by John Marco
“I’ve come from Koth, my lady, with a message for him. I don’t know who he is; I’ve never met him. But it’s important that I speak to him.” Gilwyn smiled the best he could, trying to put her at ease. It was obvious she was protecting Breck. “I’d be grateful if you’d tell me where he is.”
She studied him, clearly worried, but in a moment she shrugged. “Ah, what difference does it make—you’ll find out soon enough. Breck is my husband. This is his home.”
Gilwyn sighed with relief. “You have no idea how glad I am to hear that, my lady.” Carefully he got down from the carriage, favoring his bad foot. Teku scrambled onto his shoulder. “I swear to you, I’m not here for trouble. But I do need to speak to your husband. And if you could spare a bed for the night? I can pay. . . .” He put his good hand into his pocket and retrieved a few coins. When he showed them to the woman she frowned.
“No need for that,” she said. “If you’ve got bad news, you won’t be staying.”
Rebuffed, Gilwyn said, “Well, that’s up to you. Can I see Breck now, then?”
“He’s inside. We’re just sitting down to eat. What’s your name, boy?”
“Gilwyn, ma’am. Gilwyn Toms. I work in the library of Koth.”
The woman’s pretty face lit with alarm. “The library? You know Figgis, then?”
“I do. He’s the one that sent me.”
All the bravado left the woman. She simply wilted at the news. “Trouble then,” she whispered. “Gordel, go on inside. Supper’s on the table. Your father’s waiting.”
The boy spared a last, troubled look at Gilwyn before retreating into the house. When she was sure he couldn’t hear, his mother stepped toward Gilwyn and said, “I’ve been waiting for you or someone like you for a long time. My husband told me you might come someday.”
Gilwyn joked, “I’m probably not what you expected. My lady, I mean no harm to any of you. I just need your husband’s help. And that supper you’ve cooked up sure smells good.”
For the first time, the woman smiled. “Come ahead then, Gilwyn Toms. I’m really not the shrew I pretend to be.”
She led Gilwyn past the flowerpots flanking the threshold and into her modest home. It was a typical farmer’s house, with stone walls and stick furniture and windows with open shutters to let in the fresh air. Across the main room sat a table, near the cooking area, laden with food on iron plates. A man sat at the head of the table, talking to the boy, Gordel. The man had food in his mouth and was chewing slowly, listening intently to the boy. They both stopped when the woman entered with Gilwyn. Teku fell silent on Gilwyn’s shoulder. The man swallowed and stared at them. He was rough looking, his skin tanned to leather by the sun, his hair bleached a faded orange. Though he was seated, Gilwyn could tell he was tall. He was wide, too, with shoulders made brawny from labor and muscles fed by a huge appetite, evidenced by the pile of food on his plate. He did not smile or frown as he watched Gilwyn. There was simply blankness in his face. The boy stood silently beside him.
“Breck, this is Gilwyn Toms,” pronounced the woman. “From the library at Koth.”
The man named Breck rose slowly. “From Figgis?” he asked.
Gilwyn nodded. “Yes. And from Queen Cassandra.”
“Oh, my Fate. . . .” Breck looked at his wife and son. “Kalla, I think you two should leave us to talk.”
“But I’m hungry!” Gordel protested.
“Take your plates with you,” said Breck. “This isn’t for your ears.”
Gordel complained but obeyed, scooping meat and potatoes onto his plate and waiting for his mother, who stood staring at Breck with troubled eyes. There was a charged tension between them.
“I’m sorry, Kalla,” said Breck. “I need to speak with him alone. Please. . . .”
“Get your plate, Mother,” said the boy. “We’ll eat outside where it’s cool.”
The woman touched her son’s shoulder and guided him toward the door. “I’m not hungry,” she said softly, then left with the boy. Breck watched her go with obvious regret. He collapsed back into his chair with a heavy sigh.
“Tell me something, boy. Was I difficult to find?”
“Not really,” replied Gilwyn. He eased closer to the table. “Figgis said you’d probably be here near Borath.”
“Ah, Figgis.” Breck’s deeply lined face cracked with a smile. “How is that old maniac?”
“Fine, sir.”
“Do you work for him? Or do you work for Queen Cassandra?” Breck studied Gilwyn a moment, then answered his own question. “No, you’re not blind. You must work for Figgis.”
