The Sword Of Angels (Gollancz S.F.) (67 page)

Thorin tried to smile, but she could see the struggle in him. ‘I am well. I am better than I’ve ever been.’

‘That’s a lie,’ said Jazana. Suddenly the rage blew out of her, replaced by a crushing sadness. ‘You’re becoming demented, Thorin. You have to see that. You have to see what your armour is doing to you.’

‘Jazana . . .’ Thorin looked pleadingly into her eyes. ‘You don’t know. You can’t know. Just leave me to my work. When I have the way to work the machine it will all be good again. I promise, my love. Do you hear? I promise.’

‘You have promised so much already,’ said Jazana. ‘If you won’t go to Norvor with me now . . .’

‘I can’t!’ Thorin cried. ‘Not now! Not until Gilwyn gets here.’

It was madness, arguing with him. Jazana knew that now. Determined to wait for the boy Gilwyn to arrive, Thorin would not relent. Jazana resigned herself in disgust.

‘Fine,’ she snapped. ‘To your work, then.’

Turning, she heard his groaning lament, begging her to understand, but Jazana ignored it. Driven by hurt, she hurried back through the halls of the library. This time, he had truly betrayed her. Day by day, Norvor continued to slip from her fingers, and only Thorin could save it for her. But Thorin was gone now. A ghost had replaced him, a shell of a man puppetered by some unseen demon. Jazana knew very little about Grimhold and its magic, but she had heard the rumours. The Devil’s Armour was possessed. And in its possession was her lover.

She stopped, the tears finally overwhelming her. Her knees buckled and she dropped to the marble floor.

‘I love you,’ she moaned. Her body shook with angry sobs. ‘I’ve given you everything and you take and take!’

Her words echoed down the corridor. Her hands felt the stone beneath her. Jazana Carr put her cheek to the cold marble and wept like a child.

Thorin waited in the catalogue room, listening to Jazana’s sobs carry through the corridors. An hour later they finally subsided. He closed his eyes, unable to concentrate. His exhausted body screamed for sleep. Kahldris hovered insistently in his mind. He had hurt Jazana, and the pain of it broke his heart. He loved her, though he doubted she believed
that now. The machine, Gilwyn Toms, his aching desire to rebuild the library – it was all too much to explain to her. Even trying seemed a waste.

She is gone,
said Kahldris. We
must work now.

Thorin groaned. ‘I cannot.’

You are thinking of her. Forget her. She no longer matters. Only the machine matters. Only my brother can stop us.

‘I can’t work the machine,’ Thorin again told the demon. ‘I have tried. It’s impossible. Only Gilwyn can make it work.’

Frustrated, Kahldris roared in his mind. He had no body, so he did not kick and shout the way a man might. But Kahldris still could throw his tantrums, tearing at the fibres of Thorin’s brain until the pain was unbearable. Thorin lowered his head to the desk and held his skull with both hands. Kahldris had driven him mercilessly the past week, insisting they find the way to work the machine. It was his obsession, not Thorin’s, and the demon filled the baron’s mind with all the terrible things that might happen to him.

Do you want to lose it all? he railed. Not just your arm. Not just your manhood. Your kingdom. Everything!

‘Get out of my mind!’

Kahldris shook with ire.
I have lost it all, Baron. I know what it is like. Shall I show you more?

‘No more,’ Thorin begged. ‘No more . . .’

I should remind you.

‘No.’ Thorin lifted his head with effort. ‘We waste our time.’

He braced himself for the spirit’s attack. This time, there was none. Thorin felt the anger ebb.

Yes
. Kahldris seemed to sigh.
We need the boy.

‘He’s coming,’ Thorin reminded him.

Too slowly.

‘He’s a cripple.’

He waits.

‘He’s resting,’ said Thorin angrily.

For weeks now Kahldris had been able to sense Gilwyn, sure the boy was drawing near. He had long ago crossed the Desert of Tears, making his way slowly north to Liiria. Thorin had been glad for the boy’s progress, not only because he needed his help but because he simply missed Gilwyn. But lately Gilwyn’s progress had slowed. And it irked Kahldris.

I will make him hurry, said Kahldris. He must come now. There is no more time.

‘What do you feel?’ Thorin asked the spirit. ‘Where is he now?’

