John Marco - The Devil's armour

Only the amulet gave Lukien strength. When he faltered, it filled his failing body again with power. He continued to fight now, dragging Norvans to their screaming deaths, forcing his weary horse through the crowded street. He had no idea how his comrades fared, or even if Breck was still alive. He had heard chatter about the east side of the city, and how it had fallen to Norvan mercenaries. Lionkeep, they said, was in flames. Lost and blind in the narrow street, Lukien couldn’t tell fact from rumour. He could only watch as Thorin’s army poured from the hills.

Then, a voice reached Lukien’s ears.

‘Lukien!’ it cried. ‘Here!’

Near the intersection rode Aric, waving frantically. Blood trickled down his face, staining his battered armour. He was alone, amazingly, having somehow pulled himself free of the melee. Lukien slashed his blade from left to right, cutting a path toward Aric through the men.

‘Where’s Breck?’ he cried. ‘Does he live?’

Young Aric sped his horse forward. ‘This way, Lukien,’ he called, pointing back toward the main avenue. ‘Near the Rolgan lord!’

Not really understanding, Lukien squeezed his warhorse through the street toward Aric, who turned his own mount and led the way back out. As they rounded the corner, Lukien saw what Aric had meant — the Rolgan commander had entered the city beneath his standard, pinning down a group of Chargers. Lukien peered through the storm of steel and arrows, stunned by the number of Norvans. He could barely make out the Chargers stuck between them, now surrounded and certainly doomed.

‘Breck!’

Mad with rage, Lukien ordered his horse into the horde, striking in every direction as he struggled toward Breck. Atop his wobbling horse, Breck’s exhausted face caught a glimpse of him, his expression grave and hopeless as he tried to break from the garrotte of men. Chargers fell around him, dying under Norvan swords. Lukien cursed as he tried to move forward, almost in tears as the mass frustrated his efforts.

‘Breck, hold on! I’m coming!’

Behind him, Aric Glass gave a shout. A trumpet sounded somewhere in the distance. Lukien looked toward the city gates. Beyond the Rolgan cavalry and soldiers from Vicvar, another standard was moving down the hillside. Lukien let his sword fall loosely at his side, stunned at the sight.

Thorin Glass, his body almost luminescent in his black armour, had come down from his hill to enter the city. With the great horned helmet shielding his face, he was the most unholy thing Lukien had ever seen. He gathered darkness to him as he rode, unhurried, sitting proud atop his snorting charger, keeping pace with the Norvan flagman marching beside him. Aric gasped when he saw the baron, almost forgetting the raging war.

‘Father. .’

Unable to reach Breck, Lukien cried out in anguish. The Rolgan commander had closed the distance between them, homing in on Breck with a feathered javelin. Breck saw the Rolgan racing toward him. Failing to free himself, he shook his fist over the crowd at Lukien.

‘Lukien!’ he cried. ‘Find Thorin!’

And then he was gone, lost behind the Rolgan horsemen. Lukien imagined him skewered on the javelin. There was nothing to be done for Breck now, he knew. Even the Rolgan lord was of no consequence. Breck’s last words rang in Lukien’s skull.

‘Aric, get out of the city,’ he said. ‘Get out now — take whoever you can with you and leave.’

‘What?’ sputtered Aric. ‘You mean retreat?’

‘Yes!’ said Lukien. He spun his mount to face the avenue. ‘Breck’s dead. Koth is lost. The library doesn’t stand a chance, either. Now do what I say, boy — get out now.’

‘What will you do?’ asked Aric. He looked around frantically for a way to escape. ‘Will you come with me?’

‘No,’ said Lukien, fixing his glare on Thorin as he made his way toward the city. ‘There’s something else that needs doing.’

Thorin had made it halfway to the city when he saw the figure of Lukien riding furiously toward him. Amazingly, he had fought his way past the Norvans in his gore-slicked armour, shouting Thorin’s name over the din. The sight of him made Thorin rein back his horse. The rest of his company came to a sudden halt. Lukien was galloping like a maniac now, sword in hand, breaking away from the army that pursued him. As he approached Thorin’s aides rushed forward.

‘No!’ Thorin roared. ‘Let him come!’

His aides regarded him, stunned. Colonel Thayus could barely keep himself from riding toward the knight. ‘Baron Glass, think clearly, now,’ he protested. ‘That man comes to slay you. .’

‘Let him come,’ repeated Thorin. He did not draw his blade or make any move forward. ‘All of you, hold your positions. Tell the men to keep back and break off the chase.’

Thayus and the others unhappily complied, calling out Thorin’s orders. At once his bodyguards backed away; the men giving chase fell back. Lukien took no notice of any of it. When he was twenty paces from Thorin, he jerked his horse to a halt.

An angel of death . .

The words popped into Lukien’s mind the moment he saw Thorin. The Devil’s Armour had come alive on him, writhing with magic and shining blackly in the sun. The man that had once been Thorin Glass had been suffocated by it, his face hidden behind a horned death’s head. He looked enormous to Lukien, a giant from some netherworld, his eyes two dark orbs, his teeth like those in a flesh-stripped skull. He watched Lukien, unafraid, unmoving, all his loyal cutthroats standing aside. His terrifying head nodded in greeting.

‘Hello, my friend,’ he said, his voice booming. The sound of it was almost unrecognisable. Lukien fought hard to contain his revulsion.

‘Thorin. .’

‘I knew you would come, Lukien. I knew you would never let me be.’

‘Thorin, I’ve come to save you,’ said Lukien. Very carefully he trotted forward a few paces, then stopped again. ‘Listen to me now — you are possessed. You’re not in control of yourself. That thing inside the armour — it has taken your mind.’

If the face behind the helmet moved, Lukien could not see so.

‘You are wrong, Lukien. Kahldris has helped me. He’s made me whole again.’ Thorin flexed his left arm, the arm that should not have been there. ‘You see? I am an entire man again! And better and stronger, too.’

‘No, Thorin, look!’ said Lukien, gesturing over his shoulder toward the smoking city. ‘You see how he’s maddened you? That is his doing! Baron Thorin Glass would never occasion such a thing!’

‘It is the way of things, Lukien. Liiria needs a ruler to be great again. Once I’ve conquered Koth I will take the whole of Liiria. Then there will be order.’

‘Whose order, Thorin? Yours?’ Lukien shook his head. ‘The Baron Glass I know would never harm Liiria. He loves Liiria.’

‘Love is cruel, my friend. Is not a father’s love as cruel sometimes? You would have Liiria suffer forever, wallowing in its own filth. It cannot be that way; I’ll not allow it.’

‘And I’ll not let you go any further, Thorin.’ Lukien put up his sword and glared at his friend. ‘If you will not listen to reason, you may not pass.’

The brave statement seemed to humour Thorin’s aides. The baron silenced them with a raised fist. ‘Lukien, you cannot stop me. I beg you, do not try.’

Quelling his fear, Lukien held on to his sword. ‘I wear the amulet, Thorin,’ he said, remembering what Amaraz had said months ago. ‘It will not let me die or be defeated.’

‘You are wrong, Lukien. Kahldris has told me about your Akari. He does not have the means to end this.’