by John Marco
‘Ah, now you mock me . . .’
‘I do not,’ she said. ‘People are different, Richius. Some find their way in the company of family. Others need to be alone. You are one of those. You always have been, I think.’
Six
The Twin Dukes
Lorla didn’t know her last name.
She didn’t know if she had siblings, and she didn’t know who her parents were or why they had given her into the care of the labs. She had vague memories of them, and that was all. Her mother, whom she could only recall with the opaque quality of a dream, had been a short woman and not very attractive. Her father had been stout, with dark hair. More than that she simply couldn’t recall, and it bothered her sometimes – usually when she was feeling lonely, which of late had been happening to her more and more. On the road to Dragon’s Beak, it seemed her fractured memories were all she had.
An ever-darkening sky had dogged them for days. Daevn, her tight-lipped guide, had kept their pace brisk to outdistance the storm, but a cold rain had fallen on them anyway, and Lorla blew onto her hands often to keep them from freezing. She had fled Goth with a wool cloak and a fat pair of mittens, but they were traveling north and winter was coming. Soon it would be too cold to go on, and Lorla craved hot food and a warm place to sleep. They had not bedded in any of the villages they’d passed. She supposed her mission was too grave to risk being seen by anyone, so she had stayed to the forests while Daevn bartered for provisions, and together they had camped each night beneath the starless sky, keeping their fires small so as not to attract attention. Lorla was tired of the tiny fires. She wanted a blaze.
Trying to keep the wind from her face, Lorla pulled the hood of her cloak around her mouth and nose. She hated the cold. She had been warned by her teachers that her body was delicate, and particularly susceptible to the winter. She wondered if Daevn was not aware of the temperature, or if her strange body had simply conjured up the frost of its own imagining.
The pony she had named Phantom was warm, and Lorla clung to it, crouching low against its neck. Phantom was a good companion, and Lorla hoped she could keep the beast when they got to Dragon’s Beak. In the lab she had been allowed precious little, but Lokken had been good to her, treating her like one of his own daughters. But the duke was dead now, certainly. Duchess Kareena, too. They had heard no news of Goth, not even in the villages where Daevn had stopped. At least that’s what Daevn had claimed. Lorla’s eyes narrowed on Daevn. He had been suspiciously quiet since coming from the last village. Lorla thought to question him, then stopped herself. Daevn had been given orders to escort her, nothing more, and had made no effort to comfort her or even speak to her. She supposed this was best for her mission.
Whatever her mission was.
I will get to Dragon’s Beak and be warm there, she told herself. And the duke there will take care of me. Lokken said he would.
She wondered if Duke Enli was anything like Lokken, and if Dragon’s Beak was anything like Goth. She had adored Goth. The Walled City had been a wondrous place to spend a year, like being on holiday. So much better than the war labs and the atrocious women who had raised her. But it had all been for a purpose, Lorla knew. She was something very special. In the labs they were fond of the word destiny. Lorla had destiny, they had told her, and the memory made the girl sit up straighter in her saddle. Whatever the Master had planned for her, she would not disappoint him.
Even so, her mind wandered. In Goth there had been other children for companionship, and though she had been much their elder mentally, she missed them. She wondered if Dragon’s Beak had children. Perhaps a boy her own age . . .
Lorla stopped daydreaming, admonishing herself for the thought. Her own age. What was that, really? She could count up the years easily enough, but that didn’t seem to make sense, not when she looked down at her stunted body.
Stop it! she ordered herself. She needed to focus, the way they had taught her to. The cold was getting to her; they had warned her it might. She struggled out of her fantasy and blew into her hands. She wanted to stop and build a fire, but it was early in the afternoon and a long road awaited them. Daevn had said they might reach Dragon’s Beak by nightfall.
‘Hot tea,’ she murmured. ‘Hot with honey. And bread.’ She laughed. Might as well throw that on the table. She imagined a feast spread out before her, in a dining room of warm wood with a fire blazing in a hearth. Lorla sighed softly, enjoying the game. Despite her years, she still had a child’s imagination, though she was aware of the awakenings of her mind and body, at this age where most girls have their blood cycles. Lorla’s body was too underdeveloped to bleed like a woman’s, but it had its own curiosities. The words from the labs came back to her again – she was something very special.