Kahldris stretched himself, partially leaving Thorin’s mind, making the baron light-headed. For a long moment he swam the invisible sea between Koth and Gilwyn, searching for the boy.

I can see him. The boy sleeps.

Thorin smiled, thrilled by the image. ‘He is well?’

He sleeps in hay.

‘He is still at that homestead.’

It was where Gilwyn had been for days now, though Kahldris did not know why. But he was safe, and that was all that Thorin really cared about. Despite the changes that had wracked his body – changes he knew had happened – he still loved Gilwyn like a son. Just as he still loved Jazana.

Baron, go to your woman, said Kahldris.

‘What?’

Go to Jazana Carr. Make love to her. Rest. You are right. We have tried. Only the boy can work the machine.

Thorin grew suspicious. ‘What will you do?’

A smile bloomed on the demon’s invisible face.
Gilwyn Toms has lost his way. It is time for me to guide him.

‘Don’t you harm him!’

I will not, Kahldris assured, mildly annoyed. Now go to your woman. Make amends, Baron.

‘Yes,’ said Thorin with a nod.

He still needed Jazana. And all she ever needed were some well-placed kisses to bring her around. Summoning the last of his strength, he rose from his chair and headed out of the catalogue room, staggering into the candlelit hall. Behind him he felt Kahldris lingering, slowly separating from his mind.

Go, the Akari urged gently.
And do not worry. I will not harm the boy.

Gilwyn Toms settled down into the warm straw, his body aching from a day of chores, his belly filled with good home cooking. As his head nestled in the hay he belched. Then, like a teenager, he grinned at the sound of it. Overhead he heard the patter of rain on the red wooden roof, soft like a cat on a midnight walk. In the distance he heard thunder rumble, but it was far enough away not to concern him. Tucked between the two grey mountains, the little valley always seemed safe from the worst of the rain. Gilwyn listened to the breeze blowing through the planks of the barn. On the roof he heard the weathervane spin, fickle about the wind’s direction. The noise reassured him, and as he settled into his bed of straw he knew that all was right with his new little world.

You’ll sleep well tonight. You ate enough for three boys your size.

The voice was Ruana’s, sarcastic but playful. Gilwyn saw her in his mind’s eye, smiling at him with her pretty lips.

‘I worked hard today,’ he reminded her. ‘Besides, Marna doesn’t mind.’

She loves to watch you eat.

Gilwyn chuckled. ‘She doesn’t know I’m eating for two. You were very quiet today, Ruana. Are you all right?’

As soon as he asked the question Gilwyn realized how odd it sounded. Could a spirit be anything but all right?

You were with Kelan most of the day, Ruana pointed out. How could I talk to you?

Gilwyn nodded, not wanting to think too hard. He was tired from his day with Kelan. The kindly old man had let the porch of his home fall to ruin over the years, and was grateful for Gilwyn’s help repairing it. Between the two of them, they had two good hands. And, just like Gilwyn, Kelan had a limp, an injury he had picked up as a young man in King Jarlo’s army. That was almost forty years ago, but Kelan still liked telling tales about his time as a soldier. He wasn’t much of a farmer, after all, and used his memories to cushion his difficult old age.

‘It took longer than I thought it would,’ Gilwyn remarked. He closed
his eyes and tried to ignore the ache in his back. Most of the morning had been wasted getting the wood they needed. The ride had taken five hours, an uncomfortable journey on the old couple’s rickety buckboard. ‘I don’t mind, though. I like listening to Kelan. He’s interesting.’

Ruana said nothing, which surprised Gilwyn. He was sure the Akari had something on her mind.

‘We’ll be finished tomorrow,’ he told her. ‘Then I’ll work on fixing this roof. Look . . .’ He pointed up at the gap in the planks. ‘It’s leaking again.’

Everything about the homestead needed work. Kelan had built it himself with the help of his long-dead neighbours, but now the farmer and his wife were too old and feeble to do much of anything on their own. It was why they had welcomed Gilwyn into their lives, feeding and housing him for the past three weeks. What had started as a request for one night’s rest had stretched into something of a holiday for Gilwyn, who loved being part of the farm and of the lives of the two old folks. He had become like an adopted son to Kelan and Marna. And now, he did not want to leave.

