by John Marco
“What place?” asked Lukien. He studied the fortress. “Have you got some sort of stable in there?”
“You are full of questions, Sir Lukien. But your answers are at hand. Come. . . .”
With Trog at her side, Minikin made her way toward the gate. Lukien glanced at Gilwyn. The boy’s expression was elated. Together they followed the little woman until they stood just before the gigantic gate. Torchlight gleamed beyond the thick iron bars. Figures moved within the fortress’ dim recesses. But blinded as he was by the hot sun, it was hard for Lukien to make out much beyond the bars. The only detail he could see was a flickering flame, glowing, it seemed, in someone’s palm. As they neared, the man called Greygor swept his huge sword aside and gave a fluid bow, so quietly he barely ruffled the air. He was covered in spiky black armor and wore a helmet that hid his face behind a tusked facade. A long queue of black hair trailed down his back. The soundlessness of his greeting startled Lukien.
“Rise, Greygor,” commanded Minikin. The guardian of the gate did so, fixing his gaze on his mistress. Minikin smiled at him. “You’re a welcome sight, my friend. Raise the gate and sound the horn.”
Greygor did as commanded, turning toward the gate and using his sword to rattle the bars. It was odd hearing the soundless man make noise. Within moments came the din of chains being pulled, then the enormous creaking of the great gate lifting skyward. Inside the fortress, a horn released a bellowing note. Lukien stepped back and watched the huge portal slowly rise. Minikin stood her ground, unmoved by the clamor. The giant Greygor stood aside to let them pass, as implacable as his mistress.
“The guardian,” whispered Lukien. “Why doesn’t he talk?”
Minikin replied simply, “He chooses not to.”
The answer puzzled Lukien. “How’s that?”
“Greygor is from Ganjor, Lukien,” Minikin explained, “and the Ganjeese are desert people, very quiet. Before coming here he guarded a harem for a Ganjeese prince.” She kept her voice low, and if Greygor heard her he didn’t seem to care. “Greygor loved a woman in that harem. When he was discovered, he was banished. But not before his bones were broken. In his arms and legs, even in his hands.”
Lukien studied the man in amazement. “His bones? How can that be? He moves like no one I’ve ever seen.”
“The Akari, Lukien. I told you—they help us overcome our maladies. Just as they kept your Cassandra alive, they hold together Greygor’s bones. They give him the grace you seem to marvel at. You will never find a more skilled warrior than Greygor, Lukien. That, too, the Akari have gifted him. He is as silent as a breeze now, and quicker than a cobra.”
“But he never speaks?”
“Greygor does his work here and speaks to no one unless he must,” said Minikin. She looked momentarily sad. “Perhaps he fears caring too much for us, I don’t know.”
Slowly the massive gate reached its apex. The hellish screeching stopped, but now there were other sounds, the muffled noise of voices and the scraping of feet. Lukien squinted in the bright light, trying to peer into the dimness of Grimhold. Amidst the oily torchlight he saw movement and figures. Again he caught the glimpse of flame, jumping in an open palm but barely lighting the cowled face of its bearer. The deepness of Grimhold seemed to go on forever, far, far into the belly of the mountain. A strange fear seized Lukien as he realized there were eyes in the darkness, watching.
“Fate above,” he whispered. “Who are they?”
“They are my children,” pronounced Minikin proudly. “My Inhumans.”
Stepping over the threshold of Grimhold, the mistress of the place held out her hands and beckoned Lukien and Gilwyn forward. Lukien put his hand on Gilwyn as they walked forward together. Leaving the desert’s blinding light, the great interior of Grimhold slowly revealed itself. Unfolding like a book, a huge, tiered palace with balconies and staircases appeared in the dark rocks, with layers of wooden beams supporting the expansive ceiling. The entire place glowed with a soft orange opalescence, lit by torches staggered along the walls. There were no windows, nor the smallest drop of sunlight. And unlike other castles, there were no statues or greenery or portraits or tapestries. Instead, the walls of Grimhold were smooth stone, dark and featureless but for the landings and balconies and beams.
