‘This is great news,’ said Lorn, sighing as though he had slipped into a warm bath. ‘Without Jazana Carr, Norvor has no leader. They will welcome me again.’
Lukien gritted his teeth, holding back an insult. Daralor steadied Lorn’s excitement.
‘Your Norvans follow Baron Glass now, King Lorn. Until he is gone, you still have no kingdom.’
‘Excuse me, Prince Daralor, but Baron Glass is not a Norvan, and I think I know my people a bit better than you do. Baron Glass has the bitch-queen’s fortune, no doubt, but not her blood. The people need a rightful ruler.’
‘Maybe,’ said Horatin sharply, ‘but Baron Glass won’t let go of Norvor easily. The dukes of Norvor flock to him still, because he is powerful and they are afraid of him. Listen to me, all of you — not one of you really knows what we are up against.’
‘I do,’ Aric spoke up. ‘I’ve seen my father close up, Horatin.’
‘As have I,’ said Lukien. ‘Your words are well meaning, Reecian, and I respect them. But I don’t need to be taken to school about Baron Glass or what he has become.’
‘And the rest of you?’ queried Horatin. He scoffed in their faces. ‘Be cocky at your peril.’
‘We are Nithins, Watchman,’ chastened Daralor. ‘We do not frighten easily.’
‘That is good,’ replied Horatin, ‘because once you see Baron Glass in his armour, you will know what hell looks like.’
‘Baron Glass is near his end,’ predicted Lorn. He pointed at Lukien. ‘The Bronze Knight holds the means to his undoing.’
‘Fate above, who knows?’ said Lukien, shaking his head. ‘I have the Sword of Angels. You’ve heard of it by now, Horatin. Whether or not it can beat Baron Glass, even I cannot say.’
Daralor appeared disappointed. ‘Lukien, you will not be alone. We will all be fighting to beat Baron Glass.’
Aric shrank at this. Lukien put a hand on his shoulder and said to him, ‘And some of us will be trying to save him.’
‘Baron Glass is our mutual enemy,’ said Lorn. ‘I have no problem with that. When he is done, I will return to Norvor as king.’ He looked pointedly at Lukien. ‘And then I will send for my family, just as I promised them.’
The barb bounced off Lukien, who was wholly disinterested in the argument. ‘Horatin, tell us what else you know,’ said Lukien.
Daralor took up a rolled parchment leaning against his chair and laid it flat across the table. ‘With what Horatin knows we can start planning our movements.’
‘I’m sorry, Prince Daralor, that’s not what I meant,’ said Lukien. ‘I have a personal question, if I may.’
‘Personal?’ said Horatin.
Lukien leaned forward. ‘It’s about Baron Glass and Koth. There was another of us from Jador who went to north to Liiria, a boy named Gilwyn Toms. Have you heard anything about him?’
‘Ah, the boy!’ Horatin laughed. ‘He is Glass’ obsession.’
‘He’s alive?’ asked Lukien.
‘He is. Baron Glass protects him. He’s given the boy the library to run. He’s like a son to the baron. From what our spies have told us, the two of them are inseparable.’
‘I knew it!’ crowed Lukien. ‘I knew Gilwyn would still be alive!’ He clapped his hands together gleefully. ‘And if Gilwyn is alive he’s been trying to reach Thorin. Aric, there’s hope for your father yet.’
Aric smiled grimly. ‘Maybe. But if there’s not and he must die, then that is how it should be.’
But Lukien was in too good a mood to think such dour thoughts. Just hearing about Gilwyn had lifted his spirits out of the doldrums. Daralor continued to speak, tracing his finger over his map and quoting figures to his aides. The back and forth continued for nearly an hour. Lukien listened to all of it, satisfied that the prince had done his best. They would likely be outnumbered when they got to Koth, and Thorin would have the advantage perched high on Library Hill. Still, the Nithins had the heart and the charisma of Daralor to lead them. The Reecians had something even more powerful — a thirst for vengeance.
Finally, when Daralor had said his peace, he glanced across the table at Aric, who had listened to the back and forth without adding a word. ‘Aric,’ said Daralor gently, ‘it’s time you went back to King Raxor. Horatin will be leaving in the morning. I want you to go with him.’
