Authors: John Marco
The Eyes of God (93 page)
“Kadar has changed, Sir Lukien. He no longer wants to live forever, not without his wife.”
Lukien shook his head regretfully. “I understand that. I wish there was something I could do, but she’s dead.”
“You are doing your part,” said Minikin. “You’ve agreed to protect his daughter.”
“Yes,” nodded Lukien. “Tell me, what’s she like?”
The enigmatic smile returned to Minikin’s face. “You will see when you meet her.”
“Why won’t you tell me?” said Lukien. “Why the great secret?”
Minikin got to her feet and brushed the crumbs from her lap. She said, “Grimhold has many secrets, Sir Lukien. When we get there, you’ll see what I mean.”
Then she walked off, leaving Lukien alone on the rocks. He watched her go to Trog and wipe a stain from his shirt, like a mother caring for a child. And though she had told him a great deal about herself, she was as inscrutable as ever to Lukien, a great puzzle yet to be solved.
By dusk they had reached the base of the red mountains. An hour later, they saw Grimhold.
Lukien reined in the drowa, and his and Gilwyn’s eyes drifted up toward the strange fortress. They were in a flat clearing of hard earth, with the sheer walls of the mountains rising up on all sides. The giant face of Grimhold stared down at them with a menacing leer. At ground level, a huge gate of black iron bars formed the giant’s mouth, a black maw guarded by a single armored sentry, a huge man whose bulk rivaled Trog’s. Above the gate, staggered on both sides, rose high-columned turrets sculpted into the blood-red rock, with glassless windows that gazed down on them like a hundred unblinking eyes. The ancient ramparts at the tops of the turrets had been worn smooth by countless sandstorms so that the fortress seemed invisible, hidden by the shadows and twists of the mountains. Lukien had never seen a more impressive sight. For all its dismal beauty, Lionkeep paled in comparison to the marvel of Grimhold, and Jazana Carr’s Hanging Man seemed a trifle. Grimhold was unimaginably tall, taller than Koth’s highest spire, and the effort to mold so much rock boggled Lukien. He knew when he saw it that Minikin had not lied to him—the Akari had been powerful indeed.
“Great Fate . . .”
Lukien dismounted then helped Gilwyn down from the drowa, all the while keeping his gaze on Grimhold. A great wind bellowed through the canyon, yet all else was silent. In the distance the huge sentry shifted his massive sword from hand to hand. Minikin waved to him as she dismounted. The sentry nodded and folded his naked arms across his chest.
“This is amazing,” said Gilwyn. His awestruck expression made Minikin smile. “It’s even bigger than the library.”
“There are many of us, Gilwyn,” said Minikin. “Grimhold must be big to shelter us all.”
The Jadori guards did not dismount from their kreels, but rather kept their distance. Lukien gave them a puzzled look.
“They will not come any further,” Minikin explained. “They’ll rest for the night here, then return to Jador in the morning.”
“Why? Are they afraid?” Lukien asked.
“Grimhold is a sacred place,” Minikin explained. “And they are still mindful of the spirits within it, and what their people did to them.” The little woman walked toward Gilwyn and took his hand. She said, “This is your home now, Gilwyn, for as long as you wish it to be. You will always have a place here.”
“Like the library,” said Gilwyn sadly, and Lukien could tell he was thinking again of Figgis. The boy shrugged. “I don’t know what to say. It’s overwhelming.”
“Grimhold has that effect on people,” said Minikin. “Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it.”
“Who’s that?” asked Lukien, pointing toward the lone guardian.
“That is Greygor,” replied Minikin. “Guardian of the gate.”
“He’s big, like Trog.”
“Almost as big; not quite.” Minikin winked at her bodyguard. “Come now, Trog. We’re going.”
“What about Emerald?” asked Gilwyn. “Can we take her inside with us?”
“Not yet. We have to make a place for her.” Minikin turned to the Jadori men and said a few words. The men nodded. Minikin turned back to Gilwyn, saying, “They will look after the kreel for the night. In the morning, we will find a place for her in Grimhold.”
