The Devil's Armour (Gollancz S.F.) (50 page)

But then remembered the way she looked once before.

‘Oh, gods and angels,’ she gasped. The mouth of the reflection moved to her own words. ‘That’s me!’

She stared at the reflection, astonished by her transformation. When she reached down to touch it, the reflection reached up magically to greet her. Their hands met. Meriel began to weep.

‘Minikin, look at me!’ she cried. ‘I’m beautiful!’

Across the pond, Minikin nodded in approval of her handiwork. ‘Yes,’ she agreed. ‘Beautiful.’ She stepped a little closer to the water. ‘You have been reborn. Welcome to the world . . . Mirage.’

Baron Glass had not seen Meriel for many days.

Since returning from Jador, the baron had put himself into a kind of self-exile. He was haunted by the things Paxon had told him, and how the other Liirian Seekers had fled a country in turmoil. Jador itself was under siege from Prince Aztar’s raiders, who continued to trouble Gilwyn and force Lukien into combat. The baron had returned to Grimhold weeks before, believing there was very little he could do to change the lot of his fellow Liirians or aid in the battle against the rogue tribesmen. And because he felt so useless, Thorin made no attempt to speak to Meriel.

As Thorin returned to his chamber late in the day, he discovered a note from Meriel tacked to his door asking him to come and see her that evening, just before the sun went down. Thorin had just returned from performing chores, for all the folk of Grimhold had duties and no amount of noble blood could keep a man from them. It was the baron’s job to aid with the livestock. Each day he performed his chores cheerfully. The simple act of brushing sheep and picking eggs from beneath hens strangely satisfied him, and he liked the way he was left alone to think and ponder his troubles, which had mounted significantly since last he’d been in Jador, when he had argued with Minikin about the fate of the Liirians. Tonight, he knew that Minikin was in Grimhold. She had arrived the night before, but Thorin had avoided her.

His sullenness had driven him to isolation.

Worse, he was hearing Kahldris more often now. The spirit was unmistakable. At first he had tried to ignore it, dismissing the voice as a figment of his overtaxed mind. But in recent weeks the pull of the armour had become increasingly great – Baron Glass pondered it. And as he thought about the armour more and more, the infamous spirit seeped into his brain, awaking him at night with frightening dreams or talking to him at the oddest times, when he washed his face or sat down to eat, or when he thought he was alone only to discover he was never alone, because Kahldris seemed always to be with him.

Thorin Glass was not a man easily frightened. When he had lost his arm in battle he had barely shed a tear. But the Akari had always been a mystery to him and he had always shunned the subject. He knew that the spirits were good and just. It was they who had rescued Lukien from his deathbed. Still, Thorin was always glad the spirits of Grimhold had left him alone.

Until now.

When he discovered Meriel’s note on his door, Thorin was glad for it. He had thought of her often lately, and how he had made a fool of himself confessing his love for her. Seeing her handwriting stirred something inside him, though, and he was eager suddenly to meet her. He wondered if he should tell Meriel about Kahldris, and how the devil of the armour had been tempting him. Perhaps she already knew, and that was why she wished to see him now. She had already warned him about the armour. Baron Glass took the note from the door and crumpled it in his single hand. Soon the sun would be going down.

There was no need for the note to say where to meet her. There was only one place where they met. Thorin didn’t bother changing his clothes or washing. Instead he went directly to their place in the rocks, leaving the keep just as the sun began to dip. It was a difficult climb for Thorin, who had always found balancing troublesome since losing
his arm. But when at last he crested the hill and came to the jutting plateau, he saw her silhouetted against the blushing horizon. Her back was turned to him. As usual, she wore the hood of her cloak over her head. The desert sprawled out before her, looking beautiful as the light began to wane. Thorin announced himself by clearing his throat.

‘Thorin,’ she said softly. ‘I missed you.’

Her words heartened him. ‘And I you,’ he confessed. He went a little closer to her. ‘I suppose I should apologise for that.’

‘Thorin, I have something to tell you,’ she said. An edginess crept into her voice. ‘A surprise.’

‘A surprise?’ wondered Thorin aloud, and suddenly he felt the cold presence of Kahldris at his shoulder. He gasped, for the appearance of the creature always shocked him.

Not now
, he pleaded silently.

The spirit answered him back in a voice that shook his skull.

Wait
, came the thunderous whisper.
Wait and see what she has for you
.

‘Meriel, turn around,’ Thorin insisted. His heart raced. He wanted to flee.

‘No, don’t call me that,’ said Meriel. She turned quickly around but he could still not see her face.

‘What?’

‘Do not call me Meriel, Thorin. I have a new name.’

Look!
declared Kahldris

Silence, monster!

Look, Baron Glass
. . .

Thorin shook his head to banish the voice. He watched in confusion as Meriel pulled the hood back from her face. Could she sense Kahldris’ presence, he wondered? He was about to speak, but his breath caught.

A woman he did not recognise stood before him. A beautiful woman he had never seen before, young and flawless, smiled weakly where Meriel had stood. For a
moment Thorin forgot about Kahldris and his frigid touch. He stood gaping at the woman, dumbstruck.

‘What . . . ?’

‘It’s me, Thorin.’ Meriel’s smile bloomed and lit her perfect face. ‘It’s me!’

‘Meriel,’ sputtered Thorin. ‘What happened? You’re . . .’ He groped for the word. ‘You’re beautiful.’

The young woman went to him and quickly took his hand. ‘Don’t be afraid. There’s nothing wrong. This is me, Thorin; the way I looked before the burning.’

Still Thorin stared. ‘How?’ he asked. ‘How’s this possible?’

