Authors: John Marco
The Eyes of God (80 page)
“We’ll start searching the grounds for her, my lord,” said one of the wardens quickly. “If she’s here, we’ll find her.”
“If you find her she’ll die!” thundered Akeela. He put a hand to his head, unsure what to do. Surely there was no choice but to search for her. “Yes, all right,” he agreed. “Find her. And find General Trager, too. Tell him to tear Koth apart if he must!”
The wardens bowed and hurried out of the room. Akeela looked down at the kneeling Jancis. He wanted desperately to strike her. Megal and Ruthanna drifted into the hall. Along with Egin, they watched him with wide, sightless eyes.
Are they all against me?
Akeela wondered. The little nagging voice in his head whispered treachery in his ear.
Akeela wondered. The little nagging voice in his head whispered treachery in his ear.
“I’m sorry, my lord,” sobbed Jancis. “I didn’t know. . . .”
Akeela’s hand was quaking, poised to slap her face. His breathing came in erratic, angry bursts. This woman had failed him. He had entrusted his most precious thing to her, and she had failed him. Worse, he didn’t believe her claims of innocence. She and Cassandra were thicker than thieves. There was no way his wife would have fled without telling Jancis.
Unless she simply wanted to protect her.
So instead of striking Jancis, Akeela reached down and seized her face in his hands, pinching her jaw tightly between his fingers and pulling her to her feet.
“Now you listen to me, you blind bitch. If I find out you’re lying to me, I’m going to dig out your eyeballs with a spoon.”
Jancis groaned but didn’t say a word. Akeela studied her face a moment, then pushed her, sending her sprawling at Egin’s feet. Neither the fuller nor the maids said a word. Horror-struck, they merely stared blindly.
“If any of you have betrayed me, I will kill you,” Akeela warned.
Then he stormed off, leaving them in dazed confusion. His mind was on fire as he hurried through Lionkeep, calling out for General Trager. His frightened, half-crazed voice rang like thunder through the halls.
For the rest of the morning Akeela held vigil in Lionkeep, waiting for word about Cassandra. The wardens continued to search the grounds, but found nothing. General Trager and his men had fanned out through the city, hoping to find a clue to the queen’s whereabouts. Lionkeep fell into a mournful silence, and all the good feelings Akeela had felt just hours before were gone, replaced with the most crushing misery. It was very likely now that Cassandra was dead. Akeela supposed she had risked her life to escape him, that eternity with him was simply unthinkable to her. It was a theory that hurt Akeela, because he knew he had always been good and kind to Cassandra, and had given her everything a woman could want. He had not given her freedom, of course, because that wasn’t in his purview to grant. But he had tried to give her love. Why couldn’t she have seen that?
Within hours of Cassandra’s disappearance, Akeela’s depression was total. He was brooding on his balcony, staring out over Koth, thoroughly drunk from the bottles of wine he’d consumed. His servants tiptoed around him, attending his needs without question. At last, Akeela was quiet. No longer was he mad or shouting threats. Instead he waited as patiently as he could for word from Trager, finding solace in the good wines of his cellars. Looking out over the city, he supposed that Cassandra’s body was there somewhere, lying in a ditch, victim of the first set of human eyes to sight her. Akeela wondered if her death had been painful. He hoped not.
Hope. There was still that, he supposed. Perhaps Cassandra had gotten away without being seen. She was clever, after all. Akeela rolled his wine goblet between his palms, seizing on the notion, praying for its truth.
“My lord?”
The voice startled Akeela. He turned to see a pair of Knight-Guardians, General Trager’s bodyguards, at the end of the balcony. Their faces were characteristically stoic. Akeela’s stomach tightened.
“You have news?” he asked in a slurred voice.
“My lord, we’ve found something,” replied one of the men. “In the apple orchard. General Trager sent us to bring you.”
“What have you found?”
The man hesitated. “The general asked that we bring you, my lord. He thought it was best you see for yourself.”
Fine,
thought Akeela.
No more questions.
He did indeed need to face this himself. Pushing his wine glass aside, he got to his feet, a little wobbly at first. His brain sloshed in his skull, but he was able to straighten up.
thought Akeela.
