by John Marco
‘Gilwyn, we have to act quickly,’ said Minikin. Her tone was exact. ‘Use Ruana and locate Ghost. Have him and the others return to the city at once. We have a fight on our hands now, and we’ll need everyone here.’
‘I will, Minikin,’ said Gilwyn. He looked at her anxiously. ‘And we’ll have to get the city ready, too, build defences, prepare . . .’
‘We will do that,’ Minikin agreed. ‘You’ll start, and when I return from Grimhold I’ll help you.’
‘Grimhold? Minikin, this attack can come at any time. We need you here.’
‘Aztar is still in Ganjor, Gilwyn,’ Minikin reminded him. ‘It will still be days yet before he can mount an attack. And we need to be ready for him. For that, we’ll need my Inhumans.’
‘And kreels, Minikin,’ added Gilwyn hopefully. ‘I can be there and back in less than a week,’ he told her, ‘with enough kreels to make a difference.’
Minikin gave no argument. ‘Make ready, then. Take Ghost with you.’
‘Really? You’re letting me go?’
‘Of course,’ replied Minikin. ‘You are regent.’ Determined, she looked out across the desert. ‘We will give this so-called prince a fight, your kreels and my Inhumans. It it time you found the valley. And time to call Greygor from the gate.’
27
Danger in Dreel
West of the Agora river, deep in a valley circled by a noose of mountains, lay the city of Dreel. The last important province before the fabled crossroads of Ganjor, Dreel was a bastion for those from the north, where merchants and traders still unfamiliar with the desert kingdoms could fill their bellies with familiar foods and contemplate turning back. In the streets of Dreel, among the darkly rising towers and slave markets, men from Liiria and Marn and Reec, bent on making a fortune on Ganjeese spices, did their last bits of horse-trading before riding south. Dreel was a stronghold, a fortress city that had long had good relations with the kings of the north. For a price, the dukes of Dreel had protected the north from an invasion that had never come. To Lorn and his companions, Dreel was a remarkable and frightening city, and they had paid dearly to enter it. The tax at the city gate had sorely depleted their pockets. But unlike the merchants and traders who had homes in the north waiting for them, there was no turning back for Lorn.
The journey south had been long and difficult for the Believers. There had been thirty of them when they’d left Koth, but they had lost three of their number in the terrible weeks since. Two of them, both women, had died from a lung sickness during the rains in Nith. The third, a man named Orus who had never been hearty, stumbled on his crippled legs and slipped into a ravine. Now, whittled down to twenty-seven, Lorn led the Believers through the gates of Dreel. The black and towering wall of the city rose up above them like a gargoyle’s wing, shadowing their faces with sooty torchlight. The sliver of a moon struggled through swarming clouds. Eiriann and her father Garthel exchanged worried glances from their place in the wagon. The toll had been great because they were so many, and none of them had expected it to be so high. Dreel soldiers at the gate snickered as they passed. They were, Lorn knew, a desperate-looking bunch.
‘I have been rich and I have been poor,’ he said as he led the wagon’s horse by the reins. ‘Rich is better.’
Eiriann, who was holding Poppy, grimaced as she surveyed their surroundings. Despite the hour, Dreel’s main thoroughfare remained active. Armed men in the employ of Duke Erlik, the ruler of Dreel, patrolled the streets and ogled the whores on the corners. Destitute beggars and merchants in fabulous coaches roamed the avenue, while the taverns kept busy with thirsty workmen. Dreel was well known for its debauchery, where anything could be purchased for a price. Here, the vaunted laws and courts of the northern kingdoms were but a happy memory. Yet Lorn was glad to see the city. For all its ugliness, it meant they were nearing Ganjor at last.
‘Don’t fret,’ he told Eiriann. ‘We’ll spend a day or two here and rest. Then we’ll head for Ganjor.’
‘We’ll need money,’ Garthel reminded him. ‘Or when we get to Ganjor we won’t have enough to buy passage through the desert.’
The old man’s words made the other Believers nod with worry.
‘We’ll manage,’ said Lorn. ‘Somehow.’
