Authors: John Marco
The Eyes of God (89 page)
“He’ll understand when he sees Akeela’s army,” Lukien had predicted sourly. Baron Glass had only sighed and nodded. Of the two, the old baron was far more patient, but Gilwyn knew his silence belied his own anxiety. Since leaving Norvor, Baron Glass almost never spoke of his troubles with Jazana Carr. Still, Gilwyn could tell he was troubled and worried about his family in Koth, a family he hadn’t seen in many years.
By the second day, Gilwyn had decided to explore the palace. It was, he soon discovered, a remarkable structure, much more beautiful than Lionkeep and without its cold stone and decay. Kadar’s palace was a golden marvel, full of ornate mosaics and sunburned colors and smooth stone-work that rose and fell in graceful arches and rounded, glazed domes. Most remarkable, though, were its inhabitants. The beautiful, dark-skinned people of Jador did nothing to hamper Gilwyn’s exploration of the palace. They gave him ample room whenever he passed by, occasionally offering a deferential though suspicious smile. He was an outsider, after all, and outsiders had killed their kahana.
It was mid-afternoon when Gilwyn found himself outside on the palace grounds. As usual, Teku rode on his shoulder. Kadar’s home was surrounded by gardens, and Gilwyn liked to listen to the many gurgling fountains, so refreshing in the desert heat. Because the sun was high and hot, most people had gone indoors, but Gilwyn was tired of the palace and went instead to the outer gardens, a ring of fruit trees and desert flowers bordering the encroaching sands. From here he enjoyed an unobstructed view of the mountains, dark and foreboding in the distance. Gilwyn strode along a winding path of perfectly square bricks, the air thick with the scent of flowers he’d never seen before. Except for the sounds of tumbling water, the garden was remarkably quiet. He sat down on a huge stone and listened, content with his surroundings. As he stared out across the sands, he wondered about the mountains and what might lie beyond them. And he wondered about home, too, and how far he had come. Liiria was very far away, and he was in a different world now. He didn’t feel afraid, but he did feel out of place. Even if Kadar kept his word and decided not to punish them, what would happen to them now? None of them could return to Koth. And the library? A dead dream. The thought saddened Gilwyn. Without Figgis, the library would be cold and empty. All the work his old mentor had poured into it had been for nothing. Gilwyn looked down at his feet and studied the strange boot Figgis had made for him.
No,
he corrected himself.
Not for nothing.
he corrected himself.
Not for nothing.
The library had given him life. Without it, he would have been a simple cripple, forced to beg on the streets.
Gilwyn was about to rise when a strange noise reached him from the other side of the garden. Teku’s little ears picked up the sound, turning toward it. Like a small cry, the sound peaked and was soon gone. But soon Gilwyn heard it again, this time much louder. He sprang to his feet, trying to locate its source. It was like a howl, inhuman and frightening. Alarmed, Gilwyn put out his arm for Teku, who quickly scrambled up to his shoulder. The sound was certainly an animal, for no human could make such a noise. The cry rang through the garden, growing louder but no closer. To Gilwyn, it sounded like a wail of pain. Not sure of the danger, he moved quickly toward the sound, heading straight through the garden. The cry went on and on. Suddenly Gilwyn recognized the sound; he had heard it several times since arriving in Ganjor.
A kreel. . . .
One of the great lizards of the desert people. And this one was in pain, hissing and howling as though caught in a trap. Gilwyn cut across the rocky garden, at last coming to its end. There he saw the kreel with three stout ropes around its neck, being dragged to the ground by a trio of men. A fourth man stood apart from the others, a great, shining blade in his hands. The kreel thrashed against the ropes in fright. It was smaller than the other kreels Gilwyn had seen, and slightly off color. But it fought like one of its larger siblings, straining against its bindings yet refusing to lash out with its razor-sharp claws.
“Stop!”
Gilwyn shouted.
Gilwyn shouted.
The startled men turned, almost losing their grip on the ropes. But when the kreel tried to bolt they jerked the ropes harder, dragging the creature forward until it collapsed. The man with the blade took a step toward Gilwyn while his comrades subdued the kreel, hurriedly working more ropes around its legs.
