by John Marco
‘Malator,’ he said, ‘I need you. Show yourself to me, please.’
It took only a moment for the spirit to respond. Shimmering into being, the figure of Malator came to stand before the knight, dressed as he had been that first time they’d met in a simple shirt and trousers. Malator, youthful and confident, smiled at Lukien, clearly reading the trouble on his host’s face. Lukien lowered the sword and looked at him, still amazed that a ghost accompanied him everywhere.
‘You don’t have to do that, you know,’ said Malator wryly.
‘Do what?’ asked Lukien.
‘Summon me like that. There’s no trick to it, Lukien. If you want me, just ask. I’m always with you.’
A little embarrassed, Lukien put the sword back into its sheath. ‘I wanted to speak to you away from the others,’ he explained. ‘You haven’t come to me in a while. I was concerned.’
‘I know when you are concerned, Lukien, and when you are happy or tired or hungry. I know what you’re worrying about.’ Malator looked around, absorbing the night air into his ethereal body. ‘It’s cooler here,’ he said. He looked back at Lukien with a flash of mischief. ‘Almost time.’
‘It is almost time,’ agreed Lukien. ‘Are you ready? Have you been preparing yourself?’
Malator studied him. ‘It’s not me that needs to prepare himself. It is you, Lukien.’ As though he were one of Lukien’s riding cohorts, Malator sat down cross-legged on the ground, a peculiar sight considering the ethereal state of his legs. He looked up at Lukien expectedly. ‘Talk,’ he directed.
Lukien took his meaning, but knew not where to begin. He had a hundred worries running through his mind, and no way to quell them. Instead of sitting down in front of Malator he paced around him with his sword in hand.
‘This is Nith,’ he sighed. ‘We’re a day out. Soon I’ll be seeing Aric again, and then we’ll be riding for Liiria. Your brother, Malator.’
‘I know,’ said Malator. ‘I can feel him getting closer.’
‘But you haven’t spoken to me about him,’ argued Lukien. ‘You haven’t said a word about how you plan to fight him, nothing beyond what you’ve already told me. I want to know if you’re ready, Malator.’
‘And I want to know if you are ready, Lukien.’ Malator’s tone was surprisingly stern. ‘I have all the talents I need to fight my brother. What do you want from me? A promise that I will defeat him?’
‘That would be very nice, yes!’
‘Well I can’t give you that. So you can go on gnashing your teeth all you like. All I can do is go with you and do this thing you ask of me. But what I need is a host who won’t lose his nerve.’
‘What?’ Lukien stopped to stare at him. ‘My nerve is as steely as ever, Malator.’
‘No,’ said the spirit. ‘I don’t think it is. I’ve been in your head, remember. I’ve felt what you’ve felt. You see, I can’t do my best unless the one who wields the sword is prepared. And all you’ve been doing is thinking about your last battle with Baron Glass. You’re afraid.’
The words struck Lukien hard. He made to strike back, then stopped himself.
‘Let me force you to face it,’ Malator went on, ‘since you won’t admit it yourself. I’ll be that little voice in your head that tells you when something’s not right.’ His eyes pierced Lukien, never blinking. ‘When you can’t sleep at night, it’s because you remember lying in your blood in the middle of the road. You remember what it was like to have your muscles set on fire. And all you could do was let Glass toss you around like a doll and hope he wouldn’t kill you.’
Lukien stopped breathing, confronted by his own nightmares. In the meadow it seemed that time had collapsed, bringing him back to that awful moment in Koth when Thorin held his life in his hands like so many grains of sand. Malator’s hypnotic gaze held him, refusing to let him look away. Lukien shuddered.
‘There’s nothing I can hide from you, is there?’ he whispered. ‘You see me too clearly.’
‘It is good to be afraid, Lukien,’ said Malator gently. ‘And if you cannot tell the others, then you can tell me because I know already.’
Lukien lowered his head. ‘I have never been afraid like this,’ he said. Even his words frightened him. ‘Never in my life. I have seen death a thousand times. Hell, I have craved it! But this . . .’ He groped for an explanation. ‘Facing Kahldris was worse then death. Like being eaten by a dragon, slowly bit by bit.’
