John Marco - The Devil's armour

Soldiers, however, were a different matter. Lorn’s gaze flittered down once again toward Jarrin, who was walking aimlessly through the men of his garrison, giving orders that didn’t need giving.

‘Uralak, keep an eye on things for me here,’ said Lorn. ‘I’m tired. I’m going to my chambers. In an hour send Jarrin up to see me.’

‘Yes, my lord.’

Lorn picked his way along the wall-walk, climbed down a ladder leading to the courtyard, and gave the main gate of his castle fortress a cursory inspection. The garrison soldiers stayed silent, looking at their king with gaunt expressions. They had suffered for him and he knew it. If he hadn’t been so afraid of treachery, he might have appreciated it. Instead he crossed the courtyard without a word, making his way to the tower where his chambers were, where his infant daughter was asleep.

They had made love in a poppy field, running through it like children, then lying down in the red flowers. And when Rinka had realised she was with child and had traced it back to that romantic day, she had proclaimed that any girl child from their love-making would be named Poppy, so that she could remember the time when she was so happy. War had seemed such a distant thing that day. Though it raged all around them, they were lost in love and in each others’ arms had forgotten the Diamond Queen and her minions and the noose closing around Carlion. Lorn was many years Rinka’s elder and had already gone through two wives before marrying his latest, youngest bride. The first he had put away for being barren, the second he had lost to a lung cough. That one had been a good breeder and had given the king three fine sons, all of whom had ridden off to war, and all of whom were dead. Edvar, his youngest, had served with Duke Rihards. Only a week ago his head had arrived in a basket.

King Lorn thought of all these things in the quiet of his chamber as he studied his daughter’s tiny, sleeping face. He always kept her very near, a constant reminder of the young wife he had lost. Nine-month-old Poppy slept in a crib away from the window. Lorn himself reclined in a hard wooden chair beside the crib. His troubled mind reviewed his plan, but the sight of his daughter was a constant distraction.

Of all things, Lorn had never imagined himself taking a woman in a field of flowers. He was well into his fifties now, and thought he had abandoned such notions forever. But Rinka had rekindled something in him. It was amazing how virile she had made him. And because he had so little to give, because he was a pauper king who had spent all his pennies in defence of Carlion, he knew that she did not love him for his wealth or the promise of a richer tomorrow. Rinka was a smart woman, wise enough to know Jazana Carr could not be stopped. It was Rinka who had prophesied a year or less till their demise. Had she lived, she would have predicted Rihards’ treachery, Lorn was sure. She was clairvoyant that way, and he missed her. She was the only woman he had ever really valued. And that was why — perhaps the only reason — he would do anything to save their daughter. Despite Poppy’s defects, she was the only thing to remind Lorn of Rinka.

‘Jazana Carr thinks us fools, child,’ he whispered. ‘She wants to raise you as her own, an insult to my eternal memory. Would you want that? To be covered in diamonds and to be a whore like her?’

The infant did not respond. Lorn knew now that she was deaf. Quite probably she was blind, too, though she could make out shadows at times. So many in Carlion thought Lorn unreasonable for rearing such a child, who would no doubt grow up useless, a burden. Lorn himself had never understood those weeping mothers who cried endlessly when their husbands threw infants like Poppy into the river. Yet now, with his own child sleeping so soundlessly, looking so perfect in her sleep, his heart broke.

On a table nearby stood a decanter of wine and two crystal goblets, among the best glassware the castle still could offer. Most things of value had been sold off long ago. Both goblets were empty, awaiting Jarrin’s arrival. Next to the wine decanter was Jazana Carr’s letter, written in her own offending hand. Lorn’s gaze moved from his daughter to the ugly note.

She scorns me .

It was not enough that she should announce herself the saviour of Norvan womanhood, or that she sought his kingdom and castle.

She would take everything from me. So like a woman .

Lorn was about to tell this to his sleeping daughter when a knock came to his chamber door. In the near-perfect silence the sound startled him. He sat up, his strongly featured face creasing.

‘Enter.’

Jarrin, his Captain-at-Arms and commander of the dwindling garrison at Carlion, pushed open the door and waited on the threshold. He was an impressive man in his armour, wide and forbidding. He held his helmet in the crook of his arm, the first time he had removed it in many hours. His divested head shone in the torchlight of the hall, cleanly shaven to a bald shine.

‘My liege,’ he said, bowing. ‘Uralak told me you wish to see me.’

‘Yes,’ replied Lorn, though it wasn’t quite correct. He detested Jarrin now, and would have preferred the company of just about anyone else. ‘Come in. I want to speak to you.’

Suspicion flashed through Jarrin’s eyes. He covered it by feigning exhaustion, sighing and saying, ‘Forgive me, my liege. I am very tired.’ As he noted the wine decanter he added, ‘I may not be proper company tonight.’

‘Come in and be quiet,’ said Lorn, gesturing toward his daughter. ‘She’s asleep.’

Jarrin did as his king requested, entering the room as quietly as his bulky armour would allow and coming to stand before the sitting Lorn. The king pointed to the opposite chair.

‘Sit.’

The captain did so, looking uncomfortable. Lorn ignored this as he poured oxblood wine into the twin goblets.

‘We need to speak, my friend,’ said Lorn. ‘There’s not much time, and I needed to get you away from curious ears.’ He pushed one of the goblets across the table toward Jarrin, avoiding the carefully folded letter lying between them. It seemed to Lorn that his captain was making every effort to avoid glancing at the note. With a gauntleted fist Jarrin took the goblet but did not drink.

‘My liege, I should return to my post,’ said Jarrin. ‘If the duke attacks-’

‘If the duke attacks he will run us down like dead grass.’ Lorn smiled and lifted his goblet in toast. ‘To tomorrow, then, and our deaths.’

Returning the smile, Jarrin said, ‘No, we are strong, my liege. We will repel them.’

‘Ah, you don’t think that, Jarrin. You’re not as stupid as Uralak. You know the truth.’ Lorn raised his eyebrows. ‘Don’t you?’

Jarrin hesitated. ‘I will admit our task is great. .’

He went no further. Lorn leaned back in his chair. With his goblet cradled in his long fingers he contemplated his captain.

‘Well, perhaps you are right,’ he said. ‘Perhaps Jazana Carr hasn’t been able to buy as much loyalty as I’ve feared. Or maybe Duke Rihards will have a change of heart, hmm? Do you think he will renounce the bitch-queen for the sake of old friendships?’

‘I cannot say, my liege.’ At last Jarrin drank, hiding his face behind the goblet.

‘No,’ Lorn agreed. ‘Who can read the heart of a traitor?’

Before the awkward silence grew too long, Lorn put down his goblet. ‘Look at that,’ he said, pointing with his chin toward Jazana Carr’s letter. ‘A bold woman, that one.’

Jarrin nodded. ‘I wish I had never laid eyes on it.’

‘What choice had you, my friend? Duke Rihards called you forth, and I needed Carr’s message. It was brave of you. Have no regrets.’