by John Marco
White-Eye, seated at the head of the table, turned in Salina’s direction. ‘Who is it?’
Salina’s voice constricted suddenly, looking into the anxious faces of the Jadori. The room filled with the awkward silence caused by her appearance. Caught off guard, Salina stuttered.
‘Kahana White-Eye, it is me – Salina.’ She went no closer to them. Her face felt hot. ‘I am sorry . . . I was looking for you. I . . . would speak to you, please.’
King Lorn came forward, looking weary but not unsympathetic. ‘Princess, now is not the time.’
‘My father is coming, King Lorn? You saw him?’
Lorn nodded. ‘Yes.’
‘And Prince Aztar?’
It was the king who faltered this time, searching for the right words. But it was White-Eye who spoke up, saying, ‘Princess, you are right. You should hear this. Come ahead.’
The men in the chamber backed away from the table as White-Eye stood to greet the princess. King Lorn guided Salina to a chair, but she did not take it. She looked into White-Eye’s blank stare, confused and afraid. The kahana seemed to sense this, and firmly asked her men to leave.
‘Take them to the parlour,’ she told Lorn. ‘Let me speak to Salina alone.’
Amazingly, the gruff king did as White-Eye asked, gathering up his map from the table and herding the soldiers out of the chamber. Salina watched them go, leaving through one of the many archways and turning a corner, leaving her and White-Eye alone in the echoing space. The feeble lamplight looked strange against the Kahana’s blind eyes. To Salina, White-Eye looked steely. She waited until her men had gone, listening to their footfalls disappear before softening her expression, just a little.
‘When were you going to tell me?’ asked Salina pointedly.
White-Eye didn’t blink. ‘When I was done here.’
‘You’re making plans against my father. I saw Lorn’s map.’
‘Aztar is dead.’
The words struck Salina like cold water. For a moment, she could not speak. ‘You are sure?’ she managed.
‘Lorn has seen your father’s army, Princess. He has come across the desert and is no more than a day from Jador. Unless you think Prince Aztar fled from him . . .’
‘Aztar would never run.’
‘No,’ White-Eye agreed. ‘No doubt he stood and fought them.’
Salina took her meaning. Even without proof of his death, she knew that Aztar had perished. She could feel it, its ugly truth. The hole that had opened in her soul told her it was so. Suddenly, just standing took all her strength.
‘He did this for me,’ she said weakly, turning away from White-Eye’s mysterious gaze. ‘It is my fault he is dead.’
‘Aztar chose to fight your father, Princess. It was his gift to you.’
‘His gift?’ Salina laughed. ‘He is dead.’
‘Yes. And soon, others will be dead as well.’
‘My father – has he come with many men?’
‘Not many,’ said White-Eye. Pleasure flashed across her face. ‘We had expected more. But he is determined. He wants you back, Princess.’
Salina gripped the back of the chair, her knuckles blooming white. The soldiers who had been with Lorn made the Kahana’s plans obvious. They meant to fight, and from the looks of White-Eye they intended to win. What Salina did not understand was why.
‘You’re going to defend me?’ she asked.
‘We have promised you that,’ said White-Eye. ‘We are indebted to you.’
‘No,’ argued Salina. ‘No, I . . .’ She tried to piece her thoughts together. ‘I don’t want your people to die for me.’
White-Eye grimaced. She said nothing for a time, sitting herself back down at the head of the table. Her blank eyes froze on Salina. ‘You don’t want people to die,’ she repeated.
‘Kahana White-Eye, I am sorry. I never wanted things to get this far. I wanted only to go to Aztar.’
‘And to teach your father a lesson. Yes?’
Salina nodded sheepishly. ‘Yes.’
‘Well, now he has come to teach us a lesson. For the second time, he means to destroy us, Princess. First he used Aztar to bring us to our knees, and now he comes himself. And you have given him the reason.’
The accusation stung Salina. She lowered her head. ‘I’m sorry. Truly, Kahana White-Eye, I am sorry.’
