John Marco - The Devil's armour

Baron Thorin Glass, his entire body encased in armour, rode to a ridge overlooking the city of Koth and peered through the slits of his miraculous helmet. In the hills and valleys surrounding his homeland he saw the great noose of men and war machines he had assembled. In the weak light of the moon they were all plainly clear to him. His eyes — like a cat’s — scanned every brigade and company, camped and ready for the coming siege. The ridge was good, he decided. From here he could command and wait for his forces to overwhelm the city.

Baron Glass looked north and saw the towers of the library winking at him. It had taken weeks to march his men from Andola, and days more to get them all in place. He could have taken Koth with half as many men, but he was not inclined to fight until the odds were devastatingly in his favour. Now, though, he had an army of ten thousand, and knew that victory would not slip him.

‘Here,’ he declared. He did not look over his shoulder but instead kept his gaze on the city. ‘This will be my command post.’

Rodrik Varl rode up closer, leaving behind his contingent of mercenaries. Thorin knew he had no need for bodyguards, but Jazana insisted on the precaution and Varl now went with him everywhere. Thorin could feel the man’s hatred, but Varl was a good soldier and never questioned orders. To Thorin, he seemed pathetic.

‘This slope is perfect,’ he remarked. ‘Not too steep.’

Varl acknowledged the incline half-heartedly. They could ride down from it easily and be near Koth’s gates. The men with Varl nodded but said nothing. Like most of the army, they feared Thorin. After what he’d done to Count Onikil none of them had guts enough to challenge him, and it sickened Thorin to be so surrounded by sycophants.

‘I’ll stay here until the gates fall, or until the Chargers are beaten,’ he told Varl, noting the many Royal Chargers that had already been moved into the city proper. Apparently, Breck had known they would try to take the city first before moving on the library, and had responded by placing horsemen and archers near the entrance to protect the population. His strategy pleased Thorin; there would be fewer men to defend Library Hill.

‘It will take the morning to defeat them,’ said Varl. ‘They’ll have the city and all its hiding spots.’

‘Kaj is in place at the other end?’

Rodrik Varl nodded. ‘All ready.’

Kaj and his mercenary Crusaders were to enter the other side of the city, splitting off from Varl’s men near the library. Like a pincer, Demortris’ and Kaj’s soldiers would clamp down on Breck’s brigade, forcing them to fight on two fronts. There would be no chance at all for them. Demortris, a Rolgan, already had his own men in position. Glass could see them below the ridge, many hundreds of them, at the head of his great army. He had promoted Demortris to head the Rolgans after Onikil’s death, an honour the ambitious nobleman acknowledged by kneeling to kiss Thorin’s enchanted hand. Demortris seemed to have no fear of Thorin or his strange armour. The only thing that motivated him was the need to win in battle. He was not a fop like Onikil, but rather a man who had spent a lifetime biting and scratching for everything he’d earned. It did not bother him at all that Onikil was dead or that Baron Glass had killed him. He had never liked the count and promised Thorin to earn his respect.

‘Demortris takes the city before you move on the library,’ Thorin reminded Varl. ‘No one fires an arrow without my orders, understood? Just hold your lines, and keep them contained.’

‘We’ll bottle them up, don’t worry,’ Varl assured him. ‘My men know what they’re doing, Thorin.’

‘Just make sure they obey,’ Thorin cautioned, afraid that any one of them might enter the library and find the thinking machine first. He did not know why Kahldris craved the thing so badly, but the demon had made his demands plain — no one was to touch the thinking machine. ‘You’ll wait for me personally,’ Thorin continued. ‘After Breck and his men surrender the city, the library may fall without a drop of blood.’

‘It won’t,’ said Varl. His dark certainty irritated Thorin.

‘We can hope, at least.’

It did him no good to summon the strength of the armour or Kahldris’ seemingly endless confidence. He dreaded the morning. He was not the monster that possessed him; that much he knew for certain, no matter how Kahldris changed his appearance or opinions. There was much good in Kahldris, but there was much to fear as well, and Thorin did not want the Liirians to fear him. He wanted them to embrace him, and the greatness he would once again bring their city.

‘Look at that city, Varl,’ he said softly. ‘Once it was beautiful. Greater than Norvor or Marn or Reec or. .’ He shrugged. ‘Great because the idea of it made it great.’

Varl looked at the city, trying to appreciate it. ‘That was too long ago,’ he said with real sadness. ‘It will take much to make it great again. More than Jazana’s fortune, even.’

Thorin sat up tall. ‘It will take vision and strength.’

‘Breck has strength,’ offered Varl.

‘He does, but not enough to take Liiria where it needs to go, and not enough to forge a great alliance with Norvor.’

The idea thrilled Thorin. He could even feel Kahldris tingle within him. Together, Liiria and Norvor would be unstoppable, and it had taken Kahldris to show him the truth of it.

But he missed Jazana terribly, and the thought of killing Breck made all the glory fade. He wished he could fall into Jazana’s bed, to have her stroke his head and reassure him, but she was back in Andola, too far away to help him. Worse, the sight Kahldris had granted him had let him ask questions a mortal man should never know the answers to. He knew Lukien had come to stop him. Even now Lukien was in the city with Breck, waiting for the morning and his futile chance to stop the things the Great Fate had ordained.

Baron Glass hid his sorrow behind his frightful helmet. He was about to dismiss Varl and the others when a strange sound reached his ears.

‘What is that?’ he asked, searching the hills.

‘Drums,’ said Varl after a moment. ‘The Rolgans.’

Thorin nodded. ‘Yes. .’

The Rolgan war drums pounded out their faint, fearsome music. The militant beat thrummed through the night like the insistent chiming of a clock, counting down the minutes till morning. Demortris’ drummers sent up a terrible call, summoning the men of Vicvar and the chariots of Poolv to their banner, and shaking the courage of Breck’s brave defenders. Thorin listened to the mournful drumbeat, hating it. He turned his horse away from the city.

‘Get to your men,’ he told Varl. ‘Tell them to sit tight. It will be a long morning before they do any fighting.’

Without looking back at Koth or its magnificent library, Thorin rode away from the ridge, eager to reach his pavilion and silence the Rolgan drums.

A scarlet moon hung over the city. The tips of countless spears glinted in the light. Towering catapults hurled shadows against the hills, and the creaking of chariot wheels floated on the wind. If he listened carefully, Breck could hear the distant voices of the Norvans surrounding Koth, whispering about the coming battle as they readied their machines and weapons. From his place in the avenue, he could see past the gates of Koth to the vast army facing him, near enough to count the sea of helmets. He had never seen so great an army, and the sight of it fascinated him. Thorin and his men had surrounded Koth. Perhaps four thousand men faced the front of the city. Another four thousand led by the mercenary Kaj threatened the east side, and yet another force, smaller than the others, had camped at the bottom of Library Hill. The invincible baron had chosen to attack the city itself, forcing Breck to leave the security of the library to protect those still inside the city. And though many of the populace had ridden south for Farduke and northeast for Reec, there were still many more who had remained. Despite its size, the library was too small to accommodate them all. Breck knew Thorin’s strategy was a good one, and that there was no way at all they could hold off his onslaught, not once his army breached the city. But he and his Chargers had sworn to protect Koth and its citizens. He would not let them be slaughtered while he watched from Library Hill.