The Sword Of Angels

60

Stay awake, Gilwyn, urged Ruana. It’s not much further.

The Akari’s voice coaxed Gilwyn to lift his head. Ahead of him, the forest road seemed to stretch on forever, with no hint of Koth except the marks made by carriages and horse hooves. Gilwyn licked his dried lips and swallowed, trying to stem the sickness overtaking him. The slow canter of his horse made him sway from side to side. The motion stoked his illness. Wanting to vomit, Gilwyn nevertheless swallowed it back. He had been this way for the past five days, exhausted and dizzy, brutalized from the long trip north. The rass venom that remained in his blood had plagued him the entire journey, but now, when his terrible trek was near its end, it threatened to knock him from the saddle.

‘I need to rest,’ he groaned. ‘Just for a little while.’

You can’t rest here, said Ruana. It’s not safe. It will be dark again soon.

‘But we don’t know where we are.’

We are near Koth, Gilwyn. Don’t you remember?

Gilwyn nodded, vaguely recalling the trees of the forest. He had been a boy in the city, and had sometimes ventured out of the library to be among the trees and wildlife here. Instinctively, he knew he was home, but the day’s ride had wearied him and he longed to lay his head down and sleep. It had been weeks since he had left Roall, leaving behind the kind-hearted Kelan and his wife Marna. Gilwyn had been happy there, content to help them on their little farm in the valley between the mountains. Everything had been idyllic there. His troubles had seemed a thousand miles away. But Kahldris had shattered his peace, and Ruana had reminded him of his mission. Gilwyn had done his best to make it to Koth quickly, but his lame leg and the relentless sickness of the venom had slowed him to an almost embarrassing pace. He had begged for money in the towns along the way and slept in small villages where people took pity on him, but he had never given up, slogging all the way north to Koth.

To home.

‘When I left here,’ he gasped, ‘there were always people on the forest roads. Where are they?’

Ruana had no answer for him, except to say the sad truth. Things are different now, Gilwyn.

‘Thorin is no tyrant. I don’t believe the things they say.’

He sat up, making a miserable face. All through his trip north, he had heard the stories about the Black Baron. They were calling him a demon, but Gilwyn knew the truth.

‘He’s corrupted. That’s all.’

He will not be the man you knew, Ruana warned. Gilwyn, you should prepare yourself.

‘I’m ready,’ said Gilwyn. ‘I know Thorin, Ruana. He won’t hurt me.’

Deep inside his mind, Gilwyn could feel his Akari’s discomfort. She was afraid for him.

You think on those stories we heard, said Ruana gently. Soon you will see him. Soon you will see the truth for yourself. Do not refuse the truth because it is ugly.

Gilwyn nodded, then took a deep, unsteady breath. His eyes drooped and his head swam, and it took all his strength just to guide the horse that Aztar had given him. The remarkable beast had taken him all the way from the Desert of Tears. Without complaint, the horse had borne him proudly. Gilwyn had named the beast Triumph, a name that had come to him in a flash of inspiration. After so many months spent with the stallion, he was almost as close to him as he was with his beloved kreel Emerald.

‘Almost there, boy,’ he told the horse, rubbing its neck. ‘It’s almost over.’

The thought of the journey’s end gave Gilwyn the wind he needed to continue. Fighting back his nausea, he urged Triumph onward through the forest, following the narrow road that he knew would lead them to Koth. Ruana slipped back into the darker recesses of Gilwyn’s mind, where he could feel her brooding. She had tried for weeks to reason with him, and he had always refused her counsel. Whatever else Thorin had become, he was still a friend, and Gilwyn was determined to help him.

Then at last Gilwyn glimpsed the end of the rest. Up ahead the canopy of trees thinned. The sky spread out above it, blue and beckoning. Cheered, Gilwyn hurried along the road until he reached a place where the trees parted. For the first time in years, he saw the city he called home. The breathtaking visage stunned him.

‘Oh, Fate. .’

His horse slowed beneath him. Ruana tiptoed from her hiding place. Together the travelers stared at the city sprawling before them, and the first thing they saw was the library on its hill, rebuilt and beautiful, glistening in the sunlight. Gilwyn’s heart tripped at the sight. His mouth fell open in disbelief. Koth had changed. To him, the city seemed lifeless and twisted. But the great Cathedral of Knowledge remained, engendering a flood of emotions in him.

‘Look, Ruana, look!’

I see it, Gilwyn. Remarkable.

‘Isn’t it beautiful? It’s still there!’

