer any guidance he could. Besides Raxor’s son, the stone-faced Craiglen was there as well, sitting to the king’s left. Other men of rank — about half a dozen of them — had come too, listening as Raxor explained what had happened at the bridge. It was barely past daybreak and many of the Reecians still had sleep in their eyes. Most, like Aric, sat cross-legged on the ground, arranged in a semi-circle around the king, who, like Roland, had a proper chair for himself. A slobbering mastiff sat between Raxor and Roland, snuffling with disinterest as Raxor told his story. It was not much of a tale, and was over quickly. When he was done with its telling, Raxor sat back and scratched the head of his pet, waiting for advice.

‘You have to go,’ said one of the men, a young looking lieutenant whom Aric had seen in camp many times.

‘He can’t go, Jakane,’ said Roland flatly. ‘He’s the king.’

‘But he has to talk, see what the baron is offering,’ said Craiglen. ‘Though I agree, my lord, that it can’t be you. Send me. I will speak for you.’

‘No, Craiglen, I’m going,’ Roland insisted. ‘And don’t argue, Father. I’ve made up my mind.’

Surprisingly, Raxor did not argue with his son. He barely even acknowledged him.

‘This is no more than we asked for,’ said the king. ‘And more than I expected, frankly. If Baron Glass is willing to talk, then we must talk. But I won’t go myself because that is what he wants, to preen and puff around me like a rooster.’

‘He’s not expecting you, my lord,’ said Jakane. ‘He can’t be. He would never expect you to accept his terms. The meeting is on his side of the Kryss.’

‘It has to be somewhere,’ said Roland. ‘I’m not afraid to go.’

Raxor grimaced at his son’s bravado. He turned to Aric. ‘What say you, boy? Is it a trick? Or is your father sincere?’

‘I don’t know, my lord,’ answered Aric honestly. ‘But he’s not afraid of you, that I can promise. I don’t know why he’s agreed to talk, but it’s not because of fear.’

‘Something else?’ Raxor probed.

Aric nodded. ‘It must be.’

‘A trap?’ Craiglen suggested.

‘He has no reason to trap us,’ said Raxor. ‘Aric Glass?’

‘No, I agree,’ said Aric. ‘If my father is willing to talk, there’s a reason.’ He shrugged. ‘But why I can’t say.’

‘He didn’t bring his army here to talk,’ said Roland. The prince looked at each of the men seriously. ‘He could have talked from Koth, sent his messenger to us days ago. No, he wants this battle. He wants the Kryss.’

‘Aye,’ agreed Jakane, and was quickly echoed by some others.

‘We’re talking in circles,’ said Raxor with a sigh. He looked exhausted suddenly. ‘If he’s spoiling for a fight, we’re ready. We won’t give back the Kryss, and he needs to know that. That’s what we’re going to tell him.’

‘Who, then?’ Roland asked. ‘Let it be me, Father.’

Raxor hesitated. ‘Roland, we need tact now.’

Roland looked offended. ‘Tact? We need to face the storm, Father. We need to show the Black Baron our resolve.’

‘You need to make him listen,’ said Aric. All eyes turned to him. ‘I’m sorry, but it’s true. There’s only one person in this camp that my father will really listen to, my lord.’

Raxor smiled. ‘No, boy. Forget what you’re thinking.’

‘My lord-’

‘No.’ Raxor shook his head. ‘No.’

Aric tried to stay circumspect. Seeing his father again was not something he relished, but the logic of the choice seemed obvious. Aric was sure he could get his father to listen.

‘My lord is trying to protect me, but it’s not necessary,’ he said. ‘I know the risks, but I also know my father will listen to me.’

‘You have a mission,’ said Raxor. ‘Do you think I have forgotten? You have an alliance to make. You’re more important than a messenger. You will stay here, Aric Glass, safe and out of sight. And if battle comes you will not join it. You will stay safe and you will live. Do you understand?’

Reluctantly, Aric nodded. ‘Yes, my lord.’

‘Then it will be me,’ said Roland. He looked sanguine. Glancing at his father, he watched the old man agree.

‘Very well,’ said Raxor. ‘Choose who will go with you and make ready.’

‘No one needs to go with me,’ said Roland. ‘If it is a trap, a handful of men aren’t going to help. They’ll only die along with me.’

‘Prince Roland, that’s stupid,’ said Craiglen. ‘I’m going with you, like it or not.’

‘You’re not,’ Roland boiled. ‘I’m going alone to speak with Baron Glass. Much as I hate to admit it, you’re needed here, Craiglen.’

Aric expected Raxor to protest, but instead saw a flash of pride in his eyes. The king looked at his hot-headed son and smiled.

‘My son means to prove himself,’ he said. ‘I say it is time.’

