by John Marco
“Come . . .”
The door opened and Minikin appeared, her elvish face lit with a peculiar smile. Behind her was a woman Lukien had never seen before, a beautiful young woman with golden hair and powerful eyes, her slender body unobscurbed by Minikin’s diminutive form. The sight of the woman made Lukien rise from his cot. She was lovely, and oddly familiar. He started to greet them both . . .
And stopped midway.
He stared. Minikin said nothing. The pretty woman smiled shyly.
“Fate above . . .”
“It’s me, Lukien,” replied the woman. Meriel stood in the threshold, demure and beautiful. Her unscarred lips curled in a hopeful smile. The breath caught in Lukien’s throat.
“What happened? You’re . . . you look . . .”
“Minikin did this for me,” replied Meriel. “With the help of the Akari.” She stepped into the room and twirled for him. “Look! I’m normal again!”
The astonishing change in her left Lukien dumbstruck. He studied her face—the left side which had been so disfigured—and saw only the smooth skin of youth. Even her hand, scarred like her face, was normal and perfect. He looked at Minikin for an answer, who smiled with sympathy.
“It is not what you think, Lukien. It is an illusion. Beneath what you see she is still scarred.”
Meriel glowered at the mistress. “I look normal again. That’s what matters.”
“She has given up her gift with fire to appear this way,” said Minikin.
Meriel ignored her. “Lukien, isn’t it better? Am I not so much easier to look at?”
“Meriel, I—”
“Call her Mirage, Lukien,” interrupted Minikin.
“What?”
“Mirage is her name now. Finally she has taken on an Inhuman name. I have insisted on it.”
There was a quiet animosity between the two women. Lukien sensed it and knew to be cautious.
“All right,” he said easily. “If that’s what you wish.” He looked at Meriel and smiled. “Mirage. I like that. It’s a pretty name.”
Her smile widened. “I am happy now, Lukien. This is how it should be.”
“Good, but I still don’t understand. Why couldn’t this happen before? If this is what you wanted, why did Sarlvarian wait so long to make you look this way?”
“She gave up Sarlvarian for this,” answered Minikin. “There is much to explain, I know, but there is something else we need to discuss, Lukien.” She turned to Mirage. “Go now, child. Lukien and I will talk of this alone.”
“Talk about what?” asked Lukien.
“About me coming with you,” said Mirage. “To Liiria.”
“You?” He turned to Minikin. “Her, Minikin? Is that what you meant?”
Before the mistress could answer Mirage said, “I want to leave here, Lukien. You know that. That is why Minikin granted me my wish, so that I could live among normal people again, in the real world.”
Lukien looked at Minikin. “Is that true?”
“It is,” declared Minikin. “She is unhappy here. This is what she wants.”
“And you expect me to take her to Liiria? Minikin, I’m going after Thorin. You know how dangerous this is. How can I agree?”
“Please, Lukien, just take me as far as Liiria,” begged Mirage. “From there I can go off on my own, if that’s what you wish.”
But the girl was baiting him, and Lukien knew it. Minikin knew it too. She loved him, and there was no way she would let him abandon her in Liiria.
“Meriel . . .” He paused and tried to smile. “Mirage. Do as Minikin says. Let us talk alone.”
Disappointment suffused Mirage’s pretty face. She hesitated, hovered in the doorway for a moment, then left without a word. When she was gone Lukien glared at Minikin.
“You’re angry,” said the mistress. “I understand. But think on it, Lukien, please. She was miserable here, and I could no longer make her stay.”
“Why would you let her give up her gifts?” railed Lukien. “Why let her live a lie? She’s not normal! You said so yourself; her appearance is all just an illusion.”
“Because it is what she wished. Because it was I who brought her here to make her an Inhuman.” Minikin’s face fell with sadness. “Because I failed her, Lukien.”
The admission surprised Lukien. It pained Minikin to speak it.
“And now she wants me to take her to Liiria,” he sighed. “Because she loves me.”
“She thinks she can make you forget Cassandra,” said Minikin. “Now that she is pretty again, she thinks you will love her. Maybe she thinks that you already do.”
