by John Marco
‘We’re all mad, don’t you know that? Isn’t that what you southerners say?’
‘Not just southerners, madam.’
Gedena adjusted the swaddling around Poppy. ‘Will you at least tell me the child’s name?’
Lorn shook his head. ‘No. Take care of my daughter. See that she gets a good night’s sleep.’
‘I’ll bring in those blankets and lamp,’ replied Gedena. She paused a moment to frown at Lorn. ‘You are wrong about my husband, you know. He is a good man. Not like you.’
‘Then you’ll be glad to be rid of me,’ said Lorn. ‘Just remember what I said – keep my daughter safe.’
Gedena turned without answering him and went back to her house. Lorn watched her the entire time, until she disappeared inside. He supposed he had done the right thing, but he still wasn’t certain. Poppy needed a warm place to sleep, that much was true. And this place seemed safe enough. He went back into the stable and laid himself down on the hay. He was wretchedly tired, and when he remembered his horse left outside he cursed.
‘Oh, damn it . . .’
He decided to rest just a moment before bringing the beast inside. Exhaustion quickly overtook him, though, and he was asleep before Gedena returned with the blankets.
4
Shalafein
The heat of the desert made the horizon shimmer. An ever-present breeze whispered on the air. Up in its orange cradle, the merciless sun, god of this world, burned the sky.
Lukien of Liiria looked out across the dunes, across what looked to be an endless sea of sand, squinting with his one eye against the mirages rising from the earth. From where he sat upon his horse it seemed the Desert of Tears was all there was, and all that had ever been. No longer could he see Jador or its splendid spires, nor sprawling, menacing Ganjor. There was only sand, forever shifting, devouring itself. Lukien unwrapped the gaka from around his face. He had never gotten used to the heavy desert clothes. He drew a hand across his forehead and wiped away a slick of sweat. The relentless sun blinded him.
‘I see nothing,’ he said to his companions. ‘You?’
Beside him, Gilwyn Toms sat upon his kreel, a small female of the species he had named Emerald. Like all of them, Gilwyn wore a gaka to stave off the sun. The scales of his reptilian mount riffled anxiously through colours as she and her rider scanned the horizon.
‘Nothing,’ replied Gilwyn. He turned toward the men they’d brought with them, five Jadori warriors who had become their friends, and a single Inhuman from Grimhold wrapped completely in robes so that every inch of his skin was covered. The dark-coloured Jadori were used to the desert sun and so did not hide themselves behind gakas as completely as the northerners did. Each of them watched the distant dunes. Together they had ridden a long way from Jador, hurrying out into the desert once news had reached them of the Seekers. It had gone on like this for months now, ever since word had escaped of Grimhold’s existence. So far, though, they hadn’t found the Seekers Princess Salina had warned them about.
‘We should go on,’ said the one from Grimhold. He was an albino named Ghost, and like many from his fabled home his abilities were remarkable. Because of this he had remained in Jador with Gilwyn, helping to protect the desert city. The same was true for Lukien. In a prior life he had been the Bronze Knight, and there were those who called him that still. But in Jador he had taken on a Jadori name – Shalafein, the Great Protector. Around his neck he wore the Eye of God. He could feel it now beneath his robes, pulsing lightly, its silent spirit keeping him alive. He belonged to Grimhold now, despite a life spent in Liiria. And because of the amulet, he was as much an Inhuman as Ghost.
‘Maybe it’s too late,’ remarked Gilwyn. ‘Maybe the raiders have gotten them.’
It was the same dark conclusion they’d all come to, though Lukien hated to admit it. Riding out from Jador in a panicked rush was no way to save people, and they had already lost countless Seekers to the raiders. They were a vicious lot, Aztar’s men, willing to murder anyone they robbed, even children. It was why Lukien always tried so hard to save them, and why he always grieved when he couldn’t.
In the last few months the Seekers had come across the desert in waves. It had been as Minikin had predicted. Once word reached the outside world of Grimhold’s existence, it had been impossible to stop them. No matter their ailments, the Seekers willingly braved the desert, seeking the magical place of healing. The blind and insane, the crippled, the deaf; they had all left their homes behind to find the place some of them called ‘Mount Believer’. It broke Lukien’s heart to see them. Like he and Gilwyn and their comrade Baron Glass, the Seekers were northerners, mostly. Some were even Liirians. But none had known the truth of Grimhold, or that Minikin, the mistress of that place, had not enough magic to save them. They knew only of the legend, and their desperate hope drove them onward.
