by John Marco
“Just so you hurry,” said Akeela. “Remember the queen, all of you. She’s depending on you.”
“We will, my lord,” said Figgis, climbing onto his horse.
Gill led Lukien’s horse out of the stable and into the misty morning. He handed the beast over to the knight. Lukien took a last look at Akeela. Trying to reach across the chasm that now separated them, he said, “Take care of yourself. Don’t let King Mor take advantage of you, and don’t let Baron Glass push you into anything you don’t want to do, all right?”
Akeela’s smile twisted. “Always with the advice.”
The answer stung Lukien. “Yes, well, take care of yourself.” He climbed onto his horse’s back then led Trager and Figgis away from the stable, not looking back.
Akeela remained behind at the stable, watching as the mist swallowed Lukien and his party. He was glad to be rid of both his troubles, and the sight of their departing backs eased his mind. Now, with Trager gone, he wouldn’t have to worry about him spewing his poison all around Lionkeep, true though it might be. And Lukien? Akeela would miss him, but it was necessary. He was the Bronze Knight, a hero. He was the perfect man to quest for the amulets.
Akeela glanced around, struck by the quiet. Once, he had loved coming to the stables with Lukien. They would ride together for hours, laughing and exchanging stories, but they hadn’t done that in a very long time, and probably never would again. Even if Lukien returned from Jador, there was still the matter of adultery. Akeela knew he couldn’t forgive it. When Lukien returned—if he returned—he would deal with it.
Just as he would deal with Norvor.
He hadn’t lied when he’d told Lukien he would handle Norvor himself. In fact, he meant every word precisely.
“You’re not the only one that can be a hero, my friend,” he whispered. He would show Cassandra that he could be a hero, too.
“Gill!” he called.
The young man hurried out of the stable, a grooming brush still in hand.
“Yes, my lord?”
“Go find Warden Graig for me. Tell him I want a meeting with Baron Glass and Chancellor Hogon. Tell him it’s very important.”
Two hours later, Glass and Hogon arrived at Lionkeep. The sky had lightened considerably since the early morning and the windows of the council chamber were open wide, letting in a needed breeze. Glass sat in his usual seat, next to Chancellor Hogon. Both men wore scowls. Akeela had kept them waiting many days for an answer to their war declarations, and they did nothing to hide their ire. Glass fidgeted with his wine glass but did not drink, occasionally rubbing at the stump of his arm in irritation. Hogon sat back in his chair, watching Warden Graig, who had called them to this important meeting but didn’t know why. Other than those three, the room was empty.
But the door was open and Akeela could see them all as he strode toward the chamber. Surprisingly, he wasn’t nervous at all. He felt exhilarated. Having made his decision had lifted a weight from his shoulders. It didn’t matter now what they thought of him or his bold plan—he was king, and he would command them to follow orders. In his fist he held the latest declaration from the House of Dukes. He held it out before him, making sure it was the first thing the chancellors saw when he entered the council chamber. The three men—Glass, Hogon, and Graig, all stood as the king entered the room. Glass’ gaze fell on the rolled up paper in Akeela’s hand.
“Be seated,” Akeela commanded. He took his place at the end of the table but did not sit. When the men had finally taken their seats, Akeela tossed the roll of paper onto the table.
Baron Glass reached for it hesitantly, looking at Akeela.
“Go on, read it,” Akeela directed.
One-handed, the Baron struggled to unroll the parchment. His eyes immediately darted to the end of the page where Akeela’s signature rambled along the bottom. Hogon leaned over and spied the signature. Together the two lords looked up at Akeela. So did Warden Graig, whose mouth hung open.
“Say something, gentlemen.”
“My lord, I don’t know what to say,” stammered Graig. “This is war!”
“You did the right thing, King Akeela,” pronounced Glass. He held up the paper and shook it in the air. “Now we can move against those Norvan snakes.”
Graig got out of his chair. “My lord,” he sputtered, groping for words. He tried to smile. “Akeela . . .”
Akeela kept his expression cool. “You have something to say, Warden Graig?”
Graig looked at him in disbelief. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
“As sure as I’ve been about anything,” said Akeela. “King Mor has left me little choice.”
Chancellor Hogon nodded soberly. “Very well, my lord. Then I will make ready at once.”
