Authors: John Marco
The Eyes of God (104 page)
“Gilwyn, I live with people with far worse deformities than yours. How could you ask me such a question? Do you mind that my eyes are so ugly?”
“They’re not!” said Gilwyn. “I think they’re beautiful.”
White-Eye laughed, but he could tell she loved the compliment. “You’re a very polite liar,” she said.
“I’m not lying, White-Eye,” said Gilwyn. He slid a little closer to her. “I think you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.”
White-Eye didn’t move. She merely stared ahead. Her lips pursed. Gilwyn could tell she was nervous. A fluttering sensation went through his stomach. Should he kiss her? Would she stop him? He leaned closer, his lips barely brushing her cheek. . . .
. . . then was startled by a sudden cry.
“White-Eye?”
Gilwyn jerked back and looked around. White-Eye sprang to her feet. Up the tor walked Minikin, accompanied by Trog. Gilwyn felt a stab of terror when he saw her, sure that she’d somehow read his intentions. But when he saw her distressed expression he knew something far worse had happened.
“Minikin?” White-Eye called to her. “What is it?”
Minikin climbed the tor without speaking, facing the girl. She swallowed hard. Gilwyn had never seen her this way, and it frightened him. She was obviously bracing herself. White-Eye began to tremble.
“Minikin?” she asked. “Has something happened?”
The tiny woman’s voice shook as she answered, “Baron Glass, the Liirian. He’s on his way to Grimhold.”
White-Eye was deathly still. She whispered, “My father?”
Minikin took the girl’s hand. “I’m sorry, child. He’s gone.”
Gilwyn couldn’t move. His grief for White-Eye overwhelmed him. White-Eyed bitterly stripped the blinder from her face and tossed it to the ground. It was strange to see her peculiar eyes crying, but the tears came fast.
It was nearly nightfall when Thorin Glass finally reached Grimhold. He was exhausted from the ride, a nearly nonstop sprint across the desert, and when at last they reached the mountains Glass thought he would faint from hunger and thirst. Benik, his guide, drove their kreel into a wide canyon with high, red peaks rising around them. Shadows grew in the crevices between hills. Benik said nothing as he concentrated, spying the scraggy hills for the right direction and always deciding quickly. Thorin held tight to the reins as they rode. His one good arm ached from the effort.
“Is it near?” he asked hoarsely.
Benik slowed their mount and nodded. “Very near.”
A moment later, they turned a corner in the canyon and saw torchlight in the distance. Thorin fought to focus his eyes. They were in the shadow of a gigantic mountain. A wide iron gate opened into it, revealing an interior of orange light. There were figures in the light. They shouted when they noticed the newcomers.
“Thorin, over here!” cried a voice. A waving man stepped out from the gate.
“Lukien!”
“Grimhold,” pronounced Benik. He let out a weary sigh, then pointed at the shadowed figures. “They await you.”
Thorin dropped eagerly off the kreel’s back and hurried toward the keep. It was an awesome sight, tall and forbidding, but the welcome shouts from Lukien settled his fears. There was a giant outside the gate who Thorin thought was Trog at first, but soon realized was some sort of guardian. The midget woman Minikin was at the gate as well, her diminutive figure cloaked in shadows. Lukien hurried out from the gate toward Thorin, meeting him halfway. A smile of huge relief graced his face.
“Thorin, thank the Fate you’re all right!” cried Lukien. As they met he embraced the baron. The hug squeezed the strength from Thorin’s body.
“Easy, Lukien,” he laughed, “I’m ready to drop from that bloody ride!”
Lukien stood back and inspected him. “You look like death,” he said. His smile waned, becoming sad and crooked. “The battle. Very bad?”
Glass nodded. It was hard to think of how he’d abandoned Kadar. He looked toward the dimly lit gate, realizing that Gilwyn hadn’t come to greet him. “Where’s the boy?” he asked.
Lukien replied, “Comforting Kadar’s daughter.”
Thorin looked at him. “How’d you know about that?”