‘We go on,’ said Lukien. ‘We must find them.’
Gilwyn didn’t argue. ‘We should separate,’ he suggested. ‘We can cover more area that way.’
‘And if we run into raiders?’ The smirk behind Ghost’s gaka was almost audible. ‘What then?’
‘We have to find the Seekers,’ said Gilwyn. ‘If we don’t they’ll die.’
‘If they’re not dead already,’ countered Ghost. He was as frustrated as the rest of them, partly because there were so few Jadori kreel riders to help them. So many had died in the war against Liiria, both men and their mounts. That was a year ago, and still the Jadori had not been able to train enough of the slow-maturing beasts. But Ghost was no coward, Lukien knew; the albino had volunteered for this mission.
‘Gilwyn’s right,’ said Lukien. ‘We can part here and cover more ground. If we don’t find them in an hour we can head back. If we find raiders—’
Lukien had no chance to finish his sentence. Behind him, one of his sharp-eyed Jadori companions gave a shout, pointing ahead to a dune. The Bronze Knight looked hard, spotting movement in a distant valley of sand.
‘Is that them?’ he asked. ‘I can’t tell.’
The Jadori warriors swarmed forward, their reptilian mounts sensing their need. The keen eyes of the kreels could see far better than those of their human riders, and once they had sighted the movement in the valley they shot the image into the minds of their masters.
‘Seekers,’ said Kamar. He spoke no Liirian but the word was the same to the Jadori. Kamar nodded to himself, not really looking but seeing the travellers through the eyes of his kreel. His Jadori companions did the same, as did Gilwyn.
‘He’s right, it’s them,’ Gilwyn confirmed. ‘And more.’ He pointed with dread beyond the valley. ‘Look there.’
Lukien and Ghost both followed Gilwyn’s finger. They were the only two of the group on horseback, and had no magical link with their mounts. But even Lukien with his single eye could see the cloud of sand being kicked up from the dune.
‘Raiders,’ spat Ghost. ‘How many?’
Gilwyn stared but it was Emerald that saw. ‘Thirty or more,’ said the boy.
‘And how many Seekers?’ pressed Lukien.
‘Half that many,’ replied Gilwyn. ‘I can’t tell exactly.’
That was some good news, thought Lukien. If there were men among them, they could fight if their maladies weren’t too severe. But there was little time to act. From what he could see, the raiders were close to the Seekers. Thankfully, the kreel were much quicker than any horse.
‘Go,’ Lukien ordered. ‘Protect them. Ghost and I will go after the raiders.’
Gilwyn didn’t waste a moment. With the Jadori close behind, he bolted forward on his kreel, leaping over the dune and bounding headlong through the sand, speeding toward the Seekers. Lukien and Ghost hurried after them, their horses galloping against the sand. Already the kreels and their riders were well ahead, and with five Jadori warriors to protect them Lukien knew the Seekers could be saved. But the raiders were a brutal bunch, and he and Ghost would be outnumbered.
‘Ride!’
cried Lukien, urging on his stallion. His robes and headdress snapped in the wind. His voice pierced the desert. Ghost was still beside him, still visible, but it wouldn’t be long until he vanished like a mirage. Lukien tucked himself down deeper in his saddle, breaking off from the direction of the Seekers, heading toward the raiders. He could see them now and they saw him, high on their hill, their desert robes of many colours, brigands without a flag. Aztar had called his tribe from across the desert lands, from Ganjor and Dreel, and they had come for his unholy cause. But Aztar himself had never come to battle. Today, once again, Lukien knew he’d slake his thirst on the blood of underlings.
‘So be it!’ Drawing his sword, he cursed the raiders in their own tongue, goading them away from the Seekers. His cries caused the desired commotion; the Ganjeese warriors looked around in confusion, shouting amongst themselves as Lukien blazed toward them. Preparing himself, Lukien glanced over his shoulder at Ghost – and saw nothing there.
‘I’m with you!’ came the Inhuman’s disembodied voice.