It had taken Gilwyn months to make it this far north. He was in the land of Roall now, a tiny kingdom south of Marn known for its rocky terrain and very little else. He had come to Roall exhausted, ill from relapse of the rass sickness he had endured in the desert. The venom that had put him to sleep for days in Aztar’s camp had stayed in his blood the entire trip north, forcing him to take frequent rests in the towns and forests along the way. After his sojourn in Ganjor, he had headed north along the merchant roads, riding straight for Dreel where a run-in with highwaymen nearly cost him all the gold Princess Salina had given him for the ride. From there he headed to Nith, avoiding that principality by going around it the long way, a journey that should have taken days but rather took him weeks. His strength spent, Gilwyn rested a spell by the Agora river, making a camp for himself away from any towns or farmlands. That was when the loneliness really took hold.

‘Ruana,’ said Gilwyn dreamily. ‘My mother died when I was young. Sometimes I can’t remember what she looked like. I try, but sometimes . . .’ He shrugged. ‘She was kind, though, like Marna. I was thinking today how much she reminds me of her.’

Ruana was careful with her words.
That is a nice thought, Gilwyn. You should sleep now.

‘Yes,’ agreed Gilwyn. Again he closed his eyes, but although he was tired sleep evaded him, and his eyes reopened a moment later. He could hear the cows at the other end of the barn, already asleep. Each morning he milked the pair of beasts, glad to help Marna with the task. Her gnarled fingers just didn’t do the job any more. Gilwyn thought for a
moment, wondering what would happen to the sweet old couple once he left them. They were always grateful for his help and said nothing to encourage him to stay, but he could tell they enjoyed having him around. For the first time in a long time, Gilwyn felt useful.

‘Did you see the sunset tonight, Ruana?’

Yes, Gilwyn.

‘They’re beautiful here, aren’t they? It’s the mountains. The way they block the clouds makes the sunlight shine that way. Figgis told me that, a long time ago.’

Figgis, his old mentor at the library, had taught him many things. Some, like the bit about the mountains, were only useful in trivial ways. Other things, like how to deal with people, came in handy more and more as Gilwyn matured. It was Figgis who had raised him, not his mother. Still, the lonely journey north made Gilwyn miss his mother more than ever.

Are you eager to see Koth again?
asked Ruana.

‘Of course,’ Gilwyn answered. ‘What a strange question.’

Is it? You don’t speak of home much lately.

Gilwyn frowned. ‘I’ve been busy, Ruana.’

Yes, you have.

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

You have spent a lot of time here with Kelan and Marna. You are rested now. Your illness passed, long ago.

Her meaning was obvious. Gilwyn shifted in his bed of hay.

‘I know. I know we have to go soon.’

You don’t speak of Thorin at all any more. You don’t even speak of White-Eye.

‘Ah, now that’s not fair,’ Gilwyn protested. ‘I think of her all the time. I don’t tell you everything, you know.’

Your thoughts are my thoughts, Gilwyn, and now they turn to sunrises and milking cows. But you have a mission.

‘I haven’t forgotten,’ said Gilwyn. ‘It’s just . . . I don’t know. I’m happy here.’

Ruana touched him with warmth. It pleases me to see you happy.

‘But I need to go now. Is that what you’re saying?’

Of course.

‘Hmmm.’

Kelan and Marna have done fine without you. They will survive when you leave.

‘They’ve been so kind to me. These have been good days.’

And you deserved them. You were exhausted. But now you are strong again. Strong enough to go on, at least.

Gilwyn stared blankly at the dark roof of the barn. ‘I suppose.’

So?

‘So I will think on what you’ve said,’ Gilwyn told the Akari. Once more he closed his eyes, hoping to silence her. ‘I’m tired now. Good-night, Ruana.’

Good-night, Gilwyn.

Gilwyn felt light on his eyes, surprised that morning had come so quickly. He turned to his side crankily, not wanting to wake up, but as the light grew more intense his eyes finally creaked open. He yawned, expecting to get a mouthful of straw, but tasted sand on his tongue instead. The odd sensation startled him.

‘What . . . ?’

He raised himself onto an elbow, suddenly fully awake. A breeze struck his face. Wet sand clung to his body. Overhead stretched a misty sky. A lake lapped at a nearby shore. Gilwyn sat up, his heart bursting in his chest, fighting the disorientation quickly taking over. He had seen this place before, but could not remember when. The haze on the lake skidded like ghosts upon the water. Crickets buzzed in the trees. Gilwyn stared at the horizon, blinking in disbelief.

