by John Marco
He trudged along, his swollen feet dragging through the sands, and within a few long minutes came to the first section of road where the crosses were erected. The city was quiet. A few stray voices reached him, but no children, no happiness of any kind. He supposed the Jadori were huddled in their homes. Or worse. Through the streets he heard the clip-clop of hooves. Looking into the city he saw small groups of Royal Chargers on patrol. Exhausted, he leaned against one of the crosses, looking up at a dead figure hanging from its wrists. Dried blood ran down from its wounds. The head was tilted, staring down at Lukien. A buzzard picked at the lifeless eyeballs. Catching his breath, Lukien staggered into the city. He headed straight for the nearest patrol, calling out to them, his hoarse voice ringing through the avenue.
“Over here, butchers!”
The trio of horsemen turned, shocked at the sight of him. They galloped forward, drawing their swords. Lukien, unarmed, stood his ground. If they cut him down he wouldn’t be able to face Akeela, so he shouted, “I’m Lukien of Liiria!”
The Chargers quickly drew back their steeds, surrounding him. A young cavalryman lifted the visor of his helmet and stared, plainly confounded.
“Lukien? The Bronze Knight?”
The others raised their visors to inspect him. “I don’t believe it,” said one. The other squinted uncertainly.
“It is I, dogs,” said Lukien in disdain. Despite his exhaustion he squared his shoulders.
“It can’t be!” said the young one.
“Look at me!” growled Lukien. “Who else would I be, idiot? I’ve come to see Akeela. Take me to him.”
The horsemen looked at each other in confusion, neither striking Lukien nor taking his word. Frustrated, Lukien shouldered past them and continued on.
“Fools. Where is your bloody king?”
“Halt!” ordered the youngest soldier. He sped up behind Lukien, slapping his back with the flat of his sword and sending Lukien sprawling into the street. His jaw hit the paving stones hard, splitting his lip. When he looked up the three Chargers were over him again.
“You might just be stupid enough to be Lukien, traitor,” said the young one. “Get up.”
Lukien rose unsteadily to his feet. The young solider ordered one of his companions to ride ahead to the palace and inform Akeela of their prize. The Charger galloped off while the remaining two took up positions alongside Lukien.
“That way,” ordered the young one. With his sword he pointed down the avenue. Up ahead stood the sparkling palace of Kahan Kadar.
Satisfied, Lukien lurched forward.
Akeela had been in the palace’s throne room when he’d heard of Lukien’s capture. The news had hit him like a hammer. He had been studying Jador through the chamber’s many splendid windows, watching his men secure the city. But when the soldier had burst in with his story, Akeela had nearly fainted, hurrying to the throne to sit down. A few moments later, Trager had exploded into the chamber. The general was thrilled by the news. A weird giddiness twinkled in his eyes. They would wait for Lukien together, he pronounced. Akeela hadn’t argued with him, for he could barely speak. His mind reeling, he had stayed on the throne until his legs stopped wobbling. Then he crossed to a giant window and looked out over the city, awaiting Lukien. The vast throne room was silent except for the anxious tapping of Trager’s foot. There was no one else in the chamber, and Akeela didn’t bother talking to his general. He knew Trager would never leave him alone with Lukien, and he supposed that was for the best. It might be that Lukien had some trick up his sleeve and was coming to slay him. Or it could be as the soldier had claimed, that Lukien had come simply to speak to him. Akeela pondered the possibilities as he gazed out the window. Lukien might be planning to plead for mercy, if not for himself then for the wretches of Grimhold. If so, Akeela decided he would listen. He hadn’t liked massacring Kadar’s men, just as he hadn’t enjoyed killing the Nithins. But they were all his enemies, he knew, and had stupidly opposed him.
“Why?” he asked himself.
“What’s that?” asked Trager from across the room.
Akeela shook his head. “Nothing. I was talking to myself.”
Trager laughed. “You’ve been doing that a lot lately.”
“Quiet, you fool.”
