John Marco - The Devil's armour

‘Do they know we bring food?’ Jazana asked, puzzled.

‘No, Jazana Carr. They wish only to see you.’

Rodrik Varl put in, ‘You are a novelty to them. A woman ruler? They’ve never seen such a thing.’

‘If they’ve come to jeer me they will be punished,’ said Jazana angrily. ‘Come, then. Let me face them.’

With their queen leading the way, the army rode with purpose toward the waiting city. The sounds of horses’ hooves pounding the dirt rang through the valley and the surrounding hills. Rodrik Varl took up position at Jazana’s side, ordering other soldiers to flank and protect her. The queen herself rode tall in her saddle, disdainfully shaking out her long hair. She did not flinch as the city grew closer, not even when the shadow of the great wall fell upon her and she was on the threshold of the capital, with thousands of eager eyes on her. The throngs of Carlinions parted as the queen and her army entered the city. Jazana Carr had never seen such misery. Hundreds of children in ragged clothes lined the main boulevard, a wide thoroughfare that had no doubt been grand in days gone by but which now was gutted with neglect. The pavements were buckled and broken, the lamps rusted and bent. The buildings still stood, but without ornamentation, for everything that had been precious had been stripped from them, turning them a dreary grey. Wretched women sick from hunger huddled their children near their skirts, watching in astonishment the female monarch that had entered their city. Their men had fared no better. All of them, young and old, had been touched by the poverty.

Wickedness , thought Jazana. Her head swivelled to take in all the misery. Truly, Lorn was a tyrant.

Remarkably, the street was silent. Though they swelled the streets, the people of Carlion were still. Were they terrified? Jazana wondered. Their blank expressions told her nothing. At last, when most of her army and wagons of food had passed through the gates, Jazana reined her splendid horse to a halt. Suddenly she was aware of her own healthy pallor. The many gemstones on her fingers shamed her.

Rodrik Varl leaned over in his saddle. He whispered, ‘Say something.’

For a moment Jazana sat frozen. She had the army; the crowd could do nothing to her and she knew it. Yet the blankness of their eyes haunted her. What could she say to people who’d been ruined?

‘The war is over,’ she blurted out. Her voice filled the avenue. ‘I have won. But not just for myself, you see. I don’t want Carlion for my own.’

The men and women stared at her. The children frowned, confused. Jazana was stumbling, and she knew it. She licked her lips nervously.

‘You are free,’ she pronounced. ‘Women of Carlion, that means you. No more slavery at the hands of men. I am your queen now. I will not allow it. And men, hear me — you too are free. You are not the chattels of King Lorn any longer. There is no more war for you to fight and die in, or for your sons to suffer in.’

She scanned the crowd, hoping for any small hint of recognition. Still the people merely stared.

‘Are you all deaf?’ she shouted. ‘You are free! Does that mean nothing to you? Can you not hear me?’

A young woman stepped from the pavement. ‘We hear you, Jazana Carr.’ Her voice was meek, her expression earnest. ‘We do not fear you.’

‘We welcome you!’ came another. To Jazana’s shock, it was a man who spoke. Old and hunched, he nevertheless stepped boldly forward. And then there were others and others more, and suddenly the crowd was surging forward. Jazana was dumbstruck. She sat atop her horse as the wretched Carlinions surrounded her, grabbing at her legs and crying her name, eager just to touch her boots or leggings. Next to her, Rodrik Varl and the others began to laugh, as astounded as she by the greeting.

‘The food, Rodrik,’ she called. ‘Open the wagons for them!’

Varl gave the order and the soldiers went to work, opening the wagons and handing out bread and wheels of cheese and dried sausages to the crowd, who cried out in glee at the sight of such bounty. Standing atop the wagons, Jazana’s men tossed loaves into the throngs. A hundred eager hands rose to catch each one.

Then, something Jazana Carr had never heard in her life rose above the ruckus. A chorus began to grow, calling her name.

‘Jazana! Jazana!’ Again and again the cheer crested from the crowd.

Do they accept me? Jazana wondered. Do they . . she could barely bring herself to think it. . love me?

Whether it was her words of freedom or simply the sight of food, Jazana couldn’t say. But she was not afraid any longer. After long years of war, she was now truly Norvor’s queen.

For two days and a night Lorn rode north and west, hardly seeing anyone, hiding his face from strangers and always holding Poppy close. In the time since murdering Duke Rihards’ knights, he and his daughter had made excellent progress, stopping only to rest and to eat, and were not bothered by anyone. The weather had cooperated and the roads remained dry, and by the end of the second day Lorn’s fears began to ebb. If Jazana Carr’s mercenaries were looking for him, he had so far given them the slip. But as night fell once again, Lorn’s confidence turned. He had entered the Bleak Territories.

He had come to the northwest portion of Norvor, where Jazana Carr and her diamond mines held sway and where the fortress of Hanging Man stood, guarding Norvor’s border with Liiria. It was a vast territory, choked by mountains and barren valleys, where the rugged land discouraged travellers and people feared their neighbours. As dusk brought darkness, Lorn and his daughter entered this desolate landscape, because there was no turning back for them and because their destination lay on the other side.

‘We are in the bosom of Jazana Carr now,’ said Lorn to his daughter. Poppy was asleep in his arms so did not reply, even if she could have heard him. Lorn slowed his horse and surveyed the territory. In the distance was a range of mountains, toothy and forbidding as the sun sank behind them. The narrow road they were travelling had nearly disappeared, emptying into a scrubby valley. Lorn was exhausted and this seemed as good a place as any to rest, but he could not. Poppy had not had a drop of milk in days. He had given her water, which he had taken from the dead Rolgans, and bits of meat which he had clumsily torn into tiny bits and pressed into her mouth. He even made porridge for her, a mulch of bread and water that looked mildly unpalatable. But he knew it wasn’t fit food for the infant. At nine months, his daughter could manage solid food, but she needed milk, and quickly. Milk was as scarce as anything else in the Bleak Territories, though, and Lorn began to fret. There were farms in the Territories; he had been here before, years ago, and remembered them. But they were few and widely spaced, and finding one would be difficult in the darkness.

Still, Lorn pressed on. As dusk fell and the moon appeared, he continued through the valley, cooing to his daughter as she squirmed awake. Once, she opened her tiny eyes and looked up, and he wished that she could see him. But her eyes were sightless, or at least that was his guess. She had been blind since birth, that’s what her nurse Lariza claimed, and so did not respond when a hand was passed before her face or when someone smiled down at her. She had her mother’s eyes, though, and that pleased Lorn. He had never before been so alone in the world, and remembering Rinka comforted him.

‘She will not find us,’ he promised his daughter. He bounced her gently in the crook of his arm. ‘Jazana Carr won’t look for us here.’