The Eyes of God

by John Marco

  There was silence in the room. Then a single remarkable sound.

  “Yes.”

  The voice made Lukien quiver. He could hear the child in it, but only as though from a great distance. Something else laced the voice, something masculine and strong.

  “Good,” crooned Minikin. “Keep looking, child. Keep looking at the army. What’s Lacaron showing you?”

  “Hello, Mother,” said the voice.

  Alena broke into a sad smile. “Hello, my darling.”

  “Hello, Minikin.”

  “Hello, child,” said Minikin. She continued stroking Insight’s head. “You are strong today?”

  “I am . . . strong enough.”

  “Is Lacaron showing you the army?”

  “I can see the army.”

  Lukien held his breath and stared at Insight.

  “Tell us what you see,” said Minikin gently. “What is Lacaron showing you?”

  “The army and the river,” said the strange voice. As it spoke the girl’s face barely stirred. “Big. Silver. Many.”

  Minikin glanced at Lukien, who nodded.

  “That could be them, I suppose,” he whispered. “They’d be following the Kryss south.”

  “Where are they now, Insight? Can you tell?”

  “They have fought,” replied the girl. “In the little country. They have killed.” She paused. “The one who seeks is very angry.”

  Akeela, thought Lukien.

  “Go on,” urged Minikin.

  The girl was silent for a moment. When her voice returned, it was deeper, slower. “They will come across the desert soon. Very near now. Very many.”

  Minikin paused for a moment and the amulet around her neck pulsed. “Lacaron, look to the future,” she said. “Tell us what you see.”

  “I see death.”

  The voice sounded ancient. It chilled Lukien’s soul.

  “Go on,” said Minikin.

  “I see Grimhold.”

  “Yes?”

  “I see ruins.”

  Minikin opened her eyes and stared at Insight. “You see Grimhold ruined?”

  Insight paused. Then, “Yes.”

  “When?” asked Lukien. “When are they coming?”

  “Lukien, stop,” ordered Minikin. “Lacaron, are they coming soon?”

  “Soon,” said the voice. “Very strong. Very many.”

  Lukien backed away shaking his head. “Great Fate. . . .”

  There seemed nothing else to say. Even Minikin appeared shaken.

  “Lacaron, can you tell us anything else?” she asked. “Anything useful?”

  Again there was a pause before the spirit spoke. Lukien supposed it was thinking.

  “The one who leads them struggles,” said the voice. “His mind is lost, like the child’s. Too much rage. Broken.”

  “He’s talking about Akeela,” said Lukien.

  “Anything else, Lacaron?” asked Minikin. “Anything useful?”

  “The desert,” said the voice from the girl. “Blood. A battle. And a one-armed man with the kahan.”

  “Baron Glass.”

  Minikin put a finger to her lips to quiet Lukien. The voice continued.

  “One will die.”

  Lukien’s heart sank. “Oh, no. Don’t say that.”

  Suddenly the girl’s head fell forward, as if sleep had instantly come. Alena came forward quickly and held her daughter. Minikin let out a sighing breath.

  “That’s it,” she said. “Lacaron’s gone.” She stroked Insight’s head, saying good-bye. “Let her rest now, Alena. Take your ease. I’ll see you later.”

  Minikin headed to the door. Stunned, Lukien hurried after her. “That’s it?” he asked. “That’s all she can tell us?”

  “That’s it.” Out in the hallway Minikin found Trog. She smiled at him. “You must be hungry. Come; let’s eat now.”

  “Wait, Minikin,” Lukien insisted. He ran in front of the woman, blocking her way. “Didn’t you hear what was said in there? Grimhold’s going to be ruined!”

  Minikin shrugged her tiny shoulders. “Perhaps. Perhaps not.”

  “But Insight saw it! And what about Kadar and Baron Glass? She said one of them would die!”

  “Lukien, it doesn’t have to be that way,” said Minikin. “What Lacaron saw was just one possible future. There are still things we can do to change it.”

  The answer vexed Lukien. “Possible future? But a likely future, right?”