To Lorla’s dismay, they did not reach Dragon’s Beak that night. The sun had disappeared behind a swathe of clouds, quickening the arrival of night, so at dusk they found a place at the roadside to break. Daevn used his hatchet to clear a place for them in the brush, then let the horses trample down the tall, dead grass. He lit a fire – a big one, at Lorla’s insistence – and made them a meal of bread and dried sausages, a delicacy he had acquired in the last town. Because they would soon be in Dragon’s Beak, they did not pick at their rations but instead ate their fill, and Lorla slept soundly until morning.
A dreadful gale blew from the north as they set out. The sun glowed without warmth, impossibly pallid on the gray horizon. Lorla clung close to Phantom’s neck, gleaning what comfort she could from the animal. The road soon became desolate. This far north, winter had already stripped the trees naked so that they seemed burnt and barren. A little sense of dread grew in Lorla. No one had told her about Dragon’s Beak, but the mystical name had conjured up a different image in her mind, and she didn’t like the reality. Lokken had told her only that Dragon’s Beak was very far north and often full of snow, and that it was shaped like a dragon’s long snout protruding into the sea. It was a single kingdom ruled by two dukes, the twins Enli and Eneas. Each duke had a castle of his own. Duke Enli’s was on the dragon’s lower jaw. His brother’s was on the upper. Lorla had pictured fairy-tale spires and stained glass, but the dreariness around her reminded her more of spider webs and decay.
They rode on for an hour more, until at last Lorla could smell the sea. The road ahead forked. Daevn stopped his horse. The road was thick with trees and both directions looked equally unappealing. He looked over his shoulder at Lorla.
‘Dragon’s Beak,’ he said.
Lorla grimaced. ‘Which way?’
‘Either way. We’re taking the south fork, to Enli. The north fork leads to Eneas.’
Lorla had a thousand questions. ‘Do you know Enli, Daevn? What is he like?’
Daevn was typically unhelpful. ‘I have never met the duke,’ he said. ‘I have never been to Dragon’s Beak.’
‘It’s quiet here,’ said Lorla. She looked ahead and saw only a canopy of dead branches closing over the road. ‘Where is everyone?’
‘Smart enough to get in from the cold. Now stop talking so we can do the same.’
Without waiting for her, Daevn sped his horse down the road. Phantom kept pace, and soon they were on their way to Enli. The trees grew tall, reaching high into the sky, a tangled home for wide-eyed mammals and enormous, black-feathered grackles. Lorla stared skyward, marveling at the maze of branches above her head. The wind had abated some, slowed by the thickness of trees, and brown leaves tumbled toward them, dry and dead and held aloft by the breeze’s breath. The air was brackish, moist with sea water. Lorla licked her lips and tasted salt. When the canopy thinned to reveal the sky, she saw a great blanket of storm clouds waiting.
‘Daevn?’ she asked nervously. ‘How far are we from the castle?’
Daevn shrugged. ‘Dunno.’
‘It’s going to rain. Hard.’
A moment later the sky exploded with rain. The road quickly filled with water, turning to mud beneath the horses’ hooves. L
orla peered through the downpour for Daevn.
‘Come on,’ he shouted. ‘It can’t be much farther.’
Lorla shivered beneath her garments, already soaked through. The fingers in her mittens had turned to icicles. Phantom moved sure-footed through the storm, following Daevn’s horse. A flash of lightning cracked the sky, followed by a rumbling detonation of thunder. Lorla closed her eyes and wished the storm away, but only got another bolt of lightning for her troubles. She hurried Phantom to Daevn’s side.
‘Should we stop?’ she asked.
The big man shook his head. ‘It won’t last.’ He glanced at her through the rain and smiled. ‘Don’t worry. It’s only thunder.’
‘I’m not afraid,’ she lied, not wanting him to think her a coward. ‘I’m just wet. And cold, and tired of this ride. Find the castle, Daevn.’
Daevn bowed sarcastically at her. ‘Oh, yes, my lady. What do you think I’m trying to do?’
They rode on in silence, sloshing down the narrow lane, until at last the rain slackened.
‘There,’ Daevn declared. ‘Look.’
Lorla followed Daevn’s finger toward the horizon. Atop a hill and shrouded in mist was a castle of red stone. Lorla peered through the rain. It was tall and dark and it frightened her, and she knew from her melancholy feeling that the dismal sight was Enli’s home. The Duke of Dragon’s Beak did not dwell in the fairy-tale house she had imagined, but rather in a dreary nightmare of cold brick and dark windows, a single, monolithic tower jutting from the earth. Even against the beauty of the sea it was a cruel vision, as if it meant to mock the ocean with its own vast ugliness. Lorla bit her lower lip, then noticed the flag flying atop the castle.
