by John Marco
“Lukien . . . ?”
Cassandra’s breathing grew erratic. The bloody stain spread like ink down her legs. She groaned, softly at first, reaching for her stomach.
“Lukien!”
Lukien hurried toward her, catching her just as her knees buckled. Her skin turned deathly white as an anguished cry leapt from her throat. The blood was spreading; Lukien felt it warm against him.
“What’s happening?” she gasped. She clutched her stomach, slipping from Lukien’s embrace and buckling to her knees. Back and forth she rocked, screaming. Lukien stood over her, confused and terrified. And then he saw the amulet beneath Cassandra’s gown, burning a hot and furious red. Cassandra, shaking, looked down at the thing. “The curse. . . .”
Lukien felt panic rising. He knelt down beside Cassandra, watching in horror as her flesh curdled to a milky white. Her body spasmed as he held her. Cassandra’s hands clutched at his cape, clawing at him for help.
“What’s wrong, what’s wrong?” asked Lukien desperately. “Cassandra. . . .”
She couldn’t answer. Her wide eyes looked at him a moment, then shut tight as pain wracked her anew. A strangled cry rose up from her throat, loosed with a fountain of blood. The blood sprayed across Lukien’s face.
“The cancer,” she gurgled. “I feel it!”
Lukien wrapped her in his arms, bathed in her blood, hoping to somehow stem its tide. She was choking, bleeding from her mouth and thighs and barely able to speak. Beneath her gown the Eye of God shone with wrathful light. Cassandra’s fingers crawled toward it, resting on its shining surface. Lukien barely heard her throttled words.
“I’m . . . dying. . . .”
“You can’t die, Cassandra, you can’t!”
But she was, and Lukien knew it. They had broken the Eye’s power. They had, though it seemed impossible. Cassandra pulled at the amulet’s chain.
“Return . . . it,” she gasped. Weakly she collapsed into Lukien, choking up blood. A giant spasm shook her body. She wailed in his ear, crying for help.
“Tell me what to do,” he pleaded. “Tell me and I’ll help you!”
But Cassandra was beyond words now. There was no more warmth from her body; her skin lost its hue. Even her shaking subsided. A final, violent spasm rippled into smaller ones, slower, slower. . . .
And stopped.
“Cassandra?”
In the moonlight of the orchard, Lukien’s voice was small.
“Cassandra, don’t do this to me.”
There was no answer.
Lukien knelt with Cassandra in his arms, her head bobbing lifeless on his shoulder. The red light of the amulet went out like a candle.
Across the orchard, Gilwyn was relaxing when he heard the scream. He had found a clearing a respectable distance from Lukien and Cassandra, one with a good view of Koth and anyone that might venture into the orchard after them. With Teku on his shoulder, Gilwyn was sitting against a tree, feeling wonderfully satisfied. But the scream he heard shattered his calm.
He bolted upright at the sound, then knew it had come from the camp. Lukien? He sprinted forward as quickly as his bad foot allowed, gripped by terror. The scream was unholy, an ongoing, anguished wail. Teku’s tiny hands clung tightly to his coat as he hurried toward it. The light of the campfire cut through the fog. Next to it was Lukien, on his knees. The knight was rocking Cassandra in his arms. Gilwyn halted. Cassandra wasn’t moving.
“Fate above . . .”
The shocking scene weakened his knees. Blood soaked Cassandra’s face and gown as though she’d been butchered. The stench of her blood hung heavy in the orchard. Lukien was weeping, hacking up great sobs as he clung to Cassandra’s lifeless body. Unable to move, Gilwyn simply stared, horrified at the grisly scene and Lukien’s inhuman cries.
“Lukien, what happened?”
Remarkably, Lukien heard his query. The Bronze Knight turned his tear-streaked face toward Gilwyn.
“You told me it was a hoax!” he snarled. “You promised me!”
“Promised you?”
“The curse! You promised me it was a lie, you wretched little beast!”
“It was!” cried Gilwyn. His head reeled as he looked at Cassandra’s death-white body, splattered with her own bright blood. “I swear, Lukien, it was a hoax. I looked at her. I saw her with my own eyes!”
