This time, though, Thorin was aware of every speck of sound and tiny feeling. This time, Kahldris meant to face him. He knew it somehow, and the dread certainty of it calmed him. Anger rose up in him, replacing his fear. Determined to confront Kahldris, Baron Glass straightened his immaterial spine.
‘What vision now?’ he called out. ‘What do you wish to show me?’
There was no answer from the blackness.
‘Come then, damned one! Show yourself!’
Around Thorin the world of the dead — if that’s truly where he was — remained unmoved by his fury.
‘You are a creature of darkness, Kahldris,’ said the baron. ‘You hide in the shadows as if afraid. I am ready for your vision. Show it to me!’
Finally the darkness around him began to swirl, funnelling around itself like a cyclone, but without wind or disturbance of any kind. Again, the great battlefield Thorin had seen that first time materialised, again he saw the Akari as they had been in life, marching to face their dark-skinned foes.
The Jadori, Thorin reminded himself. It was they who had defeated the Akari so long ago.
Once again Thorin saw the military man on his horse, splendid in dark Akari armour, with ribbons and braids and a war banner scrawled with foreign runes unfurled behind him. Weeks ago, when Thorin had first seen this same figure, he had seen his own face in the helmet. This time though he knew that it was not him he was seeing, but Kahldris. Kahldris who had been a general, a leader of men like Baron Glass himself. Through the thunder of distant battle the image of Kahldris stared back at Thorin knowingly.
‘So we are alike,’ said Thorin. ‘I see your meaning, creature. But what is this you show me? Is it the end of you?’
The end of my kind, came the Akari’s now-familiar voice. Killed by those the midget woman adores.
Thorin thought for a moment, unsure how to respond. He had already known the Jadori had destroyed the Akari, but that was ages ago when they’d been warlike.
‘Is it an Akari curse to dwell so much in the past?’ asked Thorin. ‘Your race has moved beyond those bad days.’
Betrayals die hard, Baron Glass.
The cryptic answer left Thorin puzzled. ‘You want something from me.’
It is you who wants, corrected Kahldris. Something that is mine to give.
Thorin nodded. ‘The armour.’
Kahldris did not reply. He gave time for Thorin to see the battle unfolding, and in this peculiar dreamscape time elapsed rapidly so that Thorin could see the dismal outcome of the battle as the Akari were killed by the hundreds. It was a massacre Thorin found hard to imagine, knowing the Jadori the way he did. But it was not a fallacy that Kahldris showed him; it was the same truth even Minikin had admitted. As his thoughts turned toward the little mistress, Kahldris seemed to read his mind.
She has betrayed you, that one, spoke Kahldris. She could help you and your people, but she does not.
Thorin shook his head. ‘Do not persuade me against Minikin,’ he warned. ‘You will fail.’
You must help them, Baron Glass.
‘I cannot. I have no means.’
The Akari’s voice seemed to grin as he replied, The means are here in Grimhold.
‘No. I will not betray them.’
These Inhumans are selfish. Like Meriel. What does she care for you? Not at all.
The vision of the battlefield began to waver, and soon Thorin was in darkness again, cold and thick as pitch. He could feel Kahldris all around him, the spirit’s breath at his neck.
We were great once. I was great. The Jadori ruined us.
‘The Jadori protect you now,’ Thorin reminded him. ‘And the Inhumans give you new life.’
You fight me, Baron Glass. Why? All these things I know already. I offer you my armour, sir, to rise up again like the great man you were.
Thorin struggled against the tempting words. ‘And betray Gilwyn? Betray Lukien? He is like a brother to me.’
Kahldris’ reply was furious. He who trusts a brother trusts a fool.
The words left a great rent of silence in their wake before the spirit spoke again.
Do not be that kind of fool, said Kahldris. Nor be afraid. Walk with me, Baron. Let me show you how I came to be. .
Again the darkness swirled around him, but this time Thorin felt as though he really were walking with Kahldris, following him through the churning haze. He knew the Akari was taking him deeper into his realm, wherever — whatever — that might be, but he did nothing to stop the descent. Giving his mind over to the spirit had freed him from his earthly, weakened body, and he felt vital in a way he hadn’t in years. Still the dark angel did not show himself, but when the blackness lifted Thorin found a new incarnation of the creature. This time, he felt afraid.
He was in a chamber, vast and alive with candlelight, like a church lit by a thousand tapers. He heard chanting in a language he couldn’t understand, then a groaning of wind baying at the walls. At the end of the room stood an altar, made of stone and carved with runes. A man slumped over the altar. Wearing a gown of crimson silk and a necklace with a glowing charm, Thorin could not see his face, yet somehow knew the man was Kahldris. It was he who was chanting. His horrible, exhausted song rose from his slumped body, echoing over the giant thing laid across the altar — a suit of brilliant black armour.
In his dream-state Thorin fixed on the armour. It was beautiful, flawless in a way nothing earthly could be. Magic imbued the thing, made it glow as if alive, and as Kahldris sang, wringing every shred of strength from his body, the armour shook with life until it too began to sing. The man and his armour made an unholy, rattling chorus, while outside the howling wind beat at the walls and made the windows tremble. Thorin watched in fascination as the crescendo grew, charging the air with magic. He could barely stand the noise, and when he thought his ears would split with the sound he watched as the living Kahldris collapsed atop the altar.
The song stopped. The wind was silent.
Sprawled over his armour, Kahldris did not move. Thorin inched curiously forward.
‘What happened?’ he whispered.
Though Kahldris had clearly died, the armour lived on. Now its liquid black metal swam with sentience. It breathed. In that instant Baron Glass realised that Kahldris had not died. He had merely moved beyond his mortal body. He remembered dreadfully something he had heard during his year in Grimhold, that Akari sometimes put their essences into earthly objects. They were stronger that way, living forever. It was why the Eyes of God had been forged, making the Akari siblings Amaraz and Lariniza so powerful.
You understand, came Kahldris’ voice.
Struck dumb by what he’d seen, Baron Glass could only nod. He knew he’d witnessed the birth of the Devil’s Armour. But he didn’t know why. Kahldris read the questions in his mind and offered a calming word.
Wait.
Wait? Wait for what? And then Thorin saw a man enter the church-place, a man of much the same build as the dead vision of Kahldris, who came to the chamber with others but who clearly commanded these minions. Thorin could not guess what he was seeing, and the vision puzzled him.
‘Who is this I’m seeing?’ he asked.
Kahldris did not answer. Instead he let Thorin watch the unfolding drama. The man said very little to those with him. They were odd-looking people, like the Akari he had seen in the battlefield dream. The man who led them stared sadly at the altar for a time. A mournful expression washed his handsome face. Then, to Thorin’s surprise, he ordered the armour taken away. Those with him did the man’s bidding, first gently laying aside the body of Kahldris then muscling the armour away from the altar in pieces. When they were done they left with their dangerous prize, leaving the single man alone with Kahldris’ corpse.