Most astonishing of all, though, were the people lining the floor and staring down from the high balconies. They were an awesome lot, a cross-section of nature’s strange diversity. There were stunted midgets like Minikin and freakish giants like Trog, milk-skinned albinos and dwarves with heads too large for their diminutive bodies. Club-footed children like Gilwyn gave the strangers a welcoming smile, seeming to know instantly that one of their own had arrived. Even men like Baron Glass were in the crowd, who had lost limbs to battle or some defect of birth. And amid them all was the darkly cowled figure with the flame, its face obscured behind folds of fabric, the little flicker of light still dancing in its open palm. Perhaps he was a leper; Lukien couldn’t guess. The sight of so much odd humanity made his head swim, for though they were strange and difficult to comprehend, they were not the beasts the stories had claimed. No matter their maladies, they smiled at Minikin and the strangers she had brought, and Lukien could feel the warmth from them, stronger even than the desert sun.
Grimhold is a place of monsters.
The old words from the fairy tale pushed their way into Lukien’s mind. Instantly he pushed them out again.
“Not so,” he whispered.
At his side, Gilwyn was too awestruck to speak. The boy’s gaze darted over the odd procession, taking in its strangeness. There were dozens of Inhumans; at least two hundred had turned out to greet them. To Lukien’s surprise, Gilwyn seemed to be trembling. He put his hand on his shoulder, steadying him.
“Do not be afraid,” Minikin told them both. “You’re welcome guests here, and my children won’t hurt you.”
She turned and raised her hands and face to the Inhumans, beaming a smile into the highest balconies. Those who could clap did so. And those who could speak raised their voices in a call of praise, though the cowled figure remained silent.
“Thank you, friends,” said Minikin, clasping her hands before her as if in prayer. “You honor me. And you honor our guests, too. But we have work now. There’s danger ahead.”
The Inhumans nodded and became grave. Minikin’s smile faded a little.
“There are dark times coming for us. But this man is here to help us.” She gestured to Lukien. “He and his friends know the ways of our enemies. Together we can turn the tide.”
“Yes!” the crowd agreed, and there was a raucous chorus of chants and banging. Lukien looked at the faces of those on the floor and then up toward the balconies where more Inhumans cheered. In many ways they did seem like children, naively sure that Minikin would save them. Lukien wanted to speak suddenly, to tell them all that Akeela’s army was far worse than anything they’d imagined. In a week they might all be dead. But he could not say it. More than anything, he wanted to help them.
“There is work ahead of us, my children,” cried Minikin, “and we will all need to do our best. Grimhold is our homeland. We must do our best to defend it!”
More banging ensued, more cries of agreement. A man with one arm stamped his feet on the tiled floor, while a hunchback beside him dully clapped his palsied hands. Together the misfits of Grimhold let loose such an outcry that Lukien had to hold his ears against the echoing clamor. As he did, a single figure stepped out from the dimness, a slim and beautiful girl with a white dress and amber skin, the kind of skin that made the Jadori so beautiful. A waterfall of raven hair ran down her back, straight and shiny black. She smiled as she neared Minikin, her teeth dazzling. But as she neared Lukien saw the horrible flaw in her, for her eyes were bone white and blank. She moved slowly but surely, drifting over the tiles with her dress billowing out behind her, and when she reached Minikin she took the midget’s hand and kissed it.
“Minikin, welcome home,” she
said in a musical voice. She was much taller than Minikin, so stooped a little to hug her. “I’ve missed you.”
“And I you, child,” replied Minikin.
“How is Father?”
The question struck Lukien like a hammer, and he knew in an instant that this was Kadar’s daughter.
“Your father’s well,” said Minikin. “He’s sent us ahead to prepare.” Then she held out her hand, gesturing for Lukien to come closer. “And he’s sent someone to look after you.”
The girl turned her featureless eyes toward Lukien. Though she was surely blind, she looked directly at him. “Hello.”
“This is Lukien, the Bronze Knight of Liiria,” said Minikin. “The one who killed your mother, White-Eye.”
There was a pause in the girl’s motion, but only for a moment. She let Minikin put her hand into Lukien’s, then remarkably she smiled at him.
“Welcome, Sir Lukien,” said the girl.
