by John Marco
‘Is this what you want?’ taunted Lukien, pulling the amulet from under his robe and dangling it before Hirak Shoud. ‘You want to live forever?’
Hirak Shoud bared his teeth and charged, this time catching Lukien in the leg. The knight cursed himself, ignored the pain, and brought his sword around. Too swift to see, the arc caught Hirak Shoud in the gut. He screamed as Lukien pulled out the blade, his black gaka swelling with blood. Astonished, he merely looked at Lukien. The scimitar fell weakly from his grip. With only the smallest pause, Lukien grimaced, held his broadsword in both fists, then hacked off Hirak Shoud’s head before his body hit the ground.
There was not a sound from either group of onlookers. Lukien sheathed his sword without wiping it clean. He went to Hirak Shoud’s head and lifted it from the sand. Across the way, the raiders looked on in mute horror. Lukien heaved the head at them. It landed with a thud and rolled to their feet.
‘Your Zarturk made a bargain,’ said Lukien. ‘Now you must honour it.’
The man who had been holding the girl Melini lowered her to the sand. Instantly she dashed toward Lukien. The knight kept his wary eyes on the raiders as the child hobbled toward him. Like Gilwyn, the girl had a bad foot. Unlike Gilwyn, however, she had no special shoe to help her walk. Behind him, Lukien heard the woman Calith shout. She hurried forward and scooped up her daughter, kissing her.
‘Thank you!’ she cried.
Lukien ordered her back to the wagon where the other Seekers waited. He watched the raiders take up Hirak Shoud’s severed head, then ride off without a word.
‘Tell your prince Lukien of Liiria is here whenever he’s man enough to face me!’ he shouted after them. ‘Tell Aztar I will take his own head next time!’
It was a bold boast but it made the knight feel better. He had never even seen Prince Aztar. Not surprisingly, Gilwyn rushed up to offer ease.
‘Lukien, your leg,’ he said. ‘You’re bleeding.’
The knight looked down at the wound Hirak Shoud had given him. There was indeed blood on his clothes, but the pain had already gone. Like the pain from his missing eye — a pain that had plagued him for years — it had been blotted up easily by the amulet.
‘I’m fine,’ he said. Gilwyn had brought his horse with him, and Lukien climbed into the saddle with no effort at all. He glanced at the Seekers, who had all gathered together to stare at him. Calith came forward with her daughter still in her arms. The tears on her cheeks told Lukien how grateful she was.
‘You saved her, and I can’t thank you enough,’ she said.
‘You saved us all.’ It was Paxon who spoke. ‘We thank you, Lukien of Liiria. All of us.’
For the first time Lukien got a good look at them. A dozen men, women, and children with some mules and a wagon to hold everything they owned. They were an image of all the Seekers who had come in search of Grimhold, poor and wretched, crippled and blind, but they were luckier than most. They had faced Aztar’s raiders and lived.
‘Where is it, Sir Lukien? Please tell us,’ said a woman of the group. Older than the rest, she spoke more to the air than to any individual. Lukien knew instantly she was blind. ‘Where is Mount Believer? Will you take us there?’
Lukien and Gilwyn glanced at each other. It was the same heartbreaking question all the Seekers asked. Ghost, who was clearly visible now, answered for them.
‘We’ll take you to a place where you’ll be safe,’ he said. The vague reply covered Lukien’s retreat. He turned his horse toward Jador and slowly led the way.
They were not as far from the city as their progress made it seem, but the slow-moving caravan of Seekers prevented them from going any faster. Lukien, with Gilwyn at his side, took the point across the Desert of Tears, heading west toward Jador. Ghost and the Jadori warriors rode several strides behind them, surrounding and protecting the Seekers, who took their turns on the wagon and mules, needing to stop frequently. Like most of the northerners who had come across the desert, their maladies varied. Curiously, Paxon himself had no discernible maladies. Rather, he seemed only possessed of an abiding curiosity about Grimhold — which he called Mount Believer. Lukien supposed he had become their leader out of sheer obstinacy. Obviously healthy, he had done a good job of protecting them. That didn’t mean they were welcome in Jador, however, which was already bursting with refugees.
