It had taken nearly a week for the transformation to take hold, but now it was nearly complete, leaving Gilwyn bewildered and displaced. Surprisingly, Duke Cajanis had been kind to Gilwyn during the changes, even sympathetic. The Norvan noble was careful not to upset the young librarian too much, and made sure that Gilwyn always was consulted when books were moved or rooms commandeered. It was in fact an orderly transformation, done with military precision, and Duke Cajanis was proud of his quick accomplishment. Now, when one looked out from the library’s many windows, the sight of the road leading up to the hill was fortified with men and battlements and the courtyard filled with weaponry. The library had swelled into a formidable fort under Cajanis’ hand, and the soldiers who milled about its grand halls readied themselves for the coming assault.
Rumours abounded in Koth these days. Norvan spies returning from the border spoke of Raxor’s army, an impressive force of many thousands said to be waiting to cross the river Kryss. Raxor himself led the forces, just as he had done the first time, determined to finish the job he had started months earlier. Retribution was in the air, said the Norvan spies, and King Raxor was ready to avenge his fallen son, telling all who would listen of his intention to slay Baron Glass. Rumours from the south were no less ominous, telling of the Nithins who marched freely up from Farduke with their fighting hawks and broods of battle dogs. Prince Daralor had summoned every able man in his tiny country, claimed the rumours, and had given orders that none of them were to return home while Baron Glass remained alive. Gilwyn listened to the rumours with interest, frightened and exhilarated by them, but one claim in particular had him galvanized — the Bronze Knight was returning.
Even Thorin knew this one rumour to be true. Through Kahldris, he could sense the approach of Lukien and his magic sword, and had told Gilwyn that the final battle was nearing. After days without seeing each other, Thorin had called Gilwyn to him in his little parlour in Lionkeep, looking haggard from the endless hours of preparation. By the light of the crackling fireplace, Thorin had leaned forward in his big leather chair as if to tell a terrible secret.
‘Our days are numbered now, Gilwyn.’ Thorin’s tone bespoke his misery. ‘Lukien comes.’ He shook his head as if there could be no doubt. ‘And we will certainly battle.’
Gilwyn did not question Thorin that night. Since Cajanis had arrived, the two of them had slipped the bonds of friendship growing strong between them, growing apart instead as the demands of war took Thorin further away. And though Gilwyn had not yet given up his hopes of reaching Thorin, he realized now that Kahldris’ hold on his friend was stronger than he’d imagined, and that only the supernatural power of Lukien’s sword might be able to break it. Along with Ruana, Gilwyn had racked his brain to think of a way to shatter the demon’s grip on Thorin, but he had always come back to the same, impossible puzzles. Intense pain could sever the bond between host and Akari, but Thorin no longer knew pain. Ensconced in his enchanted armour, he was truly untouchable.
Twelve days after Cajanis’ arrival, Thorin finally called all of his commanders together. Using the finest of the library’s grand meeting chambers, he ordered the shelves removed and rows of chairs placed in their stead, along with a table he could use to speak from. Duke Cajanis organized the event, and with his usual aplomb had the meeting scheduled sharply at noon. By a half hour prior to the hour, the great chamber swelled with officers, all of them eager to hear the words of their benefactor, Baron Glass. Gilwyn, who was surprised to be invited to the event, sat not far from Cajanis himself, occupying a chair in the very first row. Because it was a formal meeting, no drinks or food were provided at all. The ranks of officers sat sombre-faced in their chairs, chatting quietly to each other. Norvans made up the bulk of the audience, though there were many Liirians in the crowd as well. Thorin had done an impressive job over the past months of bringing the Liirian military back to life and had openly declared himself their supreme commander, a boast no one dared challenge. Among the Liirians were soldiers who Gilwyn had got to know during his time in Lionkeep, including the good-hearted commander Kilvard. Kilvard, who was not a handsome man like Cajanis, wore a hang-dog expression as he waited for Baron Glass. Unlike most of the soldiers, Kilvard had no interest in the diamonds that kept the others loyal to Thorin. He was a true nationalist, motivated by the need to protect his country. He was loyal to Baron Glass because no one else had taken control of the chaos engulfing Liiria, and that was all. Gilwyn eyed Kilvard curiously as he sat back and waited. The pipe in the old man’s mouth spouted patient puffs of white smoke.
At noon precisely, the big mahogany clock at the end of the chamber announced the hour. A moment later, Thorin stepped into the room, even the clock seemed to go dead.
He had dressed for the occasion, donning the Devil’s Armour, which shined with blinding. His enormous figure filled the doorway, his steps heavy from his armoured feet. The skin of metal clung to his muscles, fitting perfectly to them, flexing with life at every breath. Thorin’s eyes scanned the room, his smile wide and frightening. He wore no helmet, but rather left his head bare, displaying his white yet youthful hair. His two big fists rested at his sides, covered in spiky gauntlets. Stepping into the chamber, he paused to the gasps of the gathered, swelling at their astonishment. Duke Cajanis was first to his feet. Taking one step forward, the Norvan clapped at Thorin’s arrival, first alone, then joined by others until at last the gathering was up and cheering. Gilwyn looked around, shocked at the outpouring of affection. He knew it was fear that motivated most of them, and could not help but pity them all. Thorin strode proudly to the table, waiting for the cheers to die away. His eyes met Gilwyn’s with a twinkle of approval that Gilwyn did not return.
‘Sit, all of you,’ boomed Thorin.
He raised his hand to quiet the crowd, repeating his request until the noise relented and the soldiers took their seats. Thorin took a deep, satisfying breath, his hands resting palms down on the table. Behind him, two huge flags were draped side by side along the wall, one Liirian, the other Norvan. The scene appalled Gilwyn. Just months ago, Thorin had murdered Norvor’s queen.
‘Friends,’ began Thorin, ‘you honour me. You are the saviours of Liiria, and of Norvor too. Together we will do great things, but first we have a challenge. Once again our enemies are upon us. Once again we are called to fight and to sacrifice.’
There was nodding within the crowd. The most loyal of the soldiers vocally agreed. Others, Gilwyn noticed, squirmed a little.
Thorin continued, ‘On our eastern border, our enemy Raxor has returned. Last time we were merciful. Last time, we let Raxor and his army flee our land. And how do they repay us? By threatening us once again. Once more they seek to take what is ours.’ The baron clenched his fist. ‘But this time, we will not be merciful. This time, we will crush them utterly.’
The chamber rang with dutiful applause. Duke Cajanis cheered the bellicose words.
‘Raxor comes with another great army,’ Thorin went on. ‘As large as his last one. He is beloved by his people and we are sorely hated by them. They fear our strength, and that is wise of them. But they are not alone. This time, they have allies.’