The Eyes of God

by John Marco

  The tournament stretched into the afternoon, as knight after knight took to the field for the honor of the king and queen and the ladies in the audience. There were jousts and archery exhibitions, feats of swordplay and horsemanship, and Cassandra watched it all with disinterest, feeling queasy and exhausted. Then, finally, it was time for Lukien to fight.

  The Bronze Knight had left the gallery an hour earlier, to prepare for his bout. Now he was at one end of the parade ground, sitting atop his charger with his helmet in the crook of his arm. He was splendid in his bronze armor. The horse he rode shared the same bronze outfitting, protected with layers of metal along its breast and flanks and bearing an ominously forged headpiece. A page stood beside him, lance in hand. Akeela had explained that the lance was dulled and tipped with a protective head—a coronal, he’d called it. Lukien reached for the lance and inspected it, then looked over the other weapons arrayed nearby. A mace awaited its use, as did a broadsword. Another page held Lukien’s shield, emblazoned with the crest of Liiria. Lukien nodded to the boys, then looked across the field at his opponent. There sat Trager, his head hidden beneath his dark helmet, the reins of his stallion held tightly in gray gauntlets. Unlike Lukien, Trager wore the traditional silver armor of the Royal Chargers. His helmet bore the likeness of a ram’s head, replete with curling horns.

  “I think neither of them cares for the other,” said Cassandra absently. She remembered Lukien’s rage when Tomas had died, and how he had called Trager a fool. The lieutenant’s face had twisted horribly at the insult. Cassandra was sure he wore the same expression now under his dark mask. Her heart raced with worry. Akeela took her hand, surprised to find it trembling.

  “My lady, you’re shivering,” he said.

  Cassandra frowned. “It is a barbaric sport, and I hate it,” she said. “Look at them, one just as eager to kill the other. I can’t watch this.”

  Akeela laughed. “Ah, but it is sport, as you say. And it’s what these people have come to see—a spectacle. Look, see how they watch?”

  The hush over the crowd was remarkable. Everyone waited for the outcome of the duel, which Trager had boasted he would win.

  “Lukien tells me Trager’s been practicing,” Akeela remarked. “We shall see.”

  “Lukien will win, won’t he?” asked Cassandra. “I mean, he won’t be hurt, will he?”

  Akeela looked at her askance, and for a moment she regretted her question.

  “No,” said Akeela. His eyes narrowed. “But your concern is refreshing.”

  Out on the field, Lukien put on his helmet. The officer of the tournament, a plump, middle-aged man, came to stand in front of the gallery and summoned the jousters. Both Lukien and Trager trotted forward, bringing their mounts to stand beside the officer, then removing their helmets as they faced the king and queen. For a moment, Lukien’s eyes met Cassandra’s. He seemed to wink at her reassuringly. Trager’s face was furious, his jaw clamped tight.

  The officer proclaimed, “My King and Queen, these two gentlemen have come into your presence, recommended by your good grace humbly, beseeching you to find the best jouster. To him, a diamond will be the prize. To the second, a ruby.”

  Akeela held out both hands. In the right was a brilliant diamond. In the left, a blood red ruby. He said, “To the best shall go the diamond, and to the second the ruby. And when the tournament is done, we shall retire to the banquet rooms of Lionkeep, and dance and drink.” He handed both gems over to Cassandra. “Who will win the diamond from the fair hand of the queen?”

  Lukien said, “I think we know the answer to that, my lord.”

  The gallery laughed, as did the rest of the crowd. Cassandra saw Trager’s face twitch, and for a moment she pitied him.

  “Sir Trager, good fortune to you,” she said. Then she looked at Lukien. “And to you, my champion.”

  “I will make you proud, my queen,” said Lukien.

  “Then to your stations,” ordered the officer. He watched as both men bowed to the gallery, replaced their helms, and rode back to their positions on the opposite ends of the field. Lukien’s page offered him a lance, which the Bronze Knight tested for balance before tucking beneath his arm. Across the field, Trager did the same. The pages fell away. The combatant’s horses snorted. The officer of the joust stepped off the field, heading to the side of the gallery to stand with Breck and some other Royal Chargers. And Cassandra, sick with anxiety, clutched the gemstones in her fists until her knuckles turned white.

