The Devil's Armour (Gollancz S.F.) (94 page)

‘I’ll stay here until the gates fall, or until the Chargers are beaten,’ he told Varl, noting the many Royal Chargers that had already been moved into the city proper. Apparently, Breck had known they would try to take the city first before moving on the library, and had responded by placing horsemen and archers near the entrance to protect the population. His strategy pleased Thorin; there would be fewer men to defend Library Hill.

‘It will take the morning to defeat them,’ said Varl. ‘They’ll have the city and all its hiding spots.’

‘Kaj is in place at the other end?’

Rodrik Varl nodded. ‘All ready.’

Kaj and his mercenary Crusaders were to enter the other side of the city, splitting off from Varl’s men near the library. Like a pincer, Demortris’ and Kaj’s soldiers would clamp down on Breck’s brigade, forcing them to fight on two fronts. There would be no chance at all for them. Demortris, a Rolgan, already had his own men in position. Glass could see them below the ridge, many hundreds of them, at the head of his great army. He had promoted Demortris to head the Rolgans after Onikil’s death, an honour the ambitious nobleman acknowledged by kneeling to kiss Thorin’s enchanted hand. Demortris seemed to have no fear of Thorin or his strange armour. The only thing that motivated him was the need to win in battle. He was not a fop like Onikil, but rather a man who had spent a lifetime biting and scratching for everything he’d earned. It did not bother him at all that Onikil was dead or that Baron Glass had killed him. He had never liked the count and promised Thorin to earn his respect.

‘Demortris takes the city before you move on the library,’ Thorin reminded Varl. ‘No one fires an arrow without my orders, understood? Just hold your lines, and keep them contained.’

‘We’ll bottle them up, don’t worry,’ Varl assured him. ‘My men know what they’re doing, Thorin.’

‘Just make sure they obey,’ Thorin cautioned, afraid that any one of them might enter the library and find the thinking machine first. He did not know why Kahldris craved the thing so badly, but the demon had made his demands plain – no one was to touch the thinking machine. ‘You’ll wait for me personally,’ Thorin continued. ‘After Breck and his men surrender the city, the library may fall without a drop of blood.’

‘It won’t,’ said Varl. His dark certainty irritated Thorin.

‘We can hope, at least.’

It did him no good to summon the strength of the armour or Kahldris’ seemingly endless confidence. He dreaded the morning. He was not the monster that possessed him; that much he knew for certain, no matter how Kahldris changed his appearance or opinions. There was much good in Kahldris, but there was much to fear as well, and Thorin did not want the Liirians to fear him. He wanted them to embrace him, and the greatness he would once again bring their city.

‘Look at that city, Varl,’ he said softly. ‘Once it was beautiful. Greater than Norvor or Marn or Reec or . . .’ He shrugged. ‘Great because the idea of it made it great.’

Varl looked at the city, trying to appreciate it. ‘That was too long ago,’ he said with real sadness. ‘It will take much to make it great again. More than Jazana’s fortune, even.’

Thorin sat up tall. ‘It will take vision and strength.’

‘Breck has strength,’ offered Varl.

‘He does, but not enough to take Liiria where it needs to go, and not enough to forge a great alliance with Norvor.’

The idea thrilled Thorin. He could even feel Kahldris tingle within him. Together, Liiria and Norvor would be
unstoppable, and it had taken Kahldris to show him the truth of it.

But he missed Jazana terribly, and the thought of killing Breck made all the glory fade. He wished he could fall into Jazana’s bed, to have her stroke his head and reassure him, but she was back in Andola, too far away to help him. Worse, the sight Kahldris had granted him had let him ask questions a mortal man should never know the answers to. He knew Lukien had come to stop him. Even now Lukien was in the city with Breck, waiting for the morning and his futile chance to stop the things the Great Fate had ordained.

Baron Glass hid his sorrow behind his frightful helmet. He was about to dismiss Varl and the others when a strange sound reached his ears.

‘What is that?’ he asked, searching the hills.

‘Drums,’ said Varl after a moment. ‘The Rolgans.’