A ferocious smile crossed Lukien’s lips. He had seen Ghost’s amazing power before, but marvelled at it still. Better, it always shocked their foes. He charged on, unafraid. He hadn’t feared death in ages. There were times he even longed for it, when the memory of his dead Cassandra plagued him or when he thought of his past life, so full of wrongs. But the Eye of God would not release him to death. Berserk with rage, Lukien dug his boots into his stallion’s sides, eager for the fight. He could hear Gilwyn and the Jadori in the distance, shouting as they announced themselves to the Seekers. Aztar’s warriors waited on the dune, then abruptly split in two, one group awaiting Lukien, the other riding for his friends.
‘Damn it, come on!’ urged Lukien. He raised his broadsword in his fist. ‘Fight me!’
‘They’re heading for the others,’ said Ghost, still invisible.
‘I know!’
His stallion raking the dune, Lukien let his enemies have the high ground. Ghost’s magic had blanketed their brains, and all they saw was one desperate fool. They reared on their horses, ten weaponed men in Ganjeese garb, scimitars ready to cut him down. Lukien barrelled up the dune after them, poising his blade for battle. The amulet around his neck flared to life, burning his chest.
‘Are you with me, Amaraz, you deaf bastard?’
As always, the spirit of the Eye was silent. Lukien laughed hatefully.
‘Then I will kill them alone!’
But of course Lukien knew he was not alone. Amaraz would keep him alive despite mortal wounds. It gave him strength as he rode into the raiders, who shouted as he clashed against them. Lukien’s broadsword cut through the air, smashing the clumsy defence of the nearest man. They wore no armour, these men of Aztar, and the broadsword made quick work of flesh and bone. The warrior’s arm came off at the shoulder. Lukien ignored his scream, turning at once to another foe. There were shouts from the rear; Ghost was at his unseen worst. The warrior galloped toward Lukien, shouting with a raised scimitar. Their swords clanged as the men parried each other’s blows, but only for an instant. None of the raiders was Lukien’s equal. The Liirian’s sword dipped low, catching the Ganjeese and sending fingers flying. A twist in his saddle brought Lukien’s blade whistling around, slicing through the man’s neck. Blood sprayed from the stump as Lukien turned to find another. The Eye of God raged beneath his robes, bursting through the fabric with angry light. The other raiders watched in dread as he came at them, shocked at how fast their comrades fell. But all knew the legend of Shalafein, and boasted openly of killing him.
‘Not today!’ cried Lukien. His horse reared and whinnied, his sword danced through the air. Concentrating, he caught the smallest glimpse of Ghost. The young albino threaded through the warriors, stabbing at them furiously, dragging them from horseback like an assassin. There was magic among them; they knew it now and panicked. Breaking from the dune, the warriors rode away all at once, barrelling down the hill toward their comrades and the Seekers. Lukien gave chase, shouting for Ghost to follow. In a second the Inhuman was visible again.
‘Lukien, look . . .’
The knight saw it, too. Down in the valley, Gilwyn and the Jadori were surrounded as they tried to protect the Seekers. Outnumbered, the Jadori and their kreels were in combat as Gilwyn and Emerald tried to fight free of the horde. There were at least a dozen of the Seekers – Lukien could see them clearly now. The men had gathered the women and children around a single desert wagon. They themselves were poorly armed, mostly with walking sticks.
‘Hurry, Ghost, hurry!’ cried Lukien, snapping his reins in pursuit. The kreels could easily handle two or more horsemen, but they had the Seekers to protect and that was all-important, because Aztar had given his men brutal orders – the Seekers were to die. And the Ganjeese themselves were ready to die in the cause, for Aztar’s wrath was legendary. As Lukien and Ghost raced into the valley, Gilwyn struggled to keep the raiders from the huddled northerners. He expertly commanded Emerald, slipping the kreel under every attack, beating back those who broke through the line of Jadori warriors. But there were more raiders coming and Gilwyn had seen them. So too had their Ganjeese brothers. Gilwyn’s concentration faltered as one of the raiders slipped past the Jadori. He was a big man with robes grander than the rest, a Zarturk by the looks of him, one of Aztar’s own lieutenants. Gilwyn turned on him too late, just as the man barrelled past him. The clash knocked the boy from Emerald’s back, sending him colliding with the sand.
