The Sword Of Angels (Gollancz S.F.) (7 page)

Jazana barely hid her disappointment. ‘Where’s Baron Glass?’

Rodrik Varl’s boyish grin slackened. ‘In the city. Waiting for you.’

‘I’ve ridden a hundred miles in the rain. I already hate this country. Could you not have told him I was here? I sent a herald, Rodrik.’

‘Aye, and the Baron awaits you, my lady,’ said Varl. The men accompanying him looked away. ‘He’s anxious to see you, I’m sure.’

His last words rung with anger; Jazana could sense his jealousy. Rodrik Varl had always vied with Thorin for her attention, but Thorin had won out, easily. She supposed she should at least show him some gratitude.

‘Roddy,’ she sighed, ‘I’m tired.’

Varl smiled lightly. ‘We’ve made every comfort ready for you, my lady. In Lionkeep.’

‘Lionkeep? I thought it had burned.’

‘Not all, my lady, no. A small fire, in the east wing. King Akeela’s chambers were unharmed, and still splendid, I should say. You’ll be right at home, I think.’

‘A barb, Rodrik?’ Jazana snorted in annoyance. ‘Very well.’ She looked up into the dark sky, wondering if the blackness masked more rain clouds. ‘Take us there before the sky opens up again, if you please.’

Rodrik Varl nodded, then gave his queen a surreptitious look. ‘Yes, my lady. If you’ll ride ahead with me . . .’

He wanted to talk – privately. Jazana turned toward Garen. ‘Almost there at last, Garen. Hold back a few paces, will you?’

Garen contained his smirk. ‘Yes, my lady, we’ll do that.’

Varl told his men to do the same and the small party joined the queen’s own, allowing Jazana and Varl to ride off ahead. Too weary to hurry, Jazana let her horse canter slowly toward the vast city. Rodrik Varl kept pace with her, riding alongside. He said nothing until they were a good distance from the others, then finally spoke.

‘I wanted to warn you,’ he said.

Jazana glanced at him. ‘Oh?’

‘About Thorin.’

‘I expected you to speak against him. But so soon? You surprise me.’

‘Jazana, listen to me now . . . Thorin has changed since you saw him last. That armour he wears has maddened him. And he spends all day at the library—’

‘Yes, the library! Would you like to explain that?’ Jazana leered at him. ‘Hmm?’

‘Aye, it’s true. I had my men attack the library. But to save lives, Jazana. Thorin would have slaughtered them to get what he wanted. He claims otherwise, but—’

‘So you let them flee? We’re trying to accomplish something here.’

‘I let them go to save lives,’ asserted Varl. ‘Even you can’t fault me for that.’

‘Watch your tongue. I didn’t want this war any more than you did. And I certainly didn’t want to see those people slaughtered. But you’re judging Thorin too harshly, and the library is too valuable to be destroyed. You had no right.’

Varl kept his eyes on the city as they rode, but the tension rising in him made his neck pulse. ‘You’re not listening. Thorin has changed.’

‘So you’ve said.’

‘And you refuse to hear me. Because you love him. Don’t be blinded, Jazana.’

Jazana kept riding, unsure how to respond. Of all her thousands of soldiers, only Rodrik Varl talked to her so plainly. She allowed it because she cared for him, and because she knew the value of honest counsel. Worse, he was right; she could not face the truth about what had happened. She loved Thorin too much, had waited for him too long to let anything get between them.

‘Thorin is a good man,’ she said. ‘He’ll bring order to Liiria. He just needs time. And he needs our loyalty, Rodrik.’

Varl grimaced. ‘Count Onikil was loyal. And I sat by and watched Thorin murder him.’

‘Onikil was too ambitious.’

‘That’s a lie and you know it.’

Jazana didn’t allow herself to think much about it. Count Onikil’s murder had shocked her, but she had chosen to believe it was necessary.

‘Thorin knows I have arrived, yes?’

‘He knows. As I said, he awaits you.’

Jazana nodded. ‘At Lionkeep.’

‘No, Jazana.’ Varl hesitated. ‘Thorin is at the library.’

‘Still? Why?’

‘Because he spends every bloody moment there, alone in one of the chambers. The one with the machine.’

‘Ah,’ said Jazana, smiling slyly. It was the thinking machine that had first attracted her to Liiria. ‘He has made progress with it?’