Her grief overcame her, and she began to weep. ‘I’ll go to him,’ she choked. ‘He only wants me back. Once he has me it will be over.’
‘You are not going to him,’ said White-Eye.
Salina sobbed, ‘What?’
‘Aztar died for a reason, not just for you, Princess. He died to defend Jador because that is what he believed Vala wanted. He knew that he had wronged us and wanted to protect us.’
‘But my father—’
‘Your father has threatened us. He meant to have our secrets, our wealth, whatever he could take from us. He used your lover Aztar to get these things, but now he has come himself to defeat us.’
Salina still did not understand. ‘Yes? So?’
White-Eye sat tall and straight in her chair. ‘Your father has blundered. He has come with too few soldiers. We are not so weak as he thinks we are. Princess Salina, it is too late for you to go to him. If you did not want people to die, you should have stayed in Ganjor.’
As night fell and White-Eye could at last venture out of doors, she left the palace in search of Minikin, climbing the white wall that surrounded the city and finding the little mistress in one of the wall’s few battle towers. There, among the battlements and lookouts and archers, Minikin leaned against the white stone, her head barely able to see above the crenellations. White-Eye approached the mistress slowly, climbing the stairs as quietly as she could, guided by a Jadori soldier who told the kahana everything. They spoke in whispers, and when she no longer needed the guide White-Eye dismissed him with only a wave, but she knew that Minikin could hear her. The lady’s tiny, elfish ears were uncanny, and White-Eye had never been able to surprise her. As she plodded uncertainly across the tower, she smiled at Minikin, or at least in her direction. Then, out of the darkness came Minikin’s voice.
‘You are so confident now.’
White-Eye paused, not really sure where in the tower she was standing. ‘Minikin?’
The lady’s voice came from several yards away. ‘When you lost your sight I did not imagine you climbing up here ever again. You make me prouder everyday, child.’
Her voice was weak, tired from hours of worrying. If she could see her face, White-Eye was sure she would see bags under her sparkling eyes. ‘I have been looking for you,’ said White-Eye. ‘Why did you not come to meet with Lorn and me? We waited for you, but you never came.’
‘You did not need me,’ said Minikin.
White-Eye put her arms around her shoulders. The night was surprisingly cool. ‘How long have you been up here?’
‘Oh, not so long. I have been watching the warriors.’
From atop the wall, almost all of western Jador could be seen, from the huge gate that protected the city to the sparkling sands beyond. As a girl White-Eye had climbed the wall countless times. She could remember the sight perfectly, and still loved to think of it when she drifted off to sleep. Tonight, though, the scene had changed. Tonight soldiers patrolled the streets and positioned themselves in the desert, waiting for the Ganjeese to come. White-Eye paused, wanting to go to Minikin yet feeling afraid. Since returning to Jador, the mistress had said very little about the way White-Eye had handled things, but White-Eye suspected she disapproved.
‘Minikin, I wanted you to be there tonight. I wanted you to know what we have planned.’
Minikin stayed quiet a moment. Then she said, ‘Baralosus is coming. I know what you have planned, White-Eye.’
‘I have to stop him.’ White-Eye took a few steps closer. ‘I want to know you understand that.’
‘You have to protect Jador.’
‘Yes.’
‘Come
closer to me, daughter.’
White-Eye went to her, following her voice until she felt a tiny hand come out to help her. Minikin guided her to the wall. The cool breeze rolling off the desert brushed White-Eye’s face. She could hear the commotion in the city, the uneasy chatter of people preparing for war. In the shacks just outside the wall, the northerners from all across the continent braced themselves for another bloody siege. White-Eye’s loyal Jadori moved supplies from the city to the desert, preparing their weapons and their kreels.
It would not be like last time, White-Eye resolved.
‘I can hear them making ready,’ she said. ‘Can you see them?’
‘Oh yes.’
‘We are strong this time, Minikin. This time we will not lose.’
Minikin’s hand slipped away. ‘King Lorn has taught you more than I supposed.’
‘He has taught me to be a leader,’ said White-Eye. ‘Is that such a bad thing?’