“I’m his apprentice,” said Gilwyn. “I work for him in the library. But Queen Cassandra did send me, in a manner of speaking.” He eyed the inviting table. “Sir Breck, if I could sit down while I tell you why I’m here, I’d be much obliged.”
With his long leg Breck kicked out a chair. “Sit, Gilwyn Toms, and tell me your sad story. Is the queen all right?”
His directness surprised Gilwyn. He sat down, saying, “I’m not sure how to answer that, sir. The queen’s in no real danger, not yet, but there’s trouble. She sent me to ask for your help.”
“Tell me,” said Breck.
“It’s a long story, and I’m not sure where to begin.” Gilwyn stroked Teku’s head as she climbed down into his lap. “To tell you the truth, it’s all kind of unbelievable.”
“It’s not her illness again, is it?”
“No, sir,” said Gilwyn. He studied Breck, trying to gauge how much he really knew—or how much he should divulge. “Sir Breck, the queen needs your help. She asked me to find Lukien.”
Breck gave a small smile. “Just a matter of time,” he said. “I always knew she’d ask for him someday. And you found me through Figgis?”
“That’s right,” replied Gilwyn. “Figgis thought you might know where to find Captain Lukien.” He hesitated. “Do you know where Lukien is, Sir Breck?”
Breck looked toward the doorway, cocking his head a bit to listen. Satisfied that his wife and son couldn’t hear, he said softly, “Maybe. But I need to know why Cassandra wants Lukien back. And I need proof you’re who you claim to be.”
Gilwyn reached into his pocket and took out the letter Cassandra had given him. “Here,” he said as he handed it to Breck. “That’s from Queen Cassandra, sealed with her royal mark. The only other person that uses that seal is King Akeela, and I assure you he didn’t send me.”
“No,” mused Breck, studying the boy’s clubbed hand. “I believe you. Akeela’s clever, but even he wouldn’t send a cripple after Lukien.”
“I’m not a cripple,” retorted Gilwyn. “I walk just fine now.”
“Sorry,” said Breck. “But you know what I mean. Besides, Akeela is smart enough to ferret out Lukien if he wanted to.”
“Then you do know where he is?” asked Gilwyn. “Sir Breck, it’s very important that I find him. There are lives depending on it, and not just Cassandra’s. Figgis told me that you were a good man, and that if you knew where Lukien is you’d take me to him.”
“Same question,” countered Breck. “Why?”
Gilwyn didn’t know how to answer, so he decided to tell the man the truth. Breck listened, rapt, as Gilwyn told him about the Eyes of God, and how Queen Cassandra was still eternally young. It did not surprise him that Breck knew nothing of the amulets or their remarkable charm; only a handful of people knew the truth, and they had all done well in keeping the secret. Breck shook his head in disbelief.
“It’s true, Sir Breck, I swear it,” said Gilwyn. “And now King Akeela thinks he’s found the other Eye. He thinks it’s in Grimhold, hidden somewhere beyond Jador.”
“Grimhold?” Breck began laughing. “Grimhold’s a myth.”
“No, it’s not,” said Gilwyn seriously. “It’s real. I know, because I’ve seen the Witch of Grimhold. She’s wearing the other Eye.”
Breck put up his hands. “Easy, boy; slow down. This is all getting a little bizarre. Grimhold
? Witches?”
“I admit it’s hard to believe,” said Gilwyn. “But it’s all true.” He proceed to explain how he had seen the witch in Koth, how she had entranced him, and how Figgis had learned of Grimhold from his old texts, just as he’d learned of the amulets’ existence sixteen years ago. As he spoke Breck listened, not touching his food, occasionally glancing toward the doorway. When Gilwyn was done he got out of his chair and slowly began to pace. It was getting dark outside but his little family still hadn’t returned.
“Amazing,” he whispered. “But I still don’t see why Cassandra wants Lukien to come. Why doesn’t Figgis just tell Akeela that the amulet is in Koth?”
“He can’t. If he did, all of Koth would be at risk. Akeela would tear the city apart looking for the amulet, and Cassandra would be just as trapped. And it still probably wouldn’t keep him from marching on Jador. Now that Akeela knows Grimhold exists, he’s going to want to find it.”