  “Yes,” admitted Minikin. “It may be our fate to die here, I don’t know. But you’re here now. You can help us change things. We can defend Grimhold and defeat your mad king.”

  “Minikin, we can’t,” said Lukien. “Grimhold is formidable, yes, but there’s only a handful of people here able enough to defend it.”

  The familiar grin returned to Minikin’s face. “Don’t underestimate the Inhumans, Lukien. We can do some amazing things.”

  Lukien pointed down the hall. “We can’t lead those cripples back there into battle, Minikin. Not against Akeela and Trager. They’d be slaughtered.”

  “If some must die to defend the rest, then so be it,” said Minikin.

  “No! That can’t happen. I won’t let it. Not because of me!”

  The little woman put her small hand into Lukien’s. “Akeela’s wrath has come to Grimhold because of what you did to him. You can’t change that. But you can change the future, Lukien. It’s still in your hands. You can help defend White-Eye and all the others here. And if we die, then we die in a just cause.”

  With her faint smile dimming, she let her hand fall from Lukien’s then turned and walked away with Trog. Lukien stood silent in the middle of the hall, watching her go. In his mind Insight’s disembodied words rattled over and over again, forming a picture of Grimhold in ruins. And it was all because of him, and his love for Cassandra. He looked around the dim hall, and he could not recall a time when he’d ever felt so empty.

  47

  Akeela sat alone in a small chamber overlooking Ganjor, silently sipping a strong local liquor and cursing the stifling heat. The large window of his room was open wide but there was no breeze from the city, only the stink of overpopulation. Down below the streets were choked with livestock and the dark-skinned people of Ganjor. Their ceaseless chatter rose up into Akeela’s chamber, a confusing language of rolling vowels and grunts. It was afternoon, a peak time for the marketplace, and the noise of the city was enormous. Past the outskirts of Ganjor, Akeela could see his army spread out on the distant sand, waiting for his return. They had arrived two days earlier and were all grateful for the rest. Akeela and Trager and a procession of Knight-Guardians had ventured into the city to make arrangements for the trek across the Desert of Tears and to find Akeela proper accommodations. In Ganjor, it seemed proper accommodations were anything with a roof, even for a king. So Akeela had stayed in his moderately sized room at the top of a shabby boarding house, getting drunk on the local wines while Trager searched for a guide to take them across the desert and the house’s strange little proprietor did what he could to make his guest comfortable. Surprisingly, there had been no word from the ruler of Ganjor, a weak and minor king named Baralosus. Akeela suspected that word would come soon, along with an invitation to the royal residence, but he really didn’t care. He hoped to be out of Ganjor very soon. Trager had been making arrangements since they arrived, and the resourceful general had overturned a remarkable gem. There was a caravan leader named Grak who had just arrived in the city from Jador. More amazingly, Grak had recently escorted another group of northerners across the forbidding desert.

  Akeela wiped sweat from his brow and took another drink of the strong wine. The lightness in his brain told him he was already drunk, but he was used to the sensation these days and so didn’t curb his thirst. Since Cassandra’s death, he had spent most of his time in that netherworld between drunkenness and sobriety, holding onto just enough of his wits to do the work at hand. He looked around the room, studying the foreign deco
r. A well-worn carpet with a strange, crimson pattern dominated the center of the chamber. Colorful silk pillows dotted the floor. There was a small desk and a few ornate wooden chairs, and oil lamps along the walls that gave off a pleasant if peculiar scent. On the table next to Akeela sat a silver platter of exotic canapes, leaves stuffed with dates and ground meat and unusual fruits drizzled with oil. These Akeela ignored. His appetite had never really returned, and he continued to lose weight. Once again he turned toward the window and stared down into the marketplace. Somewhere in the distance a dog was barking. Children played among carts in the streets, all seemingly alike with their dark hair and skin. They were a handsome people, though, Akeela decided. And they had been gracious to him. He wondered if the Jadori were similar. If so, it would be a shame to harm them.

  At last a knock came at the door. Akeela swiveled in his chair. “Come,” he called in a slurring voice.