‘None at all. He is most always in a foul mood and won’t discuss it with anyone. And he has many of our men cleaning up the library, moving away the debris.’

‘Which would be completely unnecessary if you hadn’t tried to destroy the place.’

Rodrik Varl changed the subject. ‘It is good to see you, my lady. Koth can do with your presence. Something pretty to liven it up. Now, what news from Norvor?’

‘Bad news only,’ replied Jazana. ‘Trouble. Things to discuss with Thorin.’

‘Rebellions,’ said Varl. ‘I’ve heard. I told you this would happen, Jazana.’

‘Gods, I’m begging you not to lecture me, Rodrik.’ Jazana rode her horse a little harder, a little faster toward the city. ‘I need rest. And I need to see Thorin. No more talk. Tomorrow, when I am stronger.’

She did not say another word, but instead rode into Koth, anticipating her reunion with Baron Glass.

Alone in a warm, windowless room, Baron Thorin Glass sat on a plain wooden chair and stared at the vast contraption before him. Stale air wafted up his nostrils and his eyes burned from the smoke of a trio of candles, the only light penetrating the chamber. A great, brooding silence surrounded him. In the candlelight, the contraption glowed. Its vast network of armatures – like the legs of a hundred giant spiders, disappeared into the darkness. It took a giant room to contain the machine, and Baron Glass could barely see the end of it. Before him sat a console, a flat desk of worn wood curved up at the edge. Once, the console had been used to hold books for reading, but now it had been fitted with a rectangular hole ringed with iron. Inside the hole was a box, and inside the box were small metal squares that the machine had long ago punched with answers. Similar squares littered the room, stacked in corners and on shelves, the arcane answers to a thousand questions. In all of the great library, an edifice filled with knowledge, this room alone held the place’s greatest prize. A machine that could think. And nowhere, not in the millions of papers housed in the library, had Baron Glass discovered a single word about its use. The machine had vexed him since he’d arrived, tantalizing him with its gleaming armatures and sprockets, the sheer complexity of its construction. Housed in its own huge chamber, the machine had been blessedly unharmed in the bombardment that had so ruined the rest of the library. Yet though it was undamaged, Baron Glass had been unable to make the thing respond. Despite hours spent studying
the machine, he had not even been able to make it move, not even the smallest degree.

Essentially, the machine was a catalogue. That’s what Gilwyn had told him back in Jador. Figgis, Gilwyn’s dead mentor, had built the machine himself. An unquestionable genius, it was Figgis who had overseen the library’s construction for King Akeela, and it was Figgis who had filled it with countless volumes. Then, seeing the need to catalogue the gigantic sums of information, Figgis had somehow made his miraculous machine. According to Gilwyn, every scrap of intelligence within the library was somehow contained within its endless network of rods and spinning plates. If asked a question, the machine could answer, punching out its inscrutable replies on the metal squares that were everywhere in the room.

At least theoretically.

Baron Glass leaned back on the chair and breathed the warm air. The door to the chamber remained locked behind him, preventing unwanted visitors. Figgis’ catalogue machine was too great a prize to be shared with anyone. Worse, the confounding machine had brought Baron Glass to the edge of exhaustion. Only the armour encasing his missing arm gave him strength, allowing him to work through the night without sleep or go days without food. The Devil’s Armour – only a small part of which he now wore – had given him the eyes of a hawk and the vitality of ten men. He was more than a man now, because Kahldris shared his mind and body. In many ways, he was invincible. But he was not infallible or a genius like Figgis, and he realized that he alone would never make the machine run.

Baron Glass closed his eyes and felt the touch of Kahldris on his shoulder. The ancient Akari had been with him throughout the day, guiding him, lending his own peculiar sciences to the task. In life, ages ago, Kahldris had been a great Akari summoner. Like a sorcerer, he could speak with the dead, and upon his own death had encased himself in the armour. Not a blade existed that could scratch his creation, and when he wore the armour Baron Glass knew immortality. Kahldris had renewed Baron Glass. The Akari had given him the strength to ride back from Jador and reclaim his troubled homeland. With Jazana Carr they had conquered Koth, and now had armies marching on other Liirian cities as well. Liiria belonged to Baron Glass.

Still, Kahldris knew no satiety.