Still, because the Baron has remade it.

‘Yes!’

The sight swept the sickness from Gilwyn’s mind. Suddenly, the only thing he wanted was to see his old friend Thorin. At the base of Library Hill, the rest of Koth crawled with shadows. People meandered through the streets, and the buildings of the royal quarter rose up from the sloping avenues. A distinct change had gripped the city, a kind of invisible pall that darkened the shops and gardens. But above it all, the library remained. Gladdened, Gilwyn hurried on.

The morning after Jazana’s death, Thorin discovered her in her bed, naked and bruised. A pool of vomited blood lay at her bedside. Her dead face stared blindly at the ceiling from two pulpy sockets, her eyes clawed out from the pain. The discovery had sent Thorin to his knees, wailing like a child in the gory chamber. Near the wall furthest from the bed, the stain of Rodrik Varl’s blood and brains remained, dripping down toward his nearly headless corpse. Not a single maid or scullery hand had come to clean the room, nor to help the Diamond Queen in the throes of her agony. Thorin, who had heard her cries and dismissed them, had ordered her left alone, sure that her rantings were for her dead paramour. Thorin spent almost an hour in Jazana’s chamber, weeping, trying and failing to understand what had happened. Then, when he had finally collected himself, he left the room and closed the door behind him, ordering the servants to get to work cleaning the unimaginable mess.

Baron Glass left Lionkeep that morning and walked out to the orchards at the edge of the castle. Alone, he ordered that no one follow him or come to disturb him. It was a long walk to his destination, but Thorin did not care. Kahldris was with him, and he needed to be away from Lionkeep and wash himself in the river. The river that ran through the orchards cut a wavering swathe across the apple trees. Stones lined its bubbling banks. In the seclusion of the trees, Thorin stripped off his blood-stained clothes until he was naked, leaving only the armour of his magical arm. The water was cold but he submerged himself, dreading the possibility that no amount of water could clean him. There he swam for two long hours, climbing out finally to dry himself in the sun.

Staring up the sky, Thorin mourned for Jazana.

He had memories of her that could still make him smile. It had been Jazana who rescued him from exile, giving him a home in Hanging Man, where they fell in love. He had served her loyally in those years and she had repaid him with pampering and womanly affection. And she had always been beautiful, stoking such hunger in him that he could never refuse her. With Kahldris guiding his hands, his lust for her had been insatiable. .

He closed his eyes, remembering with horror their last love-making. It had not been love at all, but an act of vengeance. She had screamed and screamed, and he had ignored her, taking her until she bled and his rage finally quieted.

What was wrong with him?

Thorin opened his eyes. Above him, the limbs of a tree obscured the sky, and in the tree a bird hopped from branch to branch.

‘I am not myself,’ he whispered.

Kahldris answered, You are better than yourself alone. We are one now. We are strong.

‘We killed her,’ lamented Thorin.

She is gone now, but we don’t need her.

Thorin fought back a sob. ‘We murdered her.’ The thought was too much to bear. ‘Last night a madness descended on me. .’

Kahldris flittered above him, barely visible, like a ghost. He came as an old man, smiling down at the divested baron. ‘We have killed our enemies, Baron Glass. But there are more of them. They still plot against us.’

‘Who? Who plots against us?’

‘The ones across the desert. The Jadori plot against us. And my brethren Akari.’

‘You mean your brother?’

‘I feel him, Baron Glass. He is in the world again.’

Thorin sat up. ‘No.’

‘The Bronze Knight is with him.’

‘Lukien?’ The news stunned Thorin. ‘Why are you keeping this from me?’

Kahldris shimmered just of reach. ‘The Bronze Knight has found my brother and brings him here to destroy us. Do you see, Baron Glass, how many hate us?’

‘Even Lukien.’ Thorin leaned against the tree, contemplating the problem. ‘Where is he?’

‘He comes across the great desert. He bears a sword. I have seen it.’

‘This sword — can it break your armour?’

The demon darkened. ‘I do not know.’

They were words Kahldris rarely spoke, and the admission shook Thorin. They were in danger. Malator was more of a threat than Reec or any other of their enemies. ‘How did Lukien find this sword?’ he wondered aloud. Nothing made sense to him anymore.

‘There is another thing,’ said Kahldris. ‘Another secret I have kept from you.’

‘Tell me.’

‘The boy, Gilwyn Toms. He has come for you, Baron Glass. He is here in the city.’