Aric nodded, giving no complaint. ‘If that is best, Prince Daralor.’
‘We’ll need to ride fast,’ said Horatin. ‘My king still doesn’t know for certain that your army is coming north to join him. He has to have this news quickly.’
‘I can ride fast,’ Aric assured him.
‘Good,’ said Daralor. He gave Aric a warm wink. ‘We’ll be behind you, just as quick as we can. The rest of you, make yourselves ready. In a few days, we’ll be at war.’
They were being dismissed, and Daralor’s aides knew it first. The Nithin officers got to their feet and began filing out of Daralor’s tent. Ghost and Aric did the same. Lorn lingered a bit longer, catching snippets of conversation on his way out, as did Lukien. Horatin took his time, still talking with Prince Daralor as the meeting broke up. Lukien watched the Reecian, hoping for an opportunity to speak with him. There was still one question pressing in his mind, a matter even more personal than that of Gilwyn. Deciding not to be rude, Lukien left the tent to wait for Horatin outside. Ghost and Aric had already headed back to the food line, while Lorn had cornered two of the Nithin officers, peppering them with questions. The camp had fallen silent as most of the army had settled down for a night’s rest. Daralor’s bodyguard’s outside the tent eyed Lukien but did not shoo him away.
Finally, Horatin emerged, looking haggard and hungry. He walked past Lukien without noticing him until the knight hurried up behind him.
‘Horatin, wait,’ called Lukien. ‘I have a question.’
The Watchman paused and turned toward him. ‘Yes?’
Lukien was careful to keep his voice low. ‘It’s about your king. Aric Glass told me about a woman he keeps, a foreigner. Her name is Mirage.’
Horatin drew back. ‘What of her?’
‘Do you know her?’
‘I know of her,’ said Horatin. ‘Why?’
Lukien decided to tread carefully. ‘Horatin, I know she is your king’s woman. Aric told me about them. I just want to know how she fares.’
‘She is a friend of yours?’
Lukien nodded. ‘Yes.’
‘I see.’ Horatin averted his eyes. ‘Sir Lukien, the woman Mirage is not in Reec. She left my king some time ago to be with Baron Glass.’
‘She did?’ Lukien was stunned. ‘But I thought King Raxor was in love with her.’
‘He was indeed,’ lamented Horatin. ‘That did not stop her. Nor did my king stop her, either. He gave her leave to go the baron.’
‘So what then?’ asked Lukien. ‘Have you had any word from her?’
Horatin’s discomfort grew. ‘We have had no word from her, no. Sir Lukien, I did not tell you all of my story about our attack on Richter. Jazana Carr was not there. We were mistaken.’
‘So?’
‘The woman Mirage was at Richter with Baron Glass, not Jazana Carr. I’m sorry, Sir Lukien. Mirage is dead.’
Lukien stared at Horatin, his breath stopping in his throat. ‘Dead?’ He swallowed, feeling his legs grow wobbly. ‘Mirage is dead?’
Horatin’s blue eyes filled with pity. ‘She died in the fire. No one made it out of Richter alive. Only Glass.’
‘A fire.’ Something inside Lukien crumbled. ‘A fire. .’
He turned, walking off and shaking his head. Horatin was saying something, but Lukien heard none of it. All he could think of was Mirage, and how she had burned to death. She who could control flame, who had given up that gift for a mask of beauty.
‘Just so I would love her,’ said Lukien, and went numb with horror.
Since the arrival of Duke Cajanis, Library Hill had become an armed camp.
Gilwyn hardly recognized his beloved library any longer. The emptiness — the solitude he had come to worship — had been replaced by the constant clang of metal and the shouts of armoured soldiers. Nearly every room of the place had been turned into barracks for the Norvans and Liirians who poured through the great doors, all of them bearing weapons and provisions and other things for the siege ahead. Books, scrolls and manuscripts had been carefully laid aside, packed into the cellars while the shelves were lined with swords and the oiled book cases burdened with clothing. Even the fabulous entry hall had been stuffed with bunks and bed rolls, so that the men lucky enough to sleep there for the night could look up at the magnificently painted ceiling as they fell away to sleep.