Thorin opened his eyes. Turning, he saw the demon standing behind him. Kahldris’s ethereal hand felt cold on his shoulder. He did not appear in armour, the way he had in Thorin’s dreams. Instead he wore a glowing tunic and wide leather belt, shimmering the way a ghost might in the darkness. Through him, Thorin could see the wall beyond. He was not a
young man; he had ‘died’ when he was fully mature. Straight, white hair fell neatly around his shoulders. Ancient lines edged his face. His cool eyes sparkled with unearthly light as he regarded Thorin. It was not normal for an Akari to appear this way to a host; Thorin knew that much about Akari lore. But Kahldris was unlike his brethren.

‘We must continue.’

The spirit’s voice was like an echo, wide and ringing, sounding as much in Thorin’s mind as it did in the dark chamber. Thorin wasn’t even sure it was sound at all. Like everything about the spirit, it seemed unreal. He nodded, acknowledging the Akari’s command.

‘We will go on,’ said Thorin, ‘but I don’t know where to start. I have tried, Kahldris. Without the boy to help me . . .’ Thorin shrugged. ‘It may be impossible.’

Kahldris drifted closer to the machine, inspecting its odd construction. His people – the long dead Akari – had been scientists and architects, but Kahldris confessed he had never seen the like of the machine before. Its potential fascinated him. Somehow, according to Gilwyn Toms, it had helped to locate the Eyes of God. To Kahldris that seemed like a miracle. Surely, then, it could locate his brother.

‘I still cannot sense the boy,’ said Kahldris.

The news worried Thorin. He knew that Kahldris had lured Gilwyn north to the library, though the Akari had refused to explain how. But for days now Kahldris had been unable to feel Gilwyn’s presence, despite exhausting attempts. It was not at all easy for Kahldris to stretch himself across the dimensions, and he did so only reluctantly. Always weakened by the efforts, he had so far been unable to locate Gilwyn.

‘If he is dead . . .’ Kahldris shook his white head in frustration. ‘Then this machine will be useless to us.’

‘He is not dead,’ grumbled Thorin. ‘He is blocking himself from you, surely.’

‘Such a thing would take great ability. Too much for the boy. He is not on this realm, Baron Glass.’ Kahldris moved his hands over the machine, caressing one of its long, peculiar rods. ‘This great puzzle might be ours to unravel. Alone.’

Thorin considered the enormous task. There was power in the machine but only Figgis had been able to use it, and he was long dead. He had passed some instruction on its use to Gilwyn, or so Gilwyn had claimed, and that was why Kahldris had lured the boy out of Jador. Perhaps to his demise. The thought wrecked Thorin. He loved Gilwyn like a son, had done everything he could to protect him. And he would not allow the demon to harm the boy; he had made that clear to Kahldris numerous times. But Kahldris needed Gilwyn, and because Thorin needed Kahldris he had agreed to the unsavoury plot. They would use Gilwyn and make
him operate the machine. And then they would find Kahldris’ brother, the only Akari capable of destroying him and his invincible armour.

Thorin had seen Kahldris’ brother once before, in a vision when he had first stolen the Devil’s Armour. Kahldris had forced him to watch, to make him understand their bitter relationship. Kahldris had forged the Devil’s Armour for his brother, so that his brother might defeat the invading armies of Jador. And his brother had promised to wear the armour in battle – but never did. He had simply left Kahldris locked away inside the miraculous metal suit, unwanted, scorned by the other Akari, even while the Jadori slaughtered them.

Still, Kahldris’ brother lived on. Somewhere. Because he was an Akari he did not die like the last rose of summer. Hidden for millennia, he had survived.

‘Yes, Baron Glass, but where?’ asked Kahldris, easily reading Thorin’s mind. The demon grew frustrated, his old eyes sparking with rage. ‘I have waited a thousand forevers to find him, and now the means sits here before me. I must find the damnable key to open it!’

‘Gilwyn is alive,’ Thorin asserted. ‘And he will help me if I ask him.’

‘He will help us or he will suffer.’

Thorin rose to his feet. ‘You won’t harm him.’

The visage of Kahldris wavered under Thorin’s withering glare. ‘Baron Glass, we must have the means to protect ourselves. You are special now. The laws of normal men do not apply to you.’