“Then look at her now!” roared Lukien. He rose with Cassandra in his arms, holding her out toward Gilwyn. “Look what’s happened!”
Gilwyn could barely stutter a response. “I’m sorry! I didn’t know!”
Lukien fell to his knees, dropping Cassandra gently to the ground and collapsing over her. He hid his face in his hands, shaking. The sight of the broken knight shocked Gilwyn. Not even when his own mother died had Gilwyn grieved so violently. He stared at Lukien and Cassandra’s ghastly corpse, letting Lukien sob out all his misery. It was long moments until the knight finally composed himself. When he did he drew a sleeve across his tear- and blood-stained face, gazing hopelessly down at Cassandra.
“Lukien, we have to go,” said Gilwyn shakily. He didn’t like making the suggestion, but knew that their danger had just increased a hundred-fold. “Do you hear me? We have to go, before Akeela—”
“I heard you,” said Lukien. Then, to Gilwyn’s surprise he reached down and took the amulet from around Cassandra’s neck. His free hand went to her face and lightly touched her sunken cheek. It was as if all the life she had stolen for years had gone out of her in one enormous wind. Gone was the beauty that had driven men mad. In its place lay a drained husk.
“Why are you taking the amulet?” Gilwyn asked. He chanced a step closer to Lukien, hoping the knight wouldn’t strike him. But the rage had left Lukien. When at last he turned to Gilwyn, there was only sorrow in his expression.
“We’re bringing the Eye to Jador,” he said. “You and me.”
Gilwyn said nothing. He knew he couldn’t return to the library. Once Akeela discovered Cassandra’s death there would be no safety for either of them. And Akeela would discover Cassandra eventually, because they couldn’t take her with them.
“I won’t leave her to the rats,” said Lukien. “We’ll bury her here, before it gets light.” His voice had lost its friendly timber. Now it was flat, as dead as Cassandra. Once again he went to his knees. “You’ll have to help me.”
“Lukien, we don’t have a spade.”
But Lukien was already digging, using his fingers to claw up the loamy ground. Without a word Gilwyn knelt down beside him, using his good hand to join the gravedigging. It needn’t be deep, Lukien told him, just deep enough to keep the vermin away until Akeela could find her.
“Akeela will bury her well,” said Lukien through tears. “He loved her, too.”
40
The next morning, Akeela discovered Cassandra was missing.
He had risen early to meet with his wife and tell her the good news—that General Trager’s army was ready to march, and that they would be departing on the morrow. He had expected to break his fast with Cassandra, sipping tea together through the partition while Megal and Ruthanna served them. He had been in an excellent frame of mind. But at the doorway to Cassandra’s wing, he found Jancis.
The blind handmaid looked stricken. She told Akeela that she had only just arisen herself, and that she had gone into Cassandra’s chambers to check on her. But Cassandra wasn’t there, she said. She was gone.
“Gone?” asked Akeela, not quite believing it. “Gone where?”
“Gone, my lord!” said Jancis frantically. She was crying real tears, but Akeela was immediately suspicious. “We’ve looked for her everywhere. She’s left!”
“You looked for her?” hissed Akeela. “You? You’re blind, woman! Why didn’t you report this immediately?”
“I told you, my lord, I’ve only just woken up myself. I went in to say good morning and she didn’t answer. I felt around her bed, thinking she might have fallen out. . . .”
Akeela shoved J
ancis aside and raced forward. Megal and the other servants were in Cassandra’s quarters when he arrived, calling out her name, blindly searching the opulent rooms. Ruthanna was in tears as she bumped into furniture. Gone was her usual, inhuman poise. Now she was hysterical, her voice hoarse from calling for her mistress. Freen, the cook, was with her, his consoling arm wrapped around her shoulder. It was bedlam in the chambers and Akeela didn’t know what to do. He stood in the center of Cassandra’s main living area, staring dumbly at the chaos, his jaw slack. A terror like he’d never felt before crept up his spine.
“Cassandra?” he called.
Freen and Megal turned their blind eyes toward him.
“King Akeela?” asked Freen. “Is that you, my lord?”
“Great Fate, Freen, where is she?” asked Akeela.