  The door opened, first revealing Will Trager. The general wore a triumphant smile. He stepped into the chamber, then moved aside for two of his Knight-Guardians, who bore another man by the arms between them, a frightened looking Ganjeese fellow of middle age. The soldiers led him roughly into the center of the room, and when he saw Akeela across the chamber he started. Trager pushed the door closed with his foot.

  “This is him, my lord,” he said. “Grak.”

  Akeela smiled dispassionately. “Grak. You speak our tongue, Grak?”

  “Uh, yes, my lord,” replied the man nervously.

  Akeela waved a hand at the Knight-Guardians, who immediately released the man. “Don’t be afraid,” he told Grak. “We don’t want to harm you. We just want some information, and perhaps your help with something.”

  “My help, my lord?”

  “What have you told him?” Akeela asked Trager.

  “Only that you wanted to see him.”

  “And he arrived in the city yesterday?” Akeela looked back at Grak. “Is that so?”

  “Yes, it is so, my lord,” said Grak. Rubbing his arms, he studied the soldiers who had manhandled him. “I have eight children, my lord. And a wife that depends on me.”

  “I told you, we won’t harm you. You have my promise,” said Akeela. He decided to offer the man a drink. “Would you like some wine?”

  Grak shook his head. “No, my lord.”

  Akeela put his own glass aside. “All right, to business then. My man Trager here tells me you’re a caravan leader, that you lead people across the Desert of Tears.”

  “Yes, my lord,” replied Grak. He licked his lips. “It is my business. I trade with the Jadori.”

  “And you’ve just returned from Jador, is that right?”

  Grak nodded.

  “You took northerners across this time, did you not? Northerners like us?”

  Grak glanced at Trager and the soldiers before nodding. “I did, my lord.”

  “Describe them.”

  “There were three of them. They were light-skinned, like you, my lord,” said Grak. “And one of them had light hair and an eyepatch.”

  “Eyepatch?” The answer surprised Akeela. “But he was a tall man, yes? And there was a boy with him?”

  “That’s right,” said Grak. “And a man with one arm.”

  Trager’s face soured. “Baron Glass.”

  “Yes, I think that was his name,” said Grak. He looked apologetically at Akeela. “My lord, I meant no harm. If these men are outlaws, I did not know it. Or that they had the amulet.”

  “Amulet?” Akeela finally got out of his chair. “You saw the amulet?”

  “Yes,” answered Grak, seeming confused. “Is that what you seek?”

  “You don’t ask the king questions,” snapped Trager.

  “No,” said Akeela, “that’s all right.” He smiled at Grak, for he was immensely pleased by the news. “Yes, that’s what we’re after, the amulet and the men who stole it from us. They’re in Jador now?”

  “They were taken to Kadar, the Kahan of Jador,” replied Grak. “After a while Kadar’s men came back and got their belongings. I do not know what happened to them after that, my lord, I swear.”

  “Oh, you’ve told us quite enough, my friend.” Akeela sank back in his chair with a huge grin. “Thank you very much. But now you can do us a service.”

  Grak grew puzzled. “A service, my lord?”

  “You’ve seen my army outside the city?”

  Grak nodded. “They are easily seen, my lord. I saw them yesterday, when I returned.”

  “I need to get them across the desert. All of them. And with all their horses and equipment. I need a man like you to help me do it.”

  “Me, my lord?” said Grak, plainly stunned.

  “You know the desert, and you’ve made the trip before.” Akeela smiled. “And since you helped my enemies across, I think you owe me some assistance.”

  “But to move such an army would take much, my lord.”

  “If you mean gold, I have enough,” said Akeela.

  “Gold and effort, my lord.” Grak frowned, considering the enormous task. “It is a great distance, and horses cannot travel quickly. The ground is soft until you reach Jador.”

  “But horses can travel the desert,” said Trager.

  “Yes,” said Grak, “but not easily. They will need water, lots of it. And feed. They are not like drowa.”

  “If there’s enough water in the city then there’s enough to bring with us,” said Akeela. “We’ll use drowa to carry it.”

  Grak smiled politely. “My lord does not understand. To hire that many drowa would be very expensive.”