Thorin nodded. ‘Yes . . .’

The Rolgan war drums pounded out their faint, fearsome music. The militant beat thrummed through the night like the insistent chiming of a clock, counting down the minutes till morning. Demortris’ drummers sent up a terrible call, summoning the men of Vicvar and the chariots of Poolv to their banner, and shaking the courage of Breck’s brave defenders. Thorin listened to the mournful drumbeat, hating it. He turned his horse away from the city.

‘Get to your men,’ he told Varl. ‘Tell them to sit tight. It will be a long morning before they do any fighting.’

Without looking back at Koth or its magnificent library, Thorin rode away from the ridge, eager to reach his pavilion and silence the Rolgan drums.

A scarlet moon hung over the city. The tips of countless spears glinted in the light. Towering catapults hurled shadows against the hills, and the creaking of chariot wheels floated on the wind. If he listened carefully, Breck could hear the distant voices of the Norvans surrounding Koth, whispering about the coming battle as they readied their
machines and weapons. From his place in the avenue, he could see past the gates of Koth to the vast army facing him, near enough to count the sea of helmets. He had never seen so great an army, and the sight of it fascinated him. Thorin and his men had surrounded Koth. Perhaps four thousand men faced the front of the city. Another four thousand led by the mercenary Kaj threatened the east side, and yet another force, smaller than the others, had camped at the bottom of Library Hill. The invincible baron had chosen to attack the city itself, forcing Breck to leave the security of the library to protect those still inside the city. And though many of the populace had ridden south for Farduke and northeast for Reec, there were still many more who had remained. Despite its size, the library was too small to accommodate them all. Breck knew Thorin’s strategy was a good one, and that there was no way at all they could hold off his onslaught, not once his army breached the city. But he and his Chargers had sworn to protect Koth and its citizens. He would not let them be slaughtered while he watched from Library Hill.

The gates to the city weren’t really gates at all. Koth had always welcomed visitors, and the gates were nothing more than unmovable pillars of stone and iron standing like sentries at the mouth of the avenue. The avenue itself led to the heart of Koth, where Chancellery Square still stood and Lionkeep kept watch over the city. It would have been easy for Breck to take refuge in Lionkeep, but he had too few men to keep the Norvans out of the gate and so had arranged his forces the best he could, lining up his Chargers in long rows at the eastern and western flanks and stationing archers in the towers. Aliston, who had become his Captain of Archers, had done a good job of positioning his bowmen so that now they could easily see Thorin’s men poised to enter the city. In the morning, they would rain down their arrows on the Norvans as they rode, trying and probably failing to repel their attack.

Breck noted the height of the moon. Morning would
soon be upon them. All through the city his men prepared for the attack, helping the folk of Koth secure their homes and storefronts. They had done their best to evacuate Koth, but now it was too late. With the Norvan noose tight around their throats, there was no escape for any of them. As he looked out toward the hills, Breck hoped some mercy remained in Baron Glass, and that his cursed armour had not drained all his humanity.

There were many in the street with him, yet Breck felt completely alone. He turned toward the north and saw the library towering over the city. Inside the library, his wife Kalla waited with his son. She had begged him not to leave, but in the end she had understood the need. It had broken Breck’s heart to leave her but she had steadfastly refused to join the evacuation, choosing to put herself in the hands of Van and Murdon and the others who had stayed to defend the library. They, too, would likely die, for Breck knew that once the city fell Baron Glass would surely turn his attention toward the library.

‘Commander?’

Startled, Breck turned to see Aric Glass coming toward him. The young man paused, careful not to interrupt him. Amazingly, he had volunteered for duty in the city, almost insisting on it. Breck supposed he just wanted to see his father.

‘What is it, Aric?’

‘A report from Captain Aliston. His archers are in position but won’t promise anything. There’s only two good towers facing the gates.’

Breck waved off the excuse. ‘For the hundredth time, I know. What else?’

‘Captain Andri’s closed off the eastern streets.’

‘He got the barricades positioned?’

