by John Marco
Jazana stopped walking. She stared into the window. Then, without thinking, she reached into the dirt and picked up a handful of stones, hurling them at the window. When all of them missed, she cursed and scanned the earth for a bigger rock and, finding a perfect projectile, sent it hurtling toward the keep. The window shattered with a satisfying implosion of noise and glass. But Jazana didn’t stop. Hearing the noise snapped something inside her, and she picked up another rock and then another and more, hurling them again and again at the castle. Rodrik Varl watched in stunned silence as his mistress hissed and screamed as she continued her assault, snatching up every rock she could until there was only dust at her feet. Finally, the rocks depleted, Jazana Carr fell to her knees and clutched at the dry earth. Her body shook with sobs. Unable to lift her head, she watched her tears fall to the ground. Her father’s face glared at her from across the years.
“You heartless dragon,” cried Jazana. “I’ve beaten you!”
At last she had beaten him. At last she had shown him what a daughter could do. Her broken heart pounded in her chest. She shook her head to stop the sobs but could not still them. In her hands she felt the poisoned earth of Haverthorn. She opened her fingers and let the wind take it from her palms. She remained on her knees for long moments, fighting to compose herself as Rodrik looked on helplessly. It had been so long since she’d known tears, and now they flooded her. The great hatred she had carried for decades was still inside her. She could feel it, gnawing at her bones. But it was different now. She was different now.
“I’m queen,” she sniffed. “Hear me, father? Queen!”
The castle gave no answer. It just stood there, broken. Had she expected an answer? To feel differently? Jazana didn’t know. At last she felt a hand on her shoulder. Over her stood Rodrik Varl. She looked up and saw his eyes filled with pity.
“My lady,” he said softly. “Let’s go now.”
Jazana put her hand on his and nodded. “Let’s go home.”
The bodyguard smiled. “To Hanging Man.”
With a great effort Jazana Carr lifted herself to her feet. Smoothing down her garments, she walked as regally as she could back to her waiting horse. “Yes,” she said, “to Hanging Man. And then to Liiria.”
At the fence she turned and saw Rodrik staring at her. There was still pity on his face, but now there was disbelief as well.
“I have only beaten one man, Rodrik,” she explained. “There are others I must prove myself to, a whole world of them.”
When Rodrik said nothing Jazana turned away and saw Den and Gace in the distance, staring at her. She straightened herself, mounted her horse, and rode toward them, preparing herself for Hanging Man, the only real home she had ever known.
10
BEYOND THE WHITE WALL
Upon hearing the news of the Seekers from Liiria, Baron Glass wanted to see them at once. But Minikin had only just returned to Grimhold, and was unwilling to make the trip back to Jador so quickly. Because Baron Glass could not easily travel alone, he was forced to be patient and wait for the little woman to get her fill of her Inhumans and her strange home while he plied Lukien with questions about the Liirians, questions the Bronze Knight was reluctant to answer. Thorin quickly learned that Lukien had deliberately spent little time with his former countrymen and was unable—or unwilling—to talk about them. So Thorin, already eager to see Gilwyn and put some distance between himself and Meriel, could barely wait to leave for Jador.
But wait he did. For two days he refused to push Minikin on the subject. She was a woman of few words and never argued—she simply told things as they were. What she told Baron Glass was that they would return to Jador within a week. Blessedly, it was far less than a week. After three days, Minikin told Baron Glass to prepare for the journey. They left for Jador at dawn the next morning.
Unfortunately for Thorin, they set out by kreel. Although he could still ride a horse with only one arm, he could do so only slowly and carefully, and so had never made the desert journey on his own. Rather, he shared one of the giant lizards with a Jadori warrior, a slight to his pride he had never gotten used to. Like every day in the desert, this one started off cool but quickly turned blistering. In his long year in Grimhold, Thorin had only once seen the sky give rain and had almost forgotten what clouds looked like. Today the sky was impossibly blue. The flatlands shimmered with mirages. The distant hills seemed to grow no closer. Thorin knew the kreels would have them in Jador after sunset, and so he tried to relax during the journey, but his mind raced with questions he would pose to the Liirians. There were only five of them making the journey this time, and Lukien was not among them. For a reason Thorin couldn’t guess, Lukien had lapsed into another of his silences shortly after returning home, and showed no interest in returning to Jador right away.