“Don’t!” Gilwyn demanded. “You’re hurting it!”
The man with the blade held up his hands, barking at Gilwyn to stay back. He looked confused by the interruption, uncertain how to deal with it.
“What are you doing to that poor thing?” Gilwyn shouted. He pointed to the curved blade in the man’s hands. “Are you going to kill it?”
The man seemed to understand. He lifted the sword and nodded.
“But why?” Gilwyn protested. “Why kill it?”
“Because it is a runt,” came a surprising reply.
Gilwyn whirled to face the new voice. What he saw shocked him even more than the screeching kreel. A woman was standing before him.
The
woman. Small as a midget with white hair and a swirling, colorful coat.
The
woman. Small as a midget with white hair and a swirling, colorful coat.
“You!”
The woman gave an enigmatic smile. Next to her stood the same giant Gilwyn had seen with her in Koth, the mute monster with bulging shoulders and tree-trunk- sized arms. The man with the blade lowered his weapon at once. To Gilwyn’s surprise, he bowed to the woman.
“Ela-daz.”
Confused, a bit afraid, Gilwyn gasped, “You’re the Witch of Grimhold!”
The woman laughed and wrinkled her nose. “Welcome to Jador, Gilwyn Toms.”
“You know me! Just like in the alley!”
“I know you. But I am no witch.”
“Who are you, then?” Gilwyn asked. “
What
are you?”
What
are you?”
“You have questions. I have answers. Gather your friends, Gilwyn. It’s time we talked.”
The woman turned and started off, trailed by her enormous guardian.
“Wait,” Gilwyn called after her. “What about the kreel. Are they going to kill it?”
“Yes,” said the woman. “I’m sorry, but that is the way of things here. The kreel is a runt of its breed. It is too small to hunt for itself.”
As she spoke, the kreel continued to howl and struggle against its bindings. The men hovered over it, unsure what to do. The one with the blade questioned the little woman in Jadori. She replied in his own tongue.
“Do not feel too badly for the kreel,” she told Gilwyn gently. “There is nothing to be done.”
“But it’s fine!” Gilwyn cried. He rushed to its side, standing between it and its executioner. “There’s nothing wrong with it. It’s strong. It was fighting these men and everything!”
“Gilwyn, please, come with me,” said the woman. “There’s much to discuss, much more important things.”
“No,” said Gilwyn. “Not if they’re going to kill it. Not because it’s small. It’s not right!”
The woman looked at him oddly. “We are guests here, you and I, Gilwyn. It is not our place to question how they do things.”
“But . . . !”
“Hush,” said the woman. She turned back to the men, exchanging a string of sentences. The men nodded reluctantly. “All right, Gilwyn,” she continued. “They will wait because I have asked them to. Now will you come with me?”
“Will they kill the kreel when we’re gone?” asked Gilwyn.
“Go and gather your friends,” said the woman simply. “The time has come to talk.”
Lukien and Baron Glass walked alone through the aurocco, admiring its dazzling mosaic ceiling. Like Gilwyn, they had also tired of their small chamber in the palace and so had decided to explore its impressive grounds. After an hour in the gardens, they had discovered the aurocco. The place so mesmerized them that they lost track of time. As he stared up at the ceiling, ornamented with countless fragments of tiling, Lukien could hear the soft breeze echo through the many arches. The long shadows of the columns gave the place a mazelike feel. Yet despite its complexity, the aurocco was anything but disorienting. It was peaceful and cool and invited contemplation, and Lukien felt at home. Next to him Thorin whistled, impressed by the amazing mosaic overhead. The sun-washed colors of a billion tiny tiles reflected in his dark eyes.
“It’s like a church,” he mused. “You think?”
Lukien nodded. “A place to worship Vala, maybe.”
Vala, the one god of Jador, seemed to possess every tiny tile. Lukien knew almost nothing of the deity, but he knew the deadly power of the amulet, and he was sure that something magical dwelled within Jador. God or no god, this was a place of miracles. His gaze drifted from the ceiling, surveying the dozens of sandstone columns and arches.
