by John Marco
“Your scholar was not so mistaken,” said Minikin. “I am not Kadar’s wife, it is true. But he is my zirhah. Do you know that word?”
Both Lukien and Gilwyn nodded. “Zirhah,” Lukien repeated. “That’s the word Figgis used. It’s Jadori for wife.”
“It is Jadori for wife and for servant,” corrected Minikin. “Figgis told you what he read in the old texts, yes?”
“Yes,” said Gilwyn. “He said that the master of the place beyond the desert wears the amulet, and that his zirhah wears the amulet’s twin.”
“And the place beyond the desert is Grimhold, not Jador,” said Lukien. “Figgis had that part right at the end.”
“But the Master of Grimhold isn’t Kahan Kadar,” added Gilwyn. Like Lukien, he too was beginning to understand. He looked at Minikin and said, “You’re the Master of Grimhold.”
“And Kadar is my zirhah,” said Minikin. “My servant. That is why we call him Shalafein, the great protector. He protects me and the other Inhumans from the outside world. Because of that he was given the amulet long ago.”
“But why?” asked Thorin, still confused. “Why do you protect them, Lord Kadar?”
Kadar’s face tightened. “It is not important for you to know. All that matters is my oath to them. And why you have been called here.”
“Tell us,” said Lukien. “What do you want of us?”
Kahan Kadar leaned back and considered Lukien as if he were the only person in the room. “I have been thinking of you, Bronze Knight. Ever since I knew of your coming.”
Lukien and his friends glanced at each other.
“Yes,” Kadar continued, “I knew. Ela-daz told me. I waited for you, and I wondered what I should do. But my rage is dead, you see. As I told you, I cannot punish you more than you have been punished already.”
“Then you’ll let us help you?” asked Lukien hopefully.
“We have an army of our own to fight your King Akeela,” said Kadar. “We will defend Jador and Grimhold against him. He has only horses, and he does not know the desert.”
“He’s strong, my lord, make no mistake,” warned Thorin. “And he has all the riches of Liiria, too. He’ll buy whatever transport he needs to bring his army across the desert, horses and all.”
“It does not matter,” said Kadar. “We will fight him. To our deaths if we must.”
“Then let us help you,” Lukien pleaded. “We know Akeela and Trager. We know their tactics. If we fight with you, you’ll have a better chance.”
“Much better,” stressed Thorin. “And still it won’t be easy.”
“But we have some time left,” said Lukien, suddenly excited. “Akeela’s got a whole army with him. He can’t travel quickly. That will give us time to form our defenses. If—”
“Stop,” ordered Kadar. “There’s no need to speak of Jador’s defense, Bronze Knight. I will see to it. You will go to Grimhold.”
“Grimhold? Why?”
“They have need of you,” said Kadar. “You will help defend them.”
“Excuse me, my lord, but that’s foolish. You’re going to make your stand here in the desert, right? So then that’s where I should be.”
“You will go to Grimhold with Ela-daz,” said Kadar evenly.
“But why, damn it?” Lukien jumped to his feet, surprising them all. “Kadar, I’m a fighter. And I’m damn good at it. Please don’t make me go and nursemaid a bunch of cripples!”
As soon as he said the word, Lukien regretted it. From the corner of his eye he saw Gilwyn’s hurt grimace. Minikin’s face was icy.
“Sit down,” ordered Kadar. His voice was calm but steely. Lukien obeyed, kneeling again next to the table. Kadar continued, “You came here because you wished to right a wrong, yes?”
Lukien nodded. “Yes.”
“Did you not slay my wife? Do you not think you owe me something?”
“Yes, Kadar, but—”
“Then you will go to Grimhold with Ela-daz. You will help to defend it from the army of your king. One more man with a sword will not make a difference here. But Grimhold is a mountain keep. And they have no soldiers there. They will need your skills.”
Lukien sighed and shook his head. None of it made any sense to him. “Kadar, I’m a soldier, and I know General Trager’s tactics.”
Kadar waved the comments off. “It is decided. You will go to Grimhold. Baron Glass will stay in Jador.”
“Me?” blurted Thorin. “Why?”
“Do you not also know the tactics of this general?” asked Kadar.
“Well, yes. . . .”