“There’s a lot to explain to you, Thorin. Minikin was right—some of her people can do amazing things.”
“I don’t understand,” said Thorin, puzzled.
Lukien put an arm around the baron and led him toward the keep. “I’ll explain it to you,” he said. “But first you need to rest.”
“Gods, yes,” groaned Thorin. “Food and drink, if you please.” He gestured toward Benik behind him. “For him as well. We’re both starved and exhausted.”
“We’ve already prepared something for you. Come.”
“Already? But how’d you know—”
“No, no more questions yet,” said Lukien. “We’ll have a hundred from you soon enough.”
He led Thorin into the gate where Minikin was waiting. The little woman’s expression was bleak. Around her stood the strangest people Thorin had ever seen. He stared at them, shocked by their deformities. Minikin stepped forward and took his hand.
“Welcome to Grimhold, Baron Glass,” she said. “And thank you for all you’ve done for us.”
Thorin shook his head. “Do not thank me, madam. I left your good kahan to die. Now, if you have food for a coward, I would appreciate it.”
“The food is this way,” she said, gesturing down a hall, “but it’s for a hero, not a coward.”
“If you say so, my lady,” replied Thorin. He let the tiny woman guide him into the miraculous keep, deep into its stone halls. Lukien followed close behind but did not say a word. Somberness infused the air. The Inhumans, as they were called, stood and talked in little huddles, their voices muted. Thorin knew they were worried, and with good reason. He dreaded the news he had to deliver, even though it seemed they already knew it. Soon they reached a large chamber off the hallway. The doors were open, revealing an interior well lit by candles and a wooden table filled with food and drink. The sight of it buoyed Thorin. He sat down without invitation, tore a chunk from a loaf of bread and poured a tall mug of ale as he chewed. Lukien took a chair across from him while Minikin closed the door, obviously shutting out unwanted ears.
“Well?” Thorin asked between bites. “Tell me what you know.”
Lukien did the talking. He told Thorin about Insight, an amazing girl who could see the future, and how she had told them of Kadar’s death. Thorin listened as he ate, skeptically enthralled. But he was distressed to learn that Insight hadn’t told them everything; they still didn’t know what had happened to the rest of Kadar’s men.
“Dead,” said Thorin as he lowered his mug. “I’m sure of it.”
The news struck Minikin hard. “All of them?” She seemed unable to believe it. “How could your king be so ruthless?”
“He’s not our king,” said Lukien darkly. “He’s not the Akeela we served, not anymore.”
“Speak for yourself, Lukien,” said Thorin. “I could have told you the moment I met Akeela what a demented little snake he was.”
“You’re wrong, Thorin,” argued Lukien. “You never really knew him.”
Thorin was incredulous. “How could you defend him? I just told you—he massacred those warriors! Probably the folk in the city, too!”
“He wouldn’t,” said Lukien. “Not the Akeela I knew.”
“Oh, Great Fate. . . .”
Minikin held up her hands. “It doesn’t matter. His army is coming now and we must prepare ourselves.”
Thorin looked at Minikin. “No offense, my lady, but I’ve seen what you have to work with here. They’re all cripples and blind men.”
Lukien gave a short laugh. “Believe me, Thorin, all isn’t what it seems,” he said, then proceeded to tell the baron about the real Grimhold, the town beyond the fortress, and how it was filled with legions of ablebodied men. “I’ve been training them and they’re quick learners, Thorin,” he said. “And there are plenty of weapons here, enough swords and shields for all of them.”
Thorin was skeptical. “Akeela still has over a thousand men at least, Lukien.”
“And we’ll have at least that many ourselves, and this fortress to defend us,” Lukien countered. “I know they don’t look like much, but these people will surprise you, Thorin.”
Thorin smiled. “They already have,” he admitted. “All right, then. I’ll help you with this army. But it won’t be easy, and there’s not much time.”
“Rest first, Baron Glass,” said Minikin. “There’ll be time enough for war talk in the morning.” She rose from the table and went to the door. “I’ll leave you two now.” But before she left she turned one last time and said to Thorin, “You’ve honored us, Baron. You may not think so, but you have.”
