Authors: John Marco
The Eyes of God (42 page)
“Captain?”
“I’m ready,” said Lukien. He took one final look around the chamber to make sure he hadn’t left anything behind, but he and Figgis had already packed everything they would need. This was water, mostly, for the long trip through the desert. Almost everything else had been disposed of, in hopes of making their drowa lighter and faster. Still, Lukien surveyed his chamber sadly. Kadar’s palace was comfortable, and the kahan had been very gracious. The silk sheets, the perfumed water, the fresh flowers brought in daily; it was all so different from his spartan quarters back home. When he returned to Koth, he wouldn’t be a welcomed diplomat anymore. He’d just be a soldier again.
“All right,” he sighed. “Let’s go.”
He went to the door and slowly pulled it open, peering out into the hall. Listening, he heard nothing, only Trager’s eager breathing in his ear. Moonlight came in through the hall’s many windows, lighting a pale path through the palace. The golden walls shimmered. Lukien stepped out cautiously, waiting for Trager to follow. The lieutenant lightly closed the door behind him, then pointed leftward.
Lukien knew the way. Soundlessly, he tiptoed through the marvelous hall, taking care as he passed each closed door. The quiet of the desert infused the palace—not a single servant stirred in its halls. Lukien made his way past the chambers Figgis had vacated, heading toward a rounded staircase spiraling up into the main tower. Kadar’s personal chambers were higher than the rest, but it wouldn’t take long to reach the kahan’s perch. Trager snickered when he saw the unguarded staircase.
“The fool,” he whispered. “He flaunts his amulet, and doesn’t even bother guarding himself. He deserves to lose it, I say.”
“Yeah, well it isn’t yours,” Lukien hissed. “It’s Cassandra’s, and don’t go forgetting that.”
He peered up the twisting stairway. Glowing sconces of scented oil lit the way. The silence encouraged him upward. Deciding not to draw his weapon yet, he kept his hands out before him as he climbed, his boots scuffing softly on the stone. Trager followed close behind, one hand on the dagger beneath his gaka. The bag of rope bounced against his knee. Together they made their way up the spiral, eyes wide, ears alert to any tiny sound. The burning sconces stretched their shadows against the wall. Lukien steadied his breathing as he climbed. His heart thundered in his temples. Slowly and with effort, he made his way toward the top of the staircase, emerging into another wide hall. Jadori artwork and vases lined the walls. At the end of the hall were a trio of archways, each one black with emptiness. As Trager reached the last stair, Lukien shrugged at him.
“Which one?” he whispered.
Trager’s eyes narrowed. “The center one.”
The choice seemed logical. The center arch was the biggest and partially curtained with beads. Lukien slunk toward it, keeping close to the walls and deftly avoiding the tall vases. Now that he was close, he let his hand slip down and retrieve his dagger. Its blade jumped in the moonlight. Prowling toward the curtained arch, Lukien held his breath. He fixed his eyes on the chamber past the beads and caught a glimpse of light streaming through a window. The room ahead was large, and probably connected to other rooms. He would have to find their bed quickly, and hope that Kadar and his wife were asleep.
“Go on,” Trager urged, his voice barely audible.
Lukien spread the beads with his dagger and poked his head into the room. His eyes scanned the darkness, picking up the outlines of soft pillows and ornate furniture, the kinds of things that adorned all the rooms. But there was no bed, and the chamber was empty. Lukien spied another beaded doorway at the far side of the room. Without a sound, he moved through the beads and bid Trager to follow, then stalked toward the next door. Dagger in hand, he repeated his actions, parting the new curtain with the blade. This time, he was rewarded.
