The Forever Knight: A Novel of the Bronze Knight (Books of the Bronze Knight) (4 page)

I
was right about Gilwyn not being happy, and I was right about him not trying to stop us. I had my arguments prepared and the determination to make them stick, and in the end he relented. Cricket couldn’t stay in Jador forever. She wasn’t an Inhuman either, so living in Grimhold was out of the question. She was, Gilwyn admitted, a mystery to everyone. It made sense that she should try to discover who she really was.

We didn’t leave Jador quickly, though. I had affairs to get in order and friends to say good-bye to, and crossing the Desert of Tears took planning. We needed water, mostly, and mules to carry it. Food would be a problem, too. I had made the passage several times and had a good map that I’d drawn of the resting spots along the way. I knew every hidden oasis, every cave, every stand of fruit trees. If we found a rass I would kill it, I promised Cricket, and make her a necklace of its teeth. I was excited about leaving but also swore to Gilwyn and White-Eye that I’d return before their baby was born. I figured that gave me at least six months.

Eventually, everyone got used to the idea of us leaving, except for Malator. For days he brooded, not even bothering to talk to me. I refused to care. He’d played that game before with me, and in truth I liked the quiet. Having an Akari constantly in your mind can drive you crazy, so I didn’t bother calling to him either, not even the night before our journey.

It was one of Jador’s perfect nights, totally cloudless, where every star demanded to be counted. I was outside the paddock with my horse, standing in the cut grass strewn over the dirt, enjoying the night air while I brushed the burrs and sand from his coat. Inside the stable the other animals were resting. Not the kreels, though. Kreels are always kept far from horses, and need to be trained not to attack them. I’ve seen kreels rip the bellies out of horses. Zephyr—my horse—was used to kreels, though, as was Cricket’s pony. I’d already brushed the pony for the trip, but I took my time with Zephyr.

“First we’ll get your coat all shined up, then we’ll dig that slop out of your hooves. How’s that sound, boy?”

Zephyr loved the dandy brush. His gray eyelids drooped with relaxation as I ran it down his side. He’d been a gift from King Baralosus of Ganjor, a kind of peace offering after the war. I didn’t much like Baralosus but didn’t mind having such a fine horse, either. I babied Zephyr whenever we were at home in the palace, because out in the desert I demanded so much of him.

“It’s going to be a long one this time, Zephyr,” I warned. “We won’t be back here for months. No telling what we’ll find in the Bitter Kingdoms. Don’t be scared, though. Don’t be scared . . .”

Zephyr nodded his big head as I spoke. I swear that horse could understand me. I stepped back to look him over, startled by a ghostly figure crouching just outside the paddock’s gate. I stared for a moment, shocked to realize it was Malator. He had his back turned to me, kneeling as he drew in the sand with his finger. Stupidly I looked down at my sword. It was still there, of course, but Malator had left the magic weapon.

“Hey,” I called. We were alone, and no one else could see him anyway. He ignored me, not even lifting his head, absorbed in what he was doing. “Malator?”

“Come look at this, Lukien,” he said. I put down my brush and left the paddock, going to stand over his shoulder. He had drawn what looked vaguely like a dragon in the sand.

“Nice,” I commented. “So you’re talking to me again?”

“Look at the dragon, Lukien,” he told me, then passed his ghostly hand over it. The moonlight went through his fingers, striking the image and bringing it to life. The drawing twitched, the mouth and wings suddenly moved. It was a grotesque looking thing, changing quickly as I watched it, sometimes barely resembling a dragon at all. The trick made me smile.

“I didn’t know you could do that,” I said. “What is it?”

“I’m not sure,” said Malator. He leaned over to study it, the moonlight passing through his body. “Something I’ve been seeing lately in my mind.”

Now I was really interested. “What? Like the future?” Minikin had been able to glimpse the future and so could some Akari. But then I said, “There’s no such things as dragons.”

“The dragon could be anything,” said Malator. “A symbol maybe.”

“A symbol for what?”

Malator shook his head and would not answer. He watched the drawing change from a jumbled mass, then to something that looked like bones, and then at last back to a dragon. His unease made me nervous.

“What’s it telling you?” I asked.

Slowly he reached out and wiped the thing away.

“Come on, Malator,” I said. “What was that? What’d you see?”

Malator stood up to face me. Though he’d been kneeling, not a single grain of sand clung to him. “We need to talk about Cricket,” he said, “and the stupid decision you’ve made.”

“Now?” I turned back toward the paddock. “It’s too late. We’re leaving in the morning.”

“You need to listen to me, Lukien. Cricket can’t go with you.”

“Why?” I looked at him again. “What aren’t you telling me, Malator?” I gestured toward the sand where he’d made his picture. “Did you see something about Cricket?”

“No,” he said flatly.