“I don’t know, my lord. We’ve been looking, but—”
“She’s got to be here somewhere!” cried Akeela. Madly be began searching the rooms, dashing into Cassandra’s bedchamber and finding the sheets rumpled with sleep. Obviously she had been here before leaving. But how could she have left? It was unthinkable. If anyone saw her she’d. . . .
“Jancis!” bellowed Akeela.
He ran out of the chambers, back out into the main hall of the wing. Jancis was still there, waiting for him. She stood like a statue at the end of the hall, her white eyes blinking and teary. Akeela stalked toward her, his anger cresting. Behind her, wardens were rushing forward, led by Egin the fuller. The wardens halted at once as they noticed Akeela, giving him a wide berth as he closed in on Jancis.
“You were supposed to protect her,” Akeela seethed. “You were supposed to watch out for her!”
“My lord, I’m sorry,” pleaded Jancis. She dropped to her knees, putting her hands together in a prayerlike plea for mercy. “I don’t know what happened, I swear. I went to sleep after she did. When I woke up she was gone!”
“It’s true, my lord,” said Egin. The fuller inched cautiously toward Akeela. “I went to bed after the queen myself. She turned in early because she said she was tired. That was the last any of us saw of her.”
“Saw of her? Saw of her?” Akeela began to laugh hysterically. “How could any of you fools see anything? You’re all bloody blind!”
“We’ll start searching the grounds for her, my lord,” said one of the wardens quickly. “If she’s here, we’ll find her.”
“If you find her she’ll die!” thundered Akeela. He put a hand to his head, unsure what to do. Surely there was no choice but to search for her. “Yes, all right,” he agreed. “Find her. And find General Trager, too. Tell him to tear Koth apart if he must!”
The wardens bowed and hurried out of the room. Akeela looked down at the kneeling Jancis. He wanted desperately to strike her. Megal and Ruthanna drifted into the hall. Along with Egin, they watched him with wide, sightless eyes.
Are they all against me? Akeela wondered. The little nagging voice in his head whispered treachery in his ear.
“I’m sorry, my lord,” sobbed Jancis. “I didn’t know. . . .”
Akeela’s hand was quaking, poised to slap her face. His breathing came in erratic, angry bursts. This woman had failed him. He had entrusted his most precious thing to her, and she had failed him. Worse, he didn’t believe her claims of innocence. She and Cassandra were thicker than thieves. There was no way his wife would have fled without telling Jancis.
Unless she simply wanted to protect her.
So instead of striking Jancis, Akeela reached down and seized her face in his hands, pinching her jaw tightly between his fingers and pulling her to her feet.
“Now you listen to me, you blind bitch. If I find out you’re lying to me, I’m going to dig out your eyeballs with a spoon.”
Jancis groaned but didn’t say a word. Akeela studied her face a moment, then pushed her, sending her sprawling at Egin’s feet. Neither the fuller nor the maids said a word. Horror-struck, they merely stared blindly.
“If any of you have betrayed me, I will kill you,” Akeela warned.
Then he stormed off, leaving them in dazed confusion. His mind was on fire as he hurried through Lionkeep, calling out for General Trager. His frightened, half-crazed voice rang like thunder through the halls.
For the rest of the morning Akeela held vigil in Lionkeep, waiting for word about Cassandra. The wardens continued to search the grounds, but found nothing. General Trager and his men had fanned out through the city, hoping to find a clue to the queen’s whereabouts. Lionkeep fell into a mournful silence, and all the good feelings Akeela had felt just hours before were gone, replaced with the most crushing misery. It was very likely now that Cassandra was dead. Akeela supposed she had risked her life to escape him, that eternity with him was simply unthinkable to her. It was a theory that hurt Akeela, because he knew he had always been good and kind to Cassandra, and had given her everything a woman could want. He had not given her freedom, of course, because that wasn’t in his purview to grant. But he had tried to give her love. Why couldn’t she have seen that?
Within hours of Cassandra’s disappearance, Akeela’s depression was total. He was brooding on his balcony, staring out over Koth, thoroughly drunk from the bottles of wine he’d consumed. His servants tiptoed around him, attending his needs without question. At last, Akeela was quiet. No longer was he mad or shouting threats. Instead he waited as patiently as he could for word from Trager, finding solace in the good wines of his cellars. Looking out over the city, he supposed that Cassandra’s body was there somewhere, lying in a ditch, victim of the first set of human eyes to sight her. Akeela wondered if her death had been painful. He hoped not.
