by John Marco
‘Revenge!’ Thorin spun away, laughing mirthlessly. ‘Imagine a lifetime locked in that armour. A thousand lifetimes! Imagine the horror of it. Kahldris made the armour for his people and they shunned him. Not just his brother, but his whole damned race. They had the means to defeat the Jadori in their hands, and instead they let themselves be slaughtered like sheep.’
Finally, terribly, Gilwyn understood. ‘He wants revenge against the Akari.’
‘That’s right,’ said Thorin. Madness crackled on his tortured face. His voice became a twisted whisper as he stuck his nose close to Gilwyn. ‘I’m just a puppet on a string,’ he said. ‘So are you. So are all of us. Thank you for trying to save me, boy, but it’s already too late. Because once Kahldris takes care of his brother, he’s going back to Grimhold. And then he will destroy it.’
65
Lukien saw a distant kreel, its legs propelling it across the shimmering sands. The rider caught no sight of him, disappearing quickly through the dunes that led in a meandering line toward the white city. Lukien squinted against the powerful sun. His neck burned from long days on horseback. He stopped himself, leaning back in his saddle to admire the fleeing kreel, knowing he was home. The tall towers of Jador’s palace twinkled in the orange haze, stark and beautiful against the desert backdrop. The high wall surrounding the city blinded, its polished rock sending shards of sunlight in all directions. A great, wistful smile twisted the knight’s blanched lips. He had come across the world and back again, and the weight of his journey made his shoulders slump with exhaustion. Beneath him, the horse that had given him everything threatened to collapse, its legs made brittle from the impossible trek from Tharlara. Lukien patted the beast’s lathered neck.
‘You can rest forever now, my friend,’ he rasped. ‘That is home.’
Within him, Lukien felt the thrill of his Akari, Malator, as the long-dead spirit watched the city through the eye of his host. In Kaliatha Malator had mourned, but now his feelings soared like an eagle, buoyed by Lukien’s own indescribable joy. It was enough for the spirit to share the happiness, and Lukien honoured the moment by falling silent himself. So far, none within the city or on its walls had seen him approaching, the ragged knight in his bedraggled clothes, his face heavy with beard. Not even the fleet-footed kreel had smelled him. But soon they would know he had come. He was Shalafein – the defender – and they would feast and celebrate his homecoming. Lukien’s mind turned to the good foods and fine wines and the faces of his friends, and summoning the last fibres of his horse’s mettle he drove the weary mount onward to the city, through the sands that sucked at its hooves and along the dunes that swept dust into their eyes. The glorious city loomed ahead, growing ever taller as Lukien approached.
Together the silent trio approached the outskirts of Jador, and Lukien noticed for the first time the changes wrought in the city. How long had he been gone? A year, perhaps, he reasoned, and yet he saw a newness to the ancient wall. Battlements had been constructed along its length, and he knew these things did not belong. Puzzled, he drove on, and soon heard the murmur of the city. The populace in its hidden streets buzzed with mid-day business. Lukien steered his horse toward the palace, the grand structure clearly visible beyond the wall. When at last he reached the white edifice, he looked across its length to find egress, knowing there were gates built within it, the largest of which stood at the front of the city. Because he was miles away from there, Lukien waited, patiently trotting along the sands until he came at last to a gate manned by a trio of Jadori guardsmen. The gate was open, allowing kreel riders and people of commerce to flow in and out as they wished. The guardsmen, looking unconcerned, turned unexpectedly toward Lukien as he rode up to them. Not recognizing any of the young men, Lukien nevertheless smiled at them.
‘I am Lukien,’ he declared. ‘And I have returned.’
Word of the Bronze Knight’s return spread quickly through the city, reaching White-Eye in the palace while she and Lorn were playing with Poppy in one of the palace’s numerous alcoves. Eiriann, who had been mending garments with the other women, had been the first to hear about Lukien’s arrival, and had raced into the alcove to tell the news. Lorn stood up with Poppy in his arms, staring at the amazed White-Eye as they listened together to Eiriann’s tale. Lukien had entered the city, she told them, and was heading for the palace. Hearing this, White-Eye had hurriedly dispatched a contingent of men to fetch him and bring him to her. Now, as excitement buzzed within the royal residence, White-Eye and Lorn waited for Lukien in a shaded terrace of the palace, a sprawling area of polished flooring with a fountain that bubbled continuously and a low ceiling to protect White-Eye from the powerful sun. The terrace echoed with the excited voices of those who had gathered to greet the returning knight. More than two dozen Jadori – soldiers and citizens both – clamoured for a chance to see him. White-Eye stood apart from them, straight and regal, her blank eyes looking out over the encroaching garden. Lorn, still holding the two-year old Poppy, kept close enough to the queen to seem like one of her advisors, yet far enough away to give her the importance she deserved. Lorn’s beloved, the young Eiriann, stood next to the old king, as excited as any of them to be seeing the legendary Lukien.