Malator was plainly moved. His face twisted with sympathy. ‘When he and I were boys, even our mother was afraid of Kahldris. And then when he became a general, his men thought he was a demon and they were right. They followed him because he was strong and fearless, but they never loved him. No one ever loved Kahldris, because no one ever could. He gathers fear around him like a cloak, Lukien. He has had a thousand years to learn the craft. You are brave even to face him again.’
‘I don’t feel brave,’ whispered Lukien. ‘I feel like a little boy.’ It was hard for Lukien to face Malator. He raised his eyes slowly. ‘You are right about me, Malator. I’m afraid, and I do not know what I will do when I face him again.’
‘You will fight, I have no doubt of it,’ said Malator. ‘But you must be as strong as Kahldris, Lukien. It will not be easy for me to battle him. You will need all your skill to give me the time I need. That means you must be there completely. If you are afraid, they will sense it and use it against you.’
‘But I am afraid,’ said Lukien hopelessly. ‘And I cannot shake it.’
Malator rose and floated closer to Lukien. Despite his slight frame, there was a tautness to him that gave Lukien confidence. ‘Then I will be strong for both of us. You must trust me.’
‘I do.’
‘Perhaps you do a little, but it must be complete.’ The Akari laughed to leaven the mood. ‘I have not been doing nothing, you know! I have been thinking, and I know I can beat my brother. I need you to believe in me, Lukien.’
Lukien gave a wan smile. ‘I’m hungry,’ he said miserably.
‘Go back to your friends,’ said Malator. ‘And know that I am with you.’
The Akari disappeared then, blinking out of the world as quickly as he’d come. Lukien stared blankly at the place he had been, feeling lost.
71
By the time the Bronze Knight reached the castle, Aric Glass had already learned of his arrival. It didn’t take long for the rest of the keep to spring into action, either, as the servants who regularly took care of things prepared for their new guests. Sentries at the castle gate reported that the quartet had entered the courtyard, where they were waiting for someone – anyone – to greet them. Aric, who had been occupied in his chambers when the news of their arrival came, pulled on a pair of boots and ran down the hallways of castle Nith, eager to see his old comrade. As bad luck would have it, Prince Daralor was not in the castle. The prince had been gone the last few days, visiting a cousin in a nearby province. His ministers, however, were already falling over themselves to see to the needs of their new visitors. As Aric raced toward the courtyard, he found Daralor’s trusted aide Gravis waiting for him, dressed in royal finery and just as anxious as Aric to meet the newcomers. He waved at Aric to hurry.
‘They’re waiting in the courtyard,’ said Gravis nervously. ‘They’re asking for you.’
‘Alsadair is with them?’ asked Aric as they walked briskly together through the hall.
‘Alsadair is with them!’ pronounced Gravis happily. He laughed, hardly believing it. ‘That wily bastard – he found them!’
Aric could barely contain his glee. How many months had it been since he’d parted with Lukien? It seemed a lifetime ago, and more than once he had doubted to ever face his friend again. He had a thousand things to tell Lukien, but right now all he wanted was to see the knight and embrace him. As a curious crowd began gathering around the main hall, Aric and Gravis pushed their way toward the courtyard, at last stepping through the castle’s portcullis into the cobblestone yard. At least a dozen Ni
thin soldiers were already there, all of them chattering as they crowded around the centre of the yard where – presumably – Lukien and his cohorts waited. Aric craned his neck for a better view, but all he could see over the heads of the people were a group of horses, their saddles empty. He cleared his throat to no avail, asking politely for the soldiers to move aside. Annoyed, Gravis made no such attempt.
‘Out of the way!’ barked the minister, grabbing one man by the shoulder and shoving him aside. ‘Clear off!’
Whatever magic his voice held, the soldiers parted when they heard it, moving to the sides of the courtyard to reveal a foursome of bewildered men. Aric grinned when he saw them, his eyes falling immediately on Lukien, who looked around with confusion. At last the knight’s probing gaze fell on Aric, and all at once a giant smile lit his face.
‘Aric!’ he cried. Gleefully he bolted forward, arms outstretched. Behind him, the Nithin soldier Alsadair was laughing. Lukien rushed to Aric, grabbing him in both hands. ‘Aric! Gods above, it’s you!’
