The Sword Of Angels

42

Of all the damage that had been done to the great library, Baron Glass had never considered the loss of the books until now. Sitting on the floor with stacks of books surrounding him, he poked through the volumes one by one, blowing the dust from the texts and mourning the scars that had savaged them. The thorough bombardment from the Norvan catapults had collapsed whole sections of the library’s roof, bringing rock raining down on thousands of precious manuscripts. Baron Glass, alone in the light of a single torch, paged through the books with regret.

In the days of King Akeela, while the baron himself endured exile in Norvor, scholars from across the world had come to Koth, filling the shelves of the library with significant works. The place groaned with them, fat, dusty tomes teeming with forgotten knowledge, the kind of books only learned men could understand. Figgis, the head librarian, had done a remarkable job with the collection, making it the envy of kings, and Akeela himself had opened the library to all, his great gift to the ignorant masses. Baron Glass had never understood Akeela’s obsession with the library, but now, as he sat among the countless piles, he glimpsed an insight into his foe’s strange passion.

Thorin had been at it for hours now, letting the sun set and all the workmen return to their families. The deep of night was always the best time for Thorin, when he could come and be alone in the library, undisturbed by the noise of hammers and chisels. Most nights Thorin toiled over the machine. Tonight, however, his mission was different. He had reasoned that the machine was nothing more than a catalogue, listing all the books — and all the knowledge — the library held. And if he could not get the machine to work — which he could not — then perhaps the books themselves would hold the answer.

And yet, Thorin had been sidetracked in his quest. For the first two hours he has diligently looked for references to the Akari, any small bit that might help him find the location of Kahldris’ hated brother. The search had been fruitless, but then Thorin had stumbled upon this sad little reading room. Overhead, the collapsed roof had been repaired, but all the books had been shaken from the shelves, strewn lovelessly across the dirty floor. Hundreds of them.

Such was the sin of Rodrik Varl, who had ordered the library attacked. An act of mercy, Varl had claimed, a way of convincing the defenders inside that they would never stand against the army arrayed against them. True, Varl had acted selflessly. The Black Baron accepted that now. But in so doing he had damaged so much, taking away the very thing that made Koth great. Thorin had spent months and more than a fortune rebuilding the library, but he had neglected the one thing for which people came for miles — the books.

Kahldris was quiet as Thorin read, skimming the pages of a book about warfare, an ironic choice amid all the destruction. Amazing, it was a book that Thorin had read before, many long years ago in his war college days. He still remembered the odd writing, the big, bold strokes of the monks who had toiled to copy them, each of them nearly identical. Over the years, Thorin had thought about the book, putting its tactics to use many times. As though he were just a friend looking over Thorin’s shoulder, Kahldris whispered invisibly in Thorin’s ear.

You won’t find what you’re looking for here.

Thorin shrugged the comment off. ‘Look at this — I was a boy when I last saw this!’

Useless.

‘Why?’

We are both Generals, Baron. We both know you cannot learn war from a book.

‘Oh, but the basics never change. .’

Thorin continued thumbing through the manuscript, oblivious to the darkness swimming around him and the tug of sleep. Since merging with Kahldris, sleep was almost a thing of the past, but not completely. He marveled at how much he could do without the interruption of sleep, but he still got tired after long days, and the last week had been a miserable one. Jazana had left, riding off against his wishes to the Norvan border. She would return, she promised, and Thorin knew that she would. But he missed his emotional queen. In his zeal to unlock the secrets of the machine he had ignored his lover, and the damage he had done between them seemed irreparable sometimes. Still, Thorin kept on with his work, never explaining himself to Jazana or revealing the true reasons for his obsession. Jazana Carr was not a stupid woman, but matters of the spirit evaded her, and Thorin was sure she could never understand the intricacies of the Akari.

‘Your brother,’ Thorin started. ‘He was your younger, yes?’

Yes. We have been over this.

‘I forget. And after he left for the Serpent Kingdom. . no one heard from him again?’

No.

