The Forever Knight: A Novel of the Bronze Knight (Books of the Bronze Knight) (24 page)

I took the gift, not really understanding. It was soft and expensive looking, and blue from what I could tell. But it wasn’t womanly, at least it didn’t seem so coming from Chuluun. It obviously meant something, too, so I bowed to him, holding the scarf carefully, and smiled.

“A hahlag,” I repeated. “What does that mean?”

“It means person,” said Chuluun. “A person. A man . . .” He shrugged. “A friend. One of the tribe.”

“Ah, thank you,” I said. “So I am a Bogati now?”

Chuluun took the scarf and began tying it around my neck. “When Zurans see this, they will know you are one of us,” he said. “There will be other Zurans in Isowon. More will come to fight. I can hear them.”

“How do you know?”

“Because they are stirred,” said Chuluun. He spun me around to look at the hahlag, approving of its appearance. “By you, Lukien.”

“Chuluun, why are we speaking out here alone? Why do you keep the others from speaking with me? We rode all day, and I know so little. I have questions. Your men have questions.”

“I speak for them all,” said Chuluun. “They must see no doubt in me. They must hear no fear.”

“What were they asking me? What do they want to know? Tell me. I’ll answer all their questions. And yours, my friend.”

Chuluun smiled. He looked drunk. He gazed up at the stars. “The gods sleep, except for a few . . .” He pointed to the handful of visible stars, poking at them one by one. “They watch us.”

I looked up and smiled, pretending to agree, not having the heart to tell him that there were no gods hiding behind the starlight.

“They chose you,” said Chuluun. “Why?”

I thought about that. I’d always thought about that. Bad luck was the only answer I’d ever come up with. “I don’t know,” I confessed.

Chuluun looked down at the sword, my constant companion, belted to my waist. “The god that keeps you alive—what is its name?”

“Malator,” I replied.

“Malator.” Chuluun squatted down for a closer look. “Malator,” he whispered, speaking to the blade.

“Do you want to see him?” I asked.

Chuluun’s narrow eyes turned as round as walnuts. “You can see him?”

“Yes,” I nodded. “He will show himself if I ask it. If you want me to I will.”

The temptation made Chuluun shiver. He stood up and shook his head. “No,” he said softly. “You have been kissed by heaven, Lukien. Not I. I have been chosen to follow you.”

“Tell me about that.” I took a few more paces away from the kurelt, giving Chuluun space to speak freely. He stayed beside me as we pretended to study the dark forest. “Tell me why you’ve come to fight Diriel. Many men wouldn’t. Many have already fled. Why do you have it in your heart to make this fight?”

“Because Zuran men fight,” said Chuluun with a little shrug. “We are born to it. In Zura there is too little war these days. Too many men like Anton Fallon. Rich men. You see? Bogati ways are old ways. Simple ways. Our hearts never change. I do not know if I can make you see.”

“I understand fighting,” I replied. “All my life has been fighting. But I want to stop. I want peace now.”

“No,” said Chuluun. “I do not see that in you.”

“You barely know me.”

“But I see clearly,” he insisted. “Your eyes do not hide the truth. There is no peace in your eyes, Lukien. Only vengeance.”

I laughed. “Oh, indeed there’s that! I’ve been wronged, and I will have justice. My vengeance will be a rain of knives. I mean to kill them all, Chuluun, for what they’ve done. But when it’s over . . .” I had to steady myself against the rage. “When it’s over, I’m going home. I’ll have my revenge, and then I’ll have peace.”

Chuluun sighed like he didn’t believe me. “All right,” he said. “Or, you can accept what you are and find
true
peace. Tell me: Why did you come here? You are Liirian. Liiria is far, far from here. No one would come to this place without reason. Why would you leave the home you say you must return to?”

I didn’t like the way the conversation had turned. “Because I was restless,” I admitted. “Because I was looking for answers. You asked me why I was chosen to live forever. But I don’t know. That’s why I came here—to find out. To try and do some good.”

“With a sword,” Chuluun pointed out. “Why not a spoon?”

“What?”

“Why not carry a spoon instead of a sword?”

“Because the sword keeps me alive.”

“Huh.” Chuluun smiled. “So it’s not a spoon that keeps you alive.”

“No, and it’s not a fork or a hoe either. What’s your point?”

“My point,” said Chuluun, “is that a sword has always kept you alive.” He yawned, then stretched, then turned back to the kurelt. “Will you watch over us, Lukien? I am tired and need sleep. You do not need rest. You only think you do.”