Baron Glass took a seat at the edge of his encampment, sipping on a sherry from crystal glass as the sun fell behind him. Though there were other chairs arranged around his fire, the baron sat alone, staring pensively into the distance. Thorin’s mind stretched in a hundred different directions. He heard Kahldris in his skull, talking to him, berating him for agreeing to meet. He thought of Jazana, too, and of her beautiful body laying next to him, and how much he owed her. And then he thought of Raxor, his old enemy. Surely Raxor was afraid. That was why he wanted to talk, why he had agreed to send his son across the river. The baron tasted his sherry, swirling it in his mouth, patiently waiting for Roland to arrive. According to his scouts the prince had already crossed the bridge. In just a few minutes they would be face to face.

Just a few minutes.

No time to think. There was never enough time these days. There was only work to be done. Thorin leaned back in his canvas chair and tried getting comfortable. Nearby, Colonel Thayus stood beside a tree, waiting for Prince Roland. The colonel from Carlion craned his neck to see over the camp. He had told Thorin what an impressive man Raxor was, still, and how the old man had baited him. He was not backing down easily. Thorin respected that. He swallowed his sherry and looked down into his glass.

Talk, he told himself. It’s just talk.

Kahldris had said Jazana had gelded him, that he was not a man any more, but the puppet of a woman. Jazana’s lapdog. Thorin knew the demon was wrong. He simply did not understand.

‘Kahldris,’ he whispered, ‘you live because of me, because I am a man and you are nothing but smoke. Without me you cannot taste the wine. Remember that.’

He felt the Akari squirm through his brain, twisting angrily at his statement. Since deciding on this meeting, Kahldris had been in a bitter mood.

I hunger, Baron Glass, he reminded Thorin. It is time to feast.

Thorin shook his head. ‘I’ll not be controlled.’

His arm began to burn, his armoured arm, the one that no longer existed.

‘I feel you,’ he grumbled loudly.

Then take my meaning, Kahldris warned. Don’t forget what I have given you.

Colonel Thayus, who was used to Thorin’s seemingly one-way conversations, turned to regard the baron, then quickly looked away.

So? We need each other, Thorin told the spirit.

Then give me what I need. Give me blood.

Thorin set his sherry down on the little table next to him. ‘First we talk.’

In his mind, Kahldris screamed. But Thorin had become deaf in shunting the demon away, and so ignored him as he looked out over his army. Many had come, though many were mercenaries and few were Liirian. It stung him to realize how right Rodrik Varl was, how the Liirians still feared him. But Rodrik Varl was back in Koth, and Thorin knew that he was in charge now. The mercenaries would not question him. They, too, feared the Black Baron.

The minutes passed and the sun finally disappeared. Thorin waited by his fire, growing impatient, until finally he heard Thayus give a shout.

‘He’s coming,’ said the colonel, then went to stand beside the baron.

‘Sit, Thayus,’ Thorin told him, gesturing to the chair beside him.

Thayus took his seat reluctantly, looking uncharacteristically nervous. He was a man who’d been through many campaigns, and had even been a loyalist to King Lorn. He was not afraid of the coming battle, yet seemed disturbed by the turn of events.

‘What will you say to him?’ asked the colonel.

‘We’re just talking.’

Thayus shrugged. ‘I don’t understand any of this.’

A moment later Thorin saw his men approaching. The dark-skinned man was in the lead, looking pleased with himself as he escorted Roland through the camp. Like Thayus, Kaj had been key to winning Koth. A free-lancer from Ganjor, he was one of Jazana’s best commanders, and his men, the Crusaders, had almost single-handedly taken the north side of the city. Kaj nodded as his eyes met Thorin’s, then stepped aside for Prince Roland. The mercenaries halted, and Roland the Red grimaced.

‘Come ahead,’ Thorin called to him.

Prince Roland was a tall, well-dressed young man, with a handsome, cocky face. Thorin at once saw the shadow of his father in him, though Raxor was certainly more muscular. In contrast, Roland was lean and wiry and walked with a long, bouncing gait. The prince had come empty-handed into the camp of his enemies, without even an arming sword at his side. Around his neck hung a chain of gold with a diamond dangling from it, the kind of thing a woman might wear. He fixed his jaw when he saw the baron, summoning his courage.

‘I’m Baron Glass,’ Thorin thundered, letting his armoured arm rest in his lap. ‘Welcome, Prince Roland.’

Roland at once tried claiming the high ground. He said curtly, ‘I am here to talk for my father, Baron Glass, the King of Reec. He wishes to know your mind.’

He was a child. Thorin realized it at once. Like a dog, Thorin could smell the fear on him.

‘Will you sit?’ he asked the prince.

Roland thought for a moment, then stepped forward. Despite his awkwardness, Thorin admired his courage. While Kaj and the others kept back, Roland went to sit before the baron and his colonel. As he settled down, Thorin grabbed another glass and filled it with sherry.

‘Here,’ he offered. ‘A drink will steady you, I think.’

Roland’s hand paused in mid-air. His temples began to pulse. ‘Let us talk, Baron Glass, about why you are here. About your designs.’

‘We’ll talk. Just take the drink, boy.’

The prince took the drink, and without smiling tipped the glass over, spilling the wine into the dirt. His long fingers opened, dropped the glass, and sent it shattering downward.

‘Why no feast, Baron Glass? Why no dancing girls or musicians? I haven’t come to make merry. So let us speak our minds.’