“I do not,” said Lukien flatly. “And she will only be disappointed if she rides with me.”
“But she will be safe with you. I can’t keep her here, Lukien. None of us are prisoners in Grimhold. And if she leaves without you she may well fall prey to Aztar’s men.”
“This is a fine fix, Minikin,” grumbled Lukien. “If I take her with me she’ll be a burden. And if I don’t, I’ll have her murder on my mind.” He collapsed down into the cot and groaned. “I’m so tired. I want to sleep, and when I wake up I want to have forgotten about this place and all my responsibilities.”
Minikin padded toward him. Because he was sitting they were at eye level. She touched his face with her little hands, cupping it. Pulling him gently forward, she lightly kissed his troubled brow. The gesture made him sorrowful.
“I have to find Thorin, Minikin. I have to save him.” He glanced down at his dangling amulet. “Why won’t this bastard god help me?”
“Amaraz is very wise, Lukien. You must trust him. He will keep you alive and keep your feet on the right path. With his help you’ll find the means to defeat Kahldris.”
“Before or after he finishes raping Thorin’s mind?”
The Mistress of Grimhold had no answer.
24
REUNION
Guided by the light of a great, gray moon, Gilwyn and White-Eye rode.
She wore a dress of fine white silk that billowed as the kreel loped through the sand, holding on to Gilwyn’s waist and breathing in his ear, soft and warm. He wore a sad expression, heartbroken and afraid. There were hours to the night, still, and Gilwyn wanted only to be gone from Grimhold and take White-Eye away for himself. When they rode she was not kahana, and he was not responsible for Jador’s million troubles. He had missed White-Eye sorely, and upon the news of Thorin’s crimes he had taken her from her desecrated home to ride in the moonlight before the deadly rays of the sun could burn her.
To Gilwyn, the news was unbelievable. Thorin was no thief, but the spirit of the armor had corrupted him. Worse, it had made him a murderer. While Minikin and Lukien met and planned, Gilwyn had left Grimhold with White-Eye. He didn’t care what the others thought of him now. He needed the blind kahana.
They rode, and as they rode the mountain keep faded behind them, swallowed by the night and the undulating dunes. Unafraid, White-Eye said nothing as she held tight to Gilwyn, letting Emerald bear them away. On a better night she might have laughed, delighted by the hundred sensations. She loved seeing Gilwyn and stealing freedom when the sun went down. She trusted him. Gilwyn felt her trust, wrapped around him like a soft blanket. The sense of her, her breath in his ear, weakened him. Barely able to speak, he could find no words for the pain in his heart. Would Thorin die now? Would any of them ever be the same?
With merely a thought he brought Emerald to a halt. All at once the silence of the desert swam around them. White-Eye leaned forward, resting her chin on his shoulder. He listened, fascinated by every small sound. The young kahana’s perfume reached his nose, making him smile.
“Why do we stop?” she asked softly. In the quietness her words glowed.
“The moon. Can you see it?”
White-Eye thought for a moment. She did not need to face the moon to see it. “Yes. It is very lovely.”
They were on a dune, their own private mountain, with the swales and valleys of the desert al
l around them. Here they were safe from the eyes and ears of Grimhold. Gilwyn thought he might never return there. White-Eye, sensing his pain, raised her hand to his chest. He clasped it there, feeling his own heartbeat. It had been many weeks since he had seen White-Eye, and he had never expected their reunion to be like this. Circumstances had ruined it, but he did not want to speak of them. He hoped White-Eye would not even utter Thorin’s name.
“Are we very far?” she asked.
“No too far,” Gilwyn replied. “We have hours yet till the sun comes up.”
He didn’t have to tell her not to worry. She never worried when she was with him.
“I’m glad you came,” she told him. “And I’m glad I came with you here. It is good to be alone with you, Gilwyn.” She kissed his ear. “I miss you every day.”
Gilwyn grinned. Was there anything worth missing about him? He had never been successful with girls, certainly not in Koth. Yet even with his clubbed hand and foot, White-Eye loved him. Truly, Grimhold was a place of miracles.
