“Cricket’s dying is my fault. I know that. And tomorrow I’ll make Wrestler pay for it. I’ll make them all pay. That was our bargain, Malator. Don’t renege.”
“Renege? I have given you everything you need to be unstoppable. You are a living weapon now, Lukien. Tomorrow you may occasion as much carnage as you crave. Tomorrow you will be the end of the world to your enemies. I have dressed for it! Let hell’s gates swing wide for them.”
“Then answer me, Malator: What has all this been? A lesson? A test?”
“Training,” replied Malator.
“Training? For what?” I was indignant. “What’s the point of all this misery?”
“Not yet.” Malator’s voice was soothing. Suddenly my eyes began to close again. “Soon.”
“No. .”
I clutched for him, but my world quickly darkened.
“Sleep, Lukien,” he whispered. “Grow strong. Tomorrow you will be at your glorious best.”
I dreamt no more that night. Whatever enchantment Malator had put on me sent me to the most peace I’d known in ages. And the next day, when I awakened, I felt like a giant.
33
I slept past the morning, through breakfast, almost till noontime. No one dared to wake me, but when my eyes snapped open Malator was still in my room, bathed in the bright light of the sun pouring through my window. At the foot of my bed sat the chest holding my bronze armor, its lid open wide, its contents gleaming. Malator was stone-faced. My body roiled with an energy I’d never known. I remembered the dream I’d had, the promise he had made me. I flexed my fingers to test their strength and knew I could crush a rock with them.
“Rise,” commanded Malator.
I did as he said, standing before him in his own resplendent, spiked Akari armor, my feet naked on the carpet.
“A squire needs to help you prepare,” he said. “Since you have lost yours, I will dress you.”
I didn’t ask what time it was. Malator’s manner told me everything was ready. My chamber was quiet, but outside in the courtyard I could hear the commotion of men riding forth, joining the ranks of their battle-ready brethren. The day had started, but not the war. Not without me. I held up my arms and let Malator pull my old shirt over my head. Next came the trousers, and when I was naked he turned silently to my fresh garments, waiting for me near my newborn armor. He dressed me like a father would; I could feel the warmth of his pride. He seemed hardly a spirit at all, so real that I could touch him, and for the first time, probably the first time ever, I wanted to embrace him and thank him for his gifts.
But I did not. I was a warrior now, and no thoughts of love could sway me. I wanted no tenderness in me today, no humanity to stay my sword. Some men pray before a battle, but I was never one of those. I had no gods. But if I could have found a patron devil, I would have prayed to have my mercy stripped away, to turn me to stone. In that moment I saw what I had ever been, what I would always be-a fighting man.
Slowly, lovingly, Malator encased me in bronze. Not a word passed between us. We shared a single mind now. His thoughts were as open to me as the sea. I felt his placid calm, he felt my boundless vengeance. One by one he closed the bindings on my legs and arms, taking his time with the ritual. When I held out my hands, he slipped my fingers into my golden gauntlets. The sunlight bounced off me like a kaleidoscope, splashing prisms of color across the walls. Malator stepped back to eye his work and finally allowed himself to smile.
“Your helmet,” he said, then stooped to hand it to me. I put the golden helm in the crux of my arm.
“Your sword.”
Malator reached for my battered, blood-stained blade. In his fist he held it out for me, and my own fist closed around it. Together we held it, sharing its power, our eyes seeing straight into each others’ minds.
“This is the Sword of Angels,” whispered Malator. “It lay dormant for years until you found it. And I slept within it, alone and lonely until you came for me, Lukien.”
His confession surprised me. “If it’s a debt you feel you owe me, Malator,” I said, “you’ve already repaid it.”
“Not quite yet,” said Malator. “But I will. On the other side of this day.”
I said nothing, just let him speak his riddle. All I wanted from Malator was the strength to have my revenge, and he’d already given me that. He let go of the sword, his hand disappearing as his fingers uncoiled, and soon his whole arm was gone, and then his whole body. But I wasn’t alone in the room. He was with me, inside the sword and inside my entire being. So I belted the sword around my waist and went to find Marilius.
* * *
I found Marilius in the courtyard of the palace, waiting for me. Nearby, surrounded by mercenaries, was Anton, speaking frantically, waving his arms about, pointing at different areas of his city. The courtyard was filled with soldiers and horses, all of them ready to march through the gates.
Three men stood apart from the crowd, watching me as I emerged. Sariyah, Chuluun, and Kiryk were dressed for battle, each in the garb of their varied lands, each of their horses decorated differently. The buzz in the yard quieted as I entered, the heads turning to see me in my resplendent armor. Even Anton quit his ranting. He turned to face me, his eyebrows shooting up in wonder. The sun was high above my head, and the anxious faces of the soldiers told me they’d been waiting long for my arrival. I stopped myself a few paces into the yard and looked at them.
“I slept,” I declared. “But no ordinary sleep. I will make your wait worth it.”
Even my voice sounded different, not just from the bronze helm but from the magic coursing through me. The men nodded and looked toward their leaders, my unlikely generals. Young Kiryk, King of the Drinmen, clenched a fist at his side, Chuluun bowed his dark head, and Sariyah took a single, silent step forward. Marilius called out to his mercenaries.
“To your places!” he cried, and the mercenaries in the yard broke rank, riding for the gate. Kiryk gave the order too, and then Chuluun, and the Drinmen and Bogati rode forth, kicking up dust as they rode for Sklar Valley. Only a handful of men and horses remained behind, including Venger, who’d been prepared for me with armor the color of my own and Bogati ribbons in his jet mane. Another gift from Anton, I supposed. He smiled when I noticed it, but I could tell he was terrified of the battle ahead.
“Anton,” I said, “you’ll stay here in Isowon, but not out in the open like this. Guard yourself inside. Diriel might have assassins come for you.”
“I’ll be protected,” said Anton, gesturing at the ring of mercs who’d stayed behind. “Lukien, before you go, I want to know about the monster.”
I shook my head. “I can’t. Just trust me on this one.”
Anton pointed at his forehead. “I’m the one that bears the mark! It’s not Diriel’s assassins I’m worried about. If I stay behind, these few men can’t help me against Crezil.”
“But you’re not going to run,” I said. I went to Venger and patted his side, glad to see my beautiful horse. “Thank you for this,” I told Anton. “I’ll ride him with me to the battle, but I’ll need another horse for the fight.”
“Another?” asked Marilius. “Why?”
“Any good warhorse will do,” I said. “Venger will stay in the rear until I need him.” I waved at Sariyah and the others. “Gather,” I said.
They huddled around me, Sariyah jealously taking my right, Chuluun my left. Kiryk stood slightly apart from the rest, attentive nevertheless. I looked at Marilius.
“You’re not a captain anymore,” I told him. “None of you are. You’re all generals now. Congratulations.”
Chuluun smirked. “Is that good?”
“It means you’re a leader,” Kiryk explained.
“That’s right,” I said. “Each of you will report to me directly. And each of you is in charge of your men, like we planned. Marilius, is everything in place?”