By late midday the sun was at its hottest. In another hour they would reach Jador. Lukien took his waterskin from his saddle and allowed himself a long, refreshing drink. When he was done he offered the skin to Gilwyn, who took it gratefully. As the boy drank Lukien watched him, and in the harsh desert light he realised he was no longer such a boy, but very much a man. Although seventeen, Gilwyn hardly seemed his age any more. He had huge responsibilities now, like all of them, and a young woman he hoped to marry someday. That same young woman had given him regent powers over Jador, responsibility Gilwyn had taken to heart. White-Eye’s aversion to sunlight prevented her from leaving Grimhold’s dark caverns. Though she was Kahana of Jador now, she could not look upon the city her dead father had left her. But she had found a willing friend in Gilwyn, and the young man had helped her with all his usual earnestness. Jador and its thousand problems had become his own. He had worked hard the past year to rebuild the city, which had been wasted by the war with Liiria. The Jadori had lost countless men and kreels, and defending it from Aztar was a growing problem. Lukien saw lines in Gilwyn’s face that shouldn’t have been there.
‘Thanks,’ said the boy, handing back the waterskin. He had been quiet since their earlier battle, obviously troubled by what had happened. Only a year ago he had been a librarian’s apprentice in Liiria. He had been bookish and introverted, and his new role as Jador’s regent sat heavy on his shoulders.
‘You did a fine job back there,’ said Lukien. ‘I swear, you work that kreel like a Jadori.’
The compliment pleased Gilwyn. ‘It gets easier each day. Sometimes it’s like her thoughts are my own.’ He reached down and patted Emerald’s sinewy neck. Her scales turned a happy blue. She was smaller than the other kreels, a runt of the litter Gilwyn had saved from the axe. Whether the creature knew Gilwyn had saved her and appreciated it, Lukien couldn’t say. The bond between kreel and rider was a mystery to him. ‘I thought we were dead for sure,’ Gilwyn went on, ‘but Emerald kept me safe. She’s growing faster, too. Not just in how she talks to me, but in the way she moves.’
Lukien shook his head. ‘Talks to you. I’ll never get used to that.’
‘You could do it too, if you wanted,’ said Gilwyn.
‘Thank you, no. A horse is good enough for me. And don’t be so humble. Not all the Jadori work the kreel as well as you do, Gilwyn. Not even those warriors.’
Gilwyn shrugged, but his face coloured with pride.
They rode like this a few moments more, and the silence between them was easy. Lukien relaxed, but when he heard his name being called behind him he cringed.
‘Sir Lukien?’
It was Paxon. On foot, he was coming up quickly to walk beside them. His earnest face looked up at Lukien, full of questions. Lukien turned and shot an angry glare at Ghost. The Inhuman merely shrugged.
‘Sir Lukien, may I talk with you?’ asked Paxon. Because their pace was so slow the man had no trouble keeping up with the riders.
‘If you must.’
Paxon frowned. ‘You’re angry with us, I know. I’m sorry. None of us knew those men from Ganjor would attack us.’
‘They’re not from Ganjor, not precisely. Like I said, they were Prince Aztar’s men. They’re people from his tribe.’
‘But why’d they attack us?’ asked Paxon. ‘To rob us?’
‘To kill you,’ said Lukien. ‘Oh, they would have robbed you just the same, but they want you dead. All Seekers. That’s what you’re called here. Anyone who comes across the Desert of Tears is Prince Aztar’s enemy.’
‘I don’t understand,’ said Paxon. ‘Why?’
‘Because you’r
e not one of them,’ said Gilwyn. ‘You’re outsiders. Like us.’
‘But we do no harm. We’re only looking for a better life.’
‘Yes, you and hundreds of others,’ Lukien sighed. ‘Have you any idea how many people have come looking for Grimhold this past year? Aztar thinks this desert belongs to him. He’s proclaimed himself prince so that he can protect this desert, and he thinks you’re soiling it. That’s why his men attacked you, and that’s why he gives us no peace.’
Paxon looked suitably rebuked. ‘I am sorry. But these people have need of Mount Believer. You’ve seen them. That little girl, Melini — if she doesn’t get help she’ll be crippled always.’ He smiled up at Lukien. ‘Surely you can understand that. We come here because we must. Liiria is no fit place for good people these days.’