‘Where am I?’ he asked himself, then noticed another figure next to him. Ruana, looking just as alive as he was, came awake next to him. The pretty lady rose from the sand, looking sleeping and confused. She put a hand to her face, looked at Gilwyn, and wondered aloud what had happened.

‘Gilwyn?’

‘Ruana, what is this?’

Ruana seemed alarmed. She got to her feet and observed their strange surroundings. ‘This is my death place,’ she said.

‘Yes,’ said Gilwyn, remembering. She had brought him here before, the first time they had met. Then it had been Minikin who had brought them together, and Ruana had showed him the lake and how she had perished. But that had been the only time, and Ruana had never frightened Gilwyn before, or taken him into her world without his knowledge. Gilwyn rose, brushing the sticky sand from his trousers.

‘What are we doing here?’ he asked. ‘Ruana, I was sleeping . . .’

‘I didn’t take us here, Gilwyn,’ said Ruana. There was no glow around her, no hint at all that she was a spirit. She studied her hands, turning them in surprise, then listened to the birds and insects in the trees. ‘I don’t understand.’

Then, turning toward the lake, Ruana bit her lip.

‘What is it?’ probed Gilwyn.

Ruana hesitated, her face twisting. ‘Something is coming.’

Gilwyn went to stand beside her, following her gaze across the lake. ‘Something bad?’

The stricken look on Ruana’s face gave her answer. She waited, her eyes narrowing, her lips curling in anticipation. ‘We shouldn’t be here,’ she whispered.

‘Then get us out of here.’

‘I can’t,’ said Ruana. ‘This isn’t my magic, Gilwyn.’

‘No? Who’s then?’

Ruana kept her eyes on the lake. ‘The one who is coming.’

The sound of oars moving through water broke the spell of the placid shore. The prow of a rowboat peaked through the curtain of mist. Slowly the boat glided toward them, moving easily across the water as the hooded figure gently rowed. With his back to the shore, Gilwyn could not make out his features at all, just his thin frame draped in a drab grey robe.

‘Ruana, what’s going on?’ he asked nervously. ‘Who is that?’

‘Stand your ground, Gilwyn,’ Ruana ordered. ‘Don’t let him know that you’re afraid.’

‘Who?’ Gilwyn demanded.

‘Kahldris.’

Gilwyn’s jaw fell open. His pulse began to gallop. Across the lake the little boat drew nearer, bearing the grey figure of the creature who’d caused him so much pain. Kahldris, the spirit of the armour, had somehow made this magic world, reaching into his mind and forcing Ruana to join him.

‘How?’ asked Gilwyn. ‘He’s miles away.’

‘He is here, Gilwyn,’ said Ruana ruefully. ‘Just as he touched White-Eye. I can feel him. He’s so strong.’

‘But why? What does he want with us?’

‘Calm yourself,’ said Ruana. ‘There’s nowhere to run. Wait and see.’

Free now of the mist, the rowboat turned as it skidded to shore, beaching noisily on the wet sand. The grey figure casually retracted the oars. Then, a hand came up to pull away his cowl. Kahldris sighed and shook out his long white hair, turning a smile on Gilwyn and Ruana. He remained seated in his little vessel as he clasped his hands on his lap.

‘You see? I can be everywhere,’ he said. ‘Listen to your Akari, boy. There is no place to run from me.’

His sugary voiced carried easily over the shore. His dark eyes sparked with light. He was old yet timeless, thin but powerful. His body resonated a kind of fearlessness. To Gilwyn, he was impossible to look away from, a horribly compelling figure more like a dream than a man.

‘This is my world,’ hissed Ruana. ‘You have no right to come here, demon.’

‘Your death place, Ruana,’ said Kahldris with a grin. He glanced around. ‘A pretty place to die. You were luckier than me.’

Ruana refused to retreat. ‘What do you want here?’

‘Thorin Glass talks of you often, Gilwyn Toms. He is fond of you.’

Gilwyn battled to control his fear. ‘He is a good man. You’ve corrupted him.’

‘Yes, a good man. Good at doing the things I need him to do. I am here to bring you a message, Gilwyn Toms – the baron belongs to me. You have come all this way, but you have wasted your time.’