Authors: John Marco
The Eyes of God (101 page)
Then out of the camp rode Akeela, his white stallion prancing through the sand as he joined Trager. He wore no armor, just a kingly tunic and royal cape. On his head sat his golden crown. He looked older to Thorin, even from the great distance, with a serious expression that enhanced his twisted reputation. Kadar bristled when he noticed Akeela, letting out a low growl.
“The snake of Liiria,” he pronounced loudly. Down the line his men affirmed the accusation, rumbling their hatred. The kahan turned to Thorin. “He will offer terms?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” confessed Thorin. He was uncomfortable sitting behind Benik on the kreel, so he slid off the creature’s back. Kadar scowled. “I can’t see a damn thing up there,” Thorin shot back in frustration. At his side he wore a sword, in case a lucky opportunity arose. He felt like a coward letting others do his fighting, and thought of pleading with Kadar to let him join the fray. But it had already been decided. He let out a disgruntled sigh as he watched the distant Liirians. “Akeela wants Lukien,” he said finally. “He may offer something in return.”
“Your king is a fool if he thinks I would give up a comrade so easily. He thinks I am like him, a whore?” asked Kadar angrily.
“As I said, I don’t know,” replied Thorin.
“Get back on your kreel.”
“I can direct the battle better if I can see, don’t you think?”
“I direct the battle,” said Kadar. “And you will be safer on the kreel. Mount.”
Baron Glass ignored the order.
“I see Glass,” said Akeela with a frown, “but where’s Lukien?”
Trager snorted, “Hiding, no doubt.”
The answer irked Akeela. “I’ve come all this way for Lukien, and he doesn’t even bother to face me?” He craned his neck to see past the cavalry. On the dune far ahead were a line of mounted warriors, ready on their kreels. In the center of the line was a man Akeela supposed was Kadar. He was an impressive looking leader, tall and spartan, with dark skin and a hard expression. Next to him stood a man with one arm. Akeela had immediately recognized his old adversary, Baron Glass.
“Not only does he flee, but he helps my enemies,” he seethed. “Well, we will make short work of him.”
“Agreed,” said Trager. His aide Colonel Tark rode through the ranks, barking orders at the men. The lancers would go first, followed by a wave of swords. It was a good plan, Akeela supposed, but not being a military man he couldn’t say for sure. Trager, on the other hand, was supremely confident. When he had seen how they outnumbered the Jadori, he had grinned like a schoolboy. Still, Akeela was unsure. Before his death Grak had warned him of Jadori skill, and the ferocity of their kreels. “They could tear a man’s throat out in an instant,” Grak had told him, and his brother Doreshen had echoed the sentiment. Doreshen had led them the rest of the way to Jador after Grak’s death, and now was safe in the rear with the drowa, but his warning still rang in Akeela’s head like a bell.
“Why do they wait?” Akeela asked. “For our terms?”
“Probably,” surmised Trager. “And to hold the high ground.” He considered the Jadori position. “A good tactic. It will make this tougher.”
“But we will defeat them, yes?”
“Of course. But then we’ll have to secure the city.”
There was an unhealthy gleam in the general’s eyes. Akeela warned, “I want no massacres, Will.”
Trager replied, “My lord, if they oppose us, we’ll have no choice. Don’t get soft on us now.”
Akeela said, “For the sake of our men, then. Have a herald come forth. I wish to deliver my terms.”
Trager was incredulous. “Terms? What terms?”
“I see no point in a slaughter if they’ll hand over Lukien and Glass.” He thought for a moment, wondering if he should demand Gilwyn Toms in the bargain. “The boy is not really a concern. Just the traitors. And the amulets.”
“Akeela, we’ve come all this way to punish your enemies. Not just Lukien, but his allies as well.” Trager pointed to the dunes where Kadar waited. “Would you have that barbarian go free?”
The words gave Akeela pause. He had been so full of anger on the trip, but he was tired now and just wanted to rest, and he admitted to himself that he was afraid of the coming fight. Visions of his long ago battle in Norvor flashed through his mind.
“All I want—all I’ve ever wanted—is Lukien,” he said. “If they turn him and Glass over to me, I will spare their city.” He smiled, pleased with himself. “That is my bargain. Once Kadar hears it, he will agree. No king would risk his own city.”
“You did,” muttered Trager.
Akeela shot him an angry glare. “What was that?”