No more questions.
He did indeed need to face this himself. Pushing his wine glass aside, he got to his feet, a little wobbly at first. His brain sloshed in his skull, but he was able to straighten up.
“Take me there.”
The Knight-Guardians had their horses waiting in the courtyard, but it took time for the squires to find a mount for Akeela. They were plainly shocked to see him, for Akeela the Ghost seldom ventured out of the keep. Soon, though, a warden who had been searching the grounds offered Akeela his own steed. Akeela mounted the beast unsteadily, his head spinning. As the Knight-Guardians hurried off, Akeela followed, his black cape snapping behind him. He knew the way to the apple orchard, though he hadn’t been there in ages, and as he rode a bad memory came back to him It was something he had almost forgotten, buried deep by his own anger. The apple orchard had been where Trager had first discovered Cassandra’s infidelity. It was where she had soiled herself with Lukien.
A blackness descended over Akeela’s groggy brain. His teeth began to grind, bottom jaw against top.
Lukien.
It was unthinkable, yet there it was, staring Akeela in the face. Mocking him.
“Great Fate,” he whispered. “If it’s you. . . .”
Long minutes of riding brought them at last to the outskirts of the orchard. The morning mist had long ago burned away, revealing the rows and rows of perfect fruit trees. The Knight-Guardians proceeded into the orchard, bidding Akeela to follow. Akeela steeled himself. Up ahead he saw a group of Royal Chargers, some mounted, others milling near their horses. The Knight-Guardians slowed as they approached. In the center of the throng was Trager. The general’s bearded face contorted as he noticed Akeela. Surprisingly, he looked sad. It occurred to Akeela that he had never seen that expression on Trager before.
“My lord,” Trager called, waving. The Knight-Guardians brought their horses to a halt. Akeela slowed his mount, trotting up to the group cautiously. He noticed suddenly that the men were arranged in a half-moon, standing around a mound of freshly dug earth.
Akeela’s heart began racing, hammering loudly in his ears. He brought his horse to a stop, letting two of Trager’s men help him down. Suddenly he could barely move. The mound—what looked like a grave—drew him dreadfully closer.
“What is it?” he asked softly.
“I’m not sure,” replied Trager. “We didn’t want to disturb it in case. . . .” He shrugged. “You know.”
“Dig it up,” said Akeela.
Trager merely gestured, ordering two men forward. They had already fetched spades and set to work. Akeela watched, stone-faced, trying hard not to break down. For a moment he thought he might faint. Each man had taken only three shovelfuls of dirt when they paused.
“What is it?” Trager asked.
“Feels like something just below the surface,” replied one of the diggers. He probed at the ground with his spade, unearthing a hand. A gasp went through the men. The digger blanched and glanced at Akeela.
Unable to speak, Akeela nodded for the men to continue. They did so carefully, uncovering the body beneath the dirt with their spades and, soon, with their hands. When they brushed the soil from Cassandra’s face, Akeela nearly collapsed.
“Oh, help me,” he groaned. “Oh, no. . . .”
Trager was there in an instant, his arm around Akeela to keep him from falling. Akeela’s nausea spiked, sending vomit spewing from his mouth. As he bent over, hacking up his meal of wine, Trager patted his back.
“Let it out,” he counseled.
The men continued pulling Cassandra’s body from its shallow grave. Akeela struggled to catch his breath. Sweat fell from Akeela’s forehead, stinging his eyes. Next to him, Trager was staring at Cassandra’s body. With effort Akeela straightened. Except for where it was spattered with blood, Cassandra’s corpse was bone white. The knights around her parted as Akeela shuffled closer, kneeling beside her. Trager stood over Akeela’s shoulder, studying the body.
“Akeela, it’s gone,” he whispered.
Akeela nodded. He had already noticed. The Eye of God had been taken. Then, something else caught Akeela’s gaze. There was an object tied to Cassandra’s right hand. Akeela poked at it, brushing away the dirt and found it was a slip of paper. Someone had tied it to her wrist like a bracelet.
“What’s that?” asked Trager.