Trager’s tittering abruptly stopped. Akeela continued staring out the window. It was very large, like everything in the throne room, and gilded with gold. Kadar had spared no expense in building his palace. It was beyond comfortable, and Akeela had relished his short time in it. He had even tested the dead kahan’s bed, a huge and fluffy thing with lots of silk pillows and a soft, downy mattress. Akeela smiled when he thought of it. It hadn’t taken much to occupy the city, not once they’d killed its last defenders. And crucifying them had been a master stroke. As Trager had predicted, the grisly act had kept the rest of the populace in line. After that, taking the palace had been effortless. Disheartened by the loss of their kahan, his servants had put up little fight. Trager and his army had spent the rest of the time resting and preparing plans to march on Grimhold. They had even been torturing townsfolk to find its exact location. So far, no one had given it up. They knew only that it was westward, in the mountains. But they would find it, Akeela knew. And when they did. . . .
Long minutes ticked by. Trager began pacing the throne room impatiently. Akeela remained arrow-straight at the window. There was a dagger in his belt for his own protection, one that he had never drawn in his entire ride south. Now he rested his hand on its pommel, waiting. Like the crucified on their crosses, he didn’t move, not even when he heard footsteps approaching the throne room.
“It’s them,” Trager said excitedly.
Akeela nodded, not taking his eyes from the outdoors. “Bring him in here.”
Trager went to the doors. Akeela could see his reflection in the glass. As the great doors to the throne room parted, in stumbled a man Akeela hardly recognized. Behind him came two guards, who pushed him roughly into the chamber. Trager stepped back, inspecting him. Even in the glass Akeela could see the general’s triumphant grin. The man that was Lukien was barely in the room before Trager’s fist slammed into his stomach. The blow jolted Akeela, but he didn’t move or say a word as Lukien sank with a cry to his knees.
“Is it him?” Akeela asked.
Trager replied, “Yes!”
Akeela didn’t know what to feel. He was both elated and frightened, and still unable to turn away from the window. He said to Trager, “Dismiss your men and close the doors.”
Trager did as ordered, leaving the three of them alone in the throne room. In the glass Akeela saw Lukien struggle to his feet. He stared across the room at Akeela’s back. Trager stood beside him with his arms folded, grinning.
“I can’t believe you’ve come here, Captain,” said Trager acidly. “You’ve saved us all a great deal of trouble.”
“Akeela, look at me,” croaked Lukien. His voice was hoarse. He chanced a step forward. “Akeela—”
Trager struck him again, buckling him. “You don’t address the king, dog!”
“Don’t, Will,” Akeela ordered. “No more.”
Finally he found the courage to turn around. Lukien was before him, tottering to his feet. But he was not the beautiful man Akeela remembered. His hair was rough and filthy, full of sand, and his face was streaked with age and dirt. A patch covered his left eye; the other one was bloodshot. Yet still it was Lukien. Still, after sixteen years, he was unmistakable. When he saw Akeela his lips twisted into what could have been a smile, but his one eye showed his remarkable sadness. For Akeela, the sight of him was heartbreaking.
“You shouldn’t have come,” said Akeela softly. “You still might have escaped me.”
Lukien’s expression didn’t change. “No more running,” he said wearily. “I’ve come to give myself up to you, Akeela. Do what you will.”
“Where are the amulets?” Akeela asked.
“I don’t have them.” Lukien shrugged. “They weren’
t ours to begin with, Akeela.”
Trager came forward and seized his arm. “Where are they?”
“I don’t have them,” snapped Lukien, shaking off Trager’s grip.
“Who does, Lukien?” pressed Akeela. “Are they in Grimhold?”
Lukien’s gaze narrowed on him. “Did you kill Figgis, Akeela?”
The question rattled Akeela. It was like they were young again, with Lukien in control. “I’ll ask the questions,” he said.
“Did you?” Lukien’s expression was grave, as if he already knew the truth. “He was a good man, Akeela. He was your friend.”
“I have no friends!” raged Akeela. Spit flew from his mouth as he stepped toward Lukien. “Were you my friend, Lukien? Was Cassandra?”
“Yes,” replied Lukien. “We loved you.”
The answer enraged Akeela. His hand shot out and slapped Lukien’s face. “How dare you!” he seethed. “How dare you speak of love to me! Would a man who loved me take my wife? Would a wife who loved me betray my bed? Answer me, you gutter rat!”