‘Gilwyn?’ Thorin leaned forward excitedly. ‘The boy is here? In Koth?’

‘At last, yes,’ drawled the demon. ‘Now he nears Lionkeep.’

Thorin leapt to his feet. ‘Why do you keep these things from me? I must know these things, Kahldris!’

Kahldris smiled. ‘To protect, my sweet friend. We must protect each other.’

‘Yes,’ Thorin agreed, ‘but-’

‘The boy comes to save you from me, Baron Glass. Just as all the others have tried.’

Thorin bristled at the hint. ‘We will not harm him. I will not have it, demon. I love that boy.’

‘No, we will not harm him,’ said Kahldris. His grin was impish. ‘We will keep him and adore him. Then he will use the machine and he will help us defeat my brother and the knight.’

‘All right,’ said Thorin, relieved. He looked around for his clothes, excited by the thought of seeing Gilwyn. ‘We must get back to Lionkeep before he arrives. I want to see that boy at once!’

By the time Gilwyn reached Lionkeep, he was exhausted once again. Overwhelmed by the sights and sounds of Koth, the sickness from the rass venom had made his skin clammy and his eyes too blurry to see clearly. The sun was going down past the keep. Soldiers milled along the avenues, dressed in uniforms Gilwyn knew weren’t Liirian. In his day, when King Akeela had been alive, Royal Chargers had paraded around the residence, but those days were long ago and only faintly echoed by the current occupants of Koth. Gilwyn kept his head down as he approached Lion-keep, careful to avoid eye contact. His whole body ached. His head split with the effort of riding. Triumph, smart enough to sense his master’s distress, trotted carefully along the cobblestones, letting Gilwyn lean against his neck. Ruana lingered at the back of Gilwyn’s mind, remaining quiet but plainly enthralled by the sights. Lionkeep, though damaged and neglected, remained an impressive structure, replete with sculpted figures and catwalks that tied together the many towers. In the courtyard of the keep, Gilwyn could see a handful of soldiers taking notice of him. He kept to the road, approaching unthreateningly, his clubbed hand barely holding the reins of his mount. Behind the men stood the main entrance to the keep, a big bronze portcullis crowned with spikes. The portal slowly began ascending as Gilwyn approached, a curiosity that puzzled Gilwyn. Alarmingly, the soldiers pointed at him.

‘Ruana, they see us,’ said Gilwyn weakly. Suddenly he was afraid. He began to shiver. ‘I think I have a fever.’

Soon you can rest, said Ruana in her soothing voice. Gilwyn, protect yourself.

‘What? Why?’

It is Kahldris. I can feel him.

The soldiers began coming toward him. Gilwyn slowed his horse. ‘What do you mean? Where is he?’

He is coming, said Ruana.

The portcullis rose to reveal the inner darkness. Gilwyn strained to see. The soldiers were waving to him, calling out. Ruana braced herself. Gilwyn’s skull began to throb as his heart raced. A mercenary hurried up to him. He was in the courtyard now, his eyes fixed on the open walkway.

‘You boy,’ said the mercenary. ‘Are you Gilwyn Toms?’

Hearing his name surprised Gilwyn. He nodded, staring with blurry eyes. ‘Yes, I am.’

‘Get down,’ the man ordered. He had stopped the horse and offered Gilwyn a hand. ‘Let me help you. You don’t look well.’

‘Yes,’ said Gilwyn haltingly. He began to shake. ‘No, I’m ill.’

As he slid off Triumph’s back he kept his eyes on the keep, waiting dreadfully for Kahldris to appear. His legs turned to jelly when his feet hit the ground.

‘You’re lame,’ the mercenary commented. Other soldiers had gathered now. The man looked at Gilwyn oddly. ‘How can you ride with such a hand? And what’s that boot you wear?’

‘Stop with your questions!’ thundered a voice. ‘That boy is twice your better and more!’

The men stepped away, leaving Gilwyn to gape. Out of the portcullis stepped a figure, big and terrifying and barely a man. His face was familiar, as was his voice, but it was a demon visage that came out to greet him, and Gilwyn weakened in his fiery gaze. Like a serpent, the man’s left arm twisted with life, enchanted by some unholy metal. A grim smile upturned his thin white lips. He was the shadow of a man Gilwyn had once known, speaking with a voice stolen from another time. Stepping out into the courtyard, the wraith that was Thorin opened his arms wide.

‘Gilwyn!’ he cried. ‘My boy, it is good to see you!’

Overwhelmed by the sight of him, Gilwyn fainted.