Forest Kingdom Trilogy 2 - Blood and Honor

gauntlets closed into fists.
    i want to kill him,' said Ironheart quietly. 'I want it more than I've ever wanted anything before.'
    'In good time,' said the Monk. 'For the moment at least, we need him. As long as the Castle believes we serve Lewis, we're
    protected from too close a scrutiny. The Steward suspects our nature, but Lewis's position keeps her from doing anything about it. Put aside your anger, my friend. Lewis is useful to us.'
    'He won't always be.'
    'That's right. And then you and I will teach him the true meaning of fear and suffering.'
    Ironheart stirred, his metal joints creaking softly. 'It won't be enough. No matter how much he suffers, it won't be enough. I need him to burn and writhe as I have all these long years.'
    He reached up with his mailed gauntlets and lifted off his helmet. The room's soft lamplight shone palely on the dead white face. The flesh was slack and utterly colourless, even where the left eye had recently been cut in two by a sword thrust. No blood had flowed from the jagged edges of the wound, nor ever would.
    'I've been dead almost twelve years now,' said Ironheart slowly. His words were faintly slurred, as he fought to make the dead flesh of his lips and tongue do what they used to do so easily. 'Twelve years since I took my life, and damned myself by magic to this unliving hell. I did this to myself, Monk, and all for revenge on a man whose face I can't even remember now. I always was a fool where a woman was concerned. Now my organs rot and decay within me, and my bones grow brittle, and still the preservation spell won't let me die the true death. I can feel the rot and corruption within me, and the pain burns endlessly every hour of the day and night. I can't rest and I can't sleep and I'm always so damned tired! Sometimes I think the tiredness is worse than the pain. Can't you help me at all, Monk? You have power. Can't you at least let me sleep, just for a while?'
    'I'd help you if I could, my friend,' said the Monk, 'but the curse on you is beyond my undoing.'
    'I can't stand this much longer,' said Ironheart. 'I can't. I'll go mad. I move and talk and fight and pretend I'm still alive, but every day it gets harder to hold on to my memories of who I was. I'm losing them, bit by bit, to the endless pain and rage and frustration. Lewis swore he had a counterspell that would free me from this curse and let me die at last. But sometimes I think I'm too useful to him, and he'll never let me go. I'm losing hope, Monk, and hope is all I've got left.'
    'You must be strong, my friend,' said the Monk. 'It won't be long now, I promise you. Just hang on a little longer, and all your suffering will be at an end. I give you my word on it.'
    Ironheart looked at the Monk, and his dead mouth tried to smile. 'You're the only friend I have, Monk, and I'm not even sure you're Real. It doesn't matter anyway. I don't care. You've been a good friend to me. At least when I'm with you, I can almost forget the pain for a while.'
    'I can't stay with you long, Ironheart. But I'll stay as long as I can.'
    'I get so scared sometimes. Scared that when I finally get my chance to die, I won't have the guts to take it. This is worse than any hell I ever dreamed of, but even so sometimes the thought of dying scares me even more. I wasn't a bad man, in my day, but since I died I've done . . . questionable things, just to cling to this horrid existence. I'm afraid all the time now, Monk; scared to die, but just as scared of going on like this.'
    'Don't be scared,' said the Monk. 'I'm here with you.'
    They talked together for a while, their quiet distant voices so soft they raised no echo in the huge room.
    Finally the Monk could stay no longer, and he disappeared in a ripple of disturbed air. Ironheart replaced his featureless helm over his dead face, and stood motionless in his corner. After a while, a distant voice began to sing very quietly a song that had been popular some ten years ago: of the tragic love of a fair knight for a wicked Lady.
    Up on the roof, the guards were chasing gargoyles. The ugly grey creatures ran nimbly back and forth across the uneven slates, dodging the chasing guards with contemptuous ease. The guards ran doggedly on in pursuit, brandishing their nets. The full moon shed its light across the hills and valleys of the massive roof as though it was having trouble believing what it was seeing. The quiet night was full of the curses and harsh breathing of the running guards, and