The Eyes of God (11 page)
Authors: John Marco
As Akeela approached Koth, his heralds rode forward to the castle, informing them of his arrival. He had a huge staff in Lionkeep, just as his father had before him, because Liiria had interests varied and wide, and there were always civil servants needed to attend the minutiae of government. Akeela sat up in his saddle—as tall as he could—as he entered the city. Beside him, Breck’s face shone with pride, an emotion reflected by all in their company.
“You’re a hero, my lord,” said Breck. “It took your father years before anyone called him that, and you’ve done it in mere months.” The cavalryman raised his face to the sun, now almost hidden behind the alabaster structures of Koth. “It’s good to be home.”
“Home is always the best place,” agreed Akeela.
Koth had not yet fully awakened. An hour past dawn, the city was only now rubbing sleep from its eyes. Shopkeepers began opening their doors, dragging tables of linens and other wares into the avenue, and a spring breeze sent the signs of the inns and taverns along Capital Street swinging. Early rising bankers rode in carriages from their posh homes on the west side for the money-lending south district, where the bulk of crucial commerce took place. It was the bankers who had donated the lion’s share of gold to Akeela’s gift chest. Eager to open new avenues of trade, they were among the new king’s most ardent supporters. As Akeela and his men rode into the city, he watched as the carriages and their well heeled occupants stopped to wave at him. Like all of Liiria, they had heard the news of his success in Hes and were overjoyed. Akeela smiled and nodded at them, careful not to seem too boyish. The bankers, his father had always said, couldn’t be trusted when the money dried up.
Aside from the carriages and shopkeepers, Capital Street was mostly deserted, affording Akeela’s company ample room to maneuver their armored horses and wagons. The street fingered off in all directions, leading to the affluent west side and the squalid northern districts, and, most importantly, to Chancellery Square. There, in the center of the city stood Lionkeep, Akeela’s residence. And around the royal castle, circling it like vultures, were the Chancelleries. Here the countless ministers and bureaucrats bickered and bartered and supposedly made Liirian life easier with their logjams. It was where the War Chancellery stood in a stout building of brick and black iron, and where the Chancellery of Treasure towered nearly as tall as Lionkeep itself, an edifice of gold leaf and marble gargoyles. Next to the Treasury stood the House of Dukes, a five-storied fortress of quarried rock and the home of Baron Thorin Glass, the House’s minister. There, huddled around tables of oiled oak, the landowners of Liiria drank expensive wine and occasionally made important decisions. The sight of the House of Dukes soured Akeela’s good mood. Baron Glass had been his major critic since he’d ascended the throne, always opposed to the changes Akeela wanted to make.
But today, Akeela wasn’t interested in the bold baron. He kept his eyes locked on Lionkeep. The royal residence had housed his family for more than a century, and had been built when Liiria was young, carved from the continent by wars and treaties. Koth, having been the only town of real consequence, had been named capital of the new nation, and Lionkeep had been constructed shortly thereafter. For the people of Liiria, who worshipped many gods and so had no national temples, Lionkeep was something of a church, a holy relic to be revered. Unlike Reec or Marn or Liiria’s other neighbors, the Liirians were a mixed bag of peoples. When the nation was new it had attracted tradesmen and pilgrims from across the continent, promising a good life away from the wars plaguing the world. In the dreams of its founders, Liiria was to be a place of peace and opportunity.
Akeela’s mood continued to slip as he rode toward Lionkeep. His forefather kings hadn’t fulfilled the vision of the founders. For them, it wasn’t long before the good days of peace were replaced by war. Constant border skirmishes and broken treaties had turned Liiria into little more than its neighbors, one more country struggling toward the future. The thought made Akeela grit his teeth.
“Breck,” he said. “I’m going to change this land.”
Breck smiled. “Yes, my lord, you’ve told me.”
“A dozen times at least,” Akeela admitted. “But I mean it. Things are going to be different.”
“Things
are
different,” Breck said. He was soft-spoken for a career soldier; had been since their war college days. And he always had a reassuring word for anyone who needed it. “You’ve made peace with Reec, my lord. I’d say that’s a good start, wouldn’t you?”
are
different,” Breck said. He was soft-spoken for a career soldier; had been since their war college days. And he always had a reassuring word for anyone who needed it. “You’ve made peace with Reec, my lord. I’d say that’s a good start, wouldn’t you?”