In the center of the room, lit by moonlight from a nearby window, stood a bed with saffron sheets. And in the bed was an unmoving mound, all but hidden among the fat pillows. Lukien moved aside for Trager to see. The lieutenant nodded. Lukien’s eyes darted about, but he could see no one else, only another doorway leading to yet another hidden room. From the looks of it, Kadar and his wife were asleep. Lukien and Trager shared a soundless glance. Both men held their daggers out before them, then floated toward opposite sides of the bed. The sheets didn’t stir. Lukien reached out, his hand hovering over the pillows, hoping he was on Kadar’s side. Blinded by blackness, he carefully took the sheets and pulled them down . . .
. . . and heard a shout behind him.
Lukien jumped back and whirled toward the doorway. Kadar was standing there, dumbstruck. The figure in the bed rose suddenly. Kahana Jitendra’s eyes shot around the room in a panic. She scrambled upright, clutching the sheets.
“Damn it!” Lukien growled. Barely thinking, he turned on the kahana and dragged her out of the bed. Kadar rushed forward, but stopped abruptly when he saw Trager vault the bed toward him. Trager’s dagger warned him off, and Kadar backpedaled.
“Quiet!” hissed Trager. “Don’t say another bloody word!”
Lukien struggled to bring Jitendra to her feet. He wrapped his arm around her throat as gently as he could, careful to keep the dagger from the throat, yet close enough to give the kahana the message. Jitendra gasped.
“All right, nobody move,” Lukien said. He was panicked, unsure what to do. Kadar’s shouts might have awoken the palace, but so far no one was coming to his aid. Kadar seemed to understand Lukien’s demands and fell silent. He held up his hands, wordlessly pleading for Jitendra’s release.
“Yes, that’s it,” Lukien encouraged. “Keep quiet and no one gets hurt.” He twirled his dagger, making sure Kadar saw it. “I don’t want to hurt her, Kadar. Just give us the amulet and we’ll be on our way.”
Kadar looked at his pregnant wife, confused. He said a soft plea that Lukien didn’t understand.
“The amulet, you idiot,” whispered Trager. He slid toward Kadar. “Give it to us.”
Kadar looked bewildered. Lukien bit his lip. His plans were unraveling, and he didn’t know the Jadori word for amulet. Then, like a miracle, it struck him.
“Inai!” he cried, remember the word Figgis had taught him. He pointed at Kadar’s chest. The amulet dangled there, glowing furiously. He repeated the phrase, unsure if it was right. “Inai ka
Vala!”
Vala!”
Kadar looked at him, then nodded, still holding out his hands. But Jitendra understood, too. As her husband began removing the amulet, she shrieked.
“Inai ka Vala! Kadar!”
“No!” Lukien struggled to hold her back.
Jitendra went on screaming.
“Stop!” Lukien snapped. “Please!”
Not wanting to hurt her, he lowered his dagger. Jitendra fought off his grip. Lukien lunged toward her, reaching for her arm. Jitendra slipped away, hurrying toward Kadar. Seeing her escape, Trager whirled, slashing his dagger. The threat surprised Jitendra. She screamed, stumbling backward, falling into Lukien—and his brandished blade.
“No!” cried Lukien. He fell back, too late to pull the dagger from the woman’s back. Jitendra hung there as if suspended, her eyes wide with shock, the back of her night garb blooming crimson. A second later her knees buckled, and she collapsed to the floor.
“Jitendra!” cried Kadar. He dropped the amulet and ran to his wife, falling beside her. Lukien watched, horror-stricken. His dagger erupted from Jitendra’s back.
“Captain, let’s go!” said Trager. He raced toward the abandoned amulet and scooped it up. “We got it!”
“Oh, no,” Lukien groaned. “Oh, Fate, help me. I didn’t mean it. . . .”
Kadar was sobbing, lifting Jitendra. Jitendra writhed in his arms, still alive but losing blood in waves. Neither looked at Lukien, or even seemed to hear him.
“Captain, come on!” urged Trager. He hovered in the doorway, ready to bolt. “Let’s move before we’re discovered!”
But Lukien couldn’t move. He could only stare. Jitendra let out an agonized wail. Kadar was covered in her blood. Jitendra’s pregnant belly swelled with gasps.
