‘What about him?’
He’s here! Gilwyn. . he’s coming.
Gilwyn raised himself as high as he could, craning to better see out of the locked glass portal. ‘I don’t see him.’
No, I mean he’s here. In the library!
‘What?’
Gilwyn pulled away from the window, then heard the stomping footfalls. Someone was coming, and he knew instantly it was Thorin. An unmistakable chill went through Ruana, icing Gilwyn’s blood. A moment later the door burst open and Thorin stumbled in. Gilwyn jumped back, shocked at the sight of him. The Devil’s Armour was glowing on him with a furious black light. Blood stained his breastplate, feeding the living figures molded there. Thorin’s eyes were wild as he searched the room, his jowls sunken, his skin a sickly white. Veins along his neck and forehead bulged as he gave a guttural howl.
‘Thorin!’
Thorin spotted Gilwyn across the room. His hands shot up to hide his face. ‘Don’t look at me!’
At once he stumbled toward the window, spitting obscenities at the sunlight. His hands clawed the heavy curtains, frantically pulling them closed. Then, like a wounded animal, he sank to the polished floor, dissolving in moans. Gilwyn stood frozen, astounded and appalled. Thorin began chattering to himself, making no sense as he looked at some unseen phantom. His rapid-fire words came spilling from his lips.
‘I know what you want and I won’t do it. I won’t do it, I won’t do it. .’
‘Thorin!’
Gilwyn’s shout broke the baron’s stupor. Thorin gasped as he looked Gilwyn, helpless. He raised a gauntleted hand, stretching out his metal fingers toward the boy.
‘Gilwyn,’ he rasped, ‘I killed Aric.’
At first Gilwyn didn’t understand, so stunned was he by Thorin’s appearance. Slowly, though, the words sank in, and horror dawned on Gilwyn’s face.
‘Thorin, no. .’
‘I killed him, Gilwyn.’ Thorin began to weep. ‘He’s dead.’
Suddenly the armour began to glow again, this time with a strange white light. As the glow intensified Thorin shrieked, clearly in agony. The image of Kahldris appeared, swirling like a mist around Thorin, strangling him with tendrils of ether. In the mist Gilwyn saw the shape of the demon’s face, hissing hatefully into Thorin’s ear.
‘Leave me alone!’ Thorin bellowed.
The enormous pain of it made the muscles of his face contract. Gilwyn had never seen such agony on a man before, and certainly never on
Thorin. This time, the Devil’s Armour could not protect him.
Gilwyn, look at him, insisted Ruana. Look at his pain!
‘I see it,’ said Gilwyn.
No, you don’t understand me. He’s in pain, Gilwyn!
Then at last Gilwyn did understand. His eyes widened with the idea. ‘Yes!’
Quickly he considered the gambit. Only pain could sever the bond between Akari and host, just as it had broken the bond between White-Eye and Faralok. In all their musings, Gilwyn and Ruana had yet to figure out a way to cause Thorin so much pain, yet now the means was right before them.
Not pain of the body, said Ruana. Pain of the mind! His son is dead. He killed him, Gilwyn.
Gilwyn shook his head. ‘Ruana, I can’t. .’
Yes you can! You have to do it now!
Thorin was writhing, his arms wrapped around himself as he fought off Kahldris’ attack. Man and demon both roared curses at each other, Thorin batting at the air as the insubstantial body of Kahldris clawed at him. They were in a battle Gilwyn scarcely understood, and he was to insert himself between them. Warily he stepped toward Thorin, crouching down close to him. His old friend’s eyes, shot through with blood, danced insanely in their sockets.
Do it, Gilwyn, urged Ruana. Talk to him. Make him feel it.
Gilwyn licked his lips, hating himself. How could he poke at such a wound? Yet the notion made sense to him, and he knew it was his only chance. And Thorin’s too.
‘Thorin, tell me what happened,’ said Gilwyn. ‘Tell me what happened to Aric.’
Thorin stopped squirming and stared at Gilwyn. Kahldris’ ghostly essence swarmed over him. He shook his head desperately.
