Authors: John Marco
The Eyes of God (83 page)
He pulled back his gaka and drew a dagger from his belt, then went to the dead rass and began cutting free its enormous jaws.
An hour later, Kadar was on his way home. The spires and rectangular towers of Jador rose clearly above the desert sands, but he did not hurry. It was satisfying to be alone with Istikah, satisfying to glance down at the rass jaw hanging from his saddle, still wet with blood and bits of flesh. It was mid-afternoon, and the sun was unbearable. The cloth of his dark gaka burned with its heat. The scales of Istikah’s tough hide had turned a dusty shade of green, reflecting the worst of the sunlight. The kreel’s mind was quiet as they rode. She, too, was satisfied. When they returned to the palace they would rest, Kadar decided. He would take a bath in rosewater to soothe his aching muscles, and Istikah would be well fed and rubbed. They had earned it. Kadar smiled and patted his mount’s long neck. He loved the feel of her scales, like armor. Together they crested a dune and saw Jador sprawled out before them, rising like a great oasis out of the desert. In the last decade the city had grown. The outskirts reached a mile into the sands now, and more of the Ganjeese had come to live and trade among them. It was still a pretty city, though, white and sparkling. The Jadori had much to be proud of, Kadar knew. They were strong in a way they had never been before, more capable than ever of protecting Grimhold. Kadar considered this as he spied his city, then noticed a single rider coming toward them. Curious, he ordered Istikah to halt, then watched as the rider came into view, clearly having sighted them at the top of the dune. The rider changed course toward them. Wearing a black gaka with red piping, Kadar recognized the man as one of his own. He supposed it was his friend, Ralawi, come in search of him. He waved at the approaching rider, who returned the gesture.
He will be glad to see me alive,
thought Kadar. He ordered Istikah toward him. It was indeed Ralawi, because as they got closer Kadar recognized his friend’s kreel, a great, ill-tempered male with dark green streaks along its back. When they were but a few paces apart, Ralawi undid his cowl to show his face. Like all Jadori, he had beautiful dark skin and piercing eyes. He smiled at Kadar, and at the jaws hanging from his saddle.
thought Kadar. He ordered Istikah toward him. It was indeed Ralawi, because as they got closer Kadar recognized his friend’s kreel, a great, ill-tempered male with dark green streaks along its back. When they were but a few paces apart, Ralawi undid his cowl to show his face. Like all Jadori, he had beautiful dark skin and piercing eyes. He smiled at Kadar, and at the jaws hanging from his saddle.
“You are alive, I see,” he said in a mocking voice. “I had not thought you would be.”
“Ah, alive and victorious,” replied Kadar. He rode up to greet his friend, patting the jaws at his side. “See the size of it, Ralawi? I swear to Vala, it was a monster.”
“Twenty-footer, by the look of it,” said Ralawi.
“Thirty, and you know it,” jibed Kadar.
Ralawi’s smile was warm. “You look uninjured. I’m glad.”
“You were worried?”
“Of course. If you were smart, you’d have been worried too.”
Kadar looked up into the sun. It had taken a long time for Ralawi to come looking for him.
“I know what you’re thinking,” said Ralawi, “but I didn’t come out to rescue you.”
“No?”
“Your order was to obey you, Kadar, and that is what I did. But I have news. Ela-daz is here.”
Kadar was surprised by the statement, though gladdened. In the tongue of Jador, Ela-daz meant “little one.” He said, “Ela-daz? When?”
“She’s only just arrived. I told her you would be back soon and she said she would wait for you, that there was no hurry to speak with you. But I thought you would like to know.”
“Indeed, Ralawi, thank you,” replied Kadar. It had been months since Ela-daz had been to Jador, and he was anxious to see her. “Is she alone?”
“The big one is with her.”
“Always,” said Kadar. “Anyone else?”
“She has brought two young ones as well.”
Kadar smiled. It was good when Ela-daz brought more into her fold. Kadar liked to see Grimhold growing. It added purpose to his life.
“Come,” he told Ralawi. “I don’t want to keep her waiting.”
Forgetting his bath, Kadar directed Istikah toward the city, eager to see his old companion. Though she had been out riding for hours, Istikah was far from exhausted, and carried her master with swift ease. Ralawi and his own kreel kept pace, striding quickly across the desert sand. As they rode, Kadar told of his encounter with the rass, and how he and Istikah had slain it. Ralawi listened, shaking his head, and Kadar could feel his old friend’s disapproval.
“You wish to die,” said Ralawi as they neared the city. “That must be it.”