“Yes, at once,” agreed Akeela. “I have a plan to deal with the Norvans, and I want to begin quickly. The sooner we make arrangements, the sooner we can leave for the Kryss.”
Hogon blinked, confused. “We, my lord?”
“I’m going with you, Hogon. I’m going to lead the attack on Norvor.”
“What?” Baron Glass rose from his seat. “King Akeela, you cannot.”
“I’ve made up my mind,” said Akeela, “and no amount of arguing can change it.”
“Great Fate, no!” snapped Glass. “You’re not a military man. You’re the king! What put this idea into your head?”
Akeela started to respond, but was quickly interrupted by Hogon.
“King Akeela, Baron Glass is right. I’m sorry, but I can’t agree to this folly.” The old man looked genuinely concerned. “This is war, my lord, serious business. You realize that, don’t you?”
“I’m not a child, Chancellor,” said Akeela. “I know exactly what I’m doing.”
“Then explain it, King Akeela, please!” said Glass.
So Akeela explained. First he insisted that Glass and Graig take their seats, and when they did he walked around the table for a moment, composing his thoughts. He told them that he was the King of Liiria, and that his word was law, no matter how much any of them cackled. He told them too that he was not a weakling; that despite the popular opinion that his dreams of peace had made him impotent, he was his father’s son and not afraid of battle.
“And King Mor is like the rest of you,” he said. “He also thinks me a weakling. He thinks I’ll do anything for peace, even bend to his ridiculous demands.”
“My lord,” said Glass, “none of us think you’re a weakling.”
“Please, Baron,” said Akeela. “Don’t lie. You’re too easily discovered. I know what you and the other nobles think of me. And I plan to use that misconception against Mor. He thinks I want peace at any cost. He thinks moving troops against our border will force me to his table. So let him go on believing it. Let’s talk peace with King Mor.” A crafty smile stretched across Akeela’s face. “And when he’s most trusting, we’ll strike.”
Baron Glass contemplated the scheme. “Yes,” he said. “It’s not a bad plan at all . . .”
“It’s treachery, that’s what it is,” protested Graig. “Akeela, how could you consider such a thing? You disappoint me.”
“How do we proceed?” asked Glass, ignoring Graig.
“We send a messenger to Norvor,” said Akeela, “asking for a meeting between Mor and myself. We tell him I want to meet near our border, so I’ll feel safe. Somewhere just outside of Norvor, perhaps near their fortress at Hanging Man. Chancellor Hogon, start mustering your men. Some will accompany me to the meeting. Just a handful of them, so not to worry Mor. The rest will march with you to Reec.”
“Reec?” asked Hogon. “Why Reec?”
“Because that’s where you’ll be attacking from,” said Akeela. “King Karis has been asking what I have planned. He says he wants to help. Well, Reec’s border should hide our troops nicely, don’t you think?”
Baron Glass nodded in understanding. “And then when you’re clear, they attack.”
“Yes,” said Akeela, “and Reecian
soldiers with them, if Karis agrees. The rest of the soldiers, the ones with me, will join them, cutting off any escape from Hanging Man. The Norvans won’t have a chance.”
“They’ll be slaughtered,” agreed Hogon. “Quite a plan you have, my lord.”
“Treachery,” said Graig. “My lord, I can’t believe you’d do this. You said yourself you’re known as a man of peace. Is that what it means to be ‘Akeela the Good?’ You’ve hardly been king for a fortnight and already you’ve turned backstabber.”
“Don’t be an idiot, Warden,” sneered Glass. “The king’s showing real mettle! Personally, I’m proud of him.”
The baron smiled, and the smile sickened Akeela. He’d known his plan would disappoint Graig, but he hadn’t counted on Glass’ praise. It sounded horrible to him.
“I want to get moving on this quickly,” he said. “Let’s arrange that meeting with Mor. And send messengers to Reec with all speed. Chancellor Hogon, you’ve got a lot of work to do. Make sure the treasury releases the funds you need. If they argue, tell them to speak to me. And Baron Glass, I have something special for you to do as well.”
“Anything, my lord,” said Glass. “I’m yours to command.”