Next to him, Thorin felt Thayus tense. Inside him, he heard Kahldris gasp.

Insolence.

Thorin steadied them both. He said easily, ‘Your father is the one that should explain himself, youngster. Why has he moved so close against the Kryss?’

‘To defend what is ours,’ said Roland.

‘You mean what was given to you,’ Thorin corrected.

Roland snorted in disgust. ‘I knew that was why you came here, Baron Glass. To take back the Kryss. If you expect us to capitulate. .’

‘The Kryss is ours,’ said Thorin. ‘It was given to Reec in a time of weakness by King Akeela who was brainsick. But you’re wrong, Prince Roland — I don’t expect you to give it back to us. You’ve come ready to fight, haven’t you?’

‘We have,’ said Roland confidently.

Thorin smiled. ‘And that’s what you want, isn’t it?’

‘We are not afraid to fight, Baron Glass.’

‘No, boy, I’m talking about you. You have no idea how obvious you are, do you? Your father wants peace. That much is obvious. He’ll fight for the Kryss because he must, but you’ll fight because you want to fight. You’re a whelp. And like all whelps, you have something to prove.’

The prince bristled. ‘You talk big, old man.’ He looked down at Thorin’s gleaming arm. ‘That armour of yours — you think it will save you from a whole army? Have you seen what we’ve brought with us?’

‘I’ve seen,’ said Thorin confidently. ‘A goodly force, to be sure.’ He shrugged with nonchalance. ‘If you think it’s enough, then make your move. That’s why you came alone, so no one else would hear your bargain. Please don’t insult me by denying it.’

Sweat began erupting on Roland’s upper lip. Outwardly, though, he controlled himself. ‘I’m here at my father’s request, to tell you there is no bargaining about the river Kryss. It was given to Reec by the King of Liiria. It belongs to us now.’ A flash of hatred ran through his eyes. ‘And Baron Glass, if you’re so good at reading my mind, then you know I’m not afraid of you. Nor is my father. So do not try to cow us. We are Reecians. We are not afraid of anything.’

‘You are your father’s son,’ laughed Thorin. ‘If he were here, those would be his words exactly.’

Why do you play with him? He insults you!

Thorin paid the spirit no mind, but Kahldris quickly erupted with such force it jolted Thorin forward.

Do not ignore me!

Struck like a hammer, Thorin put his hand to his head and closed his eyes, willing Kahldris to be silent. But the Akari’s anger pushed forward, demanding to be loosed.

I need blood! Blood to live!

Thorin got to his feet, fighting for control. Prince Roland looked at him, plainly confused. Colonel Thayus jumped up and stood before the baron.

‘Baron Glass? What is it?’

The world began to spin. Thorin opened his eyes and saw a red haze. His head began to pound. His armoured arm twitched. He tried to speak but could not, and realized too late that he had pushed Kahldris too far.

‘Don’t,’ he managed to sputter. ‘No. .’

Kahldris was on him, suffocating him. Thorin tried to move backward, to run, but the demon held him firm. Prince Roland got to his feet and stared, his mouth agape as Thorin’s face began to twist. Inside Thorin’s head, he heard Kahldris’ voice, calm and lilting.

It is time.

Thorin jerked forward and shoved Thayus aside. Unable to stop himself, his enchanted arm shot out and grabbed Roland by the throat. As if watching a dream, Thorin saw the gauntlet close about the prince’s neck. The prince writhed as the arm lifted him to his toes. He gave a stunted, gasping scream. Thorin watched as the gauntlet tightened. He wanted to turn away, but no part of him would obey, not even his horror-stricken eyes. Roland’s throat became smaller and smaller, until it was just an impossible reed. Colonel Thayus was shouting, roaring for Thorin to stop.

‘Fate above, enough!’ Thorin cried.

Crushed in Thorin’s vice-like fist, Roland’s neck ruptured. The veins bulged and exploded, spraying blood against Thorin’s face. The head lolled back with a death rattle. Like a snake the armoured arm coiled around Roland, soaking up the blood. Nausea swam through Thorin’s brain. Thayus and the others began to wretch. As it had before, the Devil’s Armour began to feed. Thorin’s armoured arm writhed with life, glowing as the figures embossed in its metal danced with animation. Thorin shook the dead prince, wringing every drop of blood from his neck, carefully smearing it along the gauntlet and mail. And then, when he was done, he dropped the wizened corpse to the ground.

Power flooded Thorin’s body. Inside him, Kahldris let out a sigh of ecstasy.

Glorious!

Thorin’s will buckled. He looked down at Roland’s violated body, wanting to vomit but then succumbing to the demon.

‘The Kryss is ours,’ he said in a voice not quite his own. ‘It is time.’

By now Kaj and the others had joined Thayus, circling Thorin in shock. Thorin looked at them in challenge.

‘Do you hear? Kaj, to your men! Thayus, my friend, it is time!’

Baron Glass did not wait for his men to follow. Locked away in his private tent, the rest of the Devil’s Armour called to him.