‘It’s me, Lukien,’ laughed Aric. He let Lukien’s strong arms encircle him. ‘I can’t believe you’re here!’
The two men embraced for a long moment, each of them choked with surprising emotion. To Aric, Lukien looked like a changed man, wearied by whatever quest had taken him away. When at last they pulled apart, Aric stole a glance at Lukien’s weathered face. The knight nodded solemnly.
‘It’s been a hard road,’ he said.
Aric sighed and touched his shoulder. ‘You’re here now. You can rest.’ He smiled at Lukien’s companions. ‘All of you.’
Alsadair pushed the other two forward. One was an older man, big and fierce looking. The other, smaller man, wore desert wrappings around his face and gloves along his wiry hands. Only his two grey eyes peered out from his scarves, jumping with excitement. Aric studied them both, thinking them equally peculiar.
‘Welcome,’ he told them. ‘I’m Aric Glass.’ He gestured toward Gravis, still beside him. ‘This is Minister Gravis. He runs things here for Prince Daralor.’
Gravis bowed to them slightly. ‘Welcome to Nith,’ he said smoothly. ‘We have been waiting for you.’
Alsadair stepped up to them, bowing to Gravis and losing his giddy grin. ‘Gravis, this is Lukien of Liiria. These others are his companions, from Jador.’
Gravis smiled at him. ‘Well done indeed, Alsadair. We have waited for you as well. We are proud of you.’
Alsadair swelled at the compliment. ‘I should like to take them to Prince Daralor myself,’ he said.
Gravis shook his white head. ‘The prince is in Yaroo province,’ he said, ‘and won’t be back until the morrow.’
The news deflated Alsadair. ‘Oh . . .’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Aric cheerfully. There was nothing that could spoil his good mood. ‘You’re here now, that’s what matters.’ His gaze dropped to Lukien’s belt. ‘And you found the sword.’
As though they all knew what Aric meant, the crowd fell quiet. Lukien gently patted the weapon at his side, a great blade resting in a threadbare scabbard. ‘I have found it, Aric.’
Aric felt a charge. ‘The serpent kingdom?’
‘It exists,’ said Lukien. ‘The sword was there, waiting for me.’
‘Amazing,’ Aric sighed. ‘I must see it. But first . . .’ He gestured for the others to come closer. ‘Introduce your friends, Lukien.’
‘I am Ghost,’ said the one with the head scarves. He bounded forward like a child. ‘And I am not a Jadori.’
‘No?’ said Aric, confused. ‘What are you, then?’
‘I am an Inhuman,’ pronounced the man, who Aric guessed was young. ‘Do you know what that means?’
‘Easy,’ counseled Lukien.
Ghost laughed. ‘Oh, let me show them, Lukien. These brave people are helping us! Let them see that we are not ourselves helpless.’
Lukien sighed as though he had seen the young man’s performance before. ‘Very well,’ he said with a wave. ‘Watch him closely, Aric.’
Aric puzzled over the young man, waiting. The rest of the crowd did the same.
‘They call me Ghost,’ declared the stranger, ‘because I can simply disappear.’
And then he was gone. Aric gasped. Astonished, the crowd stepped back. The stranger’s laugh bounced through the courtyard.
‘What’s going on?’ asked Gravis. His serious face turned red with anger. ‘What’s this trickery?’
‘No trick,’ said the young man’s disembodied voice. ‘Magic!’
The astounded soldiers looked at Alsadair, but the Nithin merely smiled. ‘It’s what he does,’ he offered sheepishly. ‘Amazing, isn’t it?’
‘It’s witchery!’ said Gravis.
Lukien rolled his eyes. ‘Show yourself, Ghost,’ he ordered.
The stranger popped back into view, this time standing right beside Aric, who jumped as he felt his arm around his shoulder.
‘What?’ Aric blurted. He looked at Lukien then back at the stranger. ‘What is this?’
‘Don’t be afraid,’ said Ghost with an audible smile. ‘I’m an Inhuman. Surely Lukien has told you what that means.’
Aric had only a vague idea. Uncomfortable, he squirmed out of the man’s grasp, then looked at the older man. ‘And what do you do?’ he asked. ‘Fly?’