The Zarturk reached the Seekers, raised his scimitar, and cut down a fragile man, cracking through his cane and opening his chest. The other Seekers scattered. The Zarturk gave chase. Like the weakest of a herd, he spotted a young girl limping quickly away. He spurred his horse and caught her, grabbing her collar and dragging her through the sand, away from the others as he returned to the protection of his men. Shouting orders, he gathered his raiders about him, who broke off their attack and rode away from the Seekers just as Lukien and Ghost approached. The Jadori warriors did not pursue, but retreated to the wagon and the downed Gilwyn, who was getting unsteadily to his feet. Lukien and Ghost rode up to him, their horses skidding to a stop.
‘Are you all right?’ Lukien asked.
The boy nodded. ‘I’m fine. They got that girl, Lukien!’ Across the sands Lukien saw the Zarturk surrounded by his men. There were twenty of them now, still a lopsided number. The desert leader had the struggling girl in his arms as he watched them imperiously from the safety of his horde.
‘Melini!’
Lukien spun to see a woman racing out from behind the wagon. The Jadori warrior Kamar dropped from his kreel to stop her, pulling her backward. ‘They have my daughter!’ she shouted.
‘Stop!’ Lukien commanded. ‘We’ll get her back.’
The woman tore at Kamar to free herself, then fell to her knees in sobs. The other Seekers were returning, some hovering over the man who had fallen, others approaching Lukien and his comrades. A man older than the woman came and comforted her, then looked up at Lukien.
‘Thank you,’ he said. Obviously shaken, he seemed to be the leader of the group. ‘If you hadn’t come—’
‘Are these your people?’ asked Lukien.
The man rose. ‘Yes. My name is Paxon. We’re from Liiria. We’re seeking—’
‘Mount Believer, I know,’ said Lukien. He shook his head in disgust. ‘Fate above. What is the woman’s name?’ he asked, pointing his chin at her.
‘This is Calith. That’s her daughter they’ve taken, Melini,’ said Paxon. He helped Calith to her feet. ‘They’ve killed Crizil. If you hadn’t come they would have killed us too.’
‘Who are they?’ asked Calith. ‘Why did they take my baby?’
‘They’re warriors of Prince Aztar,’ said Lukien. ‘This is his desert, or so he claims.’
‘We didn’t know,’ said Calith desperately. ‘Tell them for us. Tell them so they’ll bring Melini back!’
‘It won’t matter to them,’
said Ghost suddenly. ‘Lukien, they’ve seen you. That’s why they broke off their attack and took the girl.’
Gilwyn nodded. ‘And that’s why they waited so long to attack.’ He looked at his friend. ‘Another challenge, Lukien.’
Brooding, Lukien turned toward the Zarturk and his waiting men. Since becoming Shalafein, Aztar’s men had challenged him often. It was said that the Prince of the Desert had put a bounty on his head so large that any man who slayed the Shalafein would become a prince himself. To Aztar, Lukien was as guilty of soiling the desert as the Seekers, because he protected them and the Jadori who gave them shelter. Unconsciously he put his hand to his chest, feeling the outline of the amulet beneath his gaka. The Eye of God had brought him back from the brink of death. It kept him alive when he should have perished, but it also brought these bloody challenges.
‘Calith, I will get your daughter back if I can,’ he said.
Gilwyn looked grave. ‘Don’t give him the amulet, Lukien.’
‘He doesn’t want it handed to him, Gilwyn. He wants to fight for it. So I will fight him, and I will kill him. Kamar . . .’
The Jadori came to him at once, looking earnest. Because the languages of Jador and Ganjor were similar, Kamar would be their mediator. But Lukien himself spoke little Jadori, and so told Gilwyn what he wanted.
‘Gilwyn, explain it to him. Tell Kamar that I will fight the Zarturk for the girl, but that his men must leave when I defeat him. Tell him that if he has any honour at all, he will agree to these conditions.’
Gilwyn told this all to Kamar without hesitation. In the short year he’d been in Jador, the boy had picked up the language remarkably well. Kamar listened, nodded, then frowned at Lukien, who knew he didn’t approve.
‘Tell them, Kamar,’ said Lukien. ‘I can beat this bastard easily.’
They all knew it, too. Lukien’s skill at killing had shocked them all. Kamar nodded, then trotted his kreel out from their circle. He paused a good distance from the gathered raiders, shouting across the sand. The Zarturk listened intently as Kamar delivered the terms. He had unwrapped the gaka from his face and now clearly showed his smiling features. The girl still squirmed in his arms, reaching out for her mother, but the desert leader ignored her. Questions and accusations flew back and forth. Finally the Zarturk handed the girl over to one of his men.