There was a trace of sorrow in Kahldris’ tone, a stitch that had never been there before. Surprised, Thorin let it go, knowing how Kahldris hated prying. The Akari was free with information always. He had told Thorin everything he knew about his brother Malator, all the details of his betrayal. But when it came to his heart — if indeed the demon had a heart — he sealed it tight like a vault, hissing with anger when questioned about it.

‘It will take a year to find what we’re looking for in all this rubble,’ Thorin grumbled. ‘But until Gilwyn gets here we will try.’

Kahldris acknowledged this with a wave of gratitude, a warm feeling that blanketed Thorin’s mind. Thorin closed the book and set it aside, surveying the stacks of other manuscripts waiting for him. The history of the Akari — was it anywhere in the library? Had it ever been written? He had found books about the Jadori already — most of them filled with inaccuracies — but so far not one mention about Kahldris’ odd race. To Thorin, the task looked hopeless.

He stood, stretching like a lion, thinking of returning to his bed at the keep. He had lost track of time but knew that dusk had come hours ago. Outside the big glass windows, moonlight trickled through the sky. He turned toward the chamber door, then felt a stab of surprise from Kahldris.

Baron, said the demon suddenly. Someone is coming.

Thorin listened but heard no one. ‘Who?’

An Akari!

‘Akari? Gilwyn?’ asked Thorin hopefully.

Kahldris waited a moment. No. Thorin felt the spirit’s surprise. A woman. Surprise turned to pleasure. A very beautiful woman.

Mirage had made it as far as the old Chancellery Square before being stopped by Thorin’s soldiers. There, a trio of Norvan mercenaries on patrol spotted her on her horse trotting slowly toward Lionkeep. Unafraid, she declared herself a friend of Baron Glass, a woman with secrets from his past days in Jador, someone of importance who demanded to see him at once.

Impressed enough to listen, the Norvans who had captured her decided not to take any chances. Knowing their new king’s obsession with the library, they confiscated Mirage’s horse, allowing her to ride it to Library Hill while they controlled the reins, making their way slowly through the empty streets of Koth and finally up the winding road to the library. At first the Novans had been full of questions, but Mirage kept up her mysterious, demanding air, refusing to answer their many queries and threatening them with Thorin’s wrath if they did not take her to see him at once. Suitably afraid, the mercenaries did as she requested. As they crested the hill, the library loomed up darkly before them, its huge doors open like the mouth of a dragon. Two of the soldiers carried lamps as they rode, lighting he stony path. The library itself stood mostly dark, expect for a meagre string of candles illuminating its grand interior. Mirage peered through the fantastic portals as she dismounted, glimpsing the place she had heard too much about, weak-kneed as her feet touched the ground.

‘He’s inside?’ she asked. ‘You are sure?’

The only man without a lamp had been the one guiding her horse. His name was Gogin. He wore a golden tunic, taut over his ample chest, and green leggings of the kind the archers of Reec wore. If he was a Reecian, he didn’t say, but Mirage knew that Norvan mercenaries came from everywhere. Gogin got off his own horse, looking unhappy at the prospect of disturbing Baron Glass. She had promised him that the baron would be far less pleased with him if he had her wait until morning, but now he appeared to be struggling with that decision. His companions each dismounted, then stood looking at each other for direction. Surprisingly, they had all been polite to her, which pleased Mirage immensely after her awkward night with Corvalos Chane. In a way, she even pitied the trio. The stories she had heard about Thorin suddenly seemed all the more true.

‘All right, wait here, then,’ said Gogin, volunteering himself. ‘I’ll take her in myself.’

Relief shone on the faces of the others, both of whom nodded and said they would look after the horses, an act of kindness that impressed Gogin not at all. The mercenary in gold and green turned to Mirage and scowled.

‘He’s in here most every night, all by himself, and he doesn’t like to be disturbed, so if you’re not who you say you are be prepared. It won’t be me who kills you, lady, but the baron himself.’

Mirage scoffed. ‘I’m not afraid.’

Gogin frowned. ‘Because you’re one of them? A sorcerer?’

‘Believe it,’ Mirage threatened. ‘Take me to Thorin.’

