The Eyes of God (77 page)
Authors: John Marco
“She found Jancis,” Cassandra corrected. She looked over Gilwyn’s shoulder toward the door, noticing with disappointment that he was alone. Gilwyn caught her glance and smiled at her.
“I found him, my lady,” he said. “I found Lukien. He’s waiting for you not far from Lionkeep, in the apple orchard.”
The news was like beautiful music. “Really?” Cassandra asked. “Lukien’s back? How is he?”
“He’s fine, but there’s no time to talk. You’ll see him soon enough.” Gilwyn reached out and took her hand. “Come on, we have to hurry.”
“What, right now?” Cassandra pulled her hand back. “I can’t leave dressed like this.”
“My lady, please don’t argue,” implored Gilwyn. “This is the only chance to get you out of here before we’re discovered. My wagon’s not far from here, waiting for us. I was able to get inside the keep because I said I was delivering books. They checked my wagon and that’s what they saw—books. They won’t check me again on the way out, but we have to hurry!”
Cassandra’s head was spinning. She was barely dressed, it was the middle of the night, and she hadn’t even said good-bye to Jancis. But Gilwyn’s earnest face told her he meant business. Lukien was waiting, and couldn’t wait forever. If she didn’t leave now. . . .
“Please, my lady,” said Gilwyn nervously. “We’ve got clothes waiting for you in the orchard. But we must hurry.”
Cassandra glanced back down the dark corridor. The utensils of the scullery stood out stark and ugly. But it in an odd way it was home. Leaving it might kill her. Or worse, Jancis if her treachery was discovered.
“I’m not sure I’m ready,” she laughed nervously. She looked at Gilwyn for support, and got one of his encouraging smiles.
“We can make it, my lady, I know we can. But we have to hurry.”
It had all come down to this, a getaway in a wagon full of dusty books. Cassandra had waited sixteen years, and in that time had imagined many escapes, all of them more grand than this one. Beneath her nightshirt the Eye of God gave off its reassuring glow, the only warmth for her cold body.
“All right,” she agreed. “Let’s go.”
Gilwyn didn’t say a word. Like a phantom he turned in the darkness, opened the door to the breezy outside, and led Cassandra toward freedom.
Alone atop his black charger, General Will Trager trotted toward Lionkeep after a long day with his lieutenants. All was in preparation for his departure to Jador, and the general was in an excellent mood. The lights of Lionkeep drew him forward like a moth. He had good news for Akeela and knew that the king would still be awake, so he had decided not to wait until morning. They were on schedule to march, finally, and could do so as soon as Akeela wanted. If need be, they could depart tomorrow, a full two days earlier than anticipated. Will Trager was proud of himself. His pride glowed in his bearded face. The lateness of the hour had made his trip from Chancellery Square particularly pleasant, without the usual choking traffic. He had even whistled a little while he rode, pleased that he no longer needed to face Warden Graig before meeting Akeela. Akeela had taken old Graig’s death hard but it had been worth it; now Akeela listened only to him. Not even Figgis had much access to Akeela these days, an added bonus Trager hadn’t expected. Akeela was growing impatient with the old librarian, sure that he was stalling. Like Queen Cassandra, Figgis opposed the invasion of Jador. That made him less useful to Akeela. Trager grinned in the moonlight. It was a very good night, indeed.
Up ahead stood the gates of Lionkeep. A pair of wardens were posted, each with a spear and a black helmet. Since the death of Graig, they had been particularly keen on guarding Lionkeep. Even Trager had to announce himself. He watched them as he rode nearer, slowing his mount a bit. They were suspicious of him and he knew it. There were bold rumors afoot that Graig had been murdered, and though nothing could be proven, the wardens were taking no more chances. Trager was merely yards from the gates when he noticed another pair of wardens arriving, relieving the first pair, who after a quick exchange of formalities disappeared into the darkness. The new sentries fell into position, noticing the approaching general at once. Through the bars of the gates, Trager came under their suspect glare.
“Open up,” he commanded. He had no interest in pleasantries and wouldn’t have wasted them on wardens, anyway. The sentries studied him with undo care. “Oh, hurry up,” he shouted. “I have business with the king!”