And that’s how he left me, alone and baffled, having put just enough doubt in my mind to keep me awake all night.

T
he next morning Chuluun and his men broke camp the way soldiers do—quickly and perfectly, like they’d done it a thousand times. They packed the kurelt, sharing the parts of it amongst their magnificent horses, buried the embers of our campfire, and pointed their mounts west again. I rode with my blue hahlag around my neck, proudly pretending to be a Bogati, smelling of their spices and eager to reach Isowon. The closer we came the more the land flattened and the air filled with brine from the ocean, and by the time we were mere miles away my heart had swelled with so much bloodlust I was very nearly drunk with it. The handful of days Diriel had granted me to bring him the monster had nearly passed, and I was certain he’d already marched his army to the city’s outskirts. I doubted, though, that he’d done anything but threaten Anton. Diriel wanted Crezil, and only I could give him the monster. I had played my gambit and played it well, and was feeling better about myself than I had in months. Very soon, I told myself, I would have the revenge I needed so badly.

Isowon appeared: a shimmering mirage, perched serenely on the ocean like a daydreaming lover. Chuluun and his men cheered when we saw her, pointing and congratulating themselves and whooping over the coming war. The city was quiet, and from our great distance I could see the smoke of fires in the eastern hills, where Diriel’s army was no doubt camped. The haze above the landscape helped me estimate their numbers, a vast sum that withered my confidence. They were barely a two-hour march from the shore. But they were still camped, I reminded myself, and that meant Isowon was safe.

For now.

“Lukien,” called Chuluun, riding up alongside me. “The sky.” He pointed with his regal nose.

“I see it.”

The sight of the smoke thrilled Chuluun. “So many enemies. Heaven blesses us.”

It was something a madman would say. Or a young man. Maybe Chuluun was both. “Blood and teeth,” I reminded him. “We’ll spare none of them.”

Only madmen could win this fight, and I needed an army of them. Men like Chuluun, who thought the gods called them to slaughter. Or men like Kiryk, who’d lost so much they’d lost their fears as well. Men like me. Men too crazy to be afraid. We didn’t slow our pace a bit when we saw the smoke. In fact we drove our horses harder, eager to reach Isowon, to swing our swords and throw our spears. It was nearly noontime, and the hot sun bore down on our lathered horses. I remembered the way the city looked in that perfect light. I had thought she was asleep, but as we finally reached her outskirts I saw the fighting men along her sandy streets and perched in her white towers, armed and silent like a pincushion of blades. A patrol of mercenaries stood guard just inside the city’s main road, the very road that had led me and Cricket into Isowon that fateful first time.

Chuluun had never seen the likes of Isowon and, in awe of the sight, he slowed his horse. Finally, with the gleaming city growing in our vision, and at last bereft of words, his face slackened, startled by its splendor. He’d come from a world of steppes and campfires, where children played with bones and wealth was measured in wives and horses. And now . . . Isowon. So hard to describe, so achingly beautiful, that Chuluun and his men gasped. Up ahead, the mercenaries on the main road spotted us, turning their attention toward us with a shout. I raised my hand high and called out a greeting, then heard my name from the crowd. There were at least thirty men. But one in particular stood out from the rest, waving both hands over his head when he saw me.

“That’s Marilius,” I said with a smile. “The one I told you about, Chuluun.”

Chuluun gestured to his men to ride abreast of us, forming an arrowhead with himself and me at the tip. He brushed the mane of his black horse with his fingertips, straightening up tall in his saddle as if about to meet a king. We watched as Marilius hurried to a horse, riding out quickly to greet us. Just the sight of him buoyed me. He had made it back safely, and that meant Kiryk’s Drinmen were here as well, probably preparing for the coming battle. From what I could tell already, Isowon was working hard to prepare.

Marilius thundered up on a dapple gray, grinning wildly at my companions. We greeted each other like the friends we had never been, clasping arms and saying how pleased we were to see each other. Marilius looked surprisingly well rested, but also relieved to see me.

“When did you get back?” I asked. I spied past him toward the city. “Kiryk?”

“Two nights ago,” said Marilius. “Kiryk’s at the palace with his men. Anton’s got the whole city jammed in there with us.” He looked over Chuluun and his men. “But we’ve got room for more.”