“No. And if you did, would you tell me?”

“You’re letting her come between us, Lukien.” His face was earnest, even sincere. “You’re special. But I can’t teach you what you need to know if you’re distracted.”

“Special,” I scoffed. “Are you ever going to tell me what that means?”

“You’ll know in time,” said Malator. “But not if you take the girl with you.”

None of it made sense to me. I was sick of trying to figure out his riddles. “I’m going, Malator. And Cricket’s going with me.” I returned to Zephyr, picked up my brush, and continued grooming. Malator floated up behind me.

“Go to Akyre, Lukien,” he said. “It’s important that you do. But go alone.”

“Nope.”

Malator growled, “Stop blaming me for keeping you alive!
You
chose to stay alive, Lukien.
You
made the promise to Gilwyn and White-Eye. Cassandra’s dead. Cricket can’t replace her.”

I lowered the brush but didn’t turn to face him. “No one can replace her,” I said. “Why would you ever begrudge me something as simple as a friend?”

“I’m your friend, Lukien,” said Malator. “The only friend you need. Cricket can’t help you find peace. Neither can Gilwyn or anyone else. Only I can do that, but you need to listen to me. Learn from me. You have a destiny.”

“Which you won’t tell me about, right?” I threw the brush to the ground. “It’s always riddles with the Akari! If it’s my destiny then it’s
mine
. Who are you to keep it from me?”

“I’m not a fortune teller,” said Malator. “I can only be a guide.”

“Right,” I sneered. “What was that thing you drew? And why’s it important for me to go to Akyre all of a sudden? That was my idea, Malator. You had nothing to do with it.”

“I see things, Lukien. I don’t always know what they mean.” Malator folded his arms over his chest with an imperious, irritating expression. “But a host needs to trust his Akari.”

“Give me a reason to trust you,” I pleaded. “Tell me what this great destiny is you’ve got planned, and I won’t take Cricket to Akyre. Just once tell me the truth without wrapping it in riddles.”

Malator refused to budge. “The future cannot be revealed. You know that.”

“Then I’m going. I’m going, and I’m taking Cricket with me, and to hell with my destiny!” I pulled the sword halfway from its sheath. “You can keep me alive, Malator, but that’s all I want from you. From now on you serve me—not the other way around.”

“I’m an Akari, not a slave,” he bristled. “Let me be a friend to you. Trust me—and leave the girl here.”

“Why? Is she in danger? Because I can protect her, Malator. You of all people should know that.”

“You’re not immortal, Lukien. How many times must I tell you?”

“I know what I can do.”

“Leave the girl here.”

“No deal.” I determined to meet his stubbornness with my own. “Cricket comes with me. You’ll just have to live with your jealousy, Malator.”

“I could leave you,” he warned.

“No, you can’t, because I have the sword, and you’re bound to it. You leave when I decide it’s time for you to go. That may be in a day or two or a decade or two, but it’ll always be my choosing.”

His impish smile returned. “Your path could be wondrous, Lukien. If you let me help you.”

“Then let it be my path, Malator. That’s all I want from you.”

He said nothing more, simply disappearing, leaving me alone in the moonlight. I sheathed my sword and felt his quiet energy within it. He had frightened me. As accustomed as I was to talking with a ghost, I was rattled. If he had something wondrous in store, why couldn’t he tell me? Why did the Akari always couch their words in puzzles?

Curious, I went back to the spot where he’d drawn in the sand. Most of the picture was gone, except for a bit of the creature’s head. It was inanimate now, no better than something a child might draw. But I swear I saw nothing wondrous in it, and the word that gripped me wasn’t destiny.

It was death.

T
he worst part about crossing a desert isn’t the heat. It’s not the way the flies eat your skin or the fear of running out of water, either. The problem is how small it makes you feel. Anyone who’s done it knows what I mean. Once you’ve traveled for just a few hours, you look back and see nothing. And when you look ahead you see nothing, and you keep looking and looking and there’s nothing. There’s just sand and dunes and the horizon. There’s a fever that sets in when all you see is desert. If a man isn’t careful, it can madden him.

I had made the crossing more than once, and wasn’t afraid for myself. I knew how to guard against the desert’s bewitchments. We had our mounts and our mules loaded with everything we’d need, and I had my map. Still, I worried about Cricket. All that first day I watched her for signs of trouble, careful to measure the look in her eyes. We were just two people, infinitely small with an ocean of sand around us and nowhere to turn if trouble arose.

But Cricket was better than her word. She rode without complaint, quietly studying the dunes on the horizon, glancing up occasionally to marvel at the sun. She drank only sparingly and only when I said so, and she quickly adopted the habit of desert people of not speaking too often, a way of saving both strength and body moisture. I knew as I watched her that I’d made the right choice.