“Gilwyn will have you to protect him,” the Bronze Knight had told Thorin. It was his way of making the old Baron feel useful. Thorin made no effort to convince his friend to join them. Lukien had shouldered more than his share of duties lately and needed the rest.
Besides himself, Minikin, and her bodyguard Trog, the others making the journey were all Jadori warriors. As such, they spoke very little during the crossing. Thorin had learned early that the desert folk expended precious little energy on words. They were never disrespectful or unfriendly; they were simply quiet. Like Trog, they said almost nothing at all. Minikin herself was quiet, too. Though she spoke from time to time with her bodyguard, she seldom turned to see how Thorin was doing, and even when they rested her conversation was curt. Baron Glass knew Minikin was worried. He did not need her vaunted mind powers to know what she was thinking—she didn’t want him speaking to the Seekers. She had warned him that they would only tell him things he could do nothing to change. But she had relented in the end, because she knew how important Liiria was to him and because there was simply nothing she could do to stop him.
Baron Glass had never grown close to Minikin, though he did respect her. She had a million problems plaguing her these days and handled them all with steel and grace. But she had never come to him for counsel the way she had Lukien, and that bothered Baron Glass, fueling his feelings of uselessness. He would be grateful when they reached Jador, he decided. Then he would see Gilwyn and have some friendly talk.
As expected, they reached the city well after nightfall. The place was awash in moonlight, looking splendid and white. They came through the western gate of the city, which had always been unguarded until Akeela’s army had come. Now, because of Prince Aztar’s raiders, there were still Jadori warriors patrolling the wall. When they saw Ela-daz they opened the gate immediately, giving her entrance to the city. Minikin greeted them warmly, and a pair of the dark-skinned men stepped forward at once, volunteering to escort her to the palace, which was easily seen in the clear night, towering above the rest of Jador, its minarets reflecting moonlight like cut gems. They were all exhausted from the trip, but the thought of seeing Gilwyn buoyed them, particularly Thorin. It had been weeks since he had seen the young man.
Because it was not yet late, Jador’s streets remained full of people. As always, the Jadori welcomed Ela-daz with waves and calls of adoration, offering smiles to Baron Glass as well. Thorin nodded and waved, acknowledging their praise even as it embarrassed him. He was not such a hero as Lukien, whom the Jadori seemed to worship, but he could feel that their respect for him was genuine. The group did not dismount, however, or spend much time with the people. Instead they pressed on to the palace, where they were sure Gilwyn would be waiting for them.
Indeed, the young regent did not disappoint them. It was always impossible to keep news of Minikin’s arrival contained, and so Gilwyn greeted them in the palace’s ornate garden with a huge smile on his face. He looked weary but undeniably happy to see them, and when their kreels sauntered into the garden he rushed forward.
“Thorin!” he exclaimed. “I knew you’d come!” Then he produced a wide grin for Minikin. “And Minikin. I’
ve been waiting for you!”
Minikin let Gilwyn help her down from the kreel. “It’s not been so long, Gilwyn. I told you—patience is a good thing for a regent.”
“You left me wondering, and you know it,” said Gilwyn. “I’m ready to learn.”
“And I’m ready for some rest,” said Minikin, stretching her little body. She shook out her long white hair, then nodded at the waiting Gilwyn. “I know you’ve been waiting. I promise you—we will talk. But let us rest a bit first, hmm?”
“And eat,” said Baron Glass. Eager to be down from his mount, he slid off the reptile’s back after the Jadori rider, who gave him a steadying hand. “We feasted on dried bread and fruit all day, if you can call that a feast. Let’s have some wine and meat, all of us.” He inspected Gilwyn carefully. “Have you eaten, boy? You look like one of my saddle sores.”
Gilwyn sighed wearily. “No, I’ve been busy tonight talking with some of the warriors.”
Minikin raised an eyebrow. “About the kreel again?”
“Minikin, they’re all worried,” said Gilwyn. “If we don’t find more we won’t be able to defend ourselves.”
“Kreel breed in their own time, Gilwyn,” said Minikin. “The Jadori know that.”
Baron Glass reached out and tousled Gilwyn’s hair. “That big brain of yours needs food, boy.”