The crowd laughed, even Minister Gravis. But the man with the fierce eyes merely shrugged. ‘Nothing so extravagant,’ he said. His answer left
mystery in the air. Lukien stepped between the man and Aric.
‘This is Lorn,’ said Lukien. ‘I’ll tell you about him later.’
‘Alright,’ agreed Aric. He laughed again, too pleased from seeing his old friend to let anything worry him. ‘Let’s go inside. You need to rest.’
‘And to eat,’ said the one called Ghost. ‘We’ve had nothing but Lorn’s cooking for months.’
Two hours later, Lukien found himself seated at a long table beneath a chandelier lit with glowing candles. The table had been set with fine silverware and crystal goblets full of wine and beer. Platters of steaming food and breads covered the linen tablecloth. Lukien and his cohorts had rested, the Nithin servants falling over themselves to make the strangers comfortable. Alsadair had said his goodbye’s to them, rushing off to see the family he had left behind so many months earlier. While Lukien and the others refreshed themselves, Aric disappeared until their supper was ready, reappearing in the splendid banquet hall to unveil the treasures the kitchen had cooked up for them. Minister Gravis, sure that the old friends wanted to be alone, excused himself from the feast, leaving just the four of them – Lukien, Ghost, Lorn and Aric – to enjoy the meal and catch up on all the news they had for each other.
Lukien revelled in the meal and Aric’s company. After so many weeks on the road, just having a roof over his head was a treat. The banquet room itself was an elaborate confection, full of expensive artwork hung on its mahogany walls and lit by a trio of wrought iron chandeliers that made the chamber glow with warmth. The long, striking table seemed to reach from wall to wall, surrounded by a collection of high-backed chairs, all of them richly upholstered in red velvet. The servants that darted in and out of the chamber paid no attention to the conversation, doing their best to keep the wine flowing and the good food hot. Ghost flirted with the prettiest servants, flashing his wolfish grin as he held out his tankard for more beer. Because they were inside and out of the sun, he had removed the cowl from around his face, smiling flirtatiously to any girl who would pay him attention.
Lorn, meanwhile, listened cagily to everything that Aric told him, breaking a mutton joint in his hands and eating slowly, never saying a word. Like Lukien, he sat diagonally across from Aric, who had placed himself at the head of the table. Lukien glanced at Lorn occasionally, taking in the sly way the old king hung on every word. So far, none of them had told Aric about his true identity, and Lorn didn’t seem to mind the pretense. With endless patience, he listened to Aric tell his story, re
lating every detail about his life since he had parted with Lukien in Koth a year earlier. Lorn chewed his food carefully, never making too much noise, always waiting for any mention of Norvor or his hated nemesis, Jazana Carr. Lukien knew this and did not mind. He would have to tell Aric the truth about Lorn, he realized, but saw no hurry in ruining their reunion.
Lukien leaned back in his chair, sipping on his wine as he listened to Aric tell of his days with Raxor of Reec. In years gone by, old Raxor had been an enemy of Lukien’s. More than once had the two of them met on the battlefield, but that was long ago, before the peace between Liiria and Reec. Lukien hardly knew Raxor at all now, but listening to the story of his son’s slaughter made the knight wistful.
‘And then I went to the bridge and saw my father,’ said Aric. His face grew dark, the memory of the day souring his mood. Young Aric lowered his eyes to stare into his wine goblet. ‘They told me he wasn’t a man any more,’ he said softly. ‘I don’t know what I was thinking when I rode to the front. At first I couldn’t even see anything. It was all just a black swarm. And then I saw him on the bridge. I tell you, Lukien, he looked like a demon, sitting there on his horse. And the river was choked with bodies. Choked.’ Aric shook his head as if he still couldn’t believe what he’d seen. ‘After that I rode back to Raxor and begged him to retreat.’
The men around the table fell silent. Ghost had stopped grinning, and Lorn had pushed his plate aside. Lukien groped for the right thing to say, but nothing could erase what Aric had endured.
‘What happened then?’ Lukien asked. ‘You went back to Reec with him?’
Aric nodded. He hesitated, as though he were hiding something. ‘I didn’t stay with him long,’ he said. ‘By then he knew about Nith and wanted me to come back here and wait for you. He said that he’d be ready if the time ever came, and that he’d stand with us when we returned.’