Our journey, though, would be a long one, because I had mapped out a route that looped south beneath Ganjor, avoiding it entirely. Almost everyone who came through the desert did so through Ganjor, especially if they were from the continent. We could have rested there for days, refreshed our animals and gotten new supplies, but only if I wasn’t recognized. King Baralosus might have given me Zephyr as a peace offering, but I doubted he’d be happy to see me.

So we rode south for one day then another and spent our nights beneath the stars. I took watch at night, afraid a rass might find us, and in the morning slept for just an hour. “Tomorrow night we’ll sleep somewhere special,” I promised Cricket.

“Where?” she insisted. She had taken off the cape of rass skin, deciding wisely to wear it only at night. Now we both wore clothing from the continent—good, plain shirts and trousers instead of gakas. We did, however, cover our heads with hoods. Cricket’s hood swallowed most of her face, but her eyes danced excitedly as she looked at me.

“A spring,” I told her. “A Seeker from Norvor told me about it. Said he came across this way himself. He told me right where to find it.”

“You sure he wasn’t lying, Lukien? No one from Norvor goes around Ganjor . . . unless they’re criminals or something.”

“Norvor’s full of criminals,” I said, not really caring. Mostly the shanties around Jador were filled with decent folks, but some shady types had come across the desert, too. “No reason for him to lie. I know the desert well enough. What he described sounded right to me.”

“We’ll make it there by tomorrow night? You’re sure?”

“Tomorrow night we’ll be sleeping under palm trees, slurping up fruit. That sound all right to you?”

Cricket’s face turned dreamy. “Sure does. You know what I’m gonna do? I’m going to soak my feet in that spring.”

“We’ll take our time there, dawdle a bit the next morning. Can’t say we’re in a real hurry.”

As soon as I said it, I was sorry. Cricket grimaced and faced forward again. She
was
in a hurry. I didn’t apologize because there was no sense to it. We just kept on riding.

*   *   *

We did find the oasis the next day, right where the Norvan said it would be. By the time we reached it, dusk was settling over the desert. The wearying journey showed on Cricket’s face now, but when she saw the spring—surrounded by trees and grasses and tucked against a shading ridge—she beamed.

“Please, please, tell me that’s not a mirage, Lukien,” she said, and charged toward it on her pony. I let her go, laughing, understanding her almost delirious happiness. The Desert of Tears was blessed with very few spots like this one, a greenish island in an ocean of sand. Fruit hung heavily off the ancient trees, trees so worn and weather-beaten their roots erupted from the soil. I heard insects chirping in the grasses, felt a coolness strike my face. My parched mouth longed for water.

“Can I drink?” called Cricket. She quickly dismounted and eyed the spring, bubbling up into a river that stretched out into the desert, where it died.

“If it smells right, drink it,” I answered, watching her as I led Zephyr and the mules into the shade of the ridge. Cricket knelt down near the spring and cupped her hands full of water. She took one sniff and smiled.

“I don’t smell anything. That’s good, right?”

“Right,” I said and dropped down from Zephyr’s back. The water was just as the Norvan described it—clear as rain. Cricket poured it into her mouth, then splashed her whole face with it. Then she looked deep into the bubbling pool.

“There’s no end to it!” she crowed. “We can have as much as we want!”

I led Zephyr and the mules toward the water. “Get your mount. A squire always waters his horse first.”

Cricket looked chastened. “Sorry.” She got up quickly and retrieved her pony, letting it drink with the other animals. “There’s a lot to being a squire.”

“You’ll learn it,” I said. “Now, though . . . we rest.”

*   *   *

It was easy to lose track of time at the oasis. We unburdened the animals, rolled out our sleeping blankets to flatten the tall grass, and soaked our feet in the spring water. Cricket was careful to pay attention to the mounts, making sure they were settled and comfortable. She even went through our supplies to give me an accounting of what we brought with us. But when she came to the case carrying my bronze armor, she paused.

I watched her as I leaned back, opening a fruit with my dagger. The leather case had traveled with me from Liiria to Norvor and then to Jador. It contained the only precious things I owned, save for the Sword of Angels. The case wasn’t locked, and I could tell Cricket wanted to look inside.

“Go on,” I told her. “You’re my squire. You should check it from time to time.”

Cricket knelt over the case like it was a treasure chest. As she opened it, the bronze armor reflected yellow on her face. Unlike my sword, there was nothing magical about my armor. Still, people who saw it always got a strange look in their eyes, like they were seeing something priceless. I pried open my fruit and drank its sweet nectar.

“Here,” I said, offering her the bigger half. “Sit with me and talk.”

Cricket softly closed the case. “Will you wear it when we get to Akyre?” she asked. “You should. You should announce to everyone that a hero has come.”

Her adoration made me uncomfortable. “That armor’s for fighting, not for showing off. I’ll wear it if I need to. Otherwise it stays in the box.”

