The Sword Of Angels (Gollancz S.F.) (122 page)

The old king heard him, Aric was sure, but he rode off anyway, toward a fate of certain doom.

Thorin had cleared the first wave of Reecians, easily batting them back. His body roared with burning energy as the magic of the armour filled his muscles. Eye-sight and endurance, vigour and strength, all were enhanced by the Devil’s Armour, which hung nearly weightlessly on Thorin’s frame so that he moved more like a cat than a soldier. His Akari sword flashed menacingly, too swift for the normal eyes of his enemies. Just as he had been upon the bridge that day, he had become a killing machine. Unstoppable.

Look! Kahldris’ voice exploded in his head. He comes!

Without needing to look up, Thorin saw the king approaching. He had brought a band of bodyguards with him, all dour-faced men eager to bring the baron down. Past them, Thorin could make out the figure of his son, Aric, struggling to join the fight. Other men, Watchmen, surrounded him.

‘Let him go!’ Thorin thundered, and without knowing how he heard his voice carry across the field. ‘Aric! Son, I’m here for you!’

‘No!’ Raxor shouted. ‘You won’t take him!’

The king’s men cleared a path for him, letting him ride into Thorin’s view. Thorin held his own men back, ordering them to let the Reecian
come. Around them the battle raged on, but in that small space a circle was cleared, allowing the rivals to tangle.

‘You won’t have your son today, Baron Glass,’ said Raxor. ‘By all the gods, you won’t.’

Thorin trotted closer to his nemesis. Aric was shouting in the distance, begging Raxor to come back.

You see, Baron Glass? He taunts you! Kahldris was in a rage, and in his rage drove Thorin mad. He keeps your son from you, your flesh and blood. He has turned your son against you!

‘Come, then, damn Reecians!’ bellowed Thorin. He fought the temptation to tear the helmet from his head and spit at Raxor. ‘Finally you are man enough to face me, old man!’

King Raxor jerked his horse to a halt. He wore no helmet himself, only a golden crown of kingship. He looked remarkably calm as he studied his opponent.

‘Murderer. You have slain my son and taken the flower of Reecian manhood. Be warned, Baron Glass, we will not leave the field today until you are dead.’

‘Then it will be a long day of butchery,’ said Thorin wearily. He knew that Kahldris was driving him, and yet he barely cared. All he wanted was his son returned. After that, he would be the demon’s plaything. With the finger of his gauntlet he waved Raxor closer. ‘Come and face me, old man.’

Raxor’s men surrounded him, preventing him from riding closer. But the king ordered them away.

‘Back away, all of you,’ he said. ‘Let me face him alone.’

‘Yes, let them see how a real man dies,’ said Thorin. He shook his head, almost pitying his rival. ‘You have no chance at all, Raxor.’

‘And you have no heart, but it matters not, Baron Glass. My death will be an example to the others.’

‘A martyr? Fine,’ sighed Thorin. He slid down from his horse, stepping into the empty circle. The arrows had ceased firing, but the sky still whistled with catapult shots. Behind him his men scattered to avoid the burning blasts. ‘Man to man, Raxor. Just you and me.’

King Raxor did not hesitate. Against the calls of his men he dropped from his mount and, axe still in hand, prepared to face the baron. Around him his men fell back. The fighting closest to them ceased as soldiers on both sides watched. Many yards back, Thorin could see his son Aric struggling with the Watchmen, shouting as he tried to break free of them. As their king closed in on his opponent, Aric’s protectors faltered, too fascinated by what they were seeing. At last Aric broke away and began galloping toward his father.

‘Look, Raxor,’ said Thorin gleefully. ‘My son comes to me!’

‘He comes to save me,’ Raxor gloated. ‘Not to help his father.’

The accusation stung Thorin, and he lashed out at Raxor, just enough to clip the old man’s armour. Raxor stumbled back, dazed by the blow. Thorin stalked after him, spreading his arms wide and dropping his defenses.