More than anything Paxon had said, that last bit was wounding. Lukien thought at once of Thorin, and how upset his old friend would be at the news. Of all of them, Thorin had left the most behind in Liiria.
‘So the wars go on?’ asked Gilwyn.
Paxon nodded. ‘It gets worse every day.’
‘And Koth?’ asked Lukien. ‘What news from there?’
‘We are from Koth,’ said Paxon. ‘The city is still under constant attack. Last I heard there were soldiers in the library, trying to hold the city. I don’t know if it’s still standing.’
The black news sent Lukien over the edge. ‘And just what did you think you’d find here in the desert?’ he snapped. ‘Freedom from war? Forget it.’
‘We only want to be healed,’ said Paxon. ‘I have a cancer that eats away at me every day. In a few more months I will be dead if the magicians of Mount Believer don’t save me.’
‘I’m sorry for you, then,’ said Lukien. He thought about his beloved Cassandra, and how a cancer had devoured her. ‘I know how a cancer can be.’
‘So then you see why we had to come here, Sir Lukien.’ Paxon tried to smile. ‘This place is our last hope.’
Neither Lukien nor Gilwyn had the heart to tell the man the truth. Instead Lukien said, ‘When we reach Jador you will meet with Minikin. She will answer all your questions.’
‘Minikin? Who’s that?’
‘You’ll see,’ said Lukien. ‘Now, go back and be with the others. It’s not much further to the city.’
Paxon didn’t like his answer, but didn’t question Lukien further. He fell back and rejoined his fellow Liirians. The rest of the way to Jador, Lukien barely said a word.
5
Ela-daz
As always, the message had come on the wings of a dove.
Minikin had never seen their benefactor, but she knew the girl was young. Salina was the fifth of Baralosus’ daughters. He was a minor king who had managed to father a dozen children, and it was said that Salina was his favourite. It intrigued Minikin that she had chosen to betray him. In Princess Salina, the Seekers had found an unexpected friend, yet the girl remained mostly a mystery to Minikin and her Jadori allies. The messages her doves brought to the tower were always succinct, never hinting at motives or reward. Minikin held the note in her tiny hand as she looked out over the city, spying the distant Desert of Tears. Across the burning ocean of sand, Ganjor and its young princess waited. In the folds of the desert, Prince Aztar’s illegitimate kingdom had sprung up. And lost between them were Gilwyn and Lukien and all the others. Minikin’s tiny lips twisted in worry. Her friends — and they were her friends now — had left many hours ago, not long after Salina’s note had arrived. Their absence shouldn’t have troubled Minikin, but it did. She reminded herself that the Desert of Tears was a giant place, and that Lukien would not return until he had located the Seekers. Next to her, the white dove Princess Salina had sent rested on its perch near the open window. It had eaten its fill of seed and slaked its thirst on water, and now waited for Minikin to pen a return note, ready to wing its way back to the Ganjeese princess. But the Mistress of Grimhold had not the heart to set the bird aloft again.
She was very high up in Jador’s palace. Minikin remembered how many times she had been here in the past, when the lavish room had belonged to Kahan Kadar. The ruler of Jador had been her friend for decades, decades given them by magic, extending their lives well beyond normality. Now these rooms belonged to White-Eye. She was Kahana, but her malady of the eyes made it impossible for her to stay in sun-baked Jador, and so Gilwyn ruled in her stead. The room was littered with Gilwyn’s things, books mostly, which he had acquired from grateful Seekers. Minikin’s tiny shadow fell on a pile of Gilwyn’s clothes, which lay carelessly on the floor near the window. She smiled, reminded of what a boy he still was, despite his man-sized responsibilities.
‘Not much time,’ she remarked. Further into the room, her giant bodyguard nodded. He was many times her height and stooped, even in the high ceiling of the chamber. Trog, who was without a tongue, did not smile or offer his mistress any comfort. Minikin did not expect any. His presence was enough. ‘We should go now,’ she said, still unable to pull her gaze from the desert or take her mind off her thousand worries. With a smirk she added, ‘I’m sure they’re well, don’t you think?’
Though Trog was deaf he could hear her perfectly. His Akari — the spirit that had bound to him — assured that. Again he nodded his big head. Minikin did not turn to see the gesture.
