John Marco - The Devil's armour

‘Maybe it’s too late,’ remarked Gilwyn. ‘Maybe the raiders have gotten them.’

It was the same dark conclusion they’d all come to, though Lukien hated to admit it. Riding out from Jador in a panicked rush was no way to save people, and they had already lost countless Seekers to the raiders. They were a vicious lot, Aztar’s men, willing to murder anyone they robbed, even children. It was why Lukien always tried so hard to save them, and why he always grieved when he couldn’t.

In the last few months the Seekers had come across the desert in waves. It had been as Minikin had predicted. Once word reached the outside world of Grimhold’s existence, it had been impossible to stop them. No matter their ailments, the Seekers willingly braved the desert, seeking the magical place of healing. The blind and insane, the crippled, the deaf; they had all left their homes behind to find the place some of them called ‘Mount Believer’. It broke Lukien’s heart to see them. Like he and Gilwyn and their comrade Baron Glass, the Seekers were northerners, mostly. Some were even Liirians. But none had known the truth of Grimhold, or that Minikin, the mistress of that place, had not enough magic to save them. They knew only of the legend, and their desperate hope drove them onward.

‘We go on,’ said Lukien. ‘We must find them.’

Gilwyn didn’t argue. ‘We should separate,’ he suggested. ‘We can cover more area that way.’

‘And if we run into raiders?’ The smirk behind Ghost’s gaka was almost audible. ‘What then?’

‘We have to find the Seekers,’ said Gilwyn. ‘If we don’t they’ll die.’

‘If they’re not dead already,’ countered Ghost. He was as frustrated as the rest of them, partly because there were so few Jadori kreel riders to help them. So many had died in the war against Liiria, both men and their mounts. That was a year ago, and still the Jadori had not been able to train enough of the slow-maturing beasts. But Ghost was no coward, Lukien knew; the albino had volunteered for this mission.

‘Gilwyn’s right,’ said Lukien. ‘We can part here and cover more ground. If we don’t find them in an hour we can head back. If we find raiders-’

Lukien had no chance to finish his sentence. Behind him, one of his sharp-eyed Jadori companions gave a shout, pointing ahead to a dune. The Bronze Knight looked hard, spotting movement in a distant valley of sand.

‘Is that them?’ he asked. ‘I can’t tell.’

The Jadori warriors swarmed forward, their reptilian mounts sensing their need. The keen eyes of the kreels could see far better than those of their human riders, and once they had sighted the movement in the valley they shot the image into the minds of their masters.

‘Seekers,’ said Kamar. He spoke no Liirian but the word was the same to the Jadori. Kamar nodded to himself, not really looking but seeing the travellers through the eyes of his kreel. His Jadori companions did the same, as did Gilwyn.

‘He’s right, it’s them,’ Gilwyn confirmed. ‘And more.’ He pointed with dread beyond the valley. ‘Look there.’

Lukien and Ghost both followed Gilwyn’s finger. They were the only two of the group on horseback, and had no magical link with their mounts. But even Lukien with his single eye could see the cloud of sand being kicked up from the dune.

‘Raiders,’ spat Ghost. ‘How many?’

Gilwyn stared but it was Emerald that saw. ‘Thirty or more,’ said the boy.

‘And how many Seekers?’ pressed Lukien.

‘Half that many,’ replied Gilwyn. ‘I can’t tell exactly.’

That was some good news, thought Lukien. If there were men among them, they could fight if their maladies weren’t too severe. But there was little time to act. From what he could see, the raiders were close to the Seekers. Thankfully, the kreel were much quicker than any horse.

‘Go,’ Lukien ordered. ‘Protect them. Ghost and I will go after the raiders.’

Gilwyn didn’t waste a moment. With the Jadori close behind, he bolted forward on his kreel, leaping over the dune and bounding headlong through the sand, speeding toward the Seekers. Lukien and Ghost hurried after them, their horses galloping against the sand. Already the kreels and their riders were well ahead, and with five Jadori warriors to protect them Lukien knew the Seekers could be saved. But the raiders were a brutal bunch, and he and Ghost would be outnumbered.

‘Ride!’ cried Lukien, urging on his stallion. His robes and headdress snapped in the wind. His voice pierced the desert. Ghost was still beside him, still visible, but it wouldn’t be long until he vanished like a mirage. Lukien tucked himself down deeper in his saddle, breaking off from the direction of the Seekers, heading toward the raiders. He could see them now and they saw him, high on their hill, their desert robes of many colours, brigands without a flag. Aztar had called his tribe from across the desert lands, from Ganjor and Dreel, and they had come for his unholy cause. But Aztar himself had never come to battle. Today, once again, Lukien knew he’d slake his thirst on the blood of underlings.

‘So be it!’ Drawing his sword, he cursed the raiders in their own tongue, goading them away from the Seekers. His cries caused the desired commotion; the Ganjeese warriors looked around in confusion, shouting amongst themselves as Lukien blazed toward them. Preparing himself, Lukien glanced over his shoulder at Ghost — and saw nothing there.

‘I’m with you!’ came the Inhuman’s disembodied voice.

A ferocious smile crossed Lukien’s lips. He had seen Ghost’s amazing power before, but marvelled at it still. Better, it always shocked their foes. He charged on, unafraid. He hadn’t feared death in ages. There were times he even longed for it, when the memory of his dead Cassandra plagued him or when he thought of his past life, so full of wrongs. But the Eye of God would not release him to death. Berserk with rage, Lukien dug his boots into his stallion’s sides, eager for the fight. He could hear Gilwyn and the Jadori in the distance, shouting as they announced themselves to the Seekers. Aztar’s warriors waited on the dune, then abruptly split in two, one group awaiting Lukien, the other riding for his friends.

‘Damn it, come on!’ urged Lukien. He raised his broadsword in his fist. ‘Fight me!’

‘They’re heading for the others,’ said Ghost, still invisible.

‘I know!’

His stallion raking the dune, Lukien let his enemies have the high ground. Ghost’s magic had blanketed their brains, and all they saw was one desperate fool. They reared on their horses, ten weaponed men in Ganjeese garb, scimitars ready to cut him down. Lukien barrelled up the dune after them, poising his blade for battle. The amulet around his neck flared to life, burning his chest.

‘Are you with me, Amaraz, you deaf bastard?’

As always, the spirit of the Eye was silent. Lukien laughed hatefully.

‘Then I will kill them alone!’

But of course Lukien knew he was not alone. Amaraz would keep him alive despite mortal wounds. It gave him strength as he rode into the raiders, who shouted as he clashed against them. Lukien’s broadsword cut through the air, smashing the clumsy defence of the nearest man. They wore no armour, these men of Aztar, and the broadsword made quick work of flesh and bone. The warrior’s arm came off at the shoulder. Lukien ignored his scream, turning at once to another foe. There were shouts from the rear; Ghost was at his unseen worst. The warrior galloped toward Lukien, shouting with a raised scimitar. Their swords clanged as the men parried each other’s blows, but only for an instant. None of the raiders was Lukien’s equal. The Liirian’s sword dipped low, catching the Ganjeese and sending fingers flying. A twist in his saddle brought Lukien’s blade whistling around, slicing through the man’s neck. Blood sprayed from the stump as Lukien turned to find another. The Eye of God raged beneath his robes, bursting through the fabric with angry light. The other raiders watched in dread as he came at them, shocked at how fast their comrades fell. But all knew the legend of Shalafein, and boasted openly of killing him.