The Eyes of God

by John Marco

  Emerald replied with a silent, almost human apprehension. Gilwyn knew she objected to the word if.

  “All right, when I make it out,” he told her. “Either way, I’ll need you here.” He looked back the way they’d come. There were some hills in the distance with dry, scraggly shrubs. “There.” He directed the kreel’s attention toward the hills. “If you wait there for me you won’t be seen. And it’s getting dark. You’ll be safe.”

  If Emerald were human she would have shaken her head. She looked toward the city.

  “No,” said Gilwyn, “it’s not that far. I can make it even with my bad foot.” Gently he stroked the creature’s neck. “I’ll take water with me. I’ll be fine.”

  His reassurance hardly assuaged the kreel, but Emerald lowered her head submissively.

  “Good,” said Gilwyn. “Now go. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” He tied the waterskin to his belt, then turned toward Jador. The dark was coming quickly—he would have to hurry. He took a few steps then turn back to see Emerald dutifully watching after him. “Go!” he shouted. “I mean it!”

  Emerald turned and walked toward the hills. Gilwyn smiled. She was a fine kreel, and he had begun to understand the often talked about bond between a soldier and his horse. Like Teku, Emerald had already become a friend. He was already missing both of them, but he turned back toward the city and walked slowly toward it, his bad foot sinking awkwardly into the sand with each step. Jador quickly took shape in the darkening sky. Gilwyn immediately noticed the palace near the edge of the city; if that’s where Lukien was, he would find him quickly. But then he noticed other structures as well, things he’d never seen before. He squinted across the last stretch of desert, trying to make out the shapes. They were crosses. Curious, he continued toward them. A minute later came the grisly revelation. There were men on the crosses. Dead men. Gilwyn stopped in his tracks, his feet frozen, his heart pounding in his chest. He stared at the crucified figures, shocked yet unable to look away. They were ghastly, motionless and bloated, their heads lolling forward in death. Buzzards and other birds picked at their faces, feasting on the soft flesh. A wave of nausea overcame Gilwyn. He sunk down to his knees, thinking he might vomit. Quickly he undid the waterskin from his belt and took a drink, trying to steady himself. Suddenly his idea to save Lukien seemed doomed. He stared at the city, wondering if he should go on, or if one of the gruesome figures hanging from the crosses was Lukien himself. But no, he didn’t think so. From the looks of their black garb they were Jadori warriors, probably the last of the city’s defenders.

  “King Akeela,” he whispered softly. “How could you?”

  It didn’t seem possible that the man who’d built Liiria’s great library could do something so horrid. Not Akeela, not a man who so loved books and learning. It was incomprehensible to Gilwyn, and he refused to believe it. He recalled his brief encounter with General Trager, and all the terrible things Lukien had said about him.

  “It’s Trager,” he said to himself. “It has to be.”

  His resolve strengthened, he got to his feet. He had come for Lukien and he wouldn’t retreat, no matter how many frightful warnings Trager hung in the streets. So he trudged forward, blocking the crosses from his mind and heading straight toward Kadar’s usurped palace. He was almost at the outskirts of the city when a voice made him jump.

  “Toms!”

  Gilwyn let out a surprised cry, spinning to see who was behind him. Ten feet before him was a black-robed figure on a large kreel. Gilwyn panicked, not knowing who it was until the man unwrapped his headpiece, revealing his bone-white face.

  “Ghost!”

  Ghost rode angrily toward him. “What are you doing here?” he demanded.

  “How’d you find me?” asked Gilwyn.

  “I’ve been camped outside the city, waiting till dark,” said Ghost. “Now answer my question.”

  “I’ve come to help Lukien,” declared Gilwyn firmly.

  Ghost got down from his kreel and towered over the boy. “And just what do you think I’m here for, the view? Does Minikin know you’re here? No, of course she doesn’t. You came out here on your own, didn’t you?” He looked around. “How did you get here?”

  “Well, I didn’t walk,” snapped Gilwyn. “Obviously I took a kreel, like you did. She’s in those hills a little way back.”

  “Good. Then you can just go on back there and ride home to Grimhold.” Ghost took his arm and shoved him toward the hills. “Move.”

  Gilwyn angrily shook off his grip. “I’m not going anywhere. I’ve come to help Lukien and I’m not leaving without him.”