Lukien’s face was forlorn. “Yes,” he said simply. “We would.”
“Why did you come?” asked Akeela. His voice was shaking. So were his hands. “Why give yourself up to me?”
“For the sake of the Inhumans,” said Lukien. “The people of Grimhold.”
Akeela blanched. “Inhumans? This is what they call themselves?”
“Yes, but they’re not what you think. They’re special people,” Lukien argued. “They have deformities, some of them, but they’re not weak. And they’re not worthless. They deserve better than to have you slaughter them.”
“Ha!” laughed Trager. “You won’t save them, Captain, or earn our pity.”
Akeela raised a hand to silence him. He asked Lukien, “Did you think you’d find mercy in me? After what you’ve done to me?”
“I’ve come to give myself up,” replied Lukien. “It’s me that you want, I know that. Now you can do whatever you want with me.”
“To save Grimhold?” asked Akeela bitterly. “Nothing more?”
“And because I’ve wronged you,” said Lukien. He looked straight into Akeela’s eyes. “I’ve wronged you, Akeela. And I’ve made a monster of you.”
Akeela stood there, staring and shaking. A monster. Was that what he was now? Did the whole world think so?
“I am not a monster,” he declared. “I’m a great king. I brought wisdom to the world.”
Lukien shook his head. “No. That was your great dream, but that was a long time ago. You’re merciless, Akeela. Look outside that window. Look at the men you’ve crucified.”
“Enemies, Lukien. Men who opposed me. Enemies like you.”
“Then I was right,” said Lukien. “All this is because of me. Well, it can end now.” He stretched out his hands to show how helpless he was. “I’m here, Akeela. I’m yours. Kill me and end this horror.”
“Oh, you will die,” Trager assured him. “But not before you tell us where Grimhold is.” He smiled like a wolf. “And I’m going to enjoy persuading you.”
Lukien ignored him. Instead he kept his gaze on Akeela. “You can torture me but I won’t tell you. The Inhumans are good people and I won’t betray them.”
“No,” spat Akeela. “You’d never betray a bunch of freaks. Just your own king!”
“Look at me, Akeela. I’m finished. You’ve beaten me. Spare the Inhumans. They’ve done nothing to you.”
Akeela studied Lukien’s ruined face, the deep lines in his red skin. The sight was overwhelming. “Yes,” he said softly. “I have beaten you, haven’t I?” He reached out and gingerly touched Lukien’s eyepatch, carefully probing the flesh. Lukien winced but did not pull away. “How did this happen?”
“In Norvor,” replied Lukien. “A long time ago.”
“It changes you. You look . . . older.”
“We’ve all changed, Akeela,” said Lukien. “Especially you. You used to be a good man, remember? You used to be loved.”
Akeela gave a bitter grin. “They loved a fool, then. I’m not that stupid any more.”
“But you can still be good. You can still do one good thing,” urged Lukien. “You have me now. You don’t need to ride for Grimhold.”
“If you think that will save you from me, think again,” said Trager.
Lukien turned on Trager. “Torture me, then!” he cried. “Torture me, kill me, do whatever you want! But I won’t tell you where Grimhold is, Trager. And Akeela, I know there’s good left in you. You can kill me, you have that right. But if you kill the Inhumans you’ll just be a murderer.”
Unable to stand it, Akeela looked away. The accusations were stinging. And just seeing Lukien again made him weak. He turned back to his window. “You will die, Lukien,” he said. He didn’t want to make the decree, but he had come too far now. Too much had happened to simply forget. “On the morrow, at dawn. I will kill you myself.”
He saw Lukien’s shocked expression in the glass.
“I must do this, Lukien. You must die for what you’ve done, and I must be your executioner.”
To Akeela’s surprise, Lukien simply nodded. “If that’s your wish, I accept it. But what of Grimhold?”
Akeela turned to regard him. “Aren’t you listening? You’re going to die, Lukien.”
“I heard you. Now please, answer me. Will you seek out Grimhold?”