He himself was unsure how, but they had already made it so far with so little. It had been many weeks since they’d left Koth, but despite their infirmities and the hardships of the road Eiriann and the others had proved remarkably resilient. Lorn was proud of them. He was proud to be leading them. He had not wanted to become their leader, but because he was healthy and because he could fight the Believers had looked at him for guidance within the first day of leaving the library. It seemed not to matter to them that he was nearly as old as Garthel. He was King Lorn the Wicked, and though they had feared him they admired him now, the way he had led them.
For Lorn, it felt good to lead again. The Believers had become a tiny army in his mind, and certainly more loyal than the one that had betrayed him in Carlion. He was needed. Even when they were in Nith, soaked with rain from a storm that seemed to follow them everywhere, he was glad that he was with them, and that he had not stayed in Koth to fight Jazana Carr. At least now Poppy would have a chance. One day she would be whole, he told himself constantly, and that would be enough reward.
‘Where will we stay?’ asked one of the group, a young man named Bezarak. Blind since birth, Bezarak nevertheless walked much of the way, leaving the space in the wagons for those who could not. He was a hearty fellow who always urged them to go on further, no matter how tired he appeared. Like all the Believers, Bezarak was sure a cure awaited him in Jador. As if he could see, he glanced up into the sky. ‘Are there many clouds?’
‘No,’ answered Garthel. ‘We can sleep in the wagons tonight.’
‘We’ll have to,’ said Eiriann. ‘We can’t afford better.’
None of them complained, but their plight was bitter to Lorn. For a moment his mind skipped back to Carlion, with its soft beds and decent food. Even during the famine times he’d never truly gone hungry.
‘We’ll find a quiet place,’ he told them. ‘There must be someplace like that in this city. Then, in the morning, we’ll see what we can trade.’
There was very little left to trade, but they all nodded. Bezarak hurried his pace to stand near Lorn.
‘What’s it look like?’ he asked softly.
‘What?’ asked Lorn. ‘Dreel?’
‘Yes.’ The young man swivelled his head, listening to all the noise, then took a breath. ‘It smells funny.’ They were passing a street corner where a gaggle of prostitutes were waiting. Bezarak smiled. ‘Women.’
Lorn laughed. ‘Aye, women, and if I had a gold coin to my name I’d have them make a man out of you.’
Garthel and the other men laughed now, too, but young Eiriann made a disgusted face.
‘Ah, you’re all pigs. Bezarak, you won’t find a worthy woman in this province, to be sure. If you weren’t blind already, staring at those harlots would make you so.’
‘Fate above, let the fellow have some dreams,’ said her father, Garthel. ‘If I were younger those ladies would have something to worry about.’
Eiriann rolled her eyes in embarrassment; the weary group enjoyed a laugh. Together they struggled deeper into town, to the place where the streets were wide but crowded by tall buildings. Lorn looked around, wondering where they should rest for the night. Eiriann was right; they had no money for shelter and would have to retire under the sky once again. Luckily, there were only taverns and closed shops in the area. The streets were mostly deserted of people. Without shopkeepers to shoo them off, Lorn decided the place was good enough. If they crowded together, there would be room in the wagons for all of them, at least while one or two of them remained awake and watchful. He told them to get comfortable, and without complaint the Believers set to work, rolling out blankets to prepare for sleep and unhitching their depleted horses and donkeys. Majis and Jollin, two of
the more able-bodied of the group, took the beasts to water them from a trough not far up the street. Eiriann began readying Poppy for sleep, though the baby was already slumbering in her arms. Lorn watched, satisfied, then noticed movement from the corner of his eye.
Two men approached from across the street. Both soldiers, they wore the dark capes and stylised helmets of Dreel. Men of Duke Erlik, Lorn guessed. There were other men of means in Dreel, but it was well known that Erlik ruled here. Lorn relaxed, preparing to launch into his well-rehearsed pretext.
‘Ho,’ called one of the soldiers. They had come from the gate, but had left behind their long spears. They bore only swords, but left these dangling unthreateningly in their sheaths. Eiriann stopped what she was doing and held Poppy a bit closer, glowering at the men from atop the wagon.
‘Evening,’ replied Lorn. He remained as casual as he could. ‘Is something wrong? We paid our toll at the gate.’
‘Nothing’s wrong,’ replied the other man. Like his darkly draped twin, this one had a young voice. Now that they were closer, Lorn could see their youthful faces, cleanly shaven and callow. ‘We noticed you come in,’ the soldier continued. ‘You’re not from around here.’