Trager took a steadying breath. “It’s a mistake. If you let the Jadori go they’ll attack us as we retreat. We must destroy them.” He leaned over and whispered, “They’re your enemies, Akeela.”
Akeela licked his lips. “Yes . . .”
But something else was in his mind, a memory of Grak and their last conversation, and of being called Akeela the Good so very long ago. He began rubbing his temples.
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “No. Have my terms delivered.”
“Akeela . . .”
“Do it!”
General Trager looked at his aides, young lieutenants that followed him everywhere. Their faces were distressed. He said finally, “Very well. I’ll deliver your terms myself.”
“You?” blurted Akeela. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
Trager turned his eyes toward the distant Kadar. “I want to get a closer look at this scrapper.”
Trager’s arrogance didn’t surprise Akeela, and he didn’t want to argue. “Very well,” he relented. “But be quick about it.”
Baron Glass waited patiently beside Kadar and his warriors, refusing to give up the high ground by attacking first and wondering if there was enough humanity inside Akeela to offer them decent terms. After long minutes of waiting, a small group of horsemen broke from the Liirian ranks and approached across the sand. To Thorin’s great astonishment, Trager was among them.
“I don’t believe it,” he said with a grin. “The devil’s minion himself.”
Kadar was confused. “That is the general?”
“Trager,” nodded Thorin. “Coming to deliver the king’s message.”
“Why would a general come himself to give terms?” asked Kadar.
“I’m not sure.” Glass narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “To see us for himself, I suppose. Arrogant pisser.”
Kadar straightened in his saddle. “Then we will face him. Mount your kreel, Baron. I want to see this soiled dog myself.”
With Benik’s help Thorin mounted the kreel, holding fast to the extra set of reins looped to the beast’s saddle. Kadar called two more of his riders forward, and together they rode down the dune to face Trager. They were many yards from each other but the two leaders kept their eyes locked as they closed the gap. More than anything Thorin wanted to be alone on his kreel; it pained him to face Trager as a cripple. He had never cared for the brash soldier, not even when he was young. But Trager wasn’t young anymore. As they drew near him, Thorin could see the age on his face, the bit of gray in his beard, and leatheriness of his skin. Sixteen years ago, he’d been oddly handsome. Now he simply looked cruel. The general brought his horse to a stop and raised a hand to halt his company. Kadar rode until they were only a few yards apart, then reined in Istikah. Benik and the others fell in close behind. Trager’s eyes immediately went to Thorin.
“Well, old man, I never expected to see you again,” he said.
Baron Glass grinned. “I’m a hard man to kill, Trager.”
“Yes, I see that,” replied Trager. “But you’re still a coward, Glass. Still hiding behind others.”
The insult tempted Thorin to dismount. His hand twitched, aching for his sword. “You’ve brought that poison adder Akeela into Jador,” he said. “He’ll be sorry for that.”
“We shall see who’s sorry,” laughed Trager.
“Enough,” growled Kadar. “What is your message, murderer?”
Trager’s smile was infuriating. Casually he gazed over Kadar’s shoulder. “Where is that coward, Lukien? I’d hoped to see him and finally cut his heart out.”
“Deliver your message, dog,” spat Thorin. “Does Akeela offer terms?”
“Is Lukien hiding?” asked Trager. He seemed delighted by the notion. “Somewhere in the city, maybe?”
“Your message!” thundered Kadar. “What is it?”
“Only this, barbarian—Akeela of Liiria says that you are a fool and he curses you. He says that by day’s end you will be a portion for vultures, and your city laid to waste.” Trager’s mocking grin spread across his face. “That’s what you get for hiding Lukien.”
Kadar cursed in Jadori and raised his spear.
“No!” shouted Thorin. “Don’t, Kadar.”
Trager laughed. “No, the baron’s right, Kahan Kadar. He knows I can best you too easily.” Before Kadar could answer he whirled his horse around and headed back toward his army. He called over his shoulder, “But don’t worry, Dirt-King—we will battle soon enough!”
Seething, Kadar prepared to toss his spear. Thorin pleaded with him to stop. “No, that’s what he wants! Your men would be leaderless without you.”
Kadar slowly lowered his spear. Trager was already out of range, his escorts trailing behind him. “You are right,” he hissed. “He is the devil’s own!”
Quickly he turned Istikah and headed back up the dune. Benik and the others followed. When Kadar took his place back among his warriors, he raised his spear and his voice in angry challenge. Thorin didn’t understand the words but the meaning was clear. The Jadori fighters let loose a loud war whoop. Their reptilian mounts joined the song with a bloodcurdling cry.