“Yes, sir,” replied one of the men. It was easy to catch the rancor in his tone. With his partner he opened the gates, bidding Trager inside. But just as the general crossed the threshold, he noticed a wagon coming toward him from within the keep.
“Wait,” ordered the first sentry. He held up a hand to stop Trager.
“Wait? What for?”
Both sentries fixed on the wagon. There was a single rider in the conveyance, a boy Trager thought he recognized. Behind him, in the buckboard, was a lumpy pile covered with a tarpaulin. The boy looked pale in the moonlight.
“You boy, hold up,” said one of the wardens. He stepped in front of the wagon and raised a hand to halt it. The boy grimaced and reined in his horse, a tired looking old beast with drooping eyes and lopping gait.
“Is there a problem?” he asked the warden.
“Where are you going?” replied the warden pointedly.
“Back to the library,” said the boy. He sighed. “Look, I already explained everything to the last sentries. I’m Gilwyn Toms, from the library.”
Suddenly Trager remembered the boy. He watched the happenings with interest.
“We know who you are,” said the warden. He spied the wagon’s contents, frowning. “What’s all that stuff?”
“Books, of course! And if you recognize me, will you let me pass, please?”
“Sorry, boy.” The warden took a step toward the wagon. “We’re checking everything that comes in and out, you know that.”
“But I just came in!” Gilwyn Toms protested.
“Doesn’t matter,” said the warden. He walked over to the side of the wagon, reaching into it to pull off the tarpaulin. “We have our orders.”
“Stop being ridiculous,” barked Trager. His loud command stilled the warden’s hand. “The boy just wants to get home to bed.”
The wardens seemed shocked. “General, we have our orders,” said one of them.
“Orders,” spat Trager. “Let the boy pass. Those are
my
orders, warden.”
my
orders, warden.”
Hesitantly, the sentries stepped back from the wagon. Gilwyn Toms looked remarkably relieved. And for Trager, the tight grimaces of the wardens was priceless. He laughed, shaking his head in disgust.
“Really, do you think stopping a crippled boy is what Warden Graig would have done? You’re pathetic.” Trager turned toward Gilwyn Toms. “Go on, boy, get back to the library.”
The boy broke into a peculiar smile. “Thank you, sir.”
“All right,” grunted Trager. “Safe home, now.”
Self-satisfaction filled him as he watched the boy snap the reins and head out through the gates with his wagon full of books. The wardens watched the boy go too, shaking their heads and sighing. Trager rode past them with disdain.
“Idiots,” he sneered. “All you wardens ever do is waste people’s time.”
Cassandra lay motionless beneath the tarpaulin, clinging desperately to the amulet against her chest. The soft glow of the Eye’s gemstone warmed her cold skin. Through the tarp she had heard the voices of men, then Gilwyn’s insistent arguing. The voices had been very close, but now the wagon was moving again. Were they free? Cassandra held her breath. Her body rocked to the movement of the road, pinned on all sides by sharp-edged books. Her awkward position in the wagon had quickly become painful, but it would all be worth it to escape Lionkeep. She said nothing as the wagon moved off again, waiting for a sign from Gilwyn. At last it came.
“We made it, my lady,” came the boy’s excited whisper. “We’re out of the keep! Don’t move; we’ll be safe soon.”
Cassandra didn’t move, but she did smile. She wrapped her fingers around the amulet, gleaning its needed warmth, and prepared herself to see Lukien.
39
A
thin mist rolled through the apple orchard, brightened by moonlight and the distant glow of Koth. Except for the crackle of a small campfire, there was no sound between the perfect rows of fruit trees, only the scent of apples and the soft, dewy earth. A tawny colored horse stood motionless in the firelight, burdened with packs for a long ride. Lukien squatted by the fire, listening, watching. Down the orchard row he could see mist breezing through the trees. The fog had cut visibility considerably, but he knew he was alone in the orchard, and that worried him. For two hours he had been here, waiting for Gilwyn to return with Cassandra. So far there had been no sign of them, and Lukien was despairing. He put his hands up to the fire, staring pensively into its flames. Smoke from the dry kindling irritated the wound beneath his eyepatch. The horse Figgis had managed to find him chomped lazily at the ground, occasionally finding a fallen, unripe apple. She seemed a good horse, good enough at least to speed him and Cassandra to Breck’s farm, where his own mount awaited him. From there they would ride to Marn. It was a decent plan and Lukien was satisfied with it, but none of it mattered unless Cassandra came. As the minutes ticked by, that seemed less and less likely.