“I can hear them,” he said, looking eastward over the desert. “I can feel them.”
“Who?”
“The kreels.” Gilwyn closed his eyes, letting the sensation take hold. Since meeting Ruana, his sensitivity to the kreels had increased a hundredfold. “They’re in the valley. Young ones.” He opened his eyes and pointed. “Out there.”
The east held the valley where the kreels bred and raised their young. It was not a secret, but few ever went there. White-Eye nodded, only partially understanding.
“Let’s get down,” she said. “Let’s stay and rest here.”
The idea pleased Gilwyn, who slid from Emerald’s back then helped White-Eye down. The night was cool but the sand was still warm beneath them. White-Eye knelt in it, running her hands through the sand and letting it fall through her caramel fingers. Gilwyn watched her, fascinated by her dark beauty. Feeling his eyes on her, she glanced up with her own white orbs.
“Sit with me,” she said, “and tell me of these kreels you feel.”
As Emerald lay contentedly nearby, Gilwyn slipped down close to White-Eye, stretching out his legs. Suddenly Grimhold seemed far away, and all his worries with it. The warmth of the sand felt good beneath him.
“The eastern valley,” he said softly. “I can feel them, dozens of them. They’re so alive. It’s like having fire in my head.”
“The eastern valley is days from here,” said White-Eye. “If you can feel them so far away . . .”
“I know it sounds silly . . .”
“No, I believe you,” said White-Eye. She touched his face. “You are very strong, Gilwyn. The gift in you is magnificent.”
“It’s Ruana. With her help, it’s like I can do anything.” Gilwyn took her hand and kissed it. “All I have to do is stretch my mind, and I can feel the kreels in the valley. They don’t know I’m watching them.”
White-Eye grinned happily. “I chose the right man for regent.”
Gilwyn chuckled. “You chose a boy.”
“Not a boy. A man.”
“A very young man. Too young, maybe.” Gilwyn pulled back a bit, unsure how to tell her his news. “There’s so much to do,” he sighed.
“What is there to be done?” asked White-Eye sadly. “Lukien will go after Baron Glass, no doubt. We can only hope for his safety and pray Amaraz gives him strength.”
“No, that’s not it. Don’t you see, White-Eye? Jador is in danger. If Lukien leaves, we won’t have his protection. There’s danger all around these days! Something has to be done, and I can’t just sit around.”
He glanced away, but White-Eye took his chin and made him look at her.
“Gilwyn? What are you planning?”
Gilwyn had trouble meeting her gaze. “To go to the eastern valley,” he said. “I’ve already decided. I’m going to the valley to bring back more kreels.”
“Oh,” said White-Eye absently. “You have decided?”
“You made me regent, White-Eye. I can decide these things.”
She surprised him with her calmness. “That is true. And Minikin? She approves?”
“She was the one who first told me about the valley. And now I know she was right.”
He sounded so certain; perhaps that was why she didn’t argue as expected. Instead White-Eye held his hand, nodding a little and hiding her fear.
“It’ll be fine,” Gilwyn hurried to say. “I know how to control them. I can bring them back safely.”
“I am sure you can,” said White-Eye. “But I worry for you, Gilwyn. The valley is far from Jador, two days ride at least. And there are rass along the way.”
“I know,” said Gilwyn. He had already considered the great, hooded snakes. “I’ll avoid them the best I can.” He tried to look brave. “I have to do this, White-Eye. If more of Aztar’s raiders come, we have to be ready for them. The kreels are our only real defense.”
White-Eye brought her head close to his chest. “I am afraid for you.” She let him stroke her hair. “Are you afraid?”
“Yes,” replied Gilwyn. “That’s why I wanted to be alone with you tonight.”
She twitched in his embrace. She seemed to understand. He looked down at her hopefully. He felt her body tremble. Or was it his own?
They had never been together as lovers, not in the whole year they had known each other. In such a time of need, in the shadow of war and rebuilding, Gilwyn had never found the courage to ask for it. Now, though, White-Eye understood his urgency. Slowly, she leaned back in his arms and let him lower her gently to the sand. He studied her in the moonlight. Her lips parted, opening for him. Gilwyn bent to kiss her. Deeply, he let his mouth taste her.