‘We answered this at the gate,’ said Lorn. ‘We’re travelers from Liiria.’
The first soldier nodded. ‘We understand. We’re men of Duke Erlik, ruler of Dreel. We’re here to help you.’
‘You look like you could use some help,’ added the other man. He gestured toward Poppy. ‘Especially with the child. The duke greets all visitors to his city if he can, especially those from the north who need aid.’
‘Oh? Why is that?’ asked Lorn.
‘Sir, look around you,’ the soldier went on. ‘You’re new to Dreel, but this can be a tough city, and if you’re not careful harm may come to you. Duke Erlik tries to protect his northern cousins. If you need food, maybe some money, the duke wants to help.’
The news made all the weary travellers smile. Old Garthel clapped his hands together. ‘Your duke is generous indeed,’ he said. ‘We could use some supplies, maybe someone to fix the wheels of this wagon . . .’
‘Fresh water, too,’ added Bezarak. ‘If we can help ourselves from your wells.’
‘The wells are for anyone,’ said the second soldier. He tilted up his helmet, revealing fronds of blond hair. ‘Take your fill of water. As for food, we can talk about that.’ He looked at Lorn. ‘You lead these people?’
Lorn nodded. ‘My name is Akan,’ he said. ‘We’re all together, but if anyone speaks for them it’s me.’
‘Good, then you can speak for their needs. Duke Erlik isn’t far. He’d be pleased to talk with you, I’m sure. We’ll escort you.’
Eiriann perked up. ‘The duke himself?’
‘Yes, madam,’ replied the first soldier. He took immediate notice of her pretty face. ‘The duke is a good man. You may come to meet him, too, if you wish.’
‘No,’ said Lorn immediately. ‘She has work to tend with the others.’
Eiriann’s face hardened. ‘I’d like to go,’ she said, then added tartly, ‘Please, let me go with you, Father.’
Lorn flashed her an angry glare. Her own father, Garthel, held back a grin.
‘Yes, have your daughter come, Akan,’ said the first soldier. ‘The others can stay behind for now, at least until the duke tells us where to put you all.’
‘Put us? He means to shelter us?’ asked Lorn.
‘If that’s your wish,’ the soldier answered. ‘Please, at least come and speak to him.’
Lorn gave the soldiers his most practised smile. ‘Duke Erlik honours us. All right, then. We’ll come and speak with him. Our needs are few, and I can thank him properly for his kindness.’ He looked up at Eiriann. ‘Let Garthel look after the baby . . . Daughter.’ He offered her a hand. ‘You come with me.’
‘Thank you, Father,’ said Eiriann. Playing the part perfectly, she let Lorn help her down from the wagon. Her feet clacked when they hit the cobblestone street. ‘Get some rest,’ she told their comrades. ‘We shouldn’t be long.’
Lorn kept hold of her hand. ‘We’re ready,’ he told the guardians.
The soldiers waved agreeably to the others, wished them well, then turned and started off down the avenue, leading Lorn and Eiriann away. Lorn looked around carefully, surveying the street. They were surrounded by tall buildings and flickering lamps spewing smoke into the night. Glancing over his shoulder, he could see his companions and, behind them, the gateway of Dreel getting ever smaller. They were heading deeper into the city, though Lorn knew not where. Up ahead he noticed the main thoroughfare splitting off into a myriad of smaller, narrow roads. A handful of soldiers milled along the walkways, taking no notice of them. Drunk businessmen and tradesmen caroused in little pockets, polluting the street corners. Lorn kept Eiriann close as they walked. With their armed escort they were safe from brigands, he knew, yet there were other dangers, as yet unknown to her.
‘Where resides the duke so late?’ Lorn asked. He tossed the question off casually, not wanting to arouse the soldiers.
‘Duke Erlik keeps to the Blue Ram most nights,’ said the blond man.
‘A tavern?’ Eiriann asked.
‘Aye. He owns the Ram. Most nights he’s there.’
‘All night?’ probed Lorn.
‘Till he gets tired,’ the blond man replied. ‘Come. It’s not far . . .’