  Lukien and Trager lowered themselves into riding stances. Akeela raised his hand, held it aloft for a moment, then let it fall. Lukien’s charger bolted forward. Trager raced toward him, his lance aimed. The air filled with clods of dirt and the noise of hammering hooves. The two jousters devoured the distance between them, each pointing a lance at the shielded heart of his opponent. The air sounded with the report of cracking wood. Lukien’s lance drove into Trager’s shield and Trager’s into his, and Cassandra saw her champion’s weapon buckle, sending up shards of wood. The jousters roared past each other, neither unhorsed. The crowd cheered wildly.

  “Another lance!” Lukien cried. He whirled his horse around, anxiously waiting for his pages to bring him a fresh weapon and clear the debris from the ground. From the opposite end of the field, Trager waved at him

  “Ha!” the lieutenant crowed. “You are clumsy this year, Captain!”

  The folk in the gallery loved the banter. They shouted at the jousters, urging the combat to continue. Lukien fixed his new lance beneath his arm and spurred his horse forward with a cry. Trager matched his moves, bolting forward. This time the clash sent Trager’s lance skidding off Lukien’s shield. Again, neither man went down. Their horses came to skidding stops.

  “Well done, Trager,” called Akeela. He favored the soldier with a smile. “This year you are truly worthy. Will the diamond be yours at last?”

  “It is as good as won, my lord,” replied the knight. He turned to his bronze opponent. “What say you, Captain? Again?”

  “Again,” replied Lukien. He raised a guantleted hand, waving Trager forward. “Now, come and get your lesson.”

  Incensed, Trager crouched and drove his boots into the flanks of his mount, spurring the charger onward. Lukien joined him, racing forward. Again their lances closed, again the crowd was wide-eyed. And this time the Bronze Knight found his mark, burying his lance in Trager’s shield. Trager rose off his horse and tumbled backward, crashing into the ground. The crowd cheered. Without thinking, Cassandra jumped from her seat and joined them.

  Lukien quickly brought his horse around and hovered over Trager. The lieutenant rose unsteadily to his feet.

  “Well?” Lukien asked. “Are you injured?”

  “Sword!” Trager cried, answering the knight’s question. A page hurried onto the field and tossed Trager his broadsword. Lukien laughed.

  “Yield, Trager,” he said. He raised his lance toward Trager’s chest. “You’ve already lost.”

  “No!” Trager swiped at the lance with his sword. “Come down and fight me!”

  Lukien brought his horse forward, pushing the lance into Trager and knocking him over. Again the crowd crowed. Trager scurried backward in the dirt, trying get up, but each time he did Lukien’s horse took another step forward, pushing him back down.

  “It is done!” cried the officer of arms. “Lukien has won.”

  Still on her feet, Cassandra applauded loudly. Akeela joined her, as did the others in the gallery. Lukien dropped down from his horse and stood over Trager, then offered out his hand.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Get away from me!” spat Trager. His pages rushed out, helping him to his feet. When he finally righted himself, he snapped up the visor of his helm and glared at Lukien. All around them the crowds were clapping, but not for Trager.

  “Both of you, come here,” called Akeela. He turned to Cassandra. “My lady, I think you have something for our knights.”

  The officer came fo
rward, escorting Lukien and the disgraced Trager to the gallery, both of whom bowed before the king and queen. Cassandra noticed how Trager kept his helmet on, a breach of etiquette, surely. He couldn’t even look at her, so strong was his shame, so she let the lapse pass.

  Said the officer, “Sir Trager has jousted well, but Sir Lukien has jousted better. So to him goes the diamond.”

  “Sirs,” said Akeela, “These gentle folk thank you for your great labor. Trager, since you are second best, you get this ruby.” He glanced at Cassandra, nudging her to bring out the gem. Cassandra complied, holding out the ruby for Trager, who took it reluctantly.

  “Thank you, my lord and lady,” he said.

  Akeela continued, “And Lukien, once again you have jousted best of all. Once again, the diamond is yours, my friend.”

  Cassandra needed no encouragement this time. She held out the diamond for Lukien, placing it in his outstretched hand. But before he released her, he bent and gave her hand a kiss.