In the cradle of sand, he lay with her.
PART TWO
THE DARK ANGEL
25
THE PRINCESS AND THE TIGER
In the feast room of Ganjor’s modest palace, King Baralosus had gathered his family to greet an important guest. The great, low-lying table had been set with ceramic bowls, overflowing with fruit and flat breads and spicy sauces made from local peppers. Colorful pillows were arranged around the table, satiny cushions for sitting on the floor, the Ganjeese way of eating. The northern influence was weak in the palace. Though Ganjor was a city at the crossroads of continents, King Baralosus honored the old ways, the ways of the desert people, and so his home was furnished thus, with golden urns hung from draping chains and elaborate mosaics of hearth-fired tiles. The smoke of sweet-smelling tobacco rose in pink plumes from water pipes. King Baralosus’ large family—the product of three wives—made the feast room swell with happy noise. Musicians picked at scalthi, the small guitarlike instruments of Ganjor, playing as bare-bellied women danced and twirled their silk garments to the claps of men in long beards. It was evening in Ganjor, and this evening the city played host to a guest from the desert.
Princess Salina, dark of hair and dark of eye, greeted her father with a respectful bow. She had taken her time making her way to the feast, and now took her place at the table with the rest of her sisters. She was the fifth daughter of King Baralosus but had a better seat at the table than her birth order would normally allow. Lowering herself down on the carpeted floor, she sat directly across from Prince Aztar. Her father was already seated at the head of the table. At his right side sat Aztar. The desert man’s elevated station was not overlooked by the king’s advisors, whose solemn faces dotted the long table. King Baralosus leaned back on his pillows and glanced disapprovingly at his daughter. Prince Aztar, however, stared with admiration.
Salina remained circumspect. Aztar had desert eyes. Dark eyes, like all the Voruni. His people were a fierce lot, feared by most in Ganjor, including her father. The Desert of Tears was their home. It was, according to Aztar, his own kingdom, and for the past year he had been fighting to keep it pure. That was, in part, why he had come to Ganjor. Princess Salina feared the rest of his motives.
“At last you come to see me, Salina,” said Aztar. He watched
her, forgetting all the other women in the room, even the sensuous dancers. His voice was a baritone, but he always tamed it when speaking to her. “Is there a message in your lateness?”
“None at all,” her father was quick to answer. “Salina has a love for mirrors, Aztar. Getting her away from them has always been a chore. See how pretty she has made herself for you?”
Salina pretended to blush, though her father’s compliments were tedious and not meant for her. In Ganjor, women did not speak as men did. They were too often merely adornments, but Baralosus had been a fair father, treating his sons and daughters mostly alike. He did, however, expect propriety from Salina.
“Tell the prince you are happy to see him, Daughter,” Baralosus urged. A servant knelt beside him and offered him some food. The king waved the man away.
“I am pleased,” said Salina. Tonight, they spoke in the old tongue of Ganjor, the only language Aztar recognized. He would never speak the mixed tongue, so popular now in the city with all its northern influence. Salina let her eyes drift towards his as she spoke. “It is always good to see the prince, Father.”
Satisfied, her father nodded. Prince Aztar smiled. A great deal of noise surrounded them. Laughter and music filled the room. Servants shuffled ceramic bowls, and the dancers pressed tiny cymbals between their fingers. Men around the table and scattered along the floor clapped and admired the dancers. Aztar’s fighters were among them, their long, curved swords sheathed and laid beside them. The prince had come with a sizable bodyguard, enough men to worry Salina’s father. They had, however, been respectful. But they were different, these men of the desert. They were Voruni. Some called them zealots. The folk of Jador called them raiders. Salina still did not know what to think of them.
But what did Aztar think of himself? To Salina, he seemed supremely confident. Clearly he was comfortable killing those innocents that crossed “his” desert. She knew he did not think of himself as a murderer, though even the blood of children stained his hands. Because he could be so kind to her, she wondered sometimes if he was brainsick.