Kadar didn’t answer. He rode into the outskirts of the city where his palace stood, guarding the mountains in the distance. The gates of his home, which had been erected after the coming, opened as he approached, controlled by a pair of sentries. As he passed the gates and entered one of his many gardens, he asked the sentries about Ela-daz. She was in the aurocco, they replied, waiting for him.
Waiting for him. Kadar chuckled, reminded of her endless patience. He dismounted, asking Ralawi to look after Istikah, and made his way to the aurocco, unraveling his headpiece as he went. It would not do to greet his friend with a covered face. She was not of his kind, but she understood their customs well enough, and expected certain things. More importantly, Kadar respected her. They had been friends for many decades.
The aurocco was located on the side of the palace facing the mountains. It was a vast, open air chamber with dozens of arches and pillars, a place of prayer devoted to Vala. Whenever she came to the palace, Ela-daz always visited the aurocco. As Kadar entered the antechamber, he heard his footsteps echo through the stone structure, bouncing back and forth between the ancient arches and columns. There was dazzling artwork on the ceiling and floors, geometric mosaics made of multicolored tiles arranged in rosettes and star patterns. The architecture of the place invited contemplation before entering the even more imposing aurocco. Because the aurocco was so large, it took a moment for Kadar to locate Ela-daz among the pillars. But soon he heard her, her gentle voice wafting through the chamber. Silently he followed the voice, hiding behind the pillars as he approached. Then he saw her, pointing out the mosaics to the youngsters she had brought with her. They were a boy and a girl, twins from the looks of them, both with canes to bolster their badly twisted legs. The boy’s back was rounded with an ugly hump, while the girl had no such deformity. To Kadar’s eye, they looked no older than eight years old.
Ela-daz, on the other hand, looked typically timeless. Because she wore the amulet, she was without age. Standing apart from her was Trog, her bodyguard. He was first to sight Kadar among the pillars, but did nothing to alert his mistress. Kadar gave the giant a smile of thanks, pleased that he could watch Ela-daz for a while. The sleeves of her colorful coat swirled as she pointed out the many marvelous artworks in the aurocco, her elfin face split with a wide grin. Ela-daz always took great pride in showing off the aurocco. And she always told her young charges the same thing—this was only the first of many wondrous sights.
Ela-daz, or Minikin as she was called across the desert, lifted her face to smile at Kadar. He stepped out from the shadows to greet her.
“Discovered,” he laughed, speaking in her language. “How long did you know?”
“I heard you approaching a few moments ago,” replied the little woman. She put her small arms around the children and ushered them forward. “Kahan Kadar, this is Gendel and Keir, from Kana.”
“Brother and sister?” asked Kadar.
Ela-daz nodded. “Their parents are dead. They had no one to care for them. They were in the streets when I found them.”
“Starving from the look of them,” said Kadar. The boy was horribly emaciated, and the girl’s clothes, though clean, hung from her like cloth on a pole. He gave the children the warmest smile he could muster. “Ah, but you will be well now, certainly. Ela-daz will take good care of you.”
The girl frowned in puzzlement. “Ela-daz?”
“A term of endearment, child,” replied the little woman. “It is what they call me here.”
“What does it mean?” asked the boy.
“Just the same as my regular name,” said the woman. “It means ‘little one.’ Now. . . .” She directed the children toward Trog. “Wait with Trog while I speak to Kahan Kadar, all right? I shan’t be long.”
The children obeyed, going to Trog and standing beneath his tall, protective shadow. Ela-daz turned and went toward Kadar, looping an arm through his and leading him away from the children.
“It’s good to see you, Shalafein,” she said. “I’ve missed you.”
Kadar was happy. He enjoyed being called
shalafein,
a word that in his dialect meant “great protector.”
shalafein,
a word that in his dialect meant “great protector.”
“It’s been too many months, my friend,” he agreed. “I had begun to think you had forgotten us.”
She laughed at the absurdity of the idea. “It was time to come and visit.”
“Yes, the little ones,” said Kadar. “Will you be leaving with them soon?”
Ela-daz shook her head slightly. “No. I’ll send them on without me. I’ll be staying here a little while. I have . . . things to discuss with you.”
Kadar stopped walking. “Bad things?”
The little woman’s face became grave. “Shalafein, there is trouble coming from the continent. We must prepare for it.”