As she closed the door behind her, Thorin pushed his plate aside with a heavy sigh. Suddenly he’d lost his appetite. “Ah, she has me wrong, Lukien. What kind of coward would leave a ruler’s side like I did?” The stump of his arm began to itch, the way it always did when he was troubled. “Half a man, that’s what I am. And not even a quarter of a soldier.”
“Thorin, don’t,” said Lukien. He reached across the table and took the mug, pouring his friend another round. “Just rest now. There’s no point in thinking about it.”
“You weren’t there, Lukien. You didn’t see.” Glass took the offered mug, but didn’t drink. Instead he stared into it, and his own reflection sickened him. “He was magnificent, a real leader. He made his men proud. And I just left him there to die.” He glanced up at Lukien. “How did he die? Did this girl tell you?”
Lukien shrugged. “He was killed in battle I suppose.”
“Yes, but by who? Was it Trager?”
“I don’t know,” said Lukien. “Why do you ask?”
“Because that serpent came to deliver terms before the battle,” spat Glass, “and he baited Kadar to fight him.” He ground his teeth at the thought. “I just know he was the one that killed him. I just know it.”
“It’s what Kadar wanted,” Lukien said softly. “It’s what he had to do.”
“I should have been out there fighting with the rest of them.” A sudden rage boiled up in Glass. “Damn it all, look at me! I’m no better then these cripples we’re protecting!” He suddenly wanted to fling the mug against the wall. “If I could have ridden after Trager. . . .”
“He would have killed you,” said Lukien.
Thorin looked up angrily. Lukien was grinning. His companion’s expression defused the baron’s anger. “Probably,” laughed Glass. “But it would have been a better death than to stay here and let him slaughter us.”
“He won’t slaughter us, Thorin. We can beat him.”
“You’re so sure?” Thorin asked. “Are these people so exceptional?”
“They’re willing to fight, Thorin, and die if necessary.”
“Ah, well, it’s good that they’re willing to die,” said Thorin, “because Akeela is more than willing to kill them.”
Lukien sat back, unamused. “It’s their home,” he said. “They want to defend it.”
“And I admire that, truly,” said Thorin. “But many will die, Lukien, you know that.”
Nodding, Lukien replied, “I know. But maybe we can win. Doesn’t that count for something?”
“It counts for everything. I taught you a long time ago that there’s no honor in defeat. But even if we win, how many of these people will die?” Thorin leaned back, contemplating the horror of it. “Akeela’s not a good man, not anymore. There’s not a shred of decency in him. And he won’t stop till he has you, Lukien. I just hope these people are prepared for that.”
The Bronze Knight didn’t answer. He fiddled with the pitcher of ale, obviously distracted.
“Lukien?” probed Thorin. “Are you listening to me?”
“Uh-huh.”
Thorin leaned forward. “What are you thinking about?”
Lukien’s lips twisted as he debated divulging his thoughts. Finally, he said, “Thorin, there’s an armory down below this keep. It’s full of old weapons that the Akari made years ago. I saw something down there that I just can’t get out of my mind.”
“What’s that?”
“A suit of armor,” Lukien replied. “But not just any suit. It’s magical, like the amulets. It’s possessed by one of these Akari spirits, a man who used to be a summoner.”
“Summoner?” The word confused Thorin. “What’s that mean?”
“I’m not really sure,” confessed Lukien. “A summoner is someone like Minikin, I think. Someone who can summon spirits to help him. Anyway, this armor was remarkable. It was like nothing I’ve ever seen before, all black and shining like it was alive. And perfect, too, like it’s never even been nicked by a blade. You can’t even see where the hammer forged it; there’s not a single mark.”
“Interesting,” said Thorin. “But I don’t see your point.”
Lukien glanced over his shoulder, then whispered, “It’s called the Devil’s Armor, Thorin. Minikin says the Akari gave it that name because the spirit that possesses it is evil. But listen—she says whoever wears the armor is invincible.”
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