Lukien could hardly speak. “Thank you,” he managed. “I’m honored to meet you.” He studied her face and perfectly blank eyes. There was no way she could see him, yet his manners made the girl giggle.
“I am not as blind as you think I am, sir.”
Startled, Lukien cleared his throat. “I’m sorry. It’s just that . . . did Minikin call you White-Eye?”
“That’s my name now,” said the girl. “Appropriate, don’t you think?”
“Um, yes, I suppose,” said Lukien. “You are Kadar’s daughter?”
“I am.”
“Then it is you I am here for.” With all the Inhumans still looking on, Lukien dropped to one knee before then girl and, still holding her hand, looked up into her pretty face. “I have wronged you and your father. I’ve slain your mother. To atone I pledge myself to your protection, White-Eye. While I live, I will defend you.”
There was silence in the vast chamber. Staring into White-Eye’s face, Lukien saw the most sublime forgiveness.
“Rise then, and be my protector, Sir Lukien.”
As Lukien got to his feet, Gilwyn shuffled into their circle.
“Can I introduce myself?” he asked. There was a tinge of nervousness in his voice. When Lukien saw his face, he knew why. In his eyes was plain lovesickness, the same surrendering love Lukien had seen in Akeela’s eyes when he’d first spotted Cassandra. Not surprisingly, White-Eye turned her dazzling smile on Gilwyn, enough to make the boy’s breathing quicken.
“Yes, right,” said Lukien. “White-Eye, this is Gilwyn Toms. He came with me from Liiria.”
Gilwyn put out his good hand for her. “I was an apprentice librarian there,” he added quickly. So enamored was he by the girl that he forgot Teku on his shoulder. When the monkey cried a protest, Gilwyn said, “Oh, and this is Teku. She’s a friend of mine.”
It took a moment for White-Eye to notice the monkey. Like everything she did, there was a tiny delay in her reaction. “Oooh,” she cooed, then reached out to scratch Teku’s head. “She’s very pretty. She’s Ganjeese, yes?”
“That’s right,” said Gilwyn. “But I got her a long time ago in Liiria.”
They were talking as if they were the only two in the world. Lukien gave Minikin a furtive glance, which she returned knowingly. Again she raised her hands to the gathered Inhumans.
“Your welcome is appreciated, my children,” she said. “But now I must rest. And then we must all work. So go now, and we’ll all speak again soon.”
Like loyal soldiers the Inhumans began to disburse, though White-Eye remained. Minikin waited for them to go before turning back toward Lukien.
“You are tired, I know, Sir Lukien, but there’s someone I think you should meet before you rest.”
“Oh?” asked Lukien. “Who is that?”
Minikin turned to White-Eye. “Child, why don’t you take Gilwyn Toms and show him some of Grimhold? I’m sure he’d like that.”
“Yes,” said Gilwyn quickly. He looked adoringly at White-Eye. “Very much.”
White-Eye nodded. “Where will you go, Minikin?”
“To see Insight.” Minikin grinned at the two young people. “I hope I can trust you both together.”
White-Eye laughed and Gilwyn flushed, and Minikin turned away from them, bidding Lukien to follow. “Come along, Sir Lukien,” she said. Trog trailed close behind her.
“Where are we going?” asked Lukien. “Who’s Insight?”
“You’ll see,” Minikin replied. She headed quickly toward one of the halls sprouting out from the great chamber. Like all the others, this one was dark but for the light of distantly-spaced torches. When Lukien caught up to Minikin, he decided to ply her with more questions.
“So White-Eye is blind?” he asked.
“Obviously.”
“And she sees with the help of an Akari?”
Minikin kept walking. “That’s right.”
“But why can’t she stay with her father in Jador? Kadar told me I’d understand when I met her, but I don’t.”
“Because of her eyes,” Minikin explained. “They are too sensitive to light for the bright sun of Jador. It is very painful to her. So she stays here within the mountain.”
The answer only added to Lukien’s guilt. “Oh.” He glanced around as they moved through the halls, passing more of the strange Inhumans on their way. Trog kept back a pace or two, characteristically quiet. The interior of Grimhold continued to amaze Lukien. The deeper they went into the mountain, the less like a mountain it became. The walls grew smoother and more even, so that except for the lack of windows, it seemed like any other castle. Each hall snaked into another, each bend revealed a new stone stairway expertly cut into the rock. Lukien could only wonder at the skill of the Akari engineers. Grimhold was certainly formidable, and would make a good stronghold against Akeela and his army. But who would defend it? The Inhumans? The disabled folk of Grimhold were hardly soldiers.