“A good start,” agreed Akeela. “But not enough.”
Breck looked forward, considering the mass of government buildings in the distance. “It won’t be easy,” he sighed. “Even your father had trouble dealing with the chancellors, and they feared him.”
“And they don’t fear me,” said Akeela. “I know that. But I don’t want to rule out of fear, Breck. I want the ministers to follow me willingly, because they believe in where I’ll take them.” He gave his horse a commanding spur, urging him forward. “Come. I’m eager to get to the castle.”
The column rode for long minutes more, filling the echoing streets with the noise of their homecoming. Windows opened at the sound of the horsemen and the people of Liiria leaned out of their homes, eager for a glimpse of their king. An occasional woman blew Akeela a kiss, which made him blush. Finally, they passed the open-air market and entered Chancellery Square, where the Chancelleries loomed and Lionkeep’s shadow darkened the avenues. The streets were narrow and cramped, jammed full of carriages and civil servants rushing to their jobs. At the Chancellery of Treasure a pair of long-robed ministers stopped in mid-argument to notice the king. They bowed with big, inscrutable smiles. Akeela nodded politely but hurried along, urging his horse toward Lionkeep and the hill holding it aloft. The gray wall of the fortress rose up around him, comforting him. He heard the familiar sounds of castle life from the battlements above. The main gate had been raised for his arrival, its spiked portcullis hanging open like the jaws of a shark. Hanging lanterns lined the way, still glowing orange in the growing light of day.
Akeela looked past the gate to the courtyard. It was practically empty save for a few young pages walking and brushing horses. The castle doves, which were everywhere in Lionkeep and were treated like royalty, hobbled along the yard in search of food, clawing at the green grass. At the top of the hill a contingent of Lionkeep’s Wardens waited, rigid in their uniforms of gold and crimson. Unlike the Royal Chargers, who were under the command of Lukien and who fought Liiria’s wars, the Lionkeep Wardens were autonomous troops from the Chancellery of War. Their sole responsibility was the protection of the castle and its royal inhabitants. As usual, the halberdiers were stiff at attention as Akeela approached. At the front of the guardians stood Graig, a welcoming smile stretched across his face. The Head Warden had obviously received Akeela’s heralds and had arranged the guard to greet him. Graig was an old man but his eyes still twinkled, and he still looked daunting in his crimson uniform.
“Ho, Graig!” Akeela called. The king trotted forward and dismounted. A page appeared instantly to take care of his horse. Akeela ignored Graig’s ceremonial bow, taking his hand instead. It was the usual ritual since Akeela had become king, and it was over in an instant. They shook, then embraced. “Good to see you,” said Akeela.
“Ah, good to have you back,” laughed Graig. He slapped Akeela’s shoulder, then kissed his cheek. “You’ve done well! I’m proud of you!”
“We’re all proud of the king,” said Breck, bringing up his horse. “You should have seen him, Warden. He dealt with Karis like an old hand.”
“I always told your father you’d be a diplomat.” The warden spied the line of Chargers curiously. “Where’s Lukien?”
“I had him stay behind with Trager and some others,” said Akeela. He smiled slyly. “They’re looking after something for me. You’ve heard about my other good news, I suppose?”
The old man guffawed. “Yes, you’re a rascal now I hear. You’ve fallen into the wrong crowd with these Chargers!”
“You’ll love her, Graig. Cassandra’s a real beauty. Isn’t she, Breck?”
“My lord could have done worse,” Breck replied with a smile.
“Well, when do I get to see her?” asked Graig. “Why the wait?”
“Because I have a wedding to plan, you romantic old fool,” said Akeela. “There’s a lot to do, and I want to get this place ready for her.” He rubbed his hands together. “But first, I’m starving. Did you consider my need for breakfast, by any chance?”
“I’ve got the kitchens on it already,” smiled Graig. Then he shrugged, adding, “I’m still your houseboy, as usual. Come . . .” He turned and headed toward the gate, then shouted at the pages to attend the soldiers and their horses. Akeela followed him, but Breck remained behind, seeing to his men and mounts. The courtyard was quickly coming to life at the king’s arrival, and the warming sun felt good upon Akeela’s face.