‘No. I won’t tell you,’ he huffed.
‘You killed him,’ said Gilwyn. ‘You killed Aric. That’s what you told me.’
Tears squeezed from Thorin’s eyelids. ‘Yes.’
‘Your own son!’
‘Yes!’
‘He loved you,’ said Gilwyn relentlessly. He put his face right up to Thorin’s. ‘Don’t you remember? When he was a boy — he adored you!’
‘He loved me,’ Thorin echoed. He closed his eyes, his lips trembling. ‘And I loved him. My little boy. .’
‘And you killed him.’ Gilwyn spoke carefully now. ‘Because of Kahldris, Thorin. He’s done this to you. He’s the one that made you kill your son.’
‘Yes. .’
‘Get rid of him, Thorin!’
‘Yes!’
‘No!’ shrieked Kahldris, pulling free of the armour and forming his figure out of the mists. He looked accusingly at Gilwyn. ‘Look at him, Baron Glass. He’s just another one who comes to harm you!’
‘I’m not,’ Gilwyn insisted. ‘Listen to me, Thorin — you know me. I’m here to help you, just like Aric wanted. And he’s dead! He’s dead because you killed him!’
Thorin could take no more. Balling himself up like a child, his buried his face in his arms, screaming at them both to stop. But Gilwyn did not stop. Without mercy he pursued Thorin, peppering him with accusations, driving his pain to a fever. Thorin began seething, blathering to himself, while over him stood Kahldris, swearing in a tongue Gilwyn couldn’t understand. Gilwyn stayed close to them both, knowing Thorin was on the brink. Just a little nudge more. .
Gilwyn. . Ruana’s voice sounded strange. Easy now.
‘Tell me how you did it, Thorin,’ Gilwyn went on. ‘Tell me what it felt like!’
‘Leave me, boy! Go!’
Gilwyn knelt down next to Thorin. ‘I can’t Thorin! I want you to know what it felt like to kill your son!’
Gilwyn, stop!
‘No!’
The fist shot out too fast to see. Gilwyn glimpsed the gauntlet, a spikey blur flying toward him. A blast of pain filled his chest and he was falling, tumbling back into blackness.
Baron Glass realized what he had done. Through the haze of rage and despair, he saw Gilwyn slide across the floor, then lay still on the stone tiles. Like Aric. The baron stopped breathing. At his side, the figure of Kahldris saw what had happened and was silent. The demon looked at his host. Thorin sat motionless, staring at Gilwyn, unable to speak. He had emptied himself of tears, spending them on Aric, and yet somehow this was so much worse, a thought so horrible that tears seemed inadequate. Thorin’s mind snapped like a twig. He got to his feet, glaring hatefully at Kahldris.
‘This is our work,’ he said, his voice breaking. ‘This is all we have ever done!’
Running from the chamber, screaming like a madman, Baron Glass tore at the latches of his Devil’s Armour, desperate to shed its unholy grasp.
The way to Library Hill was remarkably empty. Lukien, Lorn and Ghost rode on the outskirts of the city, avoiding the populated streets and sticking to the meadows and farmlands that surrounded Koth. Because the hill was clearly visible from almost everywhere in the city, Baron Glass’ hideout was plain to the companions as they rode, as was the small army of Liirians he had positioned at the bottom of the hill. The sight of them made Ghost groan. They had already fought their way through one army, and now it seemed Baron Glass had evaded them again. King Lorn looked dour, sizing up their situation.
‘It’s too late to turn back,’ he said, sensing Ghost’s wariness. ‘They’ve already seen us.’
Common sense told them all to slow down, bringing their horses from a gallop to a canter. The Liirians milled under their own flag, looking disorganized. There were at least a few hundred of them, men who Thorin had somehow convinced to join his cause. Far too many for the three of them to fight through, Lukien knew. Already those soldiers closest to them were pointing, calling to their comrades. Some wore the midnight blue of Royal Chargers, though that fair breed was long extinct.