“Good,” said Kadar. “Then you will stay, Baron Glass. You will help us. The Bronze Knight will go to Grimhold. The boy, too.” Kadar turned to Lukien. “You will leave in the morning.”
“No, I still don’t understand,” argued Lukien. “Explain it to me.”
“Sir Lukien, Kahan Kadar has explained it,” said Minikin gently. “Do you not agree that you owe him a debt?”
“My debt is to Jador, not to Grimhold,” snapped Lukien.
“Your debt is to me,” said Kadar sharply, “and I will claim payment any way I wish!”
His shouts rattled the room, so that even Minikin’s mute bodyguard glanced at him. Kadar looked away, smoothing out his vestments as he composed himself.
“Go,” he commanded. “All of you but the Bronze Knight.”
Minikin quickly rose. Smiling, she held out her hand to Gilwyn. “Come, Gilwyn, let’s walk together.”
Gilwyn hesitated, but Lukien shooed him off. “It’s all right,” he said, “go on. You too, Thorin.”
Thorin looked wary. “Are you sure? I could stay.”
“I wish to speak to the knight alone, one-arm,” said Kadar. “Leave us.”
Thorin relented, following Gilwyn out of the chamber with the midget woman and the giant. When the beads of the curtain stopped moving, Lukien stood up.
“All right, the truth now,” he said. “There’s something you’re not telling me. Why are you sending me to Grimhold?”
“To defend it,” said Kadar.
“But why?”
“Because my daughter is there!”
The words came in a torrent. Kadar’s face reddened. He looked away, annoyed with himself.
“Your daughter?” asked Lukien. “What daughter?”
“The child my wife was carrying,” said Kadar bitterly. “The one she birthed the night you killed her.”
“Great Fate,” whispered Lukien. “I thought the child would die.”
“She did not die,” said Kadar. “She was born that night. Jitendra drew her last breath expelling her from her womb. But she was born too soon. She was . . .” Kadar searched for the right word. “Let us say she was born like the folk of Grimhold.”
“You mean deformed?” asked Lukien. He felt the same stab of pain as the night he’d killed Jitendra. “Kadar, I’m. . . .”
“Sorry?”
Lukien nodded. “Yes. I know it’s worthless, but what can I do but apologize?”
Kadar replied, “You can go to Grimhold and protect my daughter. You owe me a debt, Bronze Knight. You will be her shalafein, her great protector. If I die fighting King Akeela, then at least she will have you to defend her.”
“I don’t understand,” said Lukien. “If you love her so much, why did you send her away? You could have cared for her here.”
“No. The heat and light of Jador is too much for her. That is why she stays in the mountain of Grimhold. You will understand when you meet her.” Kadar’s expression filled with hope. “Will you do this for me? Will you protect my daughter?”
The request was almost a plea. Lukien agreed eagerly. Finally, there was something he could do right.
“Yes,” he said, “I’ll defend her. I’ll do my best for her, Kadar. I promise.”
At Minikin’s request, Gilwyn followed her out of the chamber with her bodyguard Trog as they headed back toward the palace gardens. She had asked Baron Glass to leave them alon
e for a while, so that she could explain some things to Gilwyn privately. Ever protective of his young charge, the baron had hesitated to leave Gilwyn’s side, but Gilwyn had reassured him. For some reason he couldn’t explain, he felt perfectly safe with the white-haired lady, and even her monstrous bodyguard did not frighten him. Now Gilwyn and Minikin strode slowly along the garden’s flowered lane, Trog’s enormous shadow blocking out the scorching sun behind them. Minikin had been very quiet as they walked, but her smile never wavered. When she was sure they were far from eavesdroppers, she paused.
“I hope you’re not angry with me, Gilwyn,” she said. “I know the things I’ve told you were a shock, but I did what I thought was right. Marking you as one of my Inhumans was the best way to protect you.”
“But I didn’t need protection,” said Gilwyn. He was still confused by all he’d heard. “I grew up in Lionkeep. Nothing would have happened to me there.”
Minikin nodded. “You’re right, but I couldn’t know that. And you have lived a sheltered life. You were fortunate to grow up with people who could protect you. Many like you are not so lucky.”
Gilwyn flexed his clubbed hand. He had always known that Akeela’s goodness had protected him. “I know,” he admitted. “And I don’t blame you for marking me. But I’m still not sure what that means. Am I cursed like the amulets?”