‘Will you talk to Baralosus?’
‘Talk? No, we will not talk.’
Silence. White-Eye shifted in her blindness. Lorn had warned her, told her to be strong.
‘They come to kill us, Minikin,’ she stressed. ‘Like last time. Only now Baralosus has made a mistake.’
‘He comes for his daughter,’ Minikin reminded her. ‘Has Salina not told you she wants to return to him?’
‘Salina does not know what she wants,’ said White-Eye, though it was partially a lie. ‘And even if she did go back to him, what would happen then? Would Baralosus suddenly forget his desires? I do not think so. And neither does Lorn.’
‘Lorn.’ Minikin’s smile was obvious. ‘You have taken his counsel to heart.’
White-Eye nodded. ‘I have. He knows of these things, Minikin. He has made war before. He recognizes who our enemies are.’
Minikin’s pause was icy. White-Eye feared she had offended her. But instead of arguing, the lady seemed to slump, sighing and turning away.
‘He is right, I suppose,’ she said grudgingly. ‘So much war has come to us. And I have not been able to stop it. I am old, White-Eye. And what I did last time . . . well, I cannot do it again.’
‘I know,’ said White-Eye gently. She searched for Minikin’s small shoulder, placing her hand on it. ‘I would never ask such a thing of you.’
A year ago, Minikin had summoned the Akari fire, saving them from Aztar. The feat had decimated the Voruni, but had left Minikin hollow and depleted. Worse, she was still guilt ridden from the act, seeing it akin to murder. Over the months, White-Eye had tried to comfort Minikin, but nothing had really worked.
‘Minikin,’ she said, ‘that is why you gave me to Lorn – to become strong. To learn the things you could not teach me. I have learned. I am ready to defend Jador.’
Surprisingly, Minikin embraced her, wrapping her arms around White-Eye’s waist. ‘You are ready,’ she said. ‘You are the Night Queen.’
57
For a full day more, Baralosus’ army trudged through the burning desert, determined to quickly reach Jador. The king rode at the forefront of his army, abandoning his carriage and all his fine trappings for the chance to be seen and to show his demoralized men that he was not afraid. The memory of Prince Aztar haunted Baralosus as he rode. He saw the imprint of the prince on every shifting dune, and when he closed his eyes Aztar was there, faintly smiling, pleased to be doing the work of Vala. Baralosus knew now that he no longer did the work of heaven. He was a man possessed of a single, selfish mission, and no amount of grumbling from his underlings would deter him.
Minister Kailyr tried in vain to talk reasonably to his friend, working to convince him of the folly of his plan. They had ridden hard the past two days, driven by Baralosus’s insatiable need to save his daughter. After battling Aztar, they had gone ahead to his camp, finding more than a hundred women and children there, all of them frightened and grieving for their fallen husbands and fathers. Kahrdeen, who had taken command of the army after General Rhot’s death, had urged Baralosus to kill them, or to at least burn their meagre tents. Sure that Vala was watching him from heaven, Baralosus had refused, hoping to appease the angry god and gain his favour for the fight ahead.
Night was fast approaching, and in his bones Baralosus knew they were getting closer. The desert had flattened, its sun-baked earth turning hard and rocky. A strange quiet blanketed the world. Baralosus kept his gaze on the horizon, waiting for the first hint of the white city to peak above the sands. His skin blazed from the heat. His tongue ached for the water they had tried to hard to conserve. Behind him, his weary army muttered as they marched, sure that they were too few to frighten the Jadori. Baralosus, who was not a military man, did his best to rally them, but in their eyes he saw their fears. Despite their loyalty, they rued his decision to march on to Jador.
Next to Baralosus, sitting silently atop his drowa, the young Jashien rode wearily along, careful not to speak unless the king asked him questions. He too had been disappointed in Baralosus, a fact confirmed by his constant silence. Baralosus wondered if the soldier thought him a coward. He had not taken Aztar’s head as Jashien had urged, nor wanted any other trophies from the dead to show the people back in Ganjor. Still, he kept the young man close, valuing his counsel. Like the rest of the disgruntled army, Jashien remained impeccably loyal.