‘Here I am, Raxor,’ he declared. ‘Put your axe through my heart!’

Raxor screamed and bolted forward. With two hands upon his axe he plunged the weapon down, catching the unmoving baron squarely in the chest. Thorin felt the blow the way a mountain might, hardly feeling it as his magic armour repelled the blade. Raxor cried out, dropping his axe and staggering backward as the power of the armour numbed his arm. This time, Thorin didn’t use his sword. With only his gauntlet he struck the man across the face. Blood burst from Raxor’s lips as he tumbled to the ground. This time, his men rushed in to help him. The circle closed all at once as men on both sides took up the fight.

Don’t let him get away from you this time, Kahldris insisted. Kill him.

Thorin craned his neck over the surging crowd, looking for his son. ‘Where is he?’

Listen to me, Baron Glass. Your enemy is at your feet. End him!

A lurching rush of power flooded over Thorin, clouding his mind and strangling his judgment. Through the haze of Kahldris’ rage he saw Raxor on his knees, blood covering his face as he struggled to his feet. Aric was coming; Thorin could feel him. The thought of his son and the way he’d been stolen maddened Thorin.

‘You took him from me,’ he seethed. ‘You turned him against me.’

Before the king could rise again Thorin reached out and lifted him from the ground, hoisting him bodily into the air. Raxor tried to grab his sword but Thorin’s gauntlet stopped him, grabbing his wrist and crushing the bones.

‘He was all I had,’ Thorin groaned. He was shaking suddenly, overcome by emotion. ‘My only family . . .’

‘He despises you,’ Raxor spat. ‘And everything you stand for now . . .’

‘No!’ Thorin shook the king, snapping back his head. ‘He’s my son, not yours!’

‘Father!’

Thorin turned to see Aric blazing toward him. The boy had his weapon raised. The blade shot out, smashing hard on Thorin’s helmet. The surprise shot opened Thorin’s grip, dropping Raxor to the ground. As the king rolled away Aric turned again to face his father. His horse reared up, and Aric’s sword pointed hatefully at the baron.

‘Enough! You want me, I’m here!’

Raxor staggered to his feet. ‘No! I won’t let you take him,’ he cried, and finally drawing his sword came crashing back against Thorin. Again the
blow did nothing and again the old man fell back. Thorin spun and kicked at him, pulling the blow.

What are you doing?
asked Kahldris frantically.
Kill him!

His rage unbalanced Thorin. His screaming rattled Thorin’s skull.

They’re your enemies, said the demon. All of them. Even your son tries to kill you. I’m your only friend
.

‘Aric,’ Thorin cried. ‘Leave here!’

The armour moved on its own now. Thorin knew his mind was not his own. Raxor was coming again, the sword slicing down. Thorin brought his arm up, staying the blow, but the old man kept coming. He glanced around, searching for Aric and saw his son racing toward him. This time, Thorin acted. His sword was out in an instant, instinctively, and when Aric was upon him the great Akari blade broke through his son’s own sword, shattering it on the way to Aric’s chest. A stunned look of terror filled Aric’s face as he tumbled from his horse, his breastplate crumbling and filling with blood. He hit the earth hard.

And did not move.

Thorin stood for a moment, frozen. The Akari sword dropped from his hand. He stared at Aric, unable to speak. He could only scream. From deep within him, his agonized wail rocked the battlefield. Raxor, broken and defeated, stumbled and fell to his knees.

‘You’ve killed him,’ Thorin heard him say. The old Reecian started to weep.

‘I’ve killed him,’ Thorin cried. ‘I’ve killed my son!’

His keening continued as he faltered backward. The battle went on around him, but Raxor and his bodyguards were still, and all the mercenaries who followed Thorin looked at him in shock. Aric’s body lay in blood, his chest ripped up from the massive strike. His lifeless eyes stared blankly skyward. In his mind, Thorin could hear Kahldris speaking, urging him to fight on. The words fell deafly on the baron’s ears.