“Not at all,” said Minikin. She directed him toward one of the garden’s stone benches, then sat down beside him. “There’s no reason for you to be concerned. Being marked as an Inhuman is not a curse. It simply means you have an Akari looking after you.”
The strange word still frightened Gilwyn. “Is that some kind of ghost?”
“In a way. All the Inhumans have Akari. They are like spirit guides. I like to call them angels.”
“Angels?” The name surprised Gilwyn. In Liiria, some people believed they were creatures of the heavens that looked after people. “So they are good spirts, then?”
“Most certainly. They help us to overcome our maladies. And they protect us, keep us safe from harm. If you had ever been in danger—if you had ever needed a home—your Akari would have spoken to you. She would have told you that Grimhold exists, and that you have a place there.”
“She?” blurted Gilwyn. “You mean my Akari’s a girl?”
“Not exactly,” chuckled Minikin. “But she was a woman once, a very long time ago.”
“You mean she’s dead now?” Gilwyn shook his reeling head. “Gods, I don’t believe this. . . .”
“It’s true, Gilwyn. When we die we don’t simply blink out of existence. We continue. Our spirits are eternal. Even in Liiria, with all its varied beliefs, most people hope for that, don’t they?”
“Well, yes, but no one knows for certain.”
“I know for certain,” said Minikin. “I know that we go on when we die, all of us. And sometimes, spirits do not pass into the next world, but rather stay here to assist others. The Akari are like that.”
The claim confused Gilwyn, but then he remembered his strange recollection of Grimhold months ago, when he’d first seen Minikin. “Yes,” he whispered. “I remember now. When I first saw you in Koth, I thought of Grimhold. I couldn’t get it out of my mind. Was that my Akari speaking to me?”
“Indeed,” said Minikin. “And as you come to know her better, you will learn how she can help you.”
“You mean with magic?” Gilwyn asked.
“Something like that,” said Minikin. “You see, Gilwyn, the spirits that help us are from a very special people, an ancient race that left the world a long time ago. These people were what you might call magicians and witches. They knew the secrets of summoning.”
“Summoning?”
“Calling those from other realms,” explained Minikin. “They were called the Akari, and they lived beyond the mountains where Grimhold lies now.”
“What happened to them?” asked Gilwyn.
The little woman’s smile retuned, albeit faintly. “That’s not something you need to know just yet. The important thing for you to know now is that your Akari is with you always, and that she is not going to harm you.”
Fascinated, Gilwyn asked the obvious question. “Does she have a name, Minikin?”
“Yes. Her name is Ruana. And when she died she was about twenty years old.” Minikin’s grin grew sly. “She was very pretty. Still is, in fact.”
“What? You mean you can see her?”
“It’s what I do, Gilwyn. I can see and communicate with all the Akari spirits. That’s why I’m the Mistress of Grimhold.”
Suddenly curious, Gilwyn glanced over his shoulder, but he saw no one there but Trog. The sight of the big man intrigued him. “Minikin, does Trog have an Akari, too?” he asked.
“All the Inhumans have an Akari spirit if they need one, Gilwyn. It’s what makes us what we are. Trog’s Akari is named Ozmalius. He helps Trog to hear, even though he’s deaf.”
Gilwyn looked at Trog, feeling sorry for him. “Was he always deaf?”
“Since birth, yes,” said Minikin.
“And mute?”
This time Minikin measured her reply. She got up from the bench and went to her companion, taking his giant hand and stroking it. “Trog isn’t a true mute,” she said. “Because he could not hear while growing up, he never learned to speak in anything but grunts.” She gave Trog’s hand a loving squeeze. “I don’t know who, but someone couldn’t take his noises anymore. They cut out his tongue.”
Trog didn’t even blink at the story, but Gilwyn was horrified. Minikin turned to him with a sad grimace.
“You see?” she asked. “The rest of the world isn’t like Liiria. Akeela might be mad, but he made a good place for you in Koth, a far better place than many on the continent have. That is why I marked you, Gilwyn—to spare you the cruelty of the normal human world.”
Seeing Trog and Minikin’s love for him left Gilwyn sad and confused. His mother had always told him he was as good as anyone else, and Figgis had reaffirmed that belief. But he had always known that a cruel life befell many with deformities. It was only by the grace of the Fate that he had avoided such a life. Or was it the intervention of Minikin’s unseen spirits?