Minister Kailyr spurred his drowa a little faster, riding up to Baralosus. Preferring the comfort of his royal carriage, he rode the beast only because his king had insisted. To Baralosus, every able man needed to be mounted, ready to fight. Long and reedy, Kailyr wasn’t a warrior at all, and his only weapons were quills and ledgers. Still, he carried a scimitar at his side, checking it nervously from time to time. When he rode up to Baralosus, his face looked concerned.
‘We should stop now, Majesty,’ he softly urged. ‘It will be dark soon.’
‘We go on.’ Baralosus gestured toward the horizon. ‘We are almost there.’
‘It can wait until morning, surely,’ said Kailyr. ‘Jador isn’t going anywhere.’
‘No? That’s what you said about my daughter.’
Kailyr grimaced, then fell back a pace. Baralosus ignored him. His advice had been useless, and now he was just one more petty voice, complaining about the heat and the difficult odds. Being reminded of the tasks ahead of them was no use all to Baralosus. And nothing would deter him.
They rode on while the sun began to set, Baralosus sure that Jador was just ahead, hiding itself. Then, at last, he caught the first glimpse of the city. Its ancient spires collected the last of the sunlight and shined it back at them like a mirror. Against the backdrop of the darkening sky, the city’s outline was unmistakable.
‘There!’ cried Baralosus. ‘There, you see? There is Jador!’
His men went from muttering to oddly hushed. Kahrdeen rode from out of the ranks to be with his king. Jashien nodded, and Kailyr let out a low groan.
‘Majesty, we should stop now, make ready,’ said Kahrdeen.
‘No, not yet,’ replied the king. ‘We go on. I want to get closer.’
‘In the morning we can do that, Majesty, when there is light . . .’
‘No. Tonight.’ Baralosus bit his lip in thought. ‘Kahrdeen, bring the woman. I want her to see this.’
The woman, as Baralosus called her, was the only prisoner they had taken with them out of Aztar’s camp. Her name was Harani, a young, pretty thing whose husband had died in the battle. Staunchly loyal to Aztar, she had stood up to Baralosus and his troops when they’d entered her camp, ready to defend the others. Baralosus had liked her immediately, but not because she was pretty. Amazingly, she had claimed to know his daughter. That, along with her annoying streak of honesty, made her valuable to Baralosus. It had taken three men to drag her out of camp, but since then she had acquiesced. Still far from docile, she had stopped kicking and biting his men and had answered all of Baralosus questions.
Kahrdeen returned with Harani a few minutes later. Having given the woman a drowa of he
r own, she nevertheless rode tethered to Kahrdeen’s own mount, a precaution Baralosus thought was unnecessary in the inescapable desert. He meant her no harm after all, and fully intended to free her once he was done with her. Harani’s tight face regarded him coldly as she trotted up to the king.
‘Look there,’ he said to her. ‘Jador.’
Harani was unmoved. Just two days ago, she had lost her husband, her friends and her home. Her lips curled in a look of utter disinterest. Baralosus shooed away his new general.
‘Let her ride alone,’ he told Kahrdeen. ‘Let us talk.’
Kahrdeen let go of the rope and let it drag behind Harani’s drowa, falling back so that his king could talk. Harani and Baralosus rode out several paces from the rest of the group, and when they were clear the king smiled at his captive.
‘I want you to trust me,’ he said. ‘Nothing is going to happen to you. Do you believe me?’
‘I believe that you are a devil. A devil cannot be trusted.’
Baralosus controlled himself. ‘You’re very loyal to Aztar. That’s good. But your master is dead now, woman. I am your master now.’
‘Then send me to some slave pit.’
‘That’s not why you’re here.’
‘Why, then?’
‘To talk sense to the Jadori,’ said Baralosus. ‘That is all you need do, woman, and you will be freed. Tell them that I spared your camp. Tell them that your women and children are unharmed.’
‘I will tell them that you killed my master,’ said Harani. ‘I will tell them the truth.’