Thorin’s name tripped off her tongue so easily she had no trouble convincing the soldiers of her friendship with the baron. Gogin shook off his trepidation as he headed for the entrance, waving Mirage to follow him. She had not given her name to the men, nor told them anything at all about herself. Amazingly, just her claim of friendship with Thorin had been enough. She followed Gogin through the giant doors, and all at once the soaring magnificence of the place dwarfed her.

‘Oh. .’

She was a little girl again, looking up at everything because she was so small. Above her head reigned the cathedral, all vaults and frescoes, alive with the dancing lights of the candles on the wall. Ahead loomed the hall, wide and fabulous, pulsing with the echoes of her own rapt breath. Stately and wise looked the eyes of the scholars, depicted in paint and gazing down from their heavenly perch, watching the intruder who had awakened them. Like a pool of shimmering fire, the marble floor guided her forward, beckoning her down the puzzling hall.

‘Come on,’ whispered Gogin, annoyed. ‘He’ll be in the catalogue room.’

Mirage snapped back to reality. ‘What’s that?’

‘It doesn’t matter. Just follow me.’

He continued on as Mirage followed, deeper through the hall, the entrance falling back behind them. The columns along the way shrouded them with shadows, creating a maze of dimly lit alcoves and unseen hazards. Gogin, who clearly knew the way, ignored the frightful visages, walking quickly through the giant corridor. Then, like he’d hit a wall, he stopped. Mirage stopped behind him, focusing her eyes on the darkness ahead. She gasped when she saw the figure. Gogin stuttered a feckless greeting.

‘My lord, I’m sorry,’ he said quickly. ‘I’ve brought this woman here. She says she knows you. .’

The man in shadows held up a silencing hand. His eyes, the only thing truly visible, fell on Mirage like glowing jewels. Mirage felt all her bravado slip away under his withering gaze. Of all the tales she had heard of him, none had prepared her for the truth.

‘Thorin. .’

Thorin Glass stood like a statue in the corridor, a terrible shadow of the man he had been. His left arm glistened, the living metal of the armour making flesh out of the air. His thin face, boney now and ripped with lines, grimaced like a mask, twisting when he saw her. His brow raised over his troubled eyes, filling with surprise. His mouth opened, but he did not speak. He simply watched her in amazement.

Mirage took a step toward him, trying to smile. Like a cancer, the Devil’s Armour had savaged him, but she warned off her pity, knowing he would read her in an instant.

‘Thorin, it’s me,’ she said gently. ‘Mir-’ She stopped herself. ‘Meriel.’

‘My lord, this woman insisted she be brought to you,’ Gogin explained. ‘She says she is from Jador.’

‘Go,’ Thorin ordered, not looking at the soldier.

The simple command was enough to send him scurrying. Without a good-bye or wish of luck, Gogin left Mirage, fleeing back down the gloomy corridor. Silence swarmed in after him. Thorin stood, unmoving, blinking in disbelief. Instead of anger or glee, pain filled his countenance.

‘Meriel. . why?’

‘I’ve come to see you, Thorin,’ said Mirage. Throughout the long ride to Koth, she had rehearsed what she would say to him, but her practiced words fled her mind.

‘But why?’ he asked again. ‘Where’s Lukien?’

‘I don’t know,’ she lied with a shrug. ‘He left me. I’ve been on my own ever since.’ She took another step toward him. ‘That’s why I’m here, Thorin. I have nowhere to go.’

‘You’re alone?’ Thorin leaned closer. ‘And still with your new Akari. I had forgotten how beautiful you are now.’

Mirage couldn’t help herself. His tenderness struck her hard. ‘Thorin, what’s happened to you?’ she sighed. ‘You’ve changed. You look so different, so much older.’

Embarrassed, he turned his face away. ‘I’m ugly now. Please — don’t speak of it.’

‘It’s the armour,’ she said flatly. ‘It’s devoured you, just like Minikin said it would.’

He put up his hands. ‘Stop.’

Undeterred, Mirage stepped closer. As the light struck his face she could see the deepness of the damage, the almost demented look of his eyes, the thin curl of his lips. ‘Thorin. .’ She shook her head, unable to hide her pity. ‘Look at you.’