‘What will he look like, do you think?’ Eiriann wondered, holding Lorn’s elbow. ‘I heard he was handsome once, but no more.’
Lorn smirked. ‘Should I worry?’
She laughed and pecked his rough cheek. ‘You are handsome. But are you not curious?’
‘I am. Don’t I seem so?’
Eiriann did not reply, giving Lorn a taste of her recent aloofness. It had been easy for the perceptive woman to sense his dissatisfaction the last few weeks. Ever since the retreat of Baralosus and his army, Lorn had felt less and less useful, and Eiriann had tried to ease his unrest. Now, though, she keened like the rest of the crowd, eager to glimpse the returning Lukien.
‘There’s much he doesn’t know, don’t forget,’ rumbled Lorn lowly. ‘He’ll be expecting to see Gilwyn.’
None of these things seemed to worry White-Eye, however. The Kahana had taken the time to brush her hair and change her dress for Lukien’s return. She looked proud and glamourous in the shade of the protective terrace, her back as straight as her pretty jet hair, her face flushed with anticipation. Even Poppy, deaf as she was, could feel the vibrations of the place, bringing a smile to her cheerful face. Lorn held his daughter close, unable to help himself from bristling. He had heard stories about the Liirian knight for years. Lukien had even helped his nemesis, the hated Jazana Carr, serving as one of her mercenary dogs for years with Baron Glass. As he waited for Lukien, Lorn prepared himself for the natural animosity he was sure would spring up between them.
Amid the chirping birds and gathered voices, Lorn soon heard the approach of men. The crowd went hush. A statue of a women holding a pitcher stood at the edge of the chamber’s floor, where the smooth stone met the sand. Lorn watched the statue as the outline of the men appeared behind it. First came a Jadori warrior, smiling. The man bowed hurriedly to his queen, then waved at the others to come into view. Poppy squirmed in Lorn’s arms as he craned for a better look, suddenly glimpsing a man come into view. The tall northerner turned toward the chamber of the queen, looking momentarily bewildered. His skin, red from the sun, bore the marks of a life lived hard. A black patch of cloth covered his eye, and his once golden hair hung now with streaks of grey. He wore plain, unadorned riding clothes and a beaten leather coat, giving him the look of a brigand. At his belt dangled a formidable looking sword. He paused at the edge of the terrace, his sole eye searching the crowd. It came to rest finally on White-Eye, followed by a wide, wolfish grin. Somehow knowing he had arrived, White-Eye stepped forward with her arms outstretched.
‘Lukien?’ she probed. ‘I can feel you!’
The Bronze Knight of Liiria paused, studying the girl. A trace of dread crossed his happy face. ‘White-Eye . . .’ He looked puzzled as he searched her sightless eyes. ‘I’m h
ere.’ He took another step toward her, ignoring the hushed crowd. ‘Can you see me, girl?’
White-Eye shook her head, remaining cheerful. ‘No, Lukien, I cannot. But I hear you and I know it is you! Come to me, Shalafein, come!’
Like a loyal servant, Lukien went to her, falling to his knees before the Kahana and bowing his head to the floor. A rush went through the crowd. Eiriann gripped Lorn’s arm. The show of dedication made the hardened Jadori soldiers sigh, as White-Eye put her hand atop the knight’s sun-burned head and gently stroked his hair.
‘I’ve come back to you, my lady,’ said Lukien.
‘Rise, Shalafein,’ said White-Eye, her voice breaking with emotion. ‘Look at me.’
Lukien rose, meeting her sightless gaze with a look of heartbreak. His hand came up to touch her, falling just short of her pretty face. ‘White-Eye,’ he said softly. ‘What has happened?’
Lorn could tell it took effort for White-Eye to speak. ‘I have lost my Akari, Lukien. I am blind now.’
‘How is that possible?’ Lukien asked. ‘How can you lose an Akari?’
