It was for him, said Kahldris. But he betrayed me.
‘I don’t understand,’ said Thorin. ‘Who is he?’
He is my brother.
Thorin leaned closer for a better look. ‘Your brother? You mean you made the armour for him?’
For any who would wear it, but he was the one who had promised me he would. To defend us.
‘From the Jadori?’
Yes.
It made at least some sense to Thorin. According to Minikin, the Devil’s Armour wasn’t dangerous — or useful — unless someone wore it.
‘Show me no more,’ Thorin commanded. ‘Your brother was wiser than you, no doubt.’
My brother could have saved our race, but he did not. You can save the Liirians.
‘You are a tempter, Kahldris. A devil, just as Minikin said.’ Thorin turned away from the scene, wanting it desperately to be gone. ‘You will not have me. Leave me now. Take me from this place.’
One last thing. .
‘No! Leave my mind, monster!’
But Kahldris did not obey. The darkness swirled around Thorin once more. He cursed the Akari. The blackness that had swallowed the vision of the armour now brought forth a familiar scene. As the picture materialised, Thorin’s eyes widened.
‘Liiria. .’
He had not seen it for so long, the memory of his home was fading. Now it came into view before him, beckoning him with its unmistakable hills and sky. It was not Koth that he saw, but the outskirts of the country, near the border of Norvor he had become so familiar with during his exile. A city rose up from the rocks. Andola? Thorin smiled, finally pleased by something Kahldris had shown him.
Look closer. .
Thorin did so, and what he saw made his heart skip. It was indeed Andola he saw, the city of Baron Ravel. Now, though, there were different troops milling about its streets, troops Thorin easily recognised. And above the city, blowing in the breeze, waved the flag of Norvor.
‘You show me illusions,’ Thorin gasped. ‘Kahldris, tell me this is not so.’
Jazana Carr has moved on your homeland, Baron Glass. Even now she lays plans to conquer all of Liiria.
Thorin could barely sputter a response. A desperate sense of helplessness squeezed the breath from him. From the looks of it, Andola was well in Jazana Carr’s hands. His old lover had seized the city with enough troops to make good her threat of taking Liiria.
This is no lie, Baron Glass. I can show you only the truth, those things that have come to pass.
‘Why?’ groaned Thorin. ‘Why do you taunt me with these visions?’
Because the time has come for you to choose.
Thorin could not tear his gaze away from the conquered city. Nor was there reason to be coy with Kahldris. He knew exactly what the spirit meant. Kahldris remained silent for a long while, letting the scourge he produced work on Thorin. The old baron stared at the offending Norvan flag. Once he had been one of them, plotting alongside Jazana Carr for the overthrow of Akeela. But that had been so long ago, and now her desire had been warped into a cruel vendetta.
Minikin does not help you. Meriel has forsaken you. The Inhumans care not at all for the fate of Liiria. You are their only hope, Baron Glass. And only I can help you.
‘Yes,’ sighed Thorin. ‘You and your cursed armour.’
Is it a curse to be powerful? asked Kahldris. Is it a curse to help your country? Or is it a curse to be old and weak? The Akari’s words ate at Thorin. You have thirsted long for this, Baron Glass. Now you must drink.
As he gazed at his homeland, watching the cancer of conquest eat at its fringes, the great aloneness of his predicament wore down Thorin’s resistance. Liiria needed him. The family he had left behind all those years ago stood no chance at all against Jazana Carr, and not even Lukien would help him. He was alone, and desperate for an ally.
‘You will make a man of me again?’ he asked. ‘A whole man?’
You will be more than a man, Thorin Glass. Together, we will be like a god.
A god. Or a devil. It no longer mattered to Thorin.
21
There was no one in Grimhold to stop him.
Minikin was gone from the keep, back across the protecting desert to Jador. Gilwyn was in Jador too, as was Lukien. Baron Glass knew that any of them would have stopped him easily. Oddly, as he made his way purposefully down into the bowels of the fortress, he wished that the boy or the knight had been there to talk him out of his folly. But they were too far away to know his plans, and Meriel — Mirage — was too deep into her own affairs to give any thought to others.
More than anything, it was desperation that drove Baron Glass down into Grimhold’s catacombs. In the armoury full of ancient Akari weapons, the Devil’s Armour waited. As he had for weeks now, he could hear the frightful, magnificent thing calling him. He thought of very little as he succumbed to its dark song. His thoughts were black, but determined.
The lateness of the hour saw the people of the keep already retired, and only a few passed Thorin on his way toward the stairs. Near the doorway, a small torch rested on the wall, lighting the area. Thorin paused for a moment, looked about himself, then took the torch from the wall when he was confident no one was watching. The door to the armoury had been locked since he and the others had come to Grimhold. Minikin had sensed the stirring of Kahldris and had taken steps against him. Thorin looked at the lock, which was stout and well made, and felt his heart sink. At other times, he had found the locks to the armoury undone, a phenomenon he had attributed to Kahldris, somehow.
‘Damn,’ he hissed in annoyance. Again he looked around, wondering what to do. His attention diverted, he heard the metallic click of a mechanism working. When he looked down again the padlock was open. His eyes rested on it uncertainly. It had not been a trick of the light.
Go.
Kahldris’ voice was anxious. Hastily Thorin put the torch back in its holder, unhooked the padlock from the door, then pulled the door open with his single hand. The portal gave a deathly squeal as it opened, alarming him. Still, no one seemed to notice the noise, and Thorin quickly retrieved the torch from the wall. Holding it out before him, he let it light the wide, dingy stairway. At once a musty smell assailed him. The strange song from the armour bid him forward. Determined, he stepped into the gloom and closed the door. The thud of the portal was followed by the dungeon’s profound silence. Thorin paused only for a moment before descending the stairs. He had secretly made the journey many times before, always to stare at the Devil’s Armour in wonder. He was sure-footed as he descended.
It was Lukien who had first discovered the Akari armoury — and the Devil’s Armour. He had stumbled upon them a year ago when they’d first come to Grimhold. The armoury itself held many different pieces of armour, all of ornate Akari design and all lovingly preserved by the Inhumans, who had only used the weapons once in their long history, again because of Lukien. It was he who had formed an army out of them to fight Akeela’s men. They had won that battle, and all the fine Akari weapons had once again retired to their gloomy home. The stairway wound its way down far into the catacombs, and the light from the torch struck the many weapons as Thorin neared the bottom. There he waited and let his eyes adjust to the darkness. Not far ahead, the chamber of the Devil’s Armour waited. He could see it through the gloom, the preternatural light emanating from beneath its locked door. Only the door was not locked, of course. Thorin sensed this as he moved toward it.