  “For the honor of my queen,” he said.

  That evening, the celebration continued inside the halls of Lionkeep. The ladies danced and the minstrels strummed their instruments, and children played beneath the tables with the dogs, enjoying the atmosphere fostered by the king. Festoons of flowers hung from the walls, scenting the air with lilac. Akeela sat with his new wife at a gigantic ebony table covered with platters of game birds and flagons of wine and beer. Out on the floor, Lukien was dancing with the daughter of Chancellor Nils. Cassandra watched them, frowning slightly. Akeela noticed the expression and wondered.

  “You do not eat, my lady,” he said, offering her some food from his own plate. Cassandra turned her nose away.

  “I’ve already eaten enough for a week.”

  “Is the music too loud for you? You look uncomfortable.”

  “I’m fine,” replied Cassandra. Then she smiled apologetically, adding, “It has been an exciting day, that’s all. I’m just tired.”

  “Yes, exciting,” Akeela agreed. “But you don’t look well, Cassandra; your color.” He studied her, wondering why she was so white. “Perhaps you should excuse yourself, get some rest.”

  She shook her head. “It’s our wedding night.”

  “Cassandra,” he whispered, “I’m not going to force myself on a sick woman. If you’re not feeling well . . .”

  “I’m fine.” She smiled weakly. “Really.”

  Before Akeela could reply, Lukien hurried over from the dance floor. Perspiration covered his face. He took up Akeela’s goblet and drank down its contents furiously, then wiped his hand across his brow.

  “Whew! That girl can dance!”

  Of course, thought Akeela blackly. All the girls want to dance with Lukien.

  “Sit, Lukien,” he offered. “You look about to collapse.”

  “Indeed I am,” said the captain. He came around the table and fell into a chair beside Akeela. He had doffed his armor once again and now wore a crimson tunic. When a servant brought over a full pitcher of beer, Lukien took it and drank without a glass. He was in fine spirits after his victory in the joust, and wore the diamond around his neck to prove it. Trager, on the other hand, was conspicuously missing from the banquet. His lieutenant’s absence only buoyed Lukien’s mood.

  “So?” asked the knight. “Why aren’t the happy couple dancing, eh?”

  “The queen is tired,” Akeela explained. “The excitement of the day.”

  “Tired?” Lukien looked at Cassandra. “Is that all, my lady?”

  Cassandra grimaced. “Yes,” she said. Yet her eyes seemed to say more.

  “Well, then,” said Lukien awkwardly. “You should rest.”

  “She is resting, Lukien.”

  Akeela and Lukien looked at each other. Lukien’s smile sagged. He nodded and returned his attention to the pitcher of beer, filling Akeela’s goblet again.

  “Good beer,” he said. “Let’s drink a toast to the two of you.”

  “Yes,” agreed a new voice. “Let’s drink to the young lovers!”

  Akeela looked up and saw Baron Glass approaching the table. He had a goblet in his only hand and a smarmy smile on his bearded face. He had left behind his pretty young wife and undisciplined children, and he bowed slightly to Cassandra as he came forward. Cassandra forced a pleasant countenance.

  “Baron Glass,” she said, “you are welcome to drink with us. Come, sit yourself down.”

  “The queen is gracious,” said the baron. He looked around for a chair, then found the one that Figgis had vacated. Coming around the table, he pulled the chair close to Akeela, but before he sat he lifted his glass. “To you both,” he said. “May Fate grant you a long and happy marriage.”

  “Here, here,” toasted Lukien, still drinking from the pitcher.

  “Thank you, Baron,” said Akeela. He took a sip of beer, watching Glass as he did so. If the baron hadn’t been so near, he would have reminded Cassandra of what he’d said earlier—before the day was over, Glass would ruin it with politics.

  “So,” said Akeela cordially, “how did you like the tournament this year, Baron?”

  “Well played, as always,” replied Glass. This time he raised his goblet to Lukien. “Good jousting, Sir Lukien. You are as skilled as I ever was, maybe more so.”

  “Thank you, my lord,” said Lukien. “You honor me.”

  “And the banquet . . . so lavish!” Glass looked around the chamber. “To be honest, I had expected a smaller affair.”