Aric nodded. ‘It took some doing, but yes. They tore down one of the old chancellery offices for beams. The mercenaries should have a tough time getting past them.’

The news bolstered Breck. Andri was a good man, with
the necessary cleverness. He’d hold the east end as long as possible, Breck was sure.

‘Anything else?’

Aric thought for a moment. ‘Just waiting for the morning now.’

Breck smiled. He was proud of Aric. Despite his youth, he had performed admirably. Breck was glad he’d chosen him for an aide.

‘Have you seen Lukien yet?’

‘No, sir. The others have been asking about him.’

Breck looked back toward the library. He knew his men were anxious to see Lukien. They needed his strength.

‘Sir?’

‘Hmm?’

‘Will Lukien be leading a brigade?’

‘I’ll be leading, Aric. So will Andri.’

‘Yes, sir.’

They remained quiet for a long moment, Aric waiting to be dismissed.

‘Aric, be at ease,’ said Breck. ‘There’s nothing to do now but wait.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Breck listened very carefully. ‘You hear the drums?’

‘I hear them,’ replied Aric, his tone brittle.

‘Rolgan war drums. Glass must have found someone to replace Onikil.’

‘What about the chariots?’ asked Aric.

Breck tried to look confident. The chariots of Poolv were a worry. Early scouts had counted hundreds of them just days before. And the streets of Koth were wide and smooth enough to accommodate them easily.

‘We’ll trap them in the corners if we can, or catch them in a crossfire. Aliston’s prepared for them.’

The answer sat uneasily with Aric, who licked his lips and tried looking brave. Breck had decided not to deceive any of them – he didn’t expect to win the battle. He wanted only to bloody Jazana Carr’s nose, and maybe be an example to
other Liirian cities. They would resist because it was the right thing to do. Because Liiria was their country.

‘Fate above, look at that . . .’

Breck turned with alarm toward the gate, then realised Aric wasn’t talking about the Norvans at all. Instead the young man’s eyes were fixed on the avenue, and a single horseman riding through. The sea of soldiers parted as he trotted slowly down the street, unmistakable in his armour of bronze.

Lukien’s bronze armour gleamed in the moonlight. His horse clip-clopped confidently to the Rolgan drumbeat. A great broadsword hung at his belt, shining like his unblemished armour. His radiant breastplate caught the moonbeams like a rainbow. Aric’s mouth fell open at the sight of him, and the men along the avenue stopped to stare. Lukien kept his determined gaze on Breck, ignoring his dumbstruck comrades. He came like a giant out of the darkness, unafraid, bearing on his shoulders the hopes of the men. Breck admired him. It had been many years since he’d seen his friend don the armour, but time had made him no less magnificent. Once, Reecian generals had cringed to see the Bronze Knight.

Lukien brought his horse to a halt before Breck. His face bore the steel of resolution. His two little words said everything.

‘I’m ready.’

It had taken Lukien hours to appear, but Breck had never doubted he would come.

‘The dawn comes fast, Lukien,’ said Breck softly. ‘Listen to the drums.’

Lukien cocked his ear to hear the martial noise. His one eye blinked contemptuously.

‘He’s chosen the Rolgans to lead,’ he said, referring to Thorin. ‘That’s a surprise after what he did to Onikil.’ He looked around, noting the stares of the many men who had yet to return to their duties. Breck expected him to
comment on their numbers, but he did not. ‘They’re fine,’ he said. ‘Brave.’ He looked at Aric Glass. ‘All of them.’

Aric puffed at the praise, his eyes full of admiration. ‘You’ll fight with us, here at the west side?’ he asked hopefully.

‘I’ll fight wherever Breck will have me fight,’ said Lukien.

‘It’ll be worse here than the east side,’ said Breck. ‘You should stay with us here.’

Lukien got down from his horse. Like its rider, the huge beast was laden with armour. ‘Do I have a post?’

‘Just stay out front where the men can see you. Look . . . see the way they watch you? They need to see you, Lukien.’ Breck grinned. ‘So try not to get killed.’