thin mist rolled through the apple orchard, brightened by moonlight and the distant glow of Koth. Except for the crackle of a small campfire, there was no sound between the perfect rows of fruit trees, only the scent of apples and the soft, dewy earth. A tawny colored horse stood motionless in the firelight, burdened with packs for a long ride. Lukien squatted by the fire, listening, watching. Down the orchard row he could see mist breezing through the trees. The fog had cut visibility considerably, but he knew he was alone in the orchard, and that worried him. For two hours he had been here, waiting for Gilwyn to return with Cassandra. So far there had been no sign of them, and Lukien was despairing. He put his hands up to the fire, staring pensively into its flames. Smoke from the dry kindling irritated the wound beneath his eyepatch. The horse Figgis had managed to find him chomped lazily at the ground, occasionally finding a fallen, unripe apple. She seemed a good horse, good enough at least to speed him and Cassandra to Breck’s farm, where his own mount awaited him. From there they would ride to Marn. It was a decent plan and Lukien was satisfied with it, but none of it mattered unless Cassandra came. As the minutes ticked by, that seemed less and less likely.
And for a moment, Lukien thought that might be for the best. He had nothing to offer Cassandra, really, just his love. He was an outlaw. He wasn’t even welcome back in Norvor. And unlike Cassandra he had aged over the years, badly. She, on the other hand, was as beautiful as when he’d left her, or so said Gilwyn. She deserved a life better than he could offer, but maybe she didn’t see that. Maybe she was just too desperate to escape her gilded cage.
Lukien picked up a gnarled stick and poked the flames, sending up a shower of sparks. He had kept the fire small to avoid being seen, but he knew that Cassandra would be cold when she arrived and grateful for the fire.
Lukien corrected himself.
If
she arrived.
If
she arrived.
Dawn would soon be upon them. Only a few more hours of darkness remained. Lukien had hoped to have some time with Cassandra before fleeing to Breck’s, but the coming dawn made that less likely now. Unless she arrived soon, they would have to make the most of the remaining dark, get as much distance between themselves and Lionkeep as possible. . . .
He heard a noise. Alarmed, he hunched down next to the fire, shielding its glow with his cape. Down the tree-lined avenue the mist swirled in the breeze. The noise of horse hooves reached him, coming toward him. His hand went instinctively to his sword. His muscles coiled to spring. If Gilwyn had been discovered there would be dozens of wardens in the orchard, closing around him like a noose.
But only one horse approached, its nose breaking through the mist. Brown and plain and moving with a tired gait, it dragged a familiar wagon behind it. Lukien’s sword hand fell loose at his side. Slowly he rose to his feet. The horse was Tempest and the wagon was Gilwyn’s. The boy sat in the bench seat, searching the mists. And he wasn’t alone.
Beside Gilwyn sat Cassandra.
Dark-haired and lovely, untouched by time. Her body was wrapped in the wagon’s tarp, but her face was unmistakable in the moonlight. For a moment Lukien couldn’t breathe. He could barely even think, for the sight of Cassandra was so strange to him, as if time had stood still and they were both alone in the orchard again, making love for that first time. As the wagon drew closer Gilwyn noticed him beside the campfire. The boy waved excitedly. Cassandra’s head lifted, her eyes meeting Lukien’s.
“Great Fate, it’s a miracle. . . .”
A great, sad smile stretched across Cassandra’s face. Her hand appeared from beneath the tarp to wave at Lukien, who rushed forward to greet them, sprinting through the mist. Gilwyn reined in Tempest, and when the wagon halted Cassandra jumped to her feet. The tarpaulin she’d been wearing fell from her shoulders and she stood exquisitely exposed, thrusting out her arms for her coming lover.
“Lukien!”
The exuberant call echoed through the orchard. Lukien raced ahead, not stopping until he was at the foot of the wagon. There he paused, looked straight into Cassandra’s beautiful face, and put out his hands for her. Without a word she dropped into his embrace. He scooped her from the wagon, laughing, twirling her around in a giddy waltz.
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