Akeela wanted to laugh, but instead said, “Liiria will need a ruler while I’m gone. I’m leaving that to you.”
“Me?” Glass flushed. “Forgive me for asking this, King Akeela, but why?”
“I have no regent and no heirs,” said Akeela, “and obviously the queen is in no condition to rule. You, Baron, are my only choice.”
The reasoning deflated Glass, yet still he said, “I’m honored, my lord. And I won’t disappoint you. While you’re gone I’ll rule Liiria as wisely as I can.”
“I should warn you, Baron, there’s a price for this favor,” said Akeela. He walked toward Glass’ seat. “There’s something you must do for me while I’m gone.”
Glass grimaced. “I’m afraid to ask.”
“The library, Baron. I want its construction to continue. You’re to see to it.”
“The library? But . . .”
“No, no arguing,” said Akeela. “That’s my order. Rule Liiria while I’m gone, but see to it that work continues on my library. I want your commitment to this project, Baron.”
“Obviously,” said Glass. “And if I don’t give it to you?”
“Then you’ll have no place in my plans. You won’t rule in my stead, and you won’t accompany us to Norvor, either. Commit to my library or be insignificant—those are your choices, Baron.”
Trapped, Baron Glass nodded. “You have me, King Akeela. Well played.”
“And I have your word? You’ll see to the library in my absence?”
“I will,” said Glass. He smiled sourly. “I was wrong when I said you were nothing like your father, King Akeela. You can be a serpent sometimes, just like him.”
Warden Graig stood up. “You’re all very happy with yourselves, but aren’t you forgetting something? What about the queen, my lord?”
“That’s your duty, Graig,” said Akeela. He turned to his old friend. “I’m trusting her to you. Look after her while I’m gone. Make sure nothing happens to her. She mustn’t die until Lukien returns, do you understand?”
Graig barely hid his anger. “My lord, you’re her husband. You should be looking after her, not me.”
“I would if I could,” said Akeela, “but I have to go. It’s the only way to defeat Norvor.”
“Yes,” said Graig disgustedly. “Trickery.”
“It’s necessary!” Akeela shouted. “Why can’t you see that?”
“All I see is the change in you,” replied Graig. His old face wrinkled crossly. “What happened to that young man of peace? Is he completely dead already?”
Embarrassment colored Akeela’s cheeks. He said to Glass and Hogon, “Would you excuse us, please?”
Without a word the two noblemen left the council chamber, closing the door behind them. Graig remained seated, refusing to look at Akeela, who felt ashamed and hurt by his old mentor’s disappointment.
“Graig, you have to understand,” he implored. “They think me weak. They all think me weak.”
“Who, Akeela?” asked Graig. “Who are you trying to impress with this dangerous game? It’s not just Glass, is it? It’s not even King Mor. It’s someone else.”
Akeela stiffened. In all their years together, Graig could always see the truth in things.
“You’re a very clever old man,” said Akeela with a forlorn smile. “Is it so obvious?”
“Just to me, Akeela. I’ve known you a long time. I know when something’s bothering you.”
“I won’t lose her, Graig,” said Akeela. “Not to sickness, and not to some notion of cowardice. I can’t let Mor get away with this, because that’s all she’ll ever see in me if I do.”
Graig shook his head miserably. “You’re talking foolishness. Cassandra’s your queen.”
“Oh, yes,” said Akeela bitterly. “And if that were the answer to everything I’d have no troubles at all.” He picked up Baron Glass’ untouched wine and took a deep drink, drowning his need to confess. He couldn’t tell anyone of Cassandra’s infidelity, not even Graig. Finally he lowered the glass and said, “Look after her for me, Graig. See that nothing happens to her while I’m gone. That’s the most important task I’m giving anyone, and I’m trusting you with it.”
“You don’t have to do this, Akeela,” said Graig. “You don’t have to go.”
“Yes I do.” Akeela moved toward the door. “I only wish I could explain it to you.”
Graig shouted after him, “But you’re no soldier!”
Akeela didn’t reply. No soldier, he thought blackly. No Lukien . . .