Akeela was dumbstruck. “Why are you thinking about them? Your life is over! Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”
“They’re worth saving,” argued Lukien. He went to Akeela, almost pleading. “I’ve been with them, and I know they’re good people. They’ve done you no harm. And. . . .” He hesitated a moment. “And Cassandra thought they were worth saving, too.”
“What?” Akeela’s face contorted.
“It’s true,” Lukien went on. “When she learned of your plans to ride for Jador, she sent for me. She wanted to come here with me, to give back the amulets and warn them about you.”
“That’s not true!”
“It is!” insisted Lukien. “She saw the madness in you. She told me it was like a disease, and now that I’m here looking at you I can see it too.”
The revelation staggered Akeela. He fell back against the window. “Cassandra loved me,” he whispered. “I know she did.”
“She did, Akeela,” said Lukien. “But she knew how sick you are. And she would never have wanted you to kill the Inhumans. If her memory means anything to you—”
“Her memory is all I have because you took her from me,” Akeela groaned. “And you killed her.” He looked at his old friend in disbelief. “You killed her, Lukien. How could you have done that? You say you loved her yet you killed her.”
Lukien looked down at the floor, unable to meet Akeela’s accusative gaze. “That’s why I deserve death,” he said softly.
“And die you shall,” said Trager. He took hold of Lukien’s arm again. “Let me take him below, Akeela. Let him sweat out his last hours in a cell.”
Still shaking, Akeela said, “Yes. Yes, take him below.”
Trager spun Lukien toward the door. “Come along, Captain. We’ve got a nice room prepared for you.”
“Akeela, tell me you’ll spare them!” Lukien shouted.
“Move!” ordered Trager, nearly pushing him over.
“Akeela, tell me!”
“Take him to the cellars,” said Akeela. Then, “I will think on what you’ve told me, Lukien.”
“What?” erupted Trager. He stopped shoving Lukien and glowered. “Akeela, don’t listen to his lies! You’ve come all this way. Don’t turn back now.”
“Should we kill good people, Will?” asked Akeela.
“They have your amulets!” said Trager. He pointed at Lukien. “And they’ve harbored this scoundrel! Good people? Freaks, Akeela. Enemies!”
Akeela thought for a moment, his mind shredded by the two arguments. Desperate to be alone, he waved at Trager to go. “Take him,” he ordered. “And leave
me alone.”
Trager grunted unhappily, then opened the doors of the throne room. Two soldiers were waiting there. Immediately he barked at them to take hold of Lukien. Akeela watched as they dragged the knight from the chamber. When they had all gone he slumped down into the ornate throne. The meeting had rattled him. He heard Lukien’s voice over and over in his head, speaking of Cassandra. Suddenly he was desperate for a drink.
No, he corrected himself. Not just one drink.
Tonight he wanted to get horribly drunk. Without the help of alcohol, he knew he’d never be able to face the dawn.
55
After a full day’s ride, Gilwyn finally reached Jador at dusk. The city gleamed across the sands, beckoning him forward like a beacon in the ebbing sunlight. He was exhausted, but he still had enough water in his pouches for a celebratory drink. He undid one of the waterskins from Emerald’s harness and took a long, satisfying drink. He was proud of the journey they’d made, and conveyed this pride to the kreel with his mind. The reptilian response was like a silent purring in his brain. They had snuck out of Grimhold without incident, and no one had followed. Gilwyn didn’t know if Minikin had discovered he was gone, though he supposed she had by now. It didn’t matter. He had reached Jador. Simply by pointing the kreel’s nose east and telling her to find “home,” she had sprinted across the desert almost nonstop. And though Gilwyn could feel her exhaustion, he could also tell that she was eager to go on, to finish the journey they had started together.
But they couldn’t go on. Just in sight of their destination, Gilwyn got down from her back.
“That’s it,” he told the creature, patting her long neck. You can’t go any further with me.”
The reptile’s eyes blinked at him in confusion. He smiled sadly at her.
“You have to wait for me here,” he explained. “I can’t risk losing you, Emerald. The Liirians might kill you on sight. And if I do make it out again, I’ll need you to take me back to Grimhold.”
