The Eyes of God (43 page)
Authors: John Marco
Jitendra winced as Argadil worked, feverishly trying to stem the bleeding. The midwife studied her womb, her face twisted with concern. Yet Jitendra seemed to ignore these things. Remarkably, her concern was for Kadar.
“Why, Kadar?” she gasped. “Why don’t you stop them?”
“It is no matter,” said Kadar.
“It does matter.” Jitendra began to sob. “Without the Eye you will die.”
“I will not die,” said Kadar. “I will grow old.”
“Thieves,” cried Jitendra. “They must pay. Send men after them. . . .”
Kadar shook his head. His wife was dying, and that was all that mattered. “They will pay, beloved. I do not need to hunt them for that.”
22
L
ukien and his party fled through Jador, expecting Kadar’s men to follow. But they did not. And when Lukien reached the edge of the desert, he paused to look back at the golden city; all was silent. So they plunged into the desert and were soon swallowed by its blackness. They rode as quickly as they could, always waiting for Jadori men and kreels to hunt them.
ukien and his party fled through Jador, expecting Kadar’s men to follow. But they did not. And when Lukien reached the edge of the desert, he paused to look back at the golden city; all was silent. So they plunged into the desert and were soon swallowed by its blackness. They rode as quickly as they could, always waiting for Jadori men and kreels to hunt them.
But they did not.
After hours of endless riding, Lukien, Trager, and Figgis finally paused to rest. Even their hearty drowas were exhausted. When the beasts came to a stop, the silence of the desert enveloped them. It seemed to Lukien that he could hear for miles, but all that reached him was the soft whisper of the sand crawling over the dunes. Dawn was edging nearer. Jador had disappeared in the distance; even the mountains were gone. They were alone in the world. As Trager and Figgis slaked their thirst with water, Lukien scanned the horizon.
“Why don’t they come?” he whispered. He took a step toward Jador. The desert sand pulled at his boots. “I don’t understand.”
“Don’t argue with it, just be glad,” said Trager. He had emptied the rope from the sack at his belt, replacing it with the stolen amulet. Now he patted the sack happily. “We got what we came for, and got to keep our skins in the bargain. A good night, I’d say.”
“Yes,” said Lukien gloomily. “You would say that.”
In the east the sun was rising, beginning to paint the sky with light. But toward Jador the world remained dark. Lukien could feel the blackness, the misery. Kadar’s cries still rang in his head. His gaka was stained with Jitendra’s blood.
“She was pregnant and I killed her,” he said. “Almighty Fate, what have I become?”
Figgis put a hand on his shoulder. “There’s no sense in this, Captain. It’s done, and we have a long ride home. We’re not safe yet.”
Lukien stared into the distance. “Why don’t they come, Figgis? What are they waiting for?”
The librarian shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“I do,” said Lukien. “You weren’t there, you didn’t see Kadar. I think I killed him too, in a way. I don’t think he can follow us. I think I crippled him.”
“That’s a good enough reason for me,” said Trager. He climbed back onto his drowa. “Either way, I don’t want to stay in the desert any longer than I have to. You two lovers can die out here if you wish, but I’m going home.”
Trager began riding off. His pace was light, like his mood. Lukien watched him, knowing that he was right. Koth was a world away, and Cassandra needed the amulet. Though he had killed Jitendra, there was still a chance to save Cassandra. That, at least, he could do.
The trio made good progress the first day. Without Jebel’s caravan to slow them, they crossed the miles easily, following a crude map Figgis had drawn on their first trek through the desert and heading east toward the waiting oasis of Ganjor. The second day was much the same as the first, and by the third day even Lukien was convinced they would make it. None of Kadar’s men had entered the desert after them, and all was peaceful among the dunes. Loneliness and heat plagued them, but nothing more. The Desert of Tears seemed to forgive their crimes and did not conspire to keep them in its grasp. There were no sandstorms and few mirages, and though the sun was hot, they had almost grown accustomed to its brutal company. Finally, by the seventh day out of Jador, they reached the end of the desert.
In Ganjor they rested, desperately needing sleep and proper food. They spent a day in the city, mostly asleep, and traded their drowa for horses. Jebel and his family were not in the city, and Lukien found himself missing their company. But the soft, clean bed of an inn eased his melancholy nicely, and he awoke the next morning refreshed and eager to head north.
From Ganjor they followed the Agora River until they reached Dreel, and from Dreel they skirted Nith and continued on to Farduke. They were far from the dark-skinned southerners, and the language was once again familiar. The city of Farduke provided another badly needed respite. They were nearly out of funds now, but were able to trade their exhausted horses for fresh ones. It had taken nearly two weeks to reach Farduke from Ganjor, and the horses they had purchased there were almost beyond use now. Their last few coins went into three fine stallions, well-bred beasts that could swiftly take them to Liiria and Koth. In Farduke, they spent some time in a local pub, listening to the gossip and hoping to hear a hint of Cassandra’s health. But instead the talk was of Norvor and King Mor, and how Akeela of Liiria had slain the Norvan king. Lukien stiffened when he heard the news, barely believing it. Figgis’ old eyes widened, and Trager frowned in disbelief.
“Did you hear that?” Trager asked. He cocked his head to listen to the conversation. The men around the nearby table laughed and shook their heads, all agreeing that the new king of Liiria was not what they expected.
“Akeela killed Mor?” said Lukien. “That’s impossible.”
But it was true, or at least that was the consensus of the pub’s customers. Mistaking Lukien and his companions for merchants returning from the south, they explained how Akeela had arranged for Mor’s destruction at Hanging Man, ambushing the Norvan army with help from the Reecians. Akeela, they said, had killed King Mor himself. The news shattered Lukien, who sank back in his chair and refused to talk about it any more.