16
Ganjor glistened like gold in the sun. The long trek south had finally paid off for the weary trio, and now they were rewarded with the sight of the city, perched on a sea of sand that stretched out endlessly beyond it. Sunlight made the dry earth seem to shimmer, and the breeze carried the smells of Ganjor, the first human habitat the travelers had seen in days. They had passed through Farduke and Dreel, avoided the principality of Nith, had slept in the forests of Dalyma and followed the Agora River, all to be led to this ancient crossroads.
To Lukien, who had never before ventured further than Marn, Ganjor seemed a remarkable ruin. The city reeked of age, even from a mile away. He could see the tall walls of Ganjor’s fortress, now abandoned. The funerary temple rose above the streets in a golden dome, just as Figgis had described. On the south side of the city grew olive groves, making do with the little rain that fed the harsh soil, and from the east came the trading caravans, well-stocked with goods and laden with dark-skinned children. A second, less-traveled road came from the north, bringing visitors from Dreel and Marn and, on rare occasions, Liiria.
Lukien reined in his horse, pausing in the shadow of the city. He removed his neckerchief and dabbed the sweat from his forehead. The southern sun had toasted his fair skin. The tips of his ears were burned red. He looked past Ganjor to the Desert of Tears, a vast expanse of blistering sand. The awesome sight crushed his already waning spirits.
“Great Fate, look at that,” he said. “It’s like an ocean.”
Figgis wore an exuberant smile. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”
“Beautiful?” said Trager. “Are you mad? How are we supposed to cross that?”
The old man’s smile didn’t wane. He gazed at Ganjor in a kind of happy homecoming. He had done a good job of guiding them this far, and Lukien was pleased. But he didn’t understand the librarian’s fascination with these southern cultures. During the days and nights of their long trek south, Figgis had taught them what he could of the Ganjeese, never tiring of his own tales. He had told them that the Ganjeese were a desert culture, like the Jadori, and how they were different from northerners. The hot climate made them quiet, easy-going people, never prone to wasting effort. Even their speech was simple, Figgis had explained, another means of conserving
strength. No one of Ganjor ever used two words where one would suffice, nor spoke when a lack of words would do. They were a proud and ancient people, and thought themselves the center of the world. Liirians, Figgis had warned, would not impress them.
But Lukien didn’t care about impressing the Ganjeese, and didn’t plan on staying in their city more than a day. He needed to get to Jador, and that meant crossing the formidable desert. To do so they would need to trade their horses for drowa. Figgis had promised it would be an easy bargain to make, for drowa were everywhere this near the desert. If Lukien sniffed hard enough, he could smell their peculiar musk in the air. He had already seen some of the humped beasts on his way south. They were atrociously ugly and, according to Figgis, ill-tempered. Lukien didn’t relish riding one across the desert.
“I’m exhausted,” he said with a sigh. He took notice of the sun high overhead. “Come on. Let’s get into the city before we roast. I could do with a bed for the night.”
“That would be a nice change,” said Trager sourly. The lieutenant drew a hand across the sweat on his brow. He was a fit man, but the journey had wearied him. He turned to Figgis, saying, “Lead the way, old man.”
Figgis started off in a trot toward Ganjor. Lukien and Trager followed close behind. The city beckoned them, and Lukien felt his mood lighten. His ears quickly filled with the sounds of the bustling crossroads, and as they approached he could clearly see the white towers dotting the city, poking up from the thousands of squat, closely-spaced buildings of brown brick. Golden domes and silver spires with keyhole windows graced the ancient skyline, throwing sweeping shadows into the streets. The road widened as they reached the city outskirts, opening like a mouth to swallow them. Lukien swiveled in his saddle, suddenly enraptured by his surroundings. He had been many places in his many battles, but he had never seen anything like Ganjor. He slowed, eager to see it all. Even Trager seemed enamored by the city. The clay walls of ancient structures rose up around them, and the wide street quickly choked with travelers and the stalls of pottery and silk merchants. Barefoot men sat in clusters around small tables, sipping drinks and tossing dice, while others worked diligently with looms and hawked passersby to buy their weavings. White-faced monkeys like the one Figgis had left behind in Koth were everywhere, perched happily on the shoulders of children and shoppers, and exotic smells from cooking stalls suffused the air. Lukien’s stomach rumbled at the aromas. He saw a boy eating chunks of meat on a stick and wondered where he could get one of his own. Trager pointed at the boy.