‘Daevn, look. He flies the Light of God. Do you see?’
Daevn was circumspect. ‘I see it,’ he said. Clearly he had expected the Black Flag to be waving in Dragon’s Beak. ‘But I trust Lokken even now, girl. If this is where he wants you, then it’s no mistake.’
‘But—’
‘Trust him, Lorla,’ he said. Then he laughed and added, ‘You’ll be warm again soon. And tonight I might sleep with a real woman!’
The insult struck Lorla like an icy slap. A real woman? What did that mean? She scowled at the soldier but he seemed not to take her meaning. Instead Daevn rode off, his horse trotting though the mud toward the castle on the hill. When he noticed Lorla wasn’t following, he turned around and waved to her.
‘Coming? Or do you want to drown out here?’
‘Drown,’ she mumbled. Suddenly anything seemed better than the castle. But she was frozen and exhausted, and that made her snap the reins. Phantom jumped forward at her command. The little pony seemed as eager as Daevn to be out of the damp. The road widened some as they approached, and they passed by small houses and store-fronts, all quiet and shuttered. A few candles burned dimly in the windows. Lorla felt invisible eyes staring at her, but each time she turned to face them they had vanished.
When they reached the hill, she noticed the pine trees lining the roadway, great guardians that loomed over them and cast crooked shadows in the feeble light. Beneath them the gray gravel of the path crunched under the steady pressure of horses’ hooves, and the rain was cold and steady. Lorla glimpsed the castle gates through the mist. They were high up on the hill now, with the fitful ocean far below. Two sentries stood at the entrance, their bodies encased in ugly black armor, their faces hidden behind reptilian helmets. In their fists were bladed halberds. Lorla looked up at the towering castle. There was a distinct list to the structure, as if it were waiting to topple. Gargoyles perched on the high ledges, spouting rain water, and a bloom of rubbery lichens grew from the mortar, turning the red brick yellow. The riveted wooden gates were closed up tight. Both guardians fixed their stern gazes at the riders. Daevn rode forward, his hand raised in friendship.
‘We are from Goth,’ he called to the men. ‘I am Daevn of the Walled City, here to see your duke.’
The sentries nodded. ‘Dismount,’ one of them ordered. He stepped forward while his brother opened the gate. Daevn got down from his horse, bidding Lorla to do the same. The guardian took the reins of his mount and stared at Lorla, who wasn’t sure yet if she trusted him.
‘Come on, Lorla,’ urged Daevn. ‘Get down so we can go inside.’
Lorla got down from Phantom’s back and handed the pony over to the armored man, who looked at her questioning^. She hurried to Daevn’s side. The other guardian had opened the gates, letting loose a flood of orange torchlight. It was all the encouragement Lorla needed. She entered and found herself in a huge chamber of gray stone, where armored men strutted with sidearms and laughed amongst themselves. A few women moved through the halls in the distance. When they noticed Lorla they paused to regard her, apparently struck to have a child in their midst.
‘Wait here,’ ordered the guardian. ‘I will tell Duke Enli you’ve arrived.’
‘He’s expecting us, I think,’ said Daevn. He looked around the vast chamber. ‘We could use a place to sit and rest.’
‘The duke will be down quickly, I’m sure,’ said the soldier. ‘He’ll see to your needs himself. Just wait here.’
Daevn and Lorla watched the soldier go, stung by his gruffness but grateful to be out of the rain. Lorla gravitated toward one of the giant torches on the wall, reaching high to warm her hands. She pulled off her drenched mittens and massaged her fingers. Her joints were stiff, her fingertips blue. She felt cold water drip from her hair and trickle down her neck, and hoped that the duke could get her fresh clothes. She slid her soiled cloak off her small shoulders and felt its surprising, water-logged weight. Daevn was nearby, talking to the soldiers. They were peculiar-looking men, she decided, but she liked their fancy helmets. Forged into the likenesses of dragon heads, each bore engravings like scales and two obsidian gems for eyes. Their armor was spiked and black, like the legionnaires of Nar, but bulkier and more noisy. Lorla watched them clank around, fascinated by the sound.
‘Lorla?’
Lorla jumped when she heard her name. Coming down the hallway was a tall, thin man with dirty hair and a wide smile. He wasn’t dressed like a soldier but instead wore a warm cape of wolf’s fur around his shoulders. He headed toward her, one hand outstretched. Daevn stepped between them.