“What place?” asked Lukien. He studied the fortress. “Have you got some sort of stable in there?”
“You are full of questions, Sir Lukien. But your answers are at hand. Come. . . .”
With Trog at her side, Minikin made her way toward the gate. Lukien glanced at Gilwyn. The boy’s expression was elated. Together they followed the little woman until they stood just before the gigantic gate. Torchlight gleamed beyond the thick iron bars. Figures moved within the fortress’ dim recesses. But blinded as he was by the hot sun, it was hard for Lukien to make out much beyond the bars. The only detail he could see was a flickering flame, glowing, it seemed, in someone’s palm. As they neared, the man called Greygor swept his huge sword aside and gave a fluid bow, so quietly he barely ruffled the air. He was covered in spiky black armor and wore a helmet that hid his face behind a tusked facade. A long queue of black hair trailed down his back. The soundlessness of his greeting startled Lukien.
“Rise, Greygor,” commanded Minikin. The guardian of the gate did so, fixing his gaze on his mistress. Minikin smiled at him. “You’re a welcome sight, my friend. Raise the gate and sound the horn.”
Greygor did as commanded, turning toward the gate and using his sword to rattle the bars. It was odd hearing the soundless man make noise. Within moments came the din of chains being pulled, then the enormous creaking of the great gate lifting skyward. Inside the fortress, a horn released a bellowing note. Lukien stepped back and watched the huge portal slowly rise. Minikin stood her ground, unmoved by the clamor. The giant Greygor stood aside to let them pass, as implacable as his mistress.
“The guardian,” whispered Lukien. “Why doesn’t he talk?”
Minikin replied simply, “He chooses not to.”
The answer puzzled Lukien. “How’s that?”
“Greygor is from Ganjor, Lukien,” Minikin explained, “and the Ganjeese are desert people, very quiet. Before coming here he guarded a harem for a Ganjeese prince.” She kept her voice low, and if Greygor heard her he didn’t seem to care. “Greygor loved a woman in that harem. When he was discovered, he was banished. But not before his bones were broken. In his arms and legs, even in his hands.”
Lukien studied the man in amazement. “His bones? How can that be? He moves like no one I’ve ever seen.”
“The Akari, Lukien. I told you—they help us overcome our maladies. Just as they kept your Cassandra alive, they hold together Greygor’s bones. They give him the grace you seem to marvel at. You will never find a more skilled warrior than Greygor, Lukien. That, too, the Akari have gifted him. He is as silent as a breeze now, and quicker than a cobra.”
“But he never speaks?”
“Greygor does his work here and speaks to no one unless he must,” said Minikin. She looked momentarily sad. “Perhaps he fears caring too much for us, I don’t know.”
Slowly the massive gate reached its apex. The hellish screeching stopped, but now there were other sounds, the muffled noise of voices and the scraping of feet. Lukien squinted in the bright light, trying to peer into the dimness of Grimhold. Amidst the oily torchlight he saw movement and figures. Again he caught the glimpse of flame, jumping in an open palm but barely lighting the cowled face of its bearer. The deepness of Grimhold seemed to go on forever, far, far into the belly of the mountain. A strange fear seized Lukien as he realized there were eyes in the darkness, watching.
“Fate above,” he whispered. “Who are they?”
“They are my children,” pronounced Minikin proudly. “My Inhumans.”
Stepping over the threshold of Grimhold, the mistress of the place held out her hands and beckoned Lukien and Gilwyn forward. Lukien put his hand on Gilwyn as they walked forward together. Leaving the desert’s blinding light, the great interior of Grimhold slowly revealed itself. Unfolding like a book, a huge, tiered palace with balconies and staircases appeared in the dark rocks, with layers of wooden beams supporting the expansive ceiling. The entire place glowed with a soft orange opalescence, lit by torches staggered along the walls. There were no windows, nor the smallest drop of sunlight. And unlike other castles, there were no statues or greenery or portraits or tapestries. Instead, the walls of Grimhold were smooth stone, dark and featureless but for the landings and balconies and beams.