  “You can’t help Lukien, you stubborn fool! Didn’t you hear what Minikin said?”

  “Shhh!” urged Gilwyn. Quickly he glanced toward the city, afraid someone would hear. “Keep your voice down.”

  “I will, just as soon as you stop arguing with me,” said Ghost. Now that the sun was down he kept his face exposed to the air. Remarkably, his expression softened. “I know you want to help your friend, but there’s nothing you can do. You don’t have my abilities and you’re. . . .” He paused. “Well, you know.”

  “You mean I’m deformed, is that it?” asked Gilwyn. “Well don’t go looking in any mirrors, friend.”

  “I didn’t mean—”

  “I know what you meant,” said Gilwyn angrily. “You think just because I have a clubbed hand and foot that I can’t do anything. Well, I got all the way out here on my own, didn’t I? By the Fate, I’ve come all the way from Liiria! I can take care of myself. And I can help Lukien.”

  Ghost sighed and looked toward the city. “Someone’s going to see us,” he muttered.

  “That’s right,” said Gilwyn. “And if they see you arguing with me then your plan is finished.”

  “So what are you saying, that you want to get caught?” asked Ghost. He frowned. “Just what do you expect to do here? Walk right in and demand they release your friend?”

  “Something like that,” said Gilwyn. He hadn’t really thought about it much, but seeing the grisly crosses had given him an idea. “I’m going to see King Akeela. I’m going to plead for Lukien’s life.”

  Ghost laughed, covering his mouth to keep the sound from carrying through the empty streets. “Oh, yes,” he chortled. “That’s a great plan. Brilliant! What makes you think that madman Akeela will even listen to you?”

  “Because I know him,” argued Gilwyn. “I know what he was like before all this madness happened to him. If I can just get him to listen—”

  Ghost abruptly turned his back. “Go home,” he said as he mounted his kreel. “Go back to Grimhold where it’s safe.”

  “I won’t!” Gilwyn shouted.

  “Quiet!”

  “I don’t care who hears me, Ghost,” Gilwyn warned. “If I’m captured they’ll just take me to Akeela.”

  “Or kill you,” said Ghost.

  Gilwyn shrugged. “Maybe. But if they find you with me then you’ll die too.”

  “Great Fate almighty,” groaned the albino. “What do you want from me?”

  “I want you to come with me,” said Gilwyn. “Make yourself so people can’t see you, then follow me. I’ll get you into the palace. Then maybe we’ll both be able to free Lukien.”

  To Gilwyn’s surprise Ghost considered the plan. His gray eyes narrowed in thought. “I’ll admit, I don’t really have a way of getting inside the palace,” he said. “But I won’t be able to help you. Once you’re inside, you’re on your own. If I have to save both of you—”

  “Don’t worry about me,” said Gilwyn. “Just stay with me. Let me try to talk to Akeela if I can. At least I’ll be able to find out where they’re keeping Lukien.”

  “Sure,” said Ghost with a laugh, “as they take you down into the dungeon, that’s where I’ll find Lukien!”

  Gilwyn had to admit that was a risk, but it was one worth taking. “If I can just get to see Akeela,” he said hopefully. “Maybe I can convince him to let Lukien go.”

&nb
sp; “You’re a fool to think so,” said Ghost. Then he smiled and added, “But you’re brave, I’ll give you that. Start walking, Gilwyn Toms. I’ll be with you.”

  “Will I be able to see you?” Gilwyn asked.

  “Probably. It depends on how much you concentrate. But don’t worry—I won’t leave you, not unless I must.” Ghost got down from his kreel again, then patted the creature’s rump as he directed it toward the hills. He turned back to Gilwyn with a mischievous grin and gestured toward the waiting palace. “After you.”

  Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Gilwyn proceeded into the city. He moved cautiously, trying to quell his fear as he looked down the narrow avenues. The streets of Jador were deserted, the homes and shops closed up tight. With evening came the moonlight and a few candles in the windows, though most were shuttered and lifeless. There was very little sound, only the stray voices of Liirian soldiers, carrying endlessly through the echoing streets. Once proud and beautiful, Jador was now a silent, somber place, and even the palace seemed to be mourning. Gilwyn could see it clearly on the edge of the city, surrounded by its lovely gardens and mosaic statues. The first soldiers came into view, milling around gardens without care. Gilwyn braced himself.