  “I know,” spat Akeela. “Every move my army has made has cost me a fortune. I didn’t expect this to be any different. There is gold waiting with my army, enough to pay for this excursion and your troubles, Grak. If you agree I will send for it so that you may start making arrangements.”

  “And if I don’t agree?” asked Grak.

  Trager stepped forward with a sneer. “If you don’t agree—”

  “If you don’t agree I will hire someone else,” Akeela interrupted. Then he sighed and said, “But it would be a great loss to you, Grak. I would pay handsomely for your services.”

  The desert leader thought for a moment, weighing his options. Akeela could tell he was still afraid, but he didn’t want Trager’s threats intimidating him. Grak was right; it would be a difficult and expensive undertaking. It was best to have someone loyal for the job.

  “I will help you,” decided Grak finally. “But it will take some time.”

  “I want to leave the day after tomorrow,” said Akeela.

  Grak’s eyebrows shot up. “That is very soon.”

  “Time is of the essence. I don’t want my enemies escaping me.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “The day after tomorrow,” declared Akeela. He picked up his wine glass again and rolled it between his palms. “General Trager will tell you what we need and answer any of your questions. And I’ll send word to my army right away to bring your payment, and the gold you’ll need for supplies, drowa, whatever.” He took a deep swallow of his wine, satisfied with the deal he’d made. Trager began showing Grak the door. But before he left, a different notion seized Akeela. “Wait,” he called to Grak. “I’d like to speak to you a moment more.”

  “Yes, my lord?” asked Grak.

  Akeela thought for a moment, then said, “Will, I’d like to speak with Grak alone. Take your men outside and wait for him.”

  “Alone?” Trager’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”

  “Because I wish it,” snapped Akeela. “Now go.”

  Not hiding his hurt feelings, Trager turned with a grunt and left the room with his Knight-Guardians, shutting the door behind him. Akeela listened for a moment, then, satisfied Trager had moved off, gestured toward a nearby chair.

  “Sit down, Grak,” he said.

  The Jadori said nervously, “I can stand, my lord.”

  “Don’t be an idiot. Just sit,” ordered Akeela. Awkwar
dly Grak pulled the chair forward and sat down before Akeela. Besides his own, there was one other glass on Akeela’s table. He picked it up and poured some wine into it, then reached over to hand it to Grak, who took it haltingly.

  “I am confused, King Akeela,” confessed Grak. He didn’t sip at his wine or even look into the glass. “Why am I here?”

  “Because I want to ask you about the man with the amulet,” said Akeela. His head was suddenly pounding. The drink had hit him hard. “He had an eyepatch you say?”

  “Yes,” nodded Grak.

  “And was he called Lukien?”

  “He was, my lord.”

  Just hearing the name made Akeela grimace. “So he’s lost an eye,” he said absently. For some reason it struck him as sad. “But otherwise he was well?” he asked.

  Grak shrugged. “I believe so, my lord. Truly, I cannot say.” The Jadori smiled awkwardly. “Why are you concerned for this man, my lord? Is he not your enemy?”

  Akeela started to answer, but couldn’t form the words. Instead he merely nodded. He knew it was the drink making him weak, but for a moment he could see Lukien’s handsome face, and he regretted its maiming.

  “I will take you to find this man,” said Grak. “And when you do, you can have your revenge on him.”

  Akeela nodded. “Yes.” He took another gulp from his glass, draining it. Reaching for the wine bottle, he poured himself another tall drink. It would be a long night; tonight he would be haunted. He said to Grak, “It’s fortuitous you came. Now I know my hunt hasn’t been for naught.”

  Grak replied, “If you are prepared for the expense, my lord, then I will see you and all your men safely across the desert.”

  Akeela laughed grimly. “The expense means nothing to me. I’ve spent every penny I have on this vendetta. After we cross the desert, my pockets will be empty.”

  “My lord? I don’t understand.”

  “This is it, there’s nothing left,” said Akeela. “I’ve spent every coin in Liiria’s coffers on this escapade. Once we’ve paid you to take us across the desert, I’ll be penniless. And so will Liiria.”