Lorn waited, pleased to see the crowds around them thinning. They were still on the main avenue, however, still too much in view. He scanned the dark windows of the storefronts and high apartments. Without looking he checked the sword at his side, then felt for the dagger in his boot. Blood and excitement coursed through his mind. In his ears he felt his pulse pound.
Turn off, he thought, willing them out of the broad street. His eyes darted madly about. Just turn off . . .
He’d have to move quick, like a leopard. Waiting, he prepared himself with steady breaths. Next to him, Eiriann suspected nothing. Lorn let go of her hand as the avenue at last began to darken. She had wanted to come, damn her. Arguing would have made the men suspicious.
At last, the two soldiers turned a corner. The street, far narrower than the avenue, funnelled the shadows from the high brick buildings into every crevice. Up ahead lay another street, brighter and broader. Lorn knew the moment had come.
And, like the leopard, he exploded.
With his left hand he pushed Eiriann aside; with his right he drew his sword. Metal rang as the blade sprang forth. The soldiers heard the sound and began to turn. Lorn’s sword swiped powerfully forward – severing the man’s neck. Eiriann screamed. The blond soldier faltered back as his comrade’s head somersaulted, sprinkling blood through the street. Before the corpse could fall Lorn was on the blond man. Before the soldier drew his sword Lorn had pinned him. Before he could shriek a single cry his head was battered against the nearby wall. Lorn manhandled him, driving his helmeted skull again and again against the bricks. Stunned, the young man went limp. As he slumped to the ground Lorn turned to Eiriann.
‘Go back to the others,’ he ordered, trying hard to check his volume. The soldier was still conscious. Eiriann stood, horror-struck.
‘What . . . ?’
‘Eiriann, hurry. Get back before we’re found!’
‘What happened?’ the girl stammered. There was blood on her face and shabby dress. Her wide eyes watched as Lorn hastily removed the soldier’s helmet.
‘They know it’s me,’ he said. ‘They must!’
He set the helmet aside and slapped the stunned man’s face, waking him. The soldier’s eyes fluttered open, confused. Blood from his fractured skull trickled down his forehead.
‘Do you want to live?’ Lorn asked pointedly.
He kept his big hand clamped around the man’s throat. Amazingly, the soldier nodded.
‘Then tell me the truth. Duke Erlik was waiting for us, wasn’t he?’
The man nodded, fighting to breathe.
/> ‘Why?’
‘To bring you,’ croaked the soldier. ‘To kill you . . .’
‘What?’ Eiriann gasped. She looked at Lorn helplessly.
‘Erlik’s a snake, Eiriann,’ said Lorn. ‘I know of him from Norvor. Believe me, he’s no one’s benefactor. He must have gotten word I was coming south.’ He shook the dazed man savagely. ‘Tell me,’ he demanded. ‘Is that what happened? Were you waiting for us?’
Again the bloodied head nodded. ‘Yes,’ gasped the man. ‘Waiting . . .’
‘But why?’ asked Eiriann.
‘Eiriann, go!’ Lorn snapped. ‘Duke Erlik means to capture me, to sell me to Jazana Carr, no doubt. You and the others have to leave!’
‘We won’t abandon you!’
‘I’m a danger to you, don’t you see? You have to leave Dreel now, while you can. Take the road to Ganjor.’
‘Without you? Lorn, no . . .’
‘I’ll meet up with you if I can,’ Lorn said. He looked around, hunching over the soldier, trying to stay in the shadows. ‘Gods above, girl, I’ve just killed a man! No more arguing!’
‘But what will happen to you?’
‘Go!’
Eiriann started sputtering, then stopped herself. She looked desperately at Lorn and knew he was right. She turned and ran back down the street. Lorn watched her go, terrified for her safety. Already time was slipping away. He thought for a moment, steadying himself. The blond man’s groggy eyes looked up at him, pleading.
‘Don’t . . . kill me . . .’
Lorn tightened his fingers around the gasping throat. ‘Ah, but you’re fading fast, my friend. If you don’t get help soon, you will die. Shall I help you die?’
‘Please, no . . .’
‘Does Erlik know I’m here? Has he sent others after me?’
‘No, no others,’ the man fought to explain. ‘We were told . . . to look for you.’
That gem of information made Lorn smile. Suddenly he was in control again – at least until the bodies were discovered.