“No,” spat Breck. “Akeela’s not the one that would butcher the Jadori. It’s Trager.” He picked up a knife from the table and twirled it absently in his fingers. “That bastard; he’s the one that’s behind this. He’s the one that wants to march on Jador, I’d bet anything.”
“You might be right,” said Gilwyn. “But it doesn’t really change anything, does it? I still have to find Lukien. He has to get Cassandra out of Lionkeep somehow.”
“And then they’ll ride for Jador and warn them?”
Gilwyn nodded. “That’s the plan.” He shifted his chair around to face the former knight. “Sir Breck, Figgis told me about your promise to Lukien. He told me that you stay close to Koth, to keep an eye on Cassandra. Well, the queen needs you now. If you really made this promise, you have to help me.”
Breck chuckled. “Boy, don’t try to guilt me into this. I don’t need you to remind me of my service. Lukien was my captain. He was also my friend. But so was Akeela, once. You’re asking me to betray one for the other. Should I take such a decision lightly?”
“Well, no,” said Gilwyn. He hadn’t thought of it like that before.
“And who do you think those people waiting outside for me are? Just friends? They’re my family. I never told Figgis about them because I didn’t want to put them at risk.”
“Your wife knows why I’m here, Sir Breck,” said Gilwyn. “I could tell.”
“Aye, she’s not good at hiding it. She’s been expecting someone like you to come around for years now, someone who’d drag me back into my old life. But I’m not a soldier anymore, boy. I’m a farmer.”
Gilwyn feigned disdain. “Is that right? I didn’t think soldiers gave up their loyalties so easily.”
“Don’t lay traps for me,” snapped Breck. He twirled the knife in his hands, brooding over it. “You’re not just asking me to deliver a note.”
“Yes, I am,” said Gilwyn, springing to his feet. “That’s all I want from you. Just take me to Lukien. Or at least tell me where he is, and I’ll do the rest.”
Breck shook his head. “You don’t understand, it’s not that easy. You’re right about loyalty. It isn’t easy to give up. I can’t just tell you where Lukien is and send you on your way. I owe my captain more than that. And you have no idea what you’re getting into.”
“Why?” asked Gilwyn, suddenly worried. “Where is Lukien?”
Breck didn’t answer. Lost in thought, he walked to the open doorway and stood in the threshold. The sky had darkened considerably. Gilwyn and Teku went to stand beside him. Breck’s wife and son sat alone in the distance, lounging on a bench and staring at the setting sun. They did not see Breck looking at them. They could not see the heartbreak on his face.
“If I go, they’ll be alone,” said Breck. “That’s what Kalla’s afraid of.”
A pang of guilt surged through Gilwyn. “I’m sorry. If I’d known you had a family, maybe I wouldn’t have come.”
“You would have come,” said Breck. “Because no one else can help you. Follow me. I want to show you something.”
Breck turned and went back into the main chamber. Curious, Gilwyn followed him. But they didn’t stop at the table again. Instead they walked past the main area into the only other room of the house, a small sleeping chamber. There was no door, only a rounded, narrow arch. Gilwyn hesitated in the threshold as he noticed the simple bed and realized this was where Breck slept with his wife.
“Come in,” ordered Breck.
Against the wall were a collection of blankets and clothes. Breck shifted them aside, revealing a large wooden chest beneath them. Gilwyn drifted into the room, studying the chest as Breck undid the latches.
“What’s in there?” asked Gilwyn.
Breck tossed open the lid. “This.”
A dazzling display of golden metal met Gilwyn’s gaze. Even in the dim light of the narrow window, the contents of the chest glistened. Gilwyn hovered closer to the box, stooping down next to it. At first he thought Breck had thrown open a treasure trove, but then he realized what he was seeing.
Armor.
Beautiful, unblemished armor, spiked and polished to a golden gleam.
No, not gold, he told himself. Bronze.
He reached out and touched the breastplate. It was cool and smooth, embossed with the image of a prancing stallion, the crest of the Royal Chargers. If there had been any question of Breck’s ties to Lukien, they were instantly erased.
“Lukien gave you this?” asked Gilwyn.
“It was no good to him anymore,” said Breck. “Not where he was going.”
“Where?” Gilwyn pressed. “Where did he go?”
Breck smiled sadly. “He went to the only place he could go. He was a soldier, and that’s all he ever could be.”
“I don’t get it,” said Gilwyn. “Where’s that?”