‘The Akari. And Minikin. She helped me, Thorin. I asked her to make me pretty again and she did!’ Meriel laughed, the first time Thorin had ever heard such a sound from her. ‘Do you see how free I am? Do you know what this means?’

Again Kahldris seized him.
Do you, Baron? Do you know what this means?

Meriel’s appearance left Thorin reeling. He let go of the girl’s hand and staggered backward, trying desperately to silence Kahldris and get his mind around what was happening.

‘No, don’t be afraid,’ said Meriel. Misunderstanding his dread, she pursued him. ‘I know you don’t understand these things. But it’s all right – it’s the Akari. They made me whole again, Thorin. They gave me back my face, my hands . . .’

It was true, and it stunned Thorin. Meriel was like someone he’d never seen before, without a blemish or burn. He began to realise he wasn’t dreaming or suffering some dark trick from Kahldris.

‘I can’t believe it,’ he gasped. ‘Meriel . . .’

‘No, don’t.’ She put her hand up to quiet him. ‘Don’t speak. Just listen and I’ll explain.’

Thorin nodded quickly. ‘All right,’ he said.

Meriel took his hand again and led him to sit among the rocks. As he walked he realised that her hand still felt as
rough as it had in the past, but it was smooth and creamy in appearance. They sat, and as the sun dipped slowly beneath the dunes of sand Meriel began to talk. Kahldris was silent as she spoke, but Thorin knew the spirit was near. A tremor in the air, like a winter breeze, betrayed the demon. Thorin focused on Meriel’s pretty face. He was enraptured by her, and every word she spoke.

Again she told him about Minikin, and how the little sorceress had granted her this great wish. She had changed her Akari, she explained, forsaking Sarlvarian for another of the strange breed, one that could change her appearance back to the way it had been.

‘So this is an illusion?’ Thorin asked. ‘You’re not really healed?’

‘No,’ confessed Meriel. ‘But I look real to everyone, even myself.’

‘An illusion,’ Thorin remarked.

Meriel smiled cheerlessly. ‘A mirage. That’s my name now, Thorin. That’s what you must call me – Mirage.’

She explained Minikin’s odd demand, that she change her name so as not to forget the Inhumans and the reality of her gift. As Thorin listened he began to hate Minikin for imposing such a cruel toll.

‘So you are suffering again,’ he realised. ‘Without Sarlvarian, you can’t control the fire – or the pain.’

Meriel – now Mirage – nodded grimly. ‘Yes, but there are different kinds of suffering, Thorin. Looking at myself as a monster – that was true suffering. Now I am normal again. Now I can go out into the world.’

Her words startled Thorin. ‘So you’re leaving?’

Before the girl could answer, Kahldris hissed,
She’s going, but not with you, Baron Glass. Ask her
. . .

Thorin couldn’t ask. He didn’t need Kahldris to help him see the truth of things.

‘Not right away,’ replied Mirage. She was plainly hiding something. ‘I will stay for a while at least, to get used to the way I look and to let others see me.’

‘Yes, others,’ drawled Thorin.

What others do you think?

‘Will you wait for Lukien to see you?’ asked Thorin.

His forwardness made the girl blush, the first time he’d ever seen her do so. She turned from him.

‘Yes,’ she said softly. ‘I would like him to see me before I go. Is that so terrible?’

Kahldris was quiet again, perched on Thorin’s shoulder like a taunting crow. Something like pity emanated from the spirit, a kind of manly reassurance.

‘I see,’ said Thorin. Suddenly he could find no words, only anger for the way she spurned him. He said tartly, ‘Lukien will appreciate the change in you, I’m sure. He’s always had an eye for pretty things.’

‘Thorin, you don’t understand . . .’

‘I do understand, my lady. I am half a man in your eyes. But never did I see you as half a woman.’

He whirled and began to leave, his head pounding with angry words. Meriel started after him but before she could take two steps he wagged a warning finger at her.

‘Do not follow me,’ he barked. ‘I was right to keep my distance from you, and all your selfish kind. You have what you want now, Meriel—’

‘Mirage . . .’

‘I will call you as I wish, child! And when you are gone from this hateful place, forget me, as I will forget you.’

Thorin thundered away. She did not pursue him. It was already dark and his cursed imbalance made walking difficult. As he began his ungainly skid down the hillside he felt a force at his arm, reaching for him, supporting him.

Baron Glass paused. He was breathing hard and the intangible thing terrified him. He glanced down at the base of the hill, but the darkness had swallowed it and made seeing impossible. He thought of calling up to Meriel for help, but of course he could not.

‘Better that I should fall and break my neck,’ he seethed.

Why?

Kahldris spoke his question with a lamb’s innocence.

‘Why?’ railed Thorin. ‘Because I am old! Because I am half a man!’

He didn’t care if Meriel heard him or if his dark angel laughed. But Kahldris did not laugh. Again the Akari reached out his invisible hand.

This time, Thorin took it.

That night, Thorin remained alone in his chamber. He did not sup with the others, nor did he have any appetite for anything but wine. He stole a decanter from the kitchen, spiriting the valuable stuff into his room and drinking alone while he thought of Meriel. She was beautiful now and he could not help but lust for her. Since leaving Jazana Carr he had not been with a woman, and he ached for that soft companionship. He had no right to be angry with her, he knew, yet he had endured more than his share of miseries lately and blaming her for his pain was convenient.

He missed Lukien. He missed Gilwyn as well, and wished now that he had remained in Jador to be with the boy. But in his anger with Minikin he had come back to Grimhold, where he would not have to face the Seekers who had come from Liiria, men and women he had promised to help. Minikin had made a liar of him, and he saw no good reason any longer for her stubbornness. Grimhold was a giant place, not just the keep, but the village beyond. Surely there was room for everyone now that its secret was out.