“Oh, there’ll be fighting,” she said. She scraped her top teeth over the fruit meat. Her brown eyes darted up toward the moon.

“What makes you so certain?”

“’Cause we’re heading to the Bitter Kingdoms.”

“Are you remembering something, Cricket?”

She shook her head. “Nothing new. I just know it, is all. Trouble made me lose my memory. That I know for sure.”

I didn’t know much about the Bitter Kingdoms back then, but I knew Cricket was right. They were little kingdoms, ruled—if you could call it that—by blood-soaked barons. Mostly folks just passed on through the Bitter Kingdoms on their way east for spices. That made the Bitter Kingdoms poor, and that made them covetous. Cricket was lucky to have escaped.

“Tell me what you do remember,” I said.

“What? Nothing’s changed.”

“They found you wandering around Akyre, Borlis and the others. You were alone. Starving, they said.”

“I remember,” said Cricket sharply. “
Before
that’s the problem.”

For a long moment I didn’t say anything. I hoped the peace of the night would loosen her tongue and maybe her memory too. “Look at that moon. You ever see one so big? They say the heat here makes it look like that, all pink and shimmery. I like to watch it.”

I stared at the moon, and Cricket stared too. Then she let out a big, relaxing sigh.

“What will we do when we get to Akyre, Lukien?” she asked. “How are we going to find out about me?”

“I’m not really sure,” I told her honestly. “Look around. See if you recognize anyone, or anyone recognizes you. Ask some questions. First we have to find out what’s going on in Akyre. The things I hear don’t make me happy.”

Cricket nodded, because she knew the stories too. War stories, mostly. Atrocities and all the things that come with war. Cricket gazed blankly at the moon.

“Cricket . . .” I said it softly. “How do you know your name’s Cricket? How can you remember that, if you can’t remember anything else?”

She shrugged. “How do you know your name’s Lukien? I just do is all. I haven’t forgotten how to talk or walk either. It’s just some things I can’t remember. Sometimes it’s on the tip of my tongue and I can’t get it out . . .” She closed her eyes and grumbled, “It makes me crazy! I try to remember. I have dreams sometimes and can’t remember them.”

“Don’t force it. You have to come at this thing from the side, not head on. It’ll all fall in place eventually. Maybe when we get to Akyre.”

Cricket put down the fruit and drew her rass skin cape around her shoulders. She looked tired but restless too, like she wanted to keep talking.

“There’s one thing I remember,” she said. Her eyes narrowed as she focused on the memory. “A waterfall. Maybe a river, but I think it’s a waterfall. I can see myself there.”

“In Akyre?” I asked.

She closed her eyes completely. “Yes. Definitely Akyre. I can see it, kind of.”

“What else do you see? Are you alone?”

“I’m . . .”

She struggled, holding her breath. And then she opened her eyes and looked at me.

“Can we go there, Lukien?”

“Where? You don’t even know if it’s a river or a waterfall.”

“We can find it. Akyre’s not a big country. We could ask around. We could do that, right?”

She was fixated suddenly, and I didn’t understand it. “Sure,” I told her. “We could do that.”

Like a charm, the promise calmed her. She leaned back against the ridge. “Now it’s your turn,” she said. “Tell me something you remember.”

“You’re an imp. It’s late. I don’t feel like talking.”

“Ah, you’re always making excuses. You have as many secrets as I do, Lukien.” Cricket smiled at me. “I just want to know about you, that’s all. Not just the stories everybody says about you. Not just how you lost your eye. Before that.”

“Oh. When I was your age, you mean.”

Her brown eyes blinked at me. I couldn’t escape. So I settled back and told her what life was like for me before becoming “the Bronze Knight.” I told her about growing up in the streets of Liiria, about how I lived by breaking into stores to keep warm at night and by stealing food. My mother had died before I was old enough to have memories of her. But when it came time to tell Cricket about my father, I had to stop. What could I say about a man who left me to fend for myself? Who one day decided that life was too tough for him?

“There’s only one way a man should leave his family,” I said finally. “By dying.”

Cricket looked baffled. “He just left you? Out there on the street?”

I couldn’t look at her. I stared at the moon. “Right.”

“Didn’t you wonder what happened to him? Didn’t you try to find him?”

“You mean beg? You can’t beg someone to love you, Cricket. I decided it was easier to hate him. Now . . .” I stood up and brushed the sand from my trousers. “It’s late and I’m tired. More next time, all right?”

As I walked toward my bedroll, Cricket said, “Lukien? You think I’ll ever be able to remember stuff like that?”

All of a sudden she sounded like a little girl. And I was the closest thing she had to a father.

“Yes, I do,” I told her. “When you’re in a stronger, safer place, you’ll be able to remember. That’s why I’m here. So we can find that place together.”