“Damn it,” swore Trager, then raced into the room to grab Lukien. He dragged his captain toward the door. “Figgis is waiting for us, you fool. Now come on!”
“I didn’t mean it,” whispered Lukien desperately. He continued watching Jitendra. “You saw. I didn’t mean it. . . .”
“God almighty, will you shut up and hurry? We have to go!”
Something in Trager’s voice snatched Lukien from his stupor. Jitendra was as good as dead, and there was nothing to be done now but flee. With one last look at the kahan and kahana of Jador, Lukien turned and hurried from the chamber.
By the gates, Figgis kept to the shadows. A remarkable hush had fallen over Jador, and the grassy courtyard was abandoned, occupied only by statues and buzzing insects. Past the open gates, Figgis could see the empty streets of the city, so calm and beautiful. A handful of straggling figures moved along the avenues, shopkeepers getting ready for the morning. They would pose little trouble to the trio when they fled the city, but Figgis knew the real trouble would come in the desert. They would be out in the open there, an easy target for Kadar’s men. Their only hope was to make good time, as much time as possible before the inevitable hunters came after them.
The three drowas stood ready in the moonlight, peacefully chewing their cuds. They were far more at ease than Figgis, who shifted uneasily from foot to foot, anxious for Lukien and Trager to arrive. Lukien’s plan had been a good one, he supposed, because Kadar and his people were far too trusting, and they had learned to like their visitors from Liiria. Figgis felt ashamed. All his life he had wanted to reach this place, and it had not disappointed him. It had been the paradise he’d imagined. Now he had poisoned it.
“Figgis!”
The cry startled Figgis from his daydream. Out of the darkness came two figures, racing desperately toward the gate. Figgis waved, then hurried to bring the drowas out of the shadows. Trager’s face was a mask of mania, dripping sweat and smiling wildly. He skidded toward Figgis, holding up the amulet like the severed head of an enemy.
“You got it!”
“Indeed I did! Now get on your ugly beast and ride, old man!”
“Lukien?” asked Figgis, studying the Captain. “What’s wrong?”
Lukien’s expression was vacant. He was breathing hard and his eyes were glazed, and his skin was the color of curdled milk.
“No time. Got to move . . .”
“What? What happened?”
“Shut up and ride!” bellowed Trager. The lieutenant threw himself onto his drowa, then watched as Lukien and Figgis did the same. “Follow me,” he ordered. A snap of the reins sent his mount galloping out of the yard. Figgis followed, with Lukien close behind. Figgis glanced back at the knight, who had tucked himself behind the drowa’s neck.
“Lukien?” he pressed. “What happened?”
Lukien could barely speak. “I killed her, Figgis,” he managed. “Jitendra.” His eyes closed in pain. “I’m not a thief. I’m a god-cursed murderer. . . .”
Kahan Kadar stood over his wife, fretting as her maidens dabbed her forehead with cool clothes and Argadil, the healer, packed her wound. They had managed to remove the dagger and lift her into the bed, and now the sheets were soaked with blood. Jitendra barely clung to life, but the infant inside her belly fought to escape. The shock of her stabbing had induced labor. The kahana’s midwife was at the foot of the bed, white-faced as she stared into the womb, wondering if the child could be coaxed out before Jitendra expired. Kadar held his wife’s hand. It was soft and cold and trembled; its familiar strength was gone. Jitendra’s breath came in wailing pants. Each groan bloodied her bandage anew, yet she was determined to fight on for her unborn baby—her first with Kadar.
“You will live,” Kadar told his wife. She was decades his junior, but he loved her more than any of his previous mates, and the thought of losing her was crushing. “Hold on for me, Jitendra. Hold on for our young one.”
Jitendra squeezed his hands. “They have taken the Eye,” she moaned. It was the same thing she’d been repeating since the northern thieves had fled. “You must stop them, Kadar.”
Kadar tried to smile. “It doesn’t matter.”
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