“Marilius, this is Chuluun, from Zura,” I pronounced. “Leader of these men. I can’t even tell you their names—bloody tough language—but they’ve come to fight.”

“Bogati,” said Marilius. He smiled warmly at Chuluun, then put his fist over his chest the way Chuluun had done when we’d met. “People of the wind.”

Chuluun puffed up like a rooster. “You know of Bogati?” he asked.

“Only a little. Only what my employer has told me. We welcome you, Chuluun, and your men. Others have come from Zura already. They told us more would be on the way.”

“Others?” I asked. “Really?”

“I tell you this, and you do not believe,” laughed Chuluun. “Bogati do not run from a fight! We ride into its fangs.”

“How many?” I asked Marilius.

“Forty at least. Fifty maybe. They keep coming! They come because of you, Lukien. You’re all they talk about.”

Chuluun gave a cocky snort. “He is one of us now,” he said, pointing at my hahlag. “You see that? We are brothers in this battle. He rides like a Bogati. If you fight with us, man of Isowon, then we are brothers too.”

I hadn’t told Chuluun much about Marilius—certainly not about his “friendship” with Fallon. Now I was glad I hadn’t. The look on Marilius’s face was priceless.

“Call me brother then, Chuluun,” he said. “We will fight together.”

“And the Silver Dragons of Drin, too,” I said, “and all the mercenaries who’ve stayed. How many have stayed, Marilius?”

Marilius smiled. “All of them, Lukien.”

“All?” I was stunned. “Not
all
, surely.”

“All and more. Everyone has come! Not just Zurans, but Drinmen and men from Kasse, too. And every one-armed, one-legged merc who can still swing a sword. The whole city’s packed with them, just waiting.”

“For Diriel?”

“For you, Lukien.” Marilius’s grin flattened. “They have nothing, most of them. They’ve lost everything. You should hear their stories. All their leaders are dead, except for Kiryk. He sent word north that anyone willing should join him here in Isowon. It’s a last stand. He’s the one that told them how you can’t die. They believe that.”

“It is true,” said Chuluun. He pointed at my sword. “He has a god for his very own.”

“I know,” replied Marilius. “And now everyone knows it. That’s why they’ve come.”

The news overwhelmed me. “Mercenaries too? I know mercenaries, Marilius. They fight for money.”

“That part you’re right about,” said Marilius. “That’s Anton’s doing. He’s given them everything to stay and fight. The palace is stripped. He told each man to name his price, then told any of them who thought of running that you’d come after them. You did say you would, you know.”

“I did,” I recalled. “And meant it.”

“I will slice off the ears of any man who tries to run now,” swore Chuluun. “Or anyone who raises a hand to you, Lukien.”

“But Anton? Really? I never met a man who loved money so much. I can’t believe it.”

“He could have run himself, but he didn’t,” said Marilius. “You should credit him for that, at least. He loves Isowon. It’s his. He’s not going to give it up.”

“Then I’m glad to be wrong about him,” I said. “If I am.”

“I have heard no good things about Anton Fallon,” said Chuluun. “In Zura he is talked of as a thief. We have not come to help him but to fight with Lukien.”

Marilius looked sharply at Chuluun and said, “We all fight for our own reasons. Some for money and some for a grand crusade. Or for revenge, like the Drinmen. But make no mistake—you’re in Isowon now. This is Anton Fallon’s city. If you won’t respect that, turn yourselves around.”

There was real steel in Marilius’s voice. More than just loyalty. Love, maybe. He stared at the shocked Chuluun. I didn’t get between them.

Chuluun was good-natured enough to let the threat pass. He shrugged and said, “Brothers fight. My brother Nalinbaatar . . .” He waved his brother closer, and Nalinbaatar rode up to join him. “Once he took a knife and stuck me in the backside with it. When he was just a boy! But we will fight together for Isowon. We will fight with you and Anton Fallon, Marilius.”

Nalinbaatar, who couldn’t understand a word being said, shoved his brother nearly out of his saddle. It was enough of an apology to give Marilius ease.

“There’s room for all your men in the palace, Chuluun,” said Marilius. “You should rest. There’s plenty of food—we won’t need to conserve it. This won’t be a siege.”

“Oh? Who made that decision?” I asked.

“Anton,” replied Marilius. “And I agree with him. We need to beat them back, not let them push us out to sea. It’s just us now, and whoever else shows up in the next day or so. We should go after them in the field, not in the city. Once they breach the city they won’t stop.”