Today, she had the rare opportunity to bring another of the Seekers into her fold. She had chosen a boy this time. And she had discovered the perfect Akari spirit to bind with him. She should have been happy, but was not. It gave her little joy these days to bestow this awesome gift. There were so many needing it. The godlike role she’d been forced to play weighed heavy on her mind.
She put out a finger for the dove, who hopped onto it at once. Minikin studied the creature, wondering about the girl who’d sent it. It would have been a simple matter to ask Insight about Princess Salina. Lacaron, Insight’s Akari, might easily be able to tell her more. But Minikin respected the girl’s privacy, and so did not wish to pry into her motivations. Somewhere in Ganjor’s royal family beat a kind heart, and that was good enough for Minikin.
‘Your mistress has saved many lives,’ she told the bird. ‘And now I must go to save another.’
The dove seemed obscenely large on the midget’s finger. Minikin coaxed it back onto its perch, gave a last wishful look at the desert, then turned and left the chamber. Trog, always a pace behind her, dutifully followed.
On the outskirts of Jador, beyond the white wall that sealed the city from the desert, a thriving sub-city had evolved. For long years it had been a place of travellers and traders, merchants from Ganjor and Dreel and the Agora valley and Nith, who had come across the Desert of Tears with their families to make a contented life in the shadow of Jador. It was not a slum; Kahan Kadar, who had lived many generations and had watched the sub-city grow up around his own, had always been kind and generous to those from other nations, and so had opened Jador to their cultures. The white wall that protected his city had long been unguarded, with a giant gate left open so that Jadori and foreigners could trade and mingle freely. It had been a fine arrangement, and Kahan had been proud of it. Both sides of the wall were contented, and so it had remained for many years.
Then, the Liirians had come. With his great army, King Akeela had changed the lives of every Jadori, inside and out of the white wall. The Liirians had brought destruction to Jador and the deaths of countless warriors and kreels, and in the year since their defeat the city had never recovered. Nor had the trade with the outside world. There were no more caravans from Ganjor or Dreel or the Agora valley or Nith. There were only the Seekers, those brave enough to defy Prince Aztar and come across the desert. Like the ruins of Jador’s defences and the dearth of vital kreels, Prince Aztar was just another ugly outcome of King Akeela’s war. He had replaced Akeela as the thing the Jadori most feared.
Gilwyn and the others had not returned by the time Minikin exited the city. Atop a pony, she rode out from the gate and entered
the surrounding township to the gasps of the populace.
‘Ela-daz,’ they called and whispered, pointing at the little woman as she made her way through the streets. A woman smiled up at her. Her face half-hidden behind a veil, she offered Minikin a handful of nuts she’d been selling from bowls in the avenue. ‘Ela-daz,’ the woman greeted, joyous at the sight of her. Minikin returned the smile but refused the nuts, saying nothing. The crowd parted as she continued, but the staring did not ebb. It was always this way when Ela-daz ventured forth. The people of the township knew she only went among them when she had a special purpose. The buzz of her visit quickly rippled through the street.
Kahan Kadar had been the first Jadori to call her Ela-daz. It was a term of endearment, meaning ‘little one’, and Minikin had never protested it. She had learned long ago that names held no harm — a bit of wisdom she instilled in her Inhumans — and she knew that Kadar had given her the title in kindness. He had been her finest friend, and the first to wear the Eye of God that Lukien now wore. She, as the Mistress of Grimhold, wore the amulet’s twin. It had kept her alive for decades on end. Kadar had been dead for a year now, but she missed him still. In the aftermath of the Liirian war she had been given a thousand new burdens, and she craved Kahan’s gentle guidance.
Minikin did not hurry through the crowd, because she enjoyed being among them and because her bodyguard Trog always lagged behind when she rode her pony. There were few horses in Jador now, almost none of them large enough to bear the mute’s enormous weight, so Trog walked a few paces behind his mistress, keeping up as best he could. He was a frightful sight and the people of the township gave him a wide berth as he moved through them. Minikin looked back and gave him an encouraging wink. Here in Jador, she had no real use for a bodyguard, but Trog refused to leave her and she was always grateful for his company.