“We’ll go in and get a meal,” said Gilwyn, then suddenly frowned. “No Lukien?”
“I’m afraid not, Gilwyn, not this time,” said Minikin gently. “Lukien needs some time to himself, I think.”
“He’s all right, isn’t he?”
“He’s fine,” replied Thorin. “He’s just troubled about what happened, killing those raiders. We never think it bothers Lukien to kill, but it does.”
Gilwyn nodded. “I know. I’m glad he didn’t come. He’s been patrolling too much lately. Which is why we need more kreel, Minikin. Having Lukien helps, but even he’s not going to be enough if Aztar ever really attacks us.”
Minikin smiled. “Let us go inside now.”
“Minikin, we need to talk about this . . .”
But the mistress was already making her way through the garden, her bodyguard Trog close on her heels. A sour expression crossed Gilwyn’s face as he watched her go.
“She doesn’t listen to me,” he grumbled. “Some regent I am.”
Thorin was quick to offer support. “That’s not it, Gilwyn. She’s got a lot on her mind, just as you do. And it’s been a long ride. She’s tired.”
The explanation appeased Gilwyn. With a boy’s enthusiasm, he asked, “Did you hear, Thorin? Minikin’s come back to teach me about my Akari. Finally, I’m going to find out about her.”
“I know, and I’m pleased for you,” said Thorin. He put his arm around Gilwyn as he led him back toward the palace. “It’s a great mystery to me, this Akari business. If it makes you happy, fine. Me, I’ll never understand it, or how a spirit could ever speak to someone.”
He volunteered nothing of his encounter with Kahldris, or how the dead Akari had spoken to him in his bedroom. He merely left the garden with Gilwyn, eager for food and answers about the Liirian Seekers.
There were no arguments during dinner that night. Baron Glass had rested and washed himself, then taken a hearty meal with Minikin and Gilwyn and some of the palace’s Jadori servants in a dining hall full of mosaic windows, a remnant from the glory days of White-Eye’s dead father. The mood was good around the table, passing figs and dates and flat breads to each other and leaning back on the pillows to laugh at Jadori jokes, which Thorin only half-understood. The servants who joined them weren’t really servants at all, because although Gilwyn had been declared regent over Jador he was uncomfortable in his role and held it only in the most informal fashion. They were all equals, not only around the table but everywhere else, and those who brought the food to them sat down to partake in the meal.
Minikin herself remained distracted most of the time. Expertly avoiding Gilwyn’s questions, she told him only that his lessons would begin tomorrow, and that all his queries would be answered then. The boy found it hard to restrain his enthusiasm. It had been a year since Minikin had first told him of his Akari, a spirit that had been gifted to him as an infant. He knew her name was Ruana and that she had been a young woman when she died, but Minikin had kept mostly everything else secret, and Thorin knew that vexed Gilwyn. The young regent didn’t eat much at the supper. Anxious for the morning, he played with his food and gave most of it to his pet monkey, Teku, who sat happily on his shoulder as her master passed plump dates her way. Her tiny hands held the fruit with precision as she ate, precision that Gilwyn himself had never mastered because of his clubbed hand. Once, Teku had been the young man’s savior. Before Figgis—his former master in Liiria—had fashioned a boot for him to walk, Teku had compensated for him, climbing to fetch things out of reach and gingerly turning the pages of books. She was a remarkable creature, truly, but she was old now and it was good that Gilwyn had less use for her. Thorin didn’t know if it was the desert air or simply becoming a man that had made Gilwyn stronger, but he could walk on his own well now and seldom called upon his simian friend for assistance. Teku didn’t seem to mind her retirement, though. Gilwyn still loved and doted on her, and she went with him almost everywhere in the palace, perching on his shoulder like a loyal bird.
Baron Glass deftly avoided the topic of the Seekers. It was a sore subject for Minikin, he knew, so he waited until the meal was over and the little mistress left the room before broaching it with Gilwyn. As the giant Trog departed after Minikin, the room grew suddenly larger. Thorin sidled over to Gilwyn, settling down next to him on a red silk pillow. While the Jadori cleaned the table, Thorin spoke to Gilwyn in Liirian.