‘The story is long, Lukien. I will explain it.’ White-Eye tried to brighten. ‘But you are home! That is what matters’ He put her hands to his face, running them over his skin with a great smile. ‘Oh! You are different. You have a beard now, and you are thinner. Lukien, I must hear everything!’
Lukien took her hand and kissed it. ‘You will, Kahana, I promise.’ He looked purposefully at the gathered faces. ‘Where is Gilwyn?’ he laughed. ‘Has he forgotten me already?’ Then he stopped himself. ‘White-Eye, why are you here at all? Why are you not in Grimhold?’ He glanced around in concern. ‘Is Minikin here?’
‘Lukien, you have questions, I know,’ said White-Eye. ‘Let me answer them for you my own way.’
‘What’s wrong?’ asked the knight.
White-Eye hesitated. To Lorn, she looked more frightened now than when she had confronted Baralosus. The old king fought the urge to stand beside her.
‘Minikin is in Grimhold, Lukien,’ said White-Eye. Her voice went brittle. ‘And Gilwyn is not here.’
Lukien started. ‘Is he all right?’
‘I do not know, Lukien. He has left Jador. He followed after you to Liiria.’
‘Liiria?’ the knight erupted. ‘Why? Damn the Fate, White-Eye, tell me what’s going on.’
White-Eye shook her head. ‘Not here, Lukien. Please . . .’ She gestured to the crowd, all of whom had been so pleased to see the Liirian return. ‘They’re here to see you, Lukien.’
Lorn watched Lukien carefully as the knight struggled to control himself. The news about Gilwyn had overwhelmed him. ‘I want to talk now,’ he said softly. ‘Away from these others.’
‘I will tell you everything I can, Lukien,’ said White-Eye, ‘but first tell me this – did you find the sword you quested for?’
Lukien seemed surprised. ‘How did you know about that?’
‘Did you find it?’ pressed the girl.
‘Yes.’ Lukien dropped his hand to his side to touch his sword. ‘But you can’t see it . . .’
White-Eye grimaced. ‘No.’
‘It’s called the Sword of Angels.’ Lukien’s tone fell flat. ‘It’s the means to beat the armour, White-Eye.’
‘I want to know all about it.’
‘And I want to know what’s happened to you,’ said Lukien. ‘And to Gilwyn.’
Something in Lukien’s tone made Lorn snap. He didn’t like the arrogant knight at all. Still holding Poppy, he stepped out to defend White-Eye. ‘Gilwyn left of his own accord,’ he said sharply. ‘White-Eye had nothing to do with it.’
The probing, single eye turned to Lorn angrily. ‘Who in all the hells are you?’ he growled.
White-Eye put up her hand. ‘Lorn, don’t . . .’
‘I am Lorn, King of Norvor,’ declared Lorn. ‘And for a knight so devoted to his queen, you speak like a peasant.’
‘What?’ sputtered Lukien. He laughed in disbelief. ‘You are Lorn the Wicked? I say prove it.’
‘Lukien, stop now,’ ordered White-Eye. ‘He is who he claims. He is Lorn.’
Lorn held his ground. ‘The King of Norvor.’
‘The King of Norvor is dead,’ hissed Lukien. ‘Run off his throne by Jazana Carr.’
‘He is Lorn!’ spat Eiriann.
‘Stop this!’ White-Eye shouted, getting between them. ‘Lukien, you do not understand. You have been gone; you don’t know what has happened.’
‘Then tell me!’
‘Lorn came to us with others across the desert,’ said White-Eye. ‘He helped us. He helped me, Lukien!’ The Kahana carefully took Lukien’s hand again and gently led him away. ‘Let me explain it all to you.’
‘What do you mean, he put Lorn in charge?’ Lukien blared. In the tiny, private chamber, his voice boomed. ‘I don’t believe it. Gilwyn is smarter than that.’
White-Eye remained standing before him. All of them stood, in fact, including Lorn, who stayed close to White-Eye as he stared angrily at Lukien. With the three of them in the chamber, the room was hot with emotion. White-Eye had remained remarkably calm. Lukien, on the other hand, could not believe his ears.
‘Gilwyn saw no other choice,’ White-Eye explained. ‘Jador needed a leader, and I could not do it. Not then.’
‘Why not?’ Lukien pressed. He had never seen White-Eye so confident. She seemed the perfect queen. ‘You are your father’s daughter, White-Eye. Jador is your birthright, not his.’