“And Anton?” I asked. “Will he ride with us?”

Marilius frowned. “C’mon, Lukien . . . he’s no good on a horse. He’ll be killed before—”

I laughed. “You made the right decision, Marilius. We’ll charge out to fight them. There . . .” I pointed to where the smoke of Diriel’s camp defiled the sky. “Let Anton stay in the city. If he dies, the mercenaries won’t get paid.”

Marilius nodded, then gave me a look that meant he wanted to speak alone. I turned to Chuluun and said, “Ride ahead, my friend. Rest, eat . . . you’ll be welcome. We’ll speak tonight.”

Chuluun rounded up Nalinbaatar and the others and trotted forward toward Isowon, leaving Marilius and me behind. Marilius waited until the Bogati were out of earshot before delivering the news.

“I gave Diriel your message, Lukien,” he told me. “Soon as I arrived. He’s waiting for you.” He smirked. “But it doesn’t look like you’ve kept your bargain.”

“Did you expect me to?”

“Maybe. Diriel wants the monster, Lukien. That’s the only reason he hasn’t attacked yet. You’ll have to tell him something.”

“I’m back now,” I said. “There was always going to be a fight, Marilius. Now it can begin.”

Marilius looked disappointed. “So you’re not going to tell me what happened? Where’d you go? Did you see the monster?”

“I bought us some time,” I said. “We need to talk about Diriel’s army. What’s it look like? As big as we feared?”

“Anton wants a council. He said we’d meet to talk as soon as you arrived. Lukien, what about the monster? Diriel’s expecting you to bring it to him.”

I started Venger toward the city again. “Have Anton call his council tonight. I want Chuluun there, and Kiryk, and that old man he listens to. No more defending ourselves—now we go on the attack.”

“What about Diriel? He’ll want to hear something.”

“Oh, he’ll hear something,” I promised. “A real skull-cracker.”

Marilius spurred his horse to follow me. “Lukien, there’s something else.”

“What else?”

“Someone who says he knows you. He came three days ago, before I got back with Kiryk. He says he wants to speak with you.”

“Who?” I asked. I was tired, perplexed, and annoyed by the demand. “What’s his name?”

“He’s a Ganjeese, Lukien,” said Marilius. “He says his name is Sariyah.”

*   *   *

I followed Marilius to the west side of the city, where avenues of modest homes stood among the fruit trees. We crossed through the abandoned market, the stalls empty of goods. Most of the people had gone to the palace, explained Marilius, but some had stayed in the west side because of the prayer tower. Isowon had no patron god and no one creed. Its people had come from across the region to trade or find work with the generous Anton Fallon, and had taken all their beliefs with them, mingling them in the city’s single “church.” The tower itself was easy to spot among the squat little homes. It rose up at the edge of the city, a cylinder of pearly brick overlooking the ocean. A colorful crowd had gathered around it, about thirty men and women anxious to offer prayers. But according to Marilius, Sariyah wasn’t letting anyone inside.

We dismounted near the tower and handed our horses off to one of the mercenaries standing guard. The crowd was orderly, most of them just sat and waited, so there weren’t many soldiers needed. The few present greeted their captain, relieved to see us both.

“Should I tell him you’re here?” asked the Norvan who took our horses.

I shook my head. “No. Just go away. He’s harmless.”

I hadn’t seen Sariyah or his sons since Arad, just before my tangle with Wrestler. I always imagined he’d made it to Zura, to start amassing that fortune he’d bragged about. But he’d come alone to Isowon, and that worried me. Marius said he’d come looking for me, and on foot. When they told him I was expected, he took his scimitar up to the prayer tower, threatened to kill anyone who came up after him, and waited.

“We would have dragged him out if he wasn’t your friend, Lukien,” said Marilius, looking up at the tower. “And he’s piss drunk. At least let me go with you.”

“No,” I sighed. “Go back to the palace. Take your men with you. Tell Anton I’ll be there soon. Have him make ready for our war council.”

Marilius turned and got back on his horse, ordered the rest of his men to move off from the prayer tower, and left me in the middle of the orderly throng, wondering about my first move. The folks around me looked up in confusion. A young woman sitting at the steps of the tower took hold of my hand.

“Let him pray,” she said. “Leave him. He’ll come down when he has his answers.”

Her compassion surprised me. Around her some others nodded. That’s when I realized it was the mercenaries who wanted Sariyah down. The prayerful were content to wait.