“So,” he said almost absently, “we should talk about the Seekers.” He took one of the dates from Gilwyn’s plate and twirled it between his fingertips. “What do you know about them?”
Gilwyn looked at his friend slyly. “I’m surprised you were able to wait so long. I was wondering when you’d ask me about them.”
“I had to wait until Minikin was gone first,” Thorin conceded. “Do you know where they are?”
The young man nodded. “Out in the south side of the town. I’ve been working with them, trying to find housing for them. Their leader is a man named Paxon, from Koth.”
“Koth?” Excitement bubbled in Thorin. “That is interesting. Lukien didn’t mention that, not surprisingly.”
“I’m sure he didn’t want to get your hopes up,” said Gilwyn. “And really, what good does it do us to know where they’re from?”
The question frustrated Thorin, who squashed the date in his fingers then wiped his hand on a cloth. “You and Lukien are too much alike. Don’t you even care what’s happening back home?”
“This is our home now, Thorin. Maybe you don’t know that yet, but you should. Chasing after these people won’t do you any good. They came here to escape Liiria, remember. There’s nothing left for any of us there.”
“I’d rather find that out for myself, thank you. I left a family behind in Liiria, you know.”
“Sixteen years ago.”
“That makes no difference. Remember what Jazana Carr told me, boy—she intends to kill them, given the chance. If she’s on the move . . .”
“You don’t know that, Thorin.”
“Precisely why I have to find these Seekers! Now, you have a big day tomorrow so I won’t make you come with me.”
Gilwyn laughed. “Oh, thank you.”
“I’ll go to them myself. Just tell me where to find this Paxon.”
The village outside the white wall had never been Thorin’s favorite place. It was crowded and dirty and—because it was jammed with northerners—it reminded him sadly of home.
It was very late by the time he made his way out of the city gate, but the township and its peoples were still mostly awake. There was very little to do once the sun went down, but the breaking of the desert he
at was always celebrated and the people gathered in squares and makeshift pubs to gamble and gossip. Dogs barked and cats ran past Thorin’s feet after mice that had somehow followed his northern brethren across the desert. The night smelled of sweat and sand and of the peculiar liquors the Jadori brewed, which had quickly become popular among the hopeless folk of the township. As always, the nighttime sky was desert perfect. Clear and endless, it twinkled with stars.
Gilwyn had told Thorin exactly where to find the house of Paxon. Because the house was on the southern end of the township, he needed no horse to make his way there. Instead he went on foot, confident that he would be safe among the populace. Many of them were northerners like himself, after all, and like him they were trapped in a place they didn’t want to be. Though they clamored to get into Grimhold and he clamored to get out, they had much in common, and Thorin pitied them for that. As he moved through the crowded streets, still jammed with vendors, he ignored the stares and gestures of those he passed, not wanting to speak to anyone. He sought only the new Seekers from Liiria, and they only because they had fresh news. Thorin was hungry for news. Anything, any small morsel they could toss him, would be devoured.
The smell of Ganjeese cooking filled the air as Thorin made his way to the south quarter. It was the Ganjeese who had built the township years ago, content to live outside the Jadori wall and build their own peaceful trading post in the shadow of their Jadori neighbors. When the Seekers had started coming, the Ganjeese had made room for them. They were all cut off from the world now, kept from returning across the desert by the bloodthirsty Aztar, and the Ganjeese seemed to accept this with the usual grace of their ilk. In the south quarter, there were far more Ganjeese than northerners. Their homes were better, too. Built with permanence in mind, they were not the hastily constructed shacks the Seekers had thrown up. Being in the south quarter was like being in a corner of Ganjor itself, full of music and exotic smells and dotted with tiled minarets. Thorin took a deep breath as he walked through the narrow avenues, happy to be in the company of real people, away from the stifling air of Grimhold. As he made his way to the house where Paxon was now settled, he stopped at one of the nighttime stalls and bought bread-wrapped sausage from one of the vendors, paying for it with a worn-out coin. The dark-skinned merchant looked at him peculiarly, unsure whether or not to take the money from the baron. Thorin smiled and turned away before he could refuse. Holding the food tightly in his single hand, he stuffed it into his mouth as he walked. Though his mind raced with his mission to find Paxon, he was determined to enjoy his brief freedom.