“They’ve changed so much.”
Thorin glanced at him. “What do you mean?”
“Look at this place. This is the kind of place they used to build, before I came and changed them.”
The old baron snickered. “Don’t exaggerate.”
“It’s true,” said Lukien. “Now they build walls and train their lizards to fight. We changed them, me and Trager and Figgis.” Lukien’s gaze fell upon a fountain in the center of the aurocco, dry but nonetheless beautiful. A figure of a maiden stood in its bowl. Dressed in flowing robes, she held a single stone flower in her hand. Lukien at once thought of Cassandra.
Had it all been worth it?
He listened to the breeze, but heard no reply.
“I want to go now,” he said softly. As he turned to leave he saw a figure approaching from the garden, one of Kahan Kadar’s ubiquitous guards. The man called to them, waving them forward.
“What’s this about?” wondered Thorin.
The guard went to them, gesturing toward the palace. He spoke, but the only word Lukien understood was “Kadar.”
“Kadar wants to see us?” Lukien probed.
“Kadar,” said the man, nodding. He went on in Jadori, pointing toward the palace.
“Well, it’s about time,” sighed Lukien. He turned to Thorin. “Ready?”
Thorin made a sour face. “Ready to hear what Kadar wants to do with us, you mean? Personally I can wait.”
“He said he wouldn’t punish us,” Lukien reminded his friend. Then he told the guard, “We’ll come with you.”
The guard led them out of the aurocco into the bright sun of the garden. Lukien and Thorin shielded their eyes as the stabbing light bounced off the white walls of the palace. Kahan Kadar’s home was attached to the aurocco, making it a short walk. Once inside the palace, the guard led them through its golden halls. The usual mass of people passed them, but this time there were no suspicious looks. Lukien tried to subdue his excitement as he followed the man toward Kadar. He was sure the desert leader would keep his promise not to punish them, but Lukien was after more than that from him. He owed Kadar for the things he’d done, and hoped the kahan would let him repay his debts. With Akeela’s army drawing closer, Kadar needed every able swordsman.
When at last they reached the end of the hall, the guard stepped aside to reveal a shimmering, beaded curtain. He gestured for Lukien to step through it. Lukien glanced at Thorin warily. He could hear voices beyond the curtain, muffled by the beads. The guard grunted.
“All right,” said Lukien. He took a breath to steady his nerves then parted the beads. A round chamber of yellow tiles and emerald tapestries greeted him, centered by a long, squat table. There were no chairs, just silky, multicolored pillows strewn on the floor along with elaborate rugs. Lukien paused halfway through the curtain, stunned by the people gathered in the chamber. At the head of the table sat Kadar, cross-legged on the floor. He was talking but stopped just as Lukien entered. At his left side was Gilwyn and Teku. The boy gave a relieved breath when he noticed Lukien in the threshold. Across from Gilwyn, at Kadar’s right, sat a woman Lukien had never seen before, a tiny thing with shocking white hair and elfin ears and a coat that seemed alive with color. Behind her stood a barrelchested giant, at least seven feet tall. The little woman gave Lukien an inscrutable smile.
“Ah, here he is,” she said. She leaned to one side to see past him. “And not alone?”
Lukien stepped inside so that Thorin could enter. He, too, was stunned by the gathering. He looked carefully from face to face, finally coming to rest on Gilwyn.
“Gilwyn, is everything . . . all right?”
Gilwyn shrugged. “I think so. We’ve been waiting for you. Lukien, this is the woman I told you about. The—”
“The Witch of Grimhold,” Lukien whispered.
The woman clapped her tiny hands and chuckled. “Does everybody call me that? No, Sir Lukien, I am no witch. But I am the Mistress of Grimhold.”
“Enter, both of you,” commanded Kadar. He waved them in, his expression stern. Lukien hesitated, unsure of what he was seeing. The little woman hardly looked human, and her monstrous companion was frightening to behold. Except for the rasping of his heavy breath, he made no sound. Lukien and Thorin both stepped toward the table, wondering if they should sit or stand in the kahan’s presence.
“You sent for us, my lord?” asked Lukien.
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