She reached out to touch him, but his armoured arm rose up, clenching around her wrist with its ice cold gauntlet.

‘No,’ he hissed. ‘I’m not a wounded dog, Meriel. And you had your chance to love me once.’

‘I came to help you.’ She did not pull free of his iron grip, but instead very calmly said, ‘You’re hurting me, Thorin.’

He released her at once.

‘You’re here to talk me free of the armour,’ he chuckled. ‘You forget yourself, girl. The armour’s made me invincible.’

‘Thorin, no. It’s made you a monster. I can see it in you!’

Thorin reared back, but it was a new voice this time that shook the hall.

‘She lies!’ came the cry, with so much force it staggered Mirage backward. She looked at Thorin, then at the air beside him, shimmering. Pulling itself free of Thorin came another figure, shrouded and wavering, more like a ghost than a man. Its fierce face snarled hatefully at Mirage as it separated from its host, ripping free with a wail from Thorin. ‘You’re an imp,’ accused the figure. ‘A sniveling little slut here to blind him.’

Mirage steadied herself, stunned by the sight of the spirit. Instantly she knew it was Kahldris. The Akari pinioned her with his fiery eyes, pointing a bony finger.

‘She has an Akari, Baron,’ he spoke. ‘She comes in disguise!’

‘She is a friend,’ Thorin gasped, clearly weakened. ‘Her Akari keeps her well.’

Kahldris smiled in discovery. ‘Her Akari is a mask.’ He drifted closer. ‘I can see the ugly truth behind it.’

‘Keep away from her,’ ordered Thorin. ‘I already know the truth.’

Kahldris paused. ‘I want to see for myself.’

‘Get away,’ hissed Mirage, backing off from the demon. Inside she could feel Kirsil’s terror. Kahldris lifted his hands, reaching out for her. ‘No!’

He was on her before she could move, dropping over her, smothering her, his immutable hands cupping her face, pulling Kirsil from her like the way he himself had torn free of Thorin. Mirage heard herself scream, heard too the awful cry of Kirsil as their bodies ripped apart. The Akari — her Akari — faltered, losing grip on the hold between them. Past Kahldris she should could see Thorin, his mouth hung in shock, and above her the struggling form of Kirsil writhing toward the ceiling. Kahldris stood triumphant in his rape, holding a handful of Mirage’s hair and dragging her toward Thorin.

‘Look and see the true Mirage,’ he demanded. ‘Look at this hideous creature.’

Mirage buried her face in her hands, crying out for Kirsil. She could feel the spirit’s battle to reach her through the powerful wall Kahldris erected between them. She struggled against Kahldris’ grip, but it was Thorin who rescued her, bounding forward and pulling her free of the demon.

‘Leave her!’ he bellowed, shielding her in his arms.

‘Kirsil!’ cried Mirage. Overhead, the girl Akari floated helplessly.

‘Why don’t you look at her, Baron Glass?’ goaded Kahldris jealously. ‘Before you fall for her charms, look at her ugliness.’

‘I have seen her,’ spat Thorin. ‘Bring back her Akari — now!’

Kahldris shook with rage. ‘She’s not here to help you!’

‘Do it, beast!’

Kahldris looked disgusted as his eyes met Mirage’s. Then, just as quickly as he had appeared, he vanished from the dark hall, leaving Mirage shuddering in Thorin’s arms.

‘Don’t look at me,’ she pleaded, hiding her face.

‘It’s over,’ said Thorin. ‘Your Akari has returned.’

It was over. Mirage could feel Kirsil again, part of her once more. Yet somehow she could not bring herself to face Thorin or show her lovely mask to him. The ordeal, over in mere moments, had shaken her. How easily Kahldris had torn away her magic!

‘He’s gone,’ Thorin assured her. ‘Meriel, look at me. .’

Finally, Mirage brought up her eyes. Thorin was smiling at her. He looked exhausted, like a beaten dog, but he had saved her.

‘You’re the only one who can understand,’ he told her. ‘I’m glad you’ve come. I need you. . Mirage.’