Slowly, carefully, Akeela pried loose the folded paper. Trager ordered his men to step back, to give the king some room. But the general himself stared over Akeela’s shoulder, intently watching as he unfolded the note. And it
was
a note, Akeela was sure. He didn’t even need to read it, for he was dreadfully sure of its contents. In shaky penmanship the letter read:
was
a note, Akeela was sure. He didn’t even need to read it, for he was dreadfully sure of its contents. In shaky penmanship the letter read:
To my mad brother,
You weren’t the only one who loved her. Forgive me.
It was signed simply,
Lukien.
Lukien.
“Lukien,” sighed Akeela.
“Lukien!” hissed Trager.
Akeela rose to his feet. The nausea that had plagued him fled in an instant, replaced by a ground-shaking rage. With a trembling fist he crumpled the letter and tossed it into the empty grave.
“He takes everything from me,” he snarled. “The only thing I loved, the only thing left to me!”
“We’ll find him, my lord,” Trager vowed. “And when we do, we’ll cut his heart out.”
“No,” said Akeela. “You won’t find him. He’s already gone.”
“Yes, but where?”
Akeela closed his eyes. An enormous headache threatened to crack his skull. “I don’t know, but I know someone who can tell us.” When he opened his eyes again, Cassandra was still at his feet. Still dead. “Get her out of here,” he told Trager. “See that she’s cleaned and readied for a proper burial. Then, bring me the librarian.”
He turned and went back to his horse. On the orders of General Trager, the Knight-Guardians followed him home. Finally, when he reached Lionkeep and was alone in his study, Akeela wept.
41
A
keela sat alone in the vast dining chamber of Lionkeep, pensively sipping a glass of wine and surveying the feast laid out on the table. His cook had done an excellent job with the meal and had prepared many grand dishes. The aromas in the chamber were enough to tempt anyone to eat, Akeela was sure. Akeela, however, did not eat. Satisfied with his liquor, he simply admired the delicacies laid out on the table. The scents of roast duck and spitted venison filled his nostrils. Fresh breads and biscuits sent up wisps of steam. Across the table, a single place setting had been arranged with a metal goblet of wine. Moonlight came through the stained glass window, alerting Akeela to the time. Nearly two full days had passed since he’d discovered Cassandra’s body, and he hadn’t eaten a thing. Neither had Figgis. Now it was time to reward the old man for cooperating.
keela sat alone in the vast dining chamber of Lionkeep, pensively sipping a glass of wine and surveying the feast laid out on the table. His cook had done an excellent job with the meal and had prepared many grand dishes. The aromas in the chamber were enough to tempt anyone to eat, Akeela was sure. Akeela, however, did not eat. Satisfied with his liquor, he simply admired the delicacies laid out on the table. The scents of roast duck and spitted venison filled his nostrils. Fresh breads and biscuits sent up wisps of steam. Across the table, a single place setting had been arranged with a metal goblet of wine. Moonlight came through the stained glass window, alerting Akeela to the time. Nearly two full days had passed since he’d discovered Cassandra’s body, and he hadn’t eaten a thing. Neither had Figgis. Now it was time to reward the old man for cooperating.
Surprisingly, Figgis had lasted longer under persuasion than Akeela had thought possible. Old bones break easily, Trager had assured him, but for the first full day the librarian had stuck to his story, swearing to every god and devil that he knew nothing of Cassandra’s whereabouts. Lukien, he insisted, had not contacted him. Akeela supposed Figgis thought him incapable of torture. And for that first day, there had only been the threat of it, for Akeela had always liked Figgis. The thought of resorting to violence was almost abhorrent to him. But time was of the essence and he needed information, and he knew that Figgis was the lone link in the chain to lead him to Lukien. No one else would have dared contact Cassandra on his behalf, or so Akeela had thought. It was why he had originally left Breck out of his theory. Breck had a family now, too much to risk. And how strangely incriminating that the boy Gilwyn Toms had run off. Figgis had sworn ignorance about this, too.
Akeela set down his goblet.
It’s a shame that no one can be trusted,
he thought.
A shame that people make me do such things.
It’s a shame that no one can be trusted,
he thought.
A shame that people make me do such things.
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