“I don’t know what to say,” said Gilwyn at last. “Everything you’ve told me; it’s all so strange. I’m not sure I believe it.”
“You will believe when we get to Grimhold, Gilwyn,” said Minikin. “Once you see the wonders the Inhumans can do, you won’t doubt any longer.”
“When will I learn to speak with my Akari?” asked Gilwyn eagerly. “I’d like to get to know this Ruana better.”
“In time,” replied Minikin. “But you’ll have to be patient, perhaps more patient than you’ve ever been before. There is much I need to do when I get back to Grimhold. But when this crisis is over, I will teach you.”
Gilwyn didn’t hide his disappointment. “But I’d like to learn now. I mean, if she’s always with me, can’t she at least show herself?”
“It isn’t that simple,” said Minikin. “Communicating with the Akari isn’t like having a talk with a friend. You don’t just sit down to tea with them. You need to be prepared, and only I can do that for you. And I will when I have time, but not soon.” Then she brightened and said, “Ah, but you’re forgetting something, aren’t you?”
“Huh?”
“The kreel?”
Gilwyn hurried to his feet. “I forgot!” he said, looking around madly. “Which way?”
Minikin held up her hands. “Do not worry, Gilwyn, they won’t kill it.”
“What? How do you know that?”
“Because I told them not to,” said Minikin. She started off again down the garden path. Gilwyn hurried after her. As they left the garden, she said, “You reminded me of something, Gilwyn. Of all people, we Inhumans shouldn’t condemn an imperfect creature.”
“So they’ll save it?” asked Gilwyn anxiously.
“If I say so, yes,” replied Minikin. Then she paused again and loo
ked at him. “But hear me well, Gilwyn—killing is an easy thing. Living is much more difficult. If you want to save this kreel, then you will have to look after it. Are you prepared for that?”
“Me? But I don’t know the first thing about kreels!”
Minikin pointed to Teku, still perched happily on Gilwyn’s shoulder. “You do fine with monkeys. I think you’ll do fine with kreels, too.”
“But—”
“Do not argue, Gilwyn. Kadar’s men will not look after a runt kreel. If you want to save the creature, you’ll have to take it to Grimhold with you. So, will you do that?”
Gilwyn needed to think, but it was all happening so quickly. Then an exciting notion occurred to him. “Will I be able to ride it?” he asked. “I’ve never been able to ride a horse before, not with this.” He held up his twisted hand.
Minikin reached out and wrapped her small fingers around his hand. “A boy with a clubbed hand can do many things, Gilwyn. You will learn that. In Grimhold, we will teach you.”
46
Early the next morning Lukien and Gilwyn said a quick good-bye to Baron Glass, then set off for Grimhold before the sun grew too hot. With them was Minikin and the ubiquitous Trog, along with a handful of Kahan Kadar’s black-robed guardians. They traveled on drowas through the rocks and hard sand, while Kadar’s men rode their enormous lizards. Gilwyn’s lizard, who he had already named Emerald because of her glistening skin, traveled behind them, tethered by her snout to the back of Gilwyn’s drowa, a brown and hairy beast that he shared with Lukien. Minikin and Trog shared the drowa ahead of them, making an odd looking couple as Minikin leaned back against Trog’s enormous chest, almost disappearing there.
The road to Grimhold wasn’t really a road at all, just a straight line through the desert toward the red mountains in the distance. The mountains seemed to grow no closer as the sun rose in the sky. Lukien adjusted his dark head-dress, trying to block the worst of the sun’s rays. His one eye felt blinded by the light, but he found controlling the drowa an easy thing, something he was sure Gilwyn could do alone, even with his bad hand. The boy sat in front of him, his monkey Teku in a small metal cage dangling on the side of the drowa. With his simian friend and new lizard, he reminded Lukien of a Kothan animal act. But Gilwyn seemed not to notice the absurdity. For some reason, he was enthralled with the idea of reaching Grimhold, and Lukien wondered if Minikin had enchanted him again. Despite her claims to the contrary, Lukien still thought the midget a witch. According to Gilwyn, she had told the boy she could see and control spirits, the souls of the dead, and Lukien had no reason to doubt her claims. After seeing the awful power of the amulets, he doubted very little now.