‘Are you the duke?’ he asked rudely.
The man grinned at Daevn but did not answer. He craned to look over Daevn’s shoulder at Lorla. ‘Lorla, yes?’ he asked. ‘How are you, child?’
‘Fine, sir,’ said Lorla. She looked him up and down. He had a nice face. Daevn cleared his throat noisily. The man regarded him.
‘Yes, the bodyguard. Welcome, both of you.’
‘The name’s Daevn,’ said Daevn coldly. ‘From Goth. Are you Duke Enli?’
‘No, I’m not,’ said the man. ‘My name is Faren. I’m one of the duke’s servants. I’ve come to collect you both. The duke is very pleased you’re here. He would like to see you both at once.’
‘Can we have something to drink?’ asked Lorla anxiously. ‘Some hot tea?’
‘What are all the soldiers for?’ asked Daevn. ‘Is there some trouble?’
Faren walked past Daevn, ignoring him. He bent down to one knee to be at Lorla’s level. ‘Tea we have aplenty, dear Lorla. And fresh milk, too. I can have the maids bring you some if you want.’
Lorla tried not to cringe. Milk was for babies. ‘Just the tea, please,’ she said. ‘If you don’t mind.’
‘Whatever you want,’ said Faren. His smile was impossibly broad. ‘Come. Let’s get you out of those wet things and into something warm.’ He put out his hand for Lorla. When she didn’t take it, his smile dimmed.
‘Where is the duke?’ asked Daevn.
‘I will take you to him. This way, please.’
Lorla shot Daevn a questioning glance, but the big man only shrugged. They followed Faren out of the great chamber, past kitchens filled with fine odors. Another grand hall greeted them, this one with many doors of dull oak. One
of the doors was open. Through the entrance Lorla saw the dancing shadows of a burning fire. The smell of crackling alder drew her forward. Faren stopped at the threshold, bidding Lorla to enter.
‘This is the duke’s sitting room. Please go in. The duke will be joining you very soon.’
Lorla walked inside, drawn like an insect to the blazing hearth. It was the most comfortable room she’d ever seen, with bookcases full of manuscripts and big, cushy chairs of worn leather. The room smelled of age and expensive tobacco. On one of the small tables a pipe rested, its bowl full of ashes. But the most dominant feature of all was the portrait over the hearth, a huge oil painting of two young men, each the mirror image of the other. They were on horseback, both dressed in resplendent armor, their heads naked and their swords dangling at their sides. It was a magnificent painting.
‘Wait here please, Lorla,’ said Faren. ‘The duke will be here shortly. Meanwhile I’ll have a maid bring you that tea you wanted, and some biscuits, eh?’
‘Thank you,’ said Lorla.
‘I’d like some tea too,’ said Daevn sourly. ‘If it’s not too much trouble.’
Faren said, ‘Actually, Sir Daevn, the duke would like to speak to you alone first. If you would follow me, please?’
‘Daevn?’ asked Lorla, alarmed.
‘It’s all right, girl,’ said Daevn. ‘Stay here; I’ll be back with the duke. Enjoy your tea and biscuits.’ Daevn looked at Faren. ‘You got some clothes for the girl? She’s soaked to the bone.’
‘Of course,’ said Faren. ‘Lorla, make yourself at home. I’ll get you some dry clothes.’
Lorla said a soft goodbye, then turned her attention to the marvelous room. There were trinkets on the tables, some old rings with clouded gems, and dozens of dusty books, enough to occupy a hundred years. Lorla loved to read. She had gone through all the books and manuscripts in the labs – at least the ones she had been allowed to read – and she had devoured Lokken’s library. She wondered if Duke Enli would let her read his books, or if he’d be stingy and keep them to himself. On one of the large chairs she found a small scarlet blanket. When she touched it the fabric sang of warmth. It was supple, like the leather of the chair, and Lorla put it to her face, burying her nose and sniffing it. The blanket held all the perfumes of the room. Shivering, Lorla stripped off her drenched clothes and dropped them to the floor. Quickly she jumped into the chair, and her small body seemed to vanish in its embrace. The leather cushion creaked as she sank into it. She covered herself with the blanket and surveyed the room from her new vantage. Once again the painting over the hearth seized her attention. Lorla stared at it for a long time. She liked the horses, but she wasn’t sure about the men.