“So?” he asked as they moved through the courtyard. “What news since I left? Nothing too bad, I hope.”
“Bad?” scoffed Graig. “I’ve had this place running like a timepiece. Not even a leaky roof to worry about.”
“And the chancellors? What of them?”
“Behaving themselves. Baron Glass has been making some noise, but nothing unusual.”
“That’s good news,” said Akeela. They passed under an archway and into a hall heading toward the kitchens. The smell of frying bacon made Akeela’s stomach rumble. “You did a fine job looking after things, Graig. Thank you.”
“I wish it could all be good news,” said Graig.
“Isn’t it?”
“No, I’m afraid. Beith had her baby.”
Akeela stopped walking. “Stillborn?”
“Gods no, nothing like that,” said Graig. “Just, well, deformed. Bad hand and foot, like this . . .” The warden made a crumpled ball of his fist. “Clubbed, I guess you’d call it. And Beith’s all upset that it might be more.”
“More?”
“You know,” said Graig. He tapped his skull. “Its mind. The child might be simple.”
All the levity went out of Akeela’s face. Beith had already lost her husband, and Akeela knew how much she was looking forward to her baby. Like the midwife Gwena had said, it was going to fill her “empty spaces.” “I should go to her,” said Akeela. He glanced around, unsure what to do. “Is she up yet?”
Graig grinned. “I don’t make a habit of calling on her, my lord.”
“We’ll talk later, Graig,” said Akeela, then dashed off in the direction opposite to the kitchens. Breakfast could wait; he needed to see Beith.
He hurried through the halls then up a staircase, dodging servants and taking the steps two at a time. Beith had a chamber on the third floor of the main keep. She had shared it with her husband, Gilwyn, and together they had planned for their infant’s arrival, gathering blankets and baby clothes from the women in Lionkeep and decorating a corner of their tiny apartment with toys. Gilwyn had been Lukien’s friend, mostly, but on the few occasions that Akeela visited the apartment he had always found it cheery. He supposed it would be appallingly cold now. Reaching the third floor, he braced himself as he entered the hall. Most of the doors were closed. Beith’s room was at the far end. Akeela went to it and listened, but didn’t hear anything. Unsure if he should interrupt, he went ahead and knocked.
“Beith?” he called softly. “Are you awake?”
There was a stirring behind the door. Akeela fixed a smile on his face.
“Who is it?” called a voice. It was hoarse from lack of sleep, but Akeela recognized it.
“Beith, it’s Akeela.”
After a hesitation, the startled voice returned. “The king?” There was more fumbling behind the door. Akeela imagined Beith smoothing out her night clothes. “My lord Akeela, a moment, please . . .”
Akeela waited patiently until finally the door opened, revealing Beith in a disheveled robe and unkempt hair, her red eyes rimmed with sunken bags. She forced a sunny smile, stepping away from the door so he could enter. Quickly she dipped into a curtsey.
“My lord, this is a surprise. Forgive me, I wasn’t expecting you. My appearance—”
“Is perfectly fine, Beith, don’t worry.” Akeela stepped into the room. As expected, the apartment’s cheerfulness had fled. “I apologize for bothering you, but I’ve only just arrived home. I’d heard . . . well, that you’ve had your child.”
“Yes, my lord,” said the woman. She wrapped her robe about herself, obviously embarrassed. Since he’d become king, Akeela had noticed the way ordinary people squirmed around him.
“Please,” he implored. “Be at ease. I just wanted to see you, and your little one.”
Beith brightened. “You’ve come to see Gilwyn?”
“Gilwyn?” laughed Akeela. “Is that his name? I didn’t even know you’d had a boy! I know you wanted one.” He looked around the room and spotted the crib beneath the room’s only window. Sunlight poured onto its whitewashed wood; a cottony blanket fell over its rim. “Ah, that must be him.”
“Yes, my lord,” said Beith. Pride crept into her tone. “He’s sleeping, I think.”
Akeela tiptoed toward the crib. “May I see him?”
“Certainly,” answered Beith. “But he’s . . .” Her voice trailed off.
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