  “Ghost,” he whispered, “are you with me?”

  The answer was as faint as a breeze, heard mostly by the mind rather than the ears. “Behind you. Not far.”

  Gilwyn turned to search for the Inhuman, but saw no one. He paused, concentrating, then detected flashes of the albino against the nearest building. Ghost was smiling.

  “Go on,” he urged quietly. “I’m with you.”

  “All right,” said Gilwyn. His nervousness spiked as he entered the grounds of the palace, passing a wall of high, well-manicured hedges, the outer ring of the garden. Ahead of them, a foursome of Liirian soldiers, all Royal Chargers from the look of them, were carousing in the garden, stretching out on the ornate stone benches and laughing. So lost were they in their good humor that they did not see Gilwyn until he was almost upon them. Once again that nagging yen to turn and run came over Gilwyn, but before he could decide one of the men glanced over at him, looked away as if nothing was interesting, then looked back with his mouth agape. The soldier sprang to his feet. Terrified, Gilwyn nonetheless stood his ground.

  “You there,” the soldier called. He seemed more shocked than angry. “What are you doing here, boy?”

  The foursome all got to their feet and headed toward him. Gilwyn held his breath, then heard Ghost’s reassuring voice in his head.

  I’m right here, said the voice. I’ve got my knife and I won’t let anything happen to you.

  Gilwyn found the comment only a little reassuring. Though the soldiers didn’t draw their weapons, they quickly encircled him.

  “Who are you, boy?” they demanded. One of them stared hard at Gilwyn, then gasped when he noticed Gilwyn’s hand and boot. “You’re the boy from the library!” Quickly he grabbed hold of Gilwyn’s arm, shaking him. “You’re Gilwyn Toms, aren’t you?”

  “Yes,” said Gilwyn shakily. “I’ve come to talk—”

  The soldiers drew their blades. “Where are the others?” they demanded. They quickly scanned the garden and beyond.

  “I’m alone,” Gilwyn insisted, sure now that they couldn’t see Ghost. Nor in his fear could he. “I’ve come to talk to King Akeela.”

  “What?” The man holding him pulled him into the garden. “What are you talking about? You bring a message?”

  Thinking fast, Gilwyn said, “Yes, a message. I have word from Grimhold.”

  “What word?” asked one of them. He put the tip of his blade to Gilwyn’s chest. “Speak it.”

  “I can’t.” Gilwyn put up his hands pleadingly. “I can only tell my message to the king.”

  “You’ve come for the Bronze Knight, haven’t you?” the men pressed.

  “No! Lukien came on his own, to give himself up. I bring a message from the Mistress of Grimhold herself, I swear!”

  Ask them if Lukien still lives, came Ghost’s voice suddenly. Find out where he is.

  The voice was like an annoying fly buzzing in Gilwyn’s head. “Please,” he told the guards, “I’m not armed. I’m just a messenger. If you could take me to see the king.”

  Lukien!

  Shut up! Gilwyn cried silently. He smiled nervously at the guards. “You can look for yourselves,” he said, “but you’ll see that I’m not lying to you. There’s nobody with me.”

  “We’ll do that,” sneered the man with the sword. He snapped his fingers at two of his comrades, ordering them to check the area. “I’ll take care of the boy.”

  “You’d better take me to Akeela,” Gilwyn warned. “I have important news for him. If he finds out you’ve delayed it he won’t be happy.”

  The man thought for a moment, then nodded. “I don’t see the harm in telling him you’re here. But if you’re lying. . . .” He pushed on the sword until its point bit through Gilwyn’s shirt and cut the skin. “I’ll peel you like a grape.” Then he sheathed his sword and walked off, ordering the remaining soldier to bring Gilwyn along. Relieved, Gilwyn stumbled after them as quickly as he could. His foot ached but he kept on, keeping pace with the soldiers as they left the garden and entered the palace. There, more soldiers were on patrol, though most of them were hardly at attention. When they saw Gilwyn they forgot their tasks and peppered their companions with questions. The men leading Gilwyn said they were taking him to the king and asked where Akeela was.

  “In his chamber,” one of them replied. He pointed down the hall toward a polished marble staircase.