  “Oh?” asked Cassandra. “Why is that?”

  Akeela braced himself. Here it comes . . .

  “The expense, my lady,” replied Glass. “With all the projects your husband has been championing, I didn’t think the treasury had enough in its coffers for such luxury.”

  Akeela stiffened. “Baron Glass . . .”

  “It’s a special day,” interrupted Lukien. “And I think it’s worth the expense, don’t you, Baron?”

  “Of course.” Glass grinned. “Tell me, Queen Cassandra, have you seen your husband’s library yet? It’s quite impressive.”

  Cassandra began to answer, but Akeela said quickly, “I’ve taken her there, yes.”

  “Did you think it was very grand?” asked Glass.

  “I think it will be marvelous when it’s done,” said Cassandra. To Akeela’s surprise, she took his hand. “And I think it’s worth any expense to bring light to the world, Baron.”

  “Hmm, Chancellor Sark may not agree with you, my lady. He doesn’t like watching the coffers of his treasury bled dry.”

  “It’s not his treasury,” snapped Akeela. “And it’s not yours or mine, either, Baron. It belongs to the people of Liiria. They want the library. They know it will bring them knowledge.”

  Baron Glass looked down into his goblet, considering his words carefully. “Knowledge,” he sighed. “Knowledge is for men like you and I, King Akeela. Knowledge is for people who can handle it.” He gestured around the chamber. “Look about this room. What do you see here but nobles? These are the elite of Liiria, my lord. They already know how to read and write. They don’t need your library.”

  “Precisely,” argued Akeela. “The library is for all those people who aren’t here; the people left out to celebrate my wedding in the streets.” He smiled slyly at the Baron. “I’m building the library for your servants, Baron Glass, so that maybe they can do something better than swill your pigs and shear your sheep.”

  Glass’ face reddened. “King Akeela, not everyone can be noble. Fate chose my birthright.”

  “Nonsense,” said Akeela.

  “It’s not nonsense,” said Glass. “And the same power that made me noble put you on the throne. Do you think my servants tend my herds because I keep them from something better? No. They tend my herds because they can do no better. It is Fate’s will.”

  The notion incensed Akeela. Like many in Liiria, Glass was Fateist, part of a cult that believed the world controlled by an unseen force, neither god nor devil. It was just one of
many faiths accommodated by Liiria, but it was influential in the country, and Glass believed its myths devoutly.

  “Baron,” said Akeela carefully, “this is my wedding day. I don’t want it spoiled by politics and religion, and I don’t want to argue with you.”

  “You should listen to me,” Glass warned. “I am not alone in these thoughts. There are others who are concerned with your ideas, my lord. They think they are dangerous, and so do I.”

  “The people support me,” said Akeela.

  “The people do not run the chancelleries,” Glass countered. “You and I are of noble birth; we know how to govern. At least that’s what your father believed.”

  “I am not my father!”

  The music suddenly stopped. Akeela shrank back in his chair as the eyes of the celebrants fell upon him. Baron Glass smiled, amused, and rose from his seat.

  “No,” he said, “you’re not.”

  Before he could go, Akeela got to his feet. “Wait.”

  Glass stopped and turned around, looking at him questioningly. Angry, Akeela decided the time had come to make his statement.

  “Everybody, please listen to me.” He already had the crowd’s attention. “I want to make an announcement.”

  “Announcement?” asked Lukien.

  “Akeela?” probed Cassandra.

  “I’m going away for a while,” Akeela told them. “I’m going on a journey, a goodwill tour, you might say. I want to introduce myself to our neighboring nations. I want them to see me, and know that they have an ally in Liiria.”

  “What?” erupted Glass. “My lord, you’ve only just returned. The ink on the Reecian treaty hasn’t dried yet!”

  “Even so,” Akeela continued, “I’m going. Countries like Marn and Norvor need to know they still have an ally in Liiria. This is going to be the start of a new relationship between our nation and the rest of the continent.”

  The crowd began to murmur. As Akeela expected, the chancellors in the audience shook their heads.

  “My lord,” said Glass, “don’t you think you’re going too quickly? Don’t be reckless. Let us send emissaries first.”