They were only days from the Liirian border, and so set off the next morning for Koth. The simple thought of returning home quickened their pace. Two days after leaving Farduke, they entered Liiria. They stopped infrequently, barely sleeping or eating, taking meals from their packs as they rode, and quickly crossed the southern grain fields and fruit orchards. Finding a main road, they joined the many travelers heading to Koth, making inquiries into the health of the queen and being met with odd stares. Because they had doffed their uniforms for simple riding clothes, no one recognized them, nor did anyone seem to know of the queen’s illness. Lukien supposed that was good news. If Cassandra was dead, it would have been common knowledge by now. If she was merely ill, then Akeela had done a good job of concealing her fading health.
The road to Koth was wide and quick, and within a day the companions saw the capital. Seeing Koth, Figgis let out an enormous sigh. He was hearty for his age, but the difficult trip had exhausted him. The outlines of the chancellery buildings rose above the city, and Library Hill glimmered in the distance, easily recognizable by the construction rising from its surface. It seemed to Lukien that much had been done on the library since they’d left. Figgis, too, took notice of the progress, grinning happily.
“Ah, look at it,” he said proudly. “My library. It’s going up!”
“Your library, Figgis?” asked Lukien playfully. “I thought it was for the people.”
“Yes, well, it is,” Figgis corrected himself. “But I designed it. And I can’t wait to see what’s been done. Come on.”
Now Figgis led the way into the city. Lukien let him go, knowing that he himself could afford no detours. He had the amulet safely at his belt, having taken it from Trager, and he wanted to reach Lionkeep as soon as possible. Trager rode at his side, eager to take some credit for their prize. The lieutenant kept pace with Lukien as he hurried forward. The gates of Koth were open for commerce and the streets were typically choked with traffic. As he entered Lukien heard the cries of friends, waving and welcoming him home. He smiled, despite his aches and sunburn. Near the center of the city he met up with two more of his Royal Chargers, Jiri and Neel. The men embraced, leaving Trager conspicuously out of their huddle. Jiri and Neel told Lukien that Cassandra was still alive, though only barely. Lukien almost chuckled at the good news. He told Jiri and Neel to accompany them to Lionkeep, and the four horsemen rode triumphantly through the city, Lukien carefully guarding his secret prize. Soon they reached Chancellery Square, which was remarkably quiet for the hour. Seeing the great buildings, Jiri turned to Lukien.
“Captain, there’s something you should know.”
“I’ve already heard,” said Lukien. He shook his head sadly. “I told Akeela not to make war on Norvor without me. But he’s like a child sometimes; he never listens.”
Jiri and Neel looked at each other, confused.
“No, Captain, that’s not it,” said Neel. “It’s about Baron Glass. He’s been arrested.”
“Arrested?” said Lukien. “Why? What happened?”
“Akeela’s orders, Captain. He says the Baron betrayed him, went against his demands while he was in Norvor.”
“Akeela
ordered Glass arrested?” said Trager. “Come now—I don’t believe that.”
ordered Glass arrested?” said Trager. “Come now—I don’t believe that.”
“It’s true, sir,” said Jiri. Because they were nearing Lionkeep, the soldier kept his voice low. “The king’s changed since you’ve been gone. Something’s wrong with him. He doesn’t leave the keep anymore, and he barely speaks to anyone.”
“And he’s confiscated Baron Glass’ property,” added Neel. “That’s how he’s funding his library.”
Lukien couldn’t believe it. He rode on, a bit slower now, wondering what had happened to his king. Cassandra’s illness was a burden, surely, but how could it have affected Akeela so badly? It didn’t make sense.
“I have to see him,” he said. “I have to talk to him, make sure he’s all right.”
“He isn’t all right, Captain,” warned Jiri. “Even Warden Graig thinks he’s lost his mind.”
“Don’t say that,” snapped Lukien. “He’s your king.”
Driven on by the shocking news, Lukien hurried his mount toward Lionkeep. He entered the courtyard, throwing himself off his horse and not talking to anyone. Jiri and Neel rode into the yard after him, but only Trager followed Lukien into the keep, where they immediately found Warden Graig.
“Lukien!” Graig cried. “I wasn’t told you were back. When did you get home?”
“Just now. Where’s Akeela, Graig?”
“Akeela’s in the throne room, Lukien. But listen—”
“The throne room?” said Lukien incredulously. “What’s he doing in there?”
Graig’s eyes darted between Lukien and Trager. Then he took Lukien around the shoulder and led him a little way down the hall.
“Lukien, listen to me,” he whispered. “Akeela’s not well. Something happened to him in Norvor.”
“I know. He killed Mor.”
“That’s right, and he hasn’t been the same since. He’s demented, Lukien. He doesn’t trust anyone, not even me. I just want you to be prepared when you see him.”
Lukien was crestfallen. “Great Fate,” he sighed. “It’s that bad?”
“It is. I’ll go and tell him you’ve returned and that you have the amulet. I’m sure he’ll want to see you, but . . .” Graig shrugged. “Just don’t expect the old Akeela, all right?”
Lukien couldn’t answer. He and Trager followed Graig toward the throne room, which had always been vacant since Akeela’s kingmaking. The hall outside the throne room was filled with civil servants. They avoided Lukien as he milled among them. Graig went to the huge doors of the chamber, opening them and slipping inside. The great portals closed behind him.
“What’s going on here?” Lukien asked, looking around at the drawn faces of the crowd. He recognized a number of the men, remembering them from meetings they had with Akeela. They were all servants of the chancelleries. “This looks like Mercy Court.”
“Mercy? We’ll get no mercy here!”
Lukien turned to see who had spoken. A small, bald man in the purple vest of the treasury looked up at him, but didn’t seem to know who he was.
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