“Norvor.”
The word struck Gilwyn. Of all the places he’d wished to hunt for Lukien, Norvor was on the bottom of the list. Norvor, land of war. Land of death. A land where a heartless king and a queen of diamonds struggled for the single throne.
“Uh, Sir Breck,” said Gilwyn unsteadily, “if Lukien’s in Norvor, I’m going to need your help.”
Breck nodded. “I told you so.”
34
King Mor was dead, sixteen long years now. He had left no heirs, for his son Fianor had been murdered with him, leaving empty the throne at Carlion and leaving his army leaderless. There was no ironfist to replace King Mor, no easy means of succession. But Mor had been a man of many enemies, and there were vultures eager for his throne. Vying for the riches of Norvor’s diamond mines and the fealty of her soldiers, they had fractured Norvor, spinning her into the maelstrom of civil war.
History had recorded Mor’s murder as “the massacre at Hanging Man.” Of the four hundred men stationed at the citadel, only a few dozen were spared. They had been forced to march back into the heart of their country with no food and water. Among these men was a Norvan colonel named Lorn. At Mor’s castle in Carlion, Lorn told the court that their king was dead and his son with him. General Nace, Lorn said, was dead as well. And because he was the highest ranking man to survive the massacre at Hanging Man, he claimed the throne of Norvor for himself. Protestors to his ascension were quickly killed by the other surviving soldiers of Hanging Man, who were all too eager to avenge their defeat, even on innocent countrymen.
But Lorn’s hold on power was tenuous, and always remained so. Though he continued to rule in the area of Carlion, calling himself king, there were others with ambition who saw opportunity in Mor’s death.
Of all challengers for Norvor’s broken throne, Jazana Carr had been the craftiest. Because she ruled the north of Norvor, and because she controlled the gem mines, she was called the Diamond Queen, a title she had purchased for herself with the help of a family fortune. For sixteen years Jazana Carr had fought King Lorn for control of Norvor, pressing her war from her stronghold at Hanging Man. With her own diamond-bought army, she had retaken the fortress when the Liirians and their
Reecian allies had left, and from there had built her tiny empire, spreading her reign over more and more of the north’s teeming gem mines. Diamonds and rubies made Jazana Carr rich. Ever determined to secure her reign, she spent her burgeoning fortune on the best mercenaries in the world, keeping them loyal with lucrative contracts. She was not a true queen but she would be someday, she was sure. Until then, she was content to fight Lorn for the throne of Norvor.
The Bronze Knight was no more.
He had left his armor and loyalty behind, fleeing into Norvor without looking back. He knew the depth of Akeela’s hatred, knew that to return to Koth meant death for Cassandra and himself. He had tried, briefly, to live a quiet life like Breck, but he was unskilled as a farmer and clumsy as a carpenter, and so had returned to the only thing he had ever excelled at—once again, he became a soldier.
He had entered Norvor fully aware of its grim reputation, sure that the usurpers of the broken throne could use his skills. In Jazana Carr, he had found a willing employer. And so he had waged the Diamond Queen’s battles, fighting for money along with countless others. He had changed his name to live among them, but Jazana Carr knew his secret and kept it, for the Diamond Queen had ambitions even greater than the Norvan throne. Lukien, now called Ryon, knew this and did not mind. Like Jazana Carr, he dreamed of one day returning to Liiria, even if it meant returning as a conqueror. Then, perhaps, he would be reunited with Cassandra. It was the one bargain he had struck with Jazana Carr—if ever they should attack Liiria, and if ever Koth should fall, he was to have Cassandra.
Lukien had quickly learned that Jazana Carr was a pragmatic woman, endlessly patient. It had been over sixteen years now, and Carr was showing her age. But she still battled King Lorn for Norvor, and she still spoke of the day when Liiria, the greatest diamond of them all, would be hers. Perhaps it was treachery for Lukien to listen to such talk. At first it had felt like the highest heresy. But the years had hardened Lukien, and he had never forgiven Akeela for banishing him. That one great insult had stripped him of everything. After a lifetime dedicated to Liiria and its ideals, the endless struggle to climb Koth’s complicated social ladder, he was nothing but a freelance. Now, sixteen years and countless battles later, it no longer bothered Lukien to hear Jazana Carr speak of conquering Liiria.