43
C
ondors wheeled in the desert sky, sailing the winds above the hot sands. A breeze blew across the shifting, golden earth, forever changing the horizon. It was high noon, and the sun was a relentless ball of fire burning the backs of the drowas and cooking the men in the tall, cloth-covered wagons. Behind them, Ganjor and its pools of clean water were a desperate memory. Ahead, the Desert of Tears taunted them with its shimmering heat. The caravan had traveled for two days now, leaving Ganjor and its safety for the scorching unknown of the desert. Headed by a desert leader named Grak, the caravan had six of the unusual desert wagons and twelve drowas, all heavily laden with waterskins and goods for Jador. Grak’s eight children hung from the sides of the wagons, talking and laughing as the caravan slowly crawled across the desert. And in the last wagon, crammed between sacks of grain and water skins, a trio of northerners shielded themselves from the blistering sun, having spent their last few pennies on passage to Jador.
ondors wheeled in the desert sky, sailing the winds above the hot sands. A breeze blew across the shifting, golden earth, forever changing the horizon. It was high noon, and the sun was a relentless ball of fire burning the backs of the drowas and cooking the men in the tall, cloth-covered wagons. Behind them, Ganjor and its pools of clean water were a desperate memory. Ahead, the Desert of Tears taunted them with its shimmering heat. The caravan had traveled for two days now, leaving Ganjor and its safety for the scorching unknown of the desert. Headed by a desert leader named Grak, the caravan had six of the unusual desert wagons and twelve drowas, all heavily laden with waterskins and goods for Jador. Grak’s eight children hung from the sides of the wagons, talking and laughing as the caravan slowly crawled across the desert. And in the last wagon, crammed between sacks of grain and water skins, a trio of northerners shielded themselves from the blistering sun, having spent their last few pennies on passage to Jador.
Upon Cassandra’s death, Gilwyn, Lukien, and Baron Glass had fled Liiria as quickly as possible. They had met Breck at his little farm in Borath, telling him what had happened and warning him that Akeela would soon be after him, too. Knowing there was nothing to do but flee the farm he’d spent years building, Breck and his family abandoned their home, heading north into Jerikor to escape. Before doing so he gave his friends what little money he could spare, enough to get them to Marn. Baron Glass and Lukien had enough gold for the rest of the trip, and assured Gilwyn that they would make it safely to Ganjor. It had been an arduous trip. They had only two horses between them, because Tempest was too old to make the trip. So they hitched Gilwyn’s library cart to a pair of geldings given to them by Breck and headed south, first to Farduke and then on to Dreel, carefully avoiding the Principality of Nith. All the while as they traveled they looked over their shoulders for Akeela. They took turns driving the wagon, and even one-armed Baron Glass did his best. He was a stoic man and Gilwyn had come to like him in their brief time together. Since the death of Cassandra, he was the only one who spoke to Gilwyn. Lukien generally said nothing to anyone. Cassandra’s death haunted him. He spoke only when necessary and ate very little, and he did not seem at all perturbed by their predicament. Rather, he seemed bent on reaching Jador, no matter the cost. With his golden armor still locked safely in the chest Breck had given him and the Eye of God wrapped in a burlap sack, Lukien was like a dark messenger, bent on delivering his bad news to the Kahan of Jador and returning the amulet that had caused so much misery. Of the few things he had told Gilwyn on their trip south, one still rung in Gilwyn’s mind.
“This amulet has destroyed me,” he had said one night in Marn. “I will see it back to Kadar, and if he kills me, then so be it.”
The gloom of those words haunted Gilwyn now as he spied Lukien, sitting apart in the wagon, his head bobbing in half-sleep. Gilwyn sat near the opening, alternatively watching Lukien and the blue sky above. Between them sat Baron Glass, also silent and half asleep. There was little to do on the long trek through the desert, and talking wasted precious strength. They had paid Grak the very last gold they had for passage to Jador, and Grak had happily agreed. He did not strike Gilwyn as a greedy man, but his eyes had lit up at the sight of the Liirian coins. For that he promised safe passage to Jador, food and water along the way, and no guarantees when they reached the white city. Jador, Grak explained, wasn’t open to foreigners any more. Only Ganjeese were allowed in the city, and only then in manageable numbers. The Ganjeese of Jador kept to their own ghettos, too, little pockets of the city that had sprung up in the past decade. But northerners, whether from Liiria or Marn or Reec, were strictly forbidden in Jador. Grak had been honest enough to warn them that they might be killed on sight. Lukien had merely shrugged at the suggestion. And Baron Glass, who had done almost all of the bargaining and planning on their trip, agreed to the passage with his usual stoicism.
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