Most astonishing of all, though, were the people lining the floor and staring down from the high balconies. They were an awesome lot, a cross-section of nature’s strange diversity. There were stunted midgets like Minikin and freakish giants like Trog, milk-skinned albinos and dwarves with heads too large for their diminutive bodies. Club-footed children like Gilwyn gave the strangers a welcoming smile, seeming to know instantly that one of their own had arrived. Even men like Baron Glass were in the crowd, who had lost limbs to battle or some defect of birth. And amid them all was the darkly cowled figure with the flame, its face obscured behind folds of fabric, the little flicker of light still dancing in its open palm. Perhaps he was a leper; Lukien couldn’t guess. The sight of so much odd humanity made his head swim, for though they were strange and difficult to comprehend, they were not the beasts the stories had claimed. No matter their maladies, they smiled at Minikin and the strangers she had brought, and Lukien could feel the warmth from them, stronger even than the desert sun.
Grimhold is a place of monsters.
The old words from the fairy tale pushed their way into Lukien’s mind. Instantly he pushed them out again.
“Not so,” he whispered.
At his side, Gilwyn was too awestruck to speak. The boy’s gaze darted over the odd procession, taking in its strangeness. There were dozens of Inhumans; at least two hundred had turned out to greet them. To Lukien’s surprise, Gilwyn seemed to be trembling. He put his hand on his shoulder, steadying him.
“Do not be afraid,” Minikin told them both. “You’re welcome guests here, and my children won’t hurt you.”
She turned and raised her hands and face to the Inhumans, beaming a smile into the highest balconies. Those who could clap did so. And those who could speak raised their voices in a call of praise, though the cowled figure remained silent.
“Thank you, friends,” said Minikin, clasping her hands before her as if in prayer. “You honor me. And you honor our guests, too. But we have work now. There’s danger ahead.”
The Inhumans nodded and became grave. Minikin’s smile faded a little.
“There are dark times coming for us. But this man is here to help us.” She gestured to Lukien. “He and his friends know the ways of our enemies. Together we can turn the tide.”
“Yes!” the crowd agreed, and there was a raucous chorus of chants and banging. Lukien looked at the faces of those on the floor and then up toward the balconies where more Inhumans cheered. In many ways they did seem like children, naively sure that Minikin would save them. Lukien wanted to speak suddenly, to tell them all that Akeela’s army was far worse than anything they’d imagined. In a week they might all be dead. But he could not say it. More than anything, he wanted to help them.
“There is work ahead of us, my children,” cried Minikin, “and we will all need to do our best. Grimhold is our homeland. We must do our best to defend it!”
More banging ensued, more cries of agreement. A man with one arm stamped his feet on the tiled floor, while a hunchback beside him dully clapped his palsied hands. Together the misfits of Grimhold let loose such an outcry that Lukien had to hold his ears against the echoing clamor. As he did, a single figure stepped out from the dimness, a slim and beautiful girl with a white dress and amber skin, the kind of skin that made the Jadori so beautiful. A waterfall of raven hair ran down her back, straight and shiny black. She smiled as she neared Minikin, her teeth dazzling. But as she neared Lukien saw the horrible flaw in her, for her eyes were bone white and blank. She moved slowly but surely, drifting over the tiles with her dress billowing out behind her, and when she reached Minikin she took the midget’s hand and kissed it.
“Minikin, welcome home,” she said in a musical voice. She was much taller than Minikin, so stooped a little to hug her. “I’ve missed you.”
“And I you, child,” replied Minikin.
“How is Father?”
The question struck Lukien like a hammer, and he knew in an instant that this was Kadar’s daughter.
“Your father’s well,” said Minikin. “He’s sent us ahead to prepare.” Then she held out her hand, gesturing for Lukien to come closer. “And he’s sent someone to look after you.”
The girl turned her featureless eyes toward Lukien. Though she was surely blind, she looked directly at him. “Hello.”
“This is Lukien, the Bronze Knight of Liiria,” said Minikin. “The one who killed your mother, White-Eye.”
There was a pause in the girl’s motion, but only for a moment. She let Minikin put her hand into Lukien’s, then remarkably she smiled at him.
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