Hope. There was still that, he supposed. Perhaps Cassandra had gotten away without being seen. She was clever, after all. Akeela rolled his wine goblet between his palms, seizing on the notion, praying for its truth.
“My lord?”
The voice startled Akeela. He turned to see a pair of Knight-Guardians, General Trager’s bodyguards, at the end of the balcony. Their faces were characteristically stoic. Akeela’s stomach tightened.
“You have news?” he asked in a slurred voice.
“My lord, we’ve found something,” replied one of the men. “In the apple orchard. General Trager sent us to bring you.”
“What have you found?”
The man hesitated. “The general asked that we bring you, my lord. He thought it was best you see for yourself.”
Fine, thought Akeela. No more questions. He did indeed need to face this himself. Pushing his wine glass aside, he got to his feet, a little wobbly at first. His brain sloshed in his skull, but he was able to straighten up.
“Take me there.”
The Knight-Guardians had their horses waiting in the courtyard, but it took time for the squires to find a mount for Akeela. They were plainly shocked to see him, for Akeela the Ghost seldom ventured out of the keep. Soon, though, a warden who had been searching the grounds offered Akeela his own steed. Akeela mounted the beast unsteadily, his head spinning. As the Knight-Guardians hurried off, Akeela followed, his black cape snapping behind him. He knew the way to the apple orchard, though he hadn’t been there in ages, and as he rode a bad memory came back to him It was something he had almost forgotten, buried deep by his own anger. The apple orchard had been where Trager had first discovered Cassandra’s infidelity. It was where she had soiled herself with Lukien.
A blackness descended over Akeela’s groggy brain. His teeth began to grind, bottom jaw against top.
Lukien.
It was unthinkable, yet there it was, staring Akeela in the face. Mocking him.
“Great Fate,” he whispered. “If it’s you. . . .”
Long minutes of riding brought them at last to the outskirts of the orchard. The morning mist had long ago burned away, revealing the rows and rows of perfect fruit trees. The Knight-Guardians proceeded into the orchard, bidding Akeela to follow. Akeela steeled himself. Up ahead he saw a group of Royal Chargers, some moun
ted, others milling near their horses. The Knight-Guardians slowed as they approached. In the center of the throng was Trager. The general’s bearded face contorted as he noticed Akeela. Surprisingly, he looked sad. It occurred to Akeela that he had never seen that expression on Trager before.
“My lord,” Trager called, waving. The Knight-Guardians brought their horses to a halt. Akeela slowed his mount, trotting up to the group cautiously. He noticed suddenly that the men were arranged in a half-moon, standing around a mound of freshly dug earth.
Akeela’s heart began racing, hammering loudly in his ears. He brought his horse to a stop, letting two of Trager’s men help him down. Suddenly he could barely move. The mound—what looked like a grave—drew him dreadfully closer.
“What is it?” he asked softly.
“I’m not sure,” replied Trager. “We didn’t want to disturb it in case. . . .” He shrugged. “You know.”
“Dig it up,” said Akeela.
Trager merely gestured, ordering two men forward. They had already fetched spades and set to work. Akeela watched, stone-faced, trying hard not to break down. For a moment he thought he might faint. Each man had taken only three shovelfuls of dirt when they paused.
“What is it?” Trager asked.
“Feels like something just below the surface,” replied one of the diggers. He probed at the ground with his spade, unearthing a hand. A gasp went through the men. The digger blanched and glanced at Akeela.
Unable to speak, Akeela nodded for the men to continue. They did so carefully, uncovering the body beneath the dirt with their spades and, soon, with their hands. When they brushed the soil from Cassandra’s face, Akeela nearly collapsed.
“Oh, help me,” he groaned. “Oh, no. . . .”
Trager was there in an instant, his arm around Akeela to keep him from falling. Akeela’s nausea spiked, sending vomit spewing from his mouth. As he bent over, hacking up his meal of wine, Trager patted his back.
“Let it out,” he counseled.