“Do we attack?” shouted Thorin over the noise.
“We do!” cried Kadar, then ordered his first hundred riders into position.
Down in the valley of sand, Trager watched as the kreel riders took position on the dune, forming a defensive line while Kadar and Glass and the others fell back. There the riders waited, their monstrous kreels letting out a terrible war cry. For a moment Trager was impressed. It would be difficult for his lancers to make it up the dune, but he knew there was no other choice. Kadar wasn’t stupid enough to give up the high ground. As the Jadori warriors waited, taunting them, Akeela rode up to Trager’s side.
“They want a fight, my lord,” sighed Trager. “There was nothing I could do about it.”
Akeela’s lips disappeared in a tight grimace. “They spit on my offer,” he rumbled. “Well, they will pay for that. Attack, General. Destroy them all.”
The words were like music to Trager. “Yes, my lord,” he replied. He turned to Colonel Tark, who was waiting dutifully at his side. “The order’s given, Colonel. First line attack.”
“First line attack,” repeated Tark, then called the order to his lieutenants. At once the horsemen in the front line raised their lances. “Up the hill and over!” cried Tark. “Attack!”
A second later the lancers exploded forward, sand flying out behind them like a desert storm. They moved with perfection, charging across the desert, their weapons poised, their armored heads bowed. Trager watched, impressed by their movements even in the difficult terrain. They were slower, certainly, but more surefooted than he’d thought. As the horsemen reached the bottom of the dune, the second line—swordsmen—readied to join them. Their lance-wielding brothers struggled up the high dunes toward their adversaries. At the top of the dunes, the kreel riders held out their spears, the muscular haunches of their reptilian mounts ready to attack. When the horsemen crested the ridge, the kreels sprang.
They were like screaming lightning, and Trager hardly saw them. With spitting snouts and slashing claws the beasts barreled into the horsemen, ducking the lances and slamming into their armored flanks. The shocked horses whinnied and reared; the stunned horsemen nearly fell from their mounts. Suddenly, the kreels were everywhere, and their riders with them, stabbing with their spears and working their whips, pressing their advantage. Some of the Liirians broke through, impaling kreels or riders on their lances, but most were muddled, dazed by the quickness of their enemies and struggling for footing. With appalling ease the claws of the reptiles tore into the Liirian armor, slashing leather straps and finding the soft flesh beneath. The horses bellowed as the beasts opened their guts with razor claws. The lancers dropped their clumsy weapons, turning to regroup as the monsters fell on them. Jadori whips snapped through the air, snatching men from saddles and dragging them to the sand. The lancers drew their swords to counter, slicing through the blinding shield of scales.
Back in the Liirian ranks, Trager watched in horror as his men were slaughtered. The lances had been a debacle. He had never expected the quickness of the kreels; he had never seen creatures so fleet. A worried murmur swept through his men. Colonel Tark looked at him for guidance. Next to him, Akeela’s face was tight with fury.
“Not a good start, General,” he grumbled.
Quiet, you ass!
thought Trager. He didn’t need a coward’s backtalk now. He needed action, so he gave the order for the next lines to charge. The lieutenants made the call, and two hundred more horsemen galloped forward. They drew their swords and raised them high, shaking the air with their thunder. Up on the dunes, the kreels and cavalry were locked in combat, clashing claws and swords and screaming in bloodlust. The kreels were everywhere, outnumbered but impossibly fast, bounding between horses and dodging blades, their long jaws snapping off limbs. A huge cloud of dust rose from the dunes. Trager rode forward for a better view, leaving Akeela safely in the rear. He knew that somewhere, Kahan Kadar was waiting for him, eager to meet him in combat.
thought Trager. He didn’t need a coward’s backtalk now. He needed action, so he gave the order for the next lines to charge. The lieutenants made the call, and two hundred more horsemen galloped forward. They drew their swords and raised them high, shaking the air with their thunder. Up on the dunes, the kreels and cavalry were locked in combat, clashing claws and swords and screaming in bloodlust. The kreels were everywhere, outnumbered but impossibly fast, bounding between horses and dodging blades, their long jaws snapping off limbs. A huge cloud of dust rose from the dunes. Trager rode forward for a better view, leaving Akeela safely in the rear. He knew that somewhere, Kahan Kadar was waiting for him, eager to meet him in combat.
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