Lorn bristled as Lukien jabbed a finger toward him. ‘I’ve made no claims on Jador.’
Lukien ignored him. ‘Explain this to me, White-Eye, because I’m starting to think I am dreaming all of this! You were blinded by Kahldris, so Gilwyn went after him?’
‘He wanted revenge,’ said Lorn.
‘And you let him seek it?’ Lukien turned with a hiss. ‘I know you, Lorn. I fought against you when Jazana Carr had you running with your tail between your legs! You’re a brigand and a butcher. Of course you would encourage a boy like Gilwyn to seek revenge. Of course you would!’
‘I did no such thing,’ said the Norvan. He was a big man, who despite his age still looked capable of combat. ‘Nor did I ask for the task of training your queen. Minikin herself asked me to do so.’
‘Minikin asked you?’ erupted Lukien. It was too unbelievable. ‘Why would she do that?’
‘Because I needed him!’ said White-Eye. ‘Because I was broken by my blindness and no one else could help me. Lorn was a king once. He knew what I needed to do to protect Jador.’
‘Ah,’ sighed Lukien, ‘now I see. Those battlements along the wall – he did that, didn’t he?’
Lorn stood his ground. ‘Jador was like a lamb ready for the wolves,’ he said. ‘The city could barely defend itself. Someone had to change that.’
‘And you’re just the man to make a city ready for siege,’ snarled Lukien. ‘White-Eye, this man is using you! He’s duped you, and Gilwyn. But I can’t believe he’s fooled Minikin, too.’
‘We know Lorn’s history, Lukien,’ White-Eye assured him. ‘But you don’t know what he has done for us.’ She paused, preparing herself. ‘Aztar is dead, Lukien.’
Lukien softened. ‘No one told me that,’ he said. ‘What happened?’
‘He had changed,’ said White-Eye, her face brightening with a smile. ‘He helped Gilwyn across the desert. He defended us from Baralosus of Ganjor. That is how he died.’
‘Aztar did that?’ The claim was unbelievable to Lukien, who had fought the minions of the desert prince many times. ‘I don’t understand. Why would Baralosus attack?’
‘Because he had designs on Jador from the starts,’ said Lorn, openly contemptuous of Lukien’s ignorance. ‘And because his daughter Salina came here for sanctuary.’
‘We would not give her up, Lukien,’ added White-Eye. ‘She helped us too many times for us to turn her over.’
‘So? What happened?’
‘Your Kahana stood up t
o them,’ declared Lorn, sounding surprisingly proud. ‘You see? She is not the little girl you left behind, Sir Lukien. And Jador is not the same, either.’
Lukien fought to stem his simmering temper. Too much was coming at him to make sense of, and Lorn clearly had the advantage. White-Eye’s adoration of him was frightening.
‘White-Eye, listen to me now,’ he said, mustering his calmest voice. He took the girl aside to press his point. ‘Your blindness has frightened you. And from what you’ve told me of Minikin, she is too distraught herself to be much use to anyone. But I tell you what I know in my heart – this wretched man is not the saviour you want him to be. Let us touch the bottom of this swamp and see the truth! I fought against him for years. I was in Norvor and I know him.’
‘But you do not, Lukien,’ said White-Eye sadly. ‘You have been gone.’
The accusation stung Lukien. ‘Yes,’ he admitted. ‘I’ve been gone too long. And maybe I should never have left you. If I’d been here to protect you—’
‘Stop.’ White-Eye found his face and put a finger on his lips. She smiled at him. ‘You could not protect me. No one could. What Kahldris did to me was beyond anyone’s power to stop. I tried to tell that to Gilwyn, Lukien. I never wanted him to go.’
The profound loss in her voice proved her wounded love. Confused, Lukien relented.
‘I have to much to tell you,’ he lamented. ‘I wanted this homecoming to be a happy one.’
‘It is, Shalafein,’ said White-Eye. She pulled him down to her, kissing his forehead. ‘My Shalafein. I never doubted you would come back. And we will celebrate! We will feast and you will tell me everything that has happened to you.’ Her hand slipped down to his belt, feeling for his sword. ‘This is it. This is the sword.’
‘Yes,’ said Lukien darkly. ‘The Sword of Angels.’
White-Eye grinned. ‘I wish I could see it.’ She turned to Lorn. ‘Lorn, is it very grand?’
Lorn eyed the weapon at Lukien’s side. ‘It is sheathed,’ he said sourly. There was a trace of envy in his tone.