They walked together for long minutes, until the hallway narrowed into a quiet wing full of doorways. It was, Lukien supposed, where the sleeping quarters were located. The lack of noise told him most of the rooms were empty. But near the end of the hall he saw a door half open and candlelight spilling over the threshold. Minikin slowed as she went to the door, Trog’s enormous shadow on her back. Carefully she peered inside.
“Here she is,” she said softly. “Come.”
Gently she pushed open the door and went inside. Lukien stepped cautiously after her, leaving Trog at the door. Inside he saw two figures, both females, one much older than the other. The younger figure sat in a plain wooden chair with an equally spartan table at her side. The older woman hovered over her, slowly spooning food into the girl’s barely moving mouth. As Lukien and Minikin entered, the older woman gave them a mild smile. She was normal by the look of her, without any obvious maladies. Sadly, the same couldn’t be said of the girl, who stared blankly at the wall, unblinking and barely breathing.
“Minikin,” said the older woman. “You’re back.”
Minikin went to the woman and stood on her toes to kiss her check. “Just arrived,” she said. “And I’ve brought someone. Lukien, this is Alena, Insight’s mother.”
The older woman nodded at Lukien. “We were expecting you,” she said. “Welcome.”
“Expecting me?” Lukien asked. “What do you mean?”
“Insight told us,” replied Alena. She lowered the spoon into the bowl, which Lukien could now see was full of porridge, then began wiping the girl’s mouth. Lukien looked questioningly at Minikin.
“The girl Insight came to us three years ago, Sir Lukien,” said Minikin. “She has a disease of the brain that makes reaching her impossible. She can’t speak and she can’t care for herself. But she can hear. Believe me, she’s listening to everything we say.”
“And her name is Insight?” asked Lukien. He knelt down in front of the girl, looking into her hazel eyes. “Because she can see the future?”
“With the help of her Akari, yes,” said Minikin.
“Insight
wasn’t her real name,” added Alena. “That’s only what she’s called here.”
“Her birth name was Jenna,” said Minikin. “I found her in Koth, not far from Lionkeep. Alena’s husband had abandoned them. They were on the streets. I took them here to help them.”
“So not everyone in Grimhold is . . . well, you know. . . .”
“Alena is one of the only plain people here, Lukien. I couldn’t take Insight away from her, of course, and she wanted to come.”
“We had nowhere else to go,” said Alena. “Minikin saved us.”
The child called Insight stared back at Lukien, but there was nothing in her eyes save the smallest glint of life. It was pitiful to see her, and Lukien wanted to look away. But he knew that Minikin had brought him here for a reason, so he tried to smile at the girl.
“Insight, if you can hear me, my name is Lukien.”
“She knows who you are,” said Alena. “I told you, she said you would be coming.”
Lukien looked up at Minikin. “Is that right?”
“I’m sure it is,” replied the little woman. “You see, Insight’s Akari allows her to communicate with the outside world. But it can also see the future, or a semblance of it.”
“Really? How’s that possible?”
“All Akari spirits have this ‘sight,’ but not to the degree of Lacaron, Insight’s spirit. In life he was a powerful summoner.”
“Lacaron.” Lukien studied the girl. “Will Lacaron speak to us, then?”
“Through Insight,” said Minikin. “That is why I brought you here—to find out what might be coming.”
Lukien nodded and took a deep breath. He had never been in any sort of seance before, but he wasn’t skeptical any longer. After seeing the things Minikin could do, he was already a believer. Minikin went to Insight’s side and put a hand to her head, lovingly brushing the strands of hair from her eyes.
“It’s me, Insight. Minikin.” The little woman’s voice was softer than a lullaby. “I’m back now. We’re all together now.”
The girl’s blankness didn’t change.
“Insight, can you tell me what Lacaron sees? There’s trouble coming to Grimhold. An army of northerners. Do you see them?”