  His chamber? wondered Gilwyn. Certainly they meant Kadar’s, which he already knew was in a tower of the palace. The soldiers led him toward the stairs. Halfway up the marble walkway, a grim figure blocked their way. The soldiers stopped abruptly.

  “My lord,” said the lead man in a panic. He and his companion bowed. Gilwyn looked up into the confused face of a man he’d never seen, yet whose identity he knew instantly. The man stared back at him.

  “Charger?” asked the man. “Who is that boy?”

  The soldier replied, “My lord, I’m sorry to disturb you. We found this boy in the garden. He claims to have a message for you from Grimhold.”

  Gilwyn was nearly speechless. King Akeela was an awesome sight, the very epitome of madness with his twisted features and rumpled garb. He clung to the wall of the staircase, his nails digging between the bricks to keep from falling. His eyes glowed an itchy red.

  “King Akeela,” said Gilwyn. He brushed past the soldiers and took a cautious step upward. “My lord, do you know who I am?”

  The king’s eyes tried to focus. “I don’t know you.”

  His voice was badly slurred. Gilwyn tried to smile, knowing this was his only chance. “My lord, my name is Gilwyn Toms. My mother was Beith Toms. She worked for you in Lionkeep for years.” He held out his clubbed hand for Akeela to see. “You sent me to work in the library, remember?”

  Akeela drifted down the stairs until he faced Gilwyn. There he studied him, his heavily alcoholed breath striking Gilwyn’s face. “I remember,” he said softly. “Yes, the library boy. The cripple.”

  “No, not a cripple, my lord.” He lifted his foot. “See? Figgis made this boot for me so I could walk.”

  Akeela’s expression collapsed. “Figgis.”

  “My lord, you should go back to your chamber,” suggested one of the soldiers. “You’re . . . indisposed.”

  “I am not,” Akeela shot back angrily. But his face softened as he said to Gilwyn, “You’re a traitor, young Toms. You sided with my enemies.” The fact plainly saddened him. “Why?”

  “My lord, I must speak to you,” said Gilwyn. “Could we talk, please? I have important things to tell you.”

  “Please, my lord,” interrupted the lead Charger. “You really should get back to your chamber.” He took hold of Gilwyn’s arm again, waiting for the king to reply. “My lord? Your chambers?”

/>   “Yes. Yes, all right,” Akeela agreed. He pointed a bony finger at Gilwyn. “But I tell you, young Toms, if you’ve come to plead for your friend Lukien you’re too late.” He turned and started back up the stairway.

  “Too late?” asked Gilwyn. “Gods above, you killed him?”

  “Not yet,” said Akeela, “but I will. He dies at dawn. Now come and tell me your news.”

  Gilwyn breathed a sigh of relief. In his mind, Ghost did the same. He was glad the albino was still with him, and still apparently invisible. As the soldiers pushed him up the stairs, he concentrated, trying to catch a glimmer of Ghost. He couldn’t, but supposed the man was somewhere behind him. At the top of the stairs Akeela continued down another fabulous hall, swaying as he walked. The way was lined with gilded mirrors and golden sconces, each of them aglow with a separate candle. Gilwyn prepared himself, his mind racing with ideas. He still wasn’t sure what he would say to the king—he obviously had no message from Minikin. But if he could just talk to him, just for a little while, he might be able to breach the king’s insanity.

  The hallway quickly gave way to a giant, doorless chamber with a high-domed ceiling and silvery-white walls. Exquisite furniture with turned, brightly polished wood decorated the tiled room, while a beautiful starburst mosaic spread its orange fingers to all corners of the room. The requisite collection of colorful Jadori pillows were scattered about, inviting relaxation.

  Moonlight poured through the many windows, bouncing off the chamber’s many mirrors. It was a place fit for a king, but Akeela had apparently abused it, for there were dirty glasses everywhere and half-drunken pitchers of wine. Akeela’s own cape lay unceremoniously on the floor near the entrance. Boot marks on its black fabric made it look like a doormat. Akeela meandered to a tall chair near one of the room’s windows and plopped into it wearily. Next to it was a pedestal with a pitcher of ruby-red wine and a filthy, tipped over glass. Akeela took the glass and poured himself a liberal helping of the wine. As he sipped he waved the soldiers out of the room.

  “Leave me with the boy,” he said.

  One of the soldiers smiled politely and said, “Perhaps that’s unwise, my lord. We can stay and protect you.”