‘No,’ he stammered. He raised his hands in surrender. ‘No . . .’

His horse still waited where he’d left it. Thorin ran for it. Ignoring Kahldris’ spite-filled orders and the shouts of his own men, Baron Glass mounted the beast and quickly pointed it back toward Library Hill. Behind him, he heard Raxor’s hateful calls, swearing vengeance. Thorin buried his head against the neck of his galloping horse. All he could see was Aric, dead and helpless, and the image drove him on, back to the safety of his library.

Amid the mass of men and horses, Lukien and his cohorts rode through the heart of the Norvan enemies, their bodies slick with gore as their weapons swung overhead. The wild cries of war dogs echoed through the battlefield as the beasts ran between the legs of the startled horses, bringing down the steeds in ravenous packs. Daralor’s army numbered in the thousands, and Lukien was surrounded by them. He had ridden on the heels of the dogs, using them as shields as they tore through the front ranks. With Lorn and Ghost at his side, he had ridden right past Cajanis and his hireling Thon, stabbing at the heart of the Norvans in his mad bid to reach the other side. Prince Daralor was too far away to see now. All Lukien could see behind him were soldiers, the familiar scene of chaos as the battle engulfed him. The roaring in his ears told him that the Nithins had engaged, charging the Norvan lines with their lances, their foes softened by the mad jaws of the war dogs.

Lukien had seen dogs used in battle before, on both sides of the fight, and always been frightened when he’d seen the canines coming toward him. So he flinched a little now when he watched the beasts leap on the mercenaries, launching themselves against the horsemen to tear their throats out. It was a horrible way for a soldier to die, and watching it around him sickened him a bit. Just yards away from Lukien, Lorn fought like a man possessed, shouting the dogs on as he pushed his way deeper through the Norvan ranks. It had taken nearly an hour for them all to get this far, and the numbers of the war dogs had dwindled down to dozens. Along with the corpses of men and horses, the broken bodies of the deadly pets smothered the ground. Lukien did his best to add to the body count. With the Sword of Angels writhing in his grip, he slashed his way across the field, swaying from side to side as he cut down all-comers. The Eye of God tumbled on its chain, bouncing from his chest and burning with red fire. The power of it flooded him, mingling with the strength of his own Akari, and in his mind Lukien could hear the voice of Malator, spurring him onward. The enchanted blade was everywhere, blocking
every blow, and those few that did get through dealt him only glancing strikes, cuts so minor that the magic of his two great artifacts healed them instantly. Lukien cried out in bloodlust as he muscled past the mercenaries. Sweat and blood flew from his face.

‘Keep going!’ he bellowed to his comrades. ‘Stay with me!’

Lorn was clearly visible beside him. The axe he had tossed at Cajanis had been replaced by a sword. The old man rode expertly, like a cavalryman half his age, using his weapon in every conceivable way, stabbing and striking and holding the blade in his metal-garbed hands to block the Norvan attacks. His face shone with a frightening glamour as he gutted his foes, mercilessly avenging his stolen kingdom.

Ghost, however, was nowhere to be seen, yet his handiwork was everywhere. The albino had used his magic early in the charge, horse and rider both disappearing as if slipping into a mist. He said nothing as he fought beside Lukien, not wanting to break the spell that kept him hidden, yet his sword worked quickly and dangerously, stabbing out from the ether to slay his unsuspecting enemies. Word spread quickly through the Norvans that a demon was among them, and men fell back as they sensed him approaching, noting the severed limbs that seemed to come from nowhere. With the dogs to help them and Ghost’s invisible blade, Lukien and Lorn had progressed halfway across Cajanis’ army. The thunder of the battle from the front of the line reached them like waves against a distant beach.

‘We wait for the hawks!’ shouted Lukien to the others.

When at last the deadly birds were released, they would make their final charge. Lorn grunted in understanding, his face red with exhaustion. They had done a miraculous thing in getting this far, but they needed the help of Daralor’s other pets to get through the rest of the army.