by John Marco
Cricket and I dismounted. The tiny man took my sleeve and pulled.
“Master knows you’re here,” he said excitedly. “No one ever comes here from the continent!”
“Your name is Grecht?” I asked. “What happened here, Grecht?”
The midget acted puzzled. “I don’t take your meaning. Is something wrong?”
“This is Akyre, isn’t it?” asked Cricket. “This is where the king lives?”
Grecht beamed. “Emperor! This is Diriel’s palace.”
I gestured toward the prisoners. “And those men over there?”
“Kassens.” Grecht spit on the ground. “Slaves now.”
Sariyah had told us Kasse had fallen to Akyre. “Are there many?”
“All of Kasse are our slaves now!” said Grecht proudly. “Working to rebuild Akyre after what they’ve done. Do not even look at them, Sir Lukien. Why should a nobleman soil his sight with shit?” He looked at Cricket. “My pardon, young lady. Who is your companion, Sir Lukien?”
“My name is Cricket.”
“Cricket?” Grecht tittered. “From Liiria as well?”
“No,” replied Cricket.
“But from the continent? Master craves news from the continent. He awaits! Please come.” He dragged at my sleeve. “This way, please.”
“Our horses.”
“Yes, yes.”
Grecht howled to the women in the pathetic garden. A pair of them dashed forward, brushing the dirt from their tattered dresses. The older one took the reins of my horse without even a glance, but the younger one, a few years older than Cricket maybe, locked eyes with her, her mouth falling open as she studied Cricket’s shiny hair.
“Move!” barked Grecht and gave the girl a slap.
“Hey!” hissed Cricket. “Don’t touch her!”
Grecht reared back. “Girl?”
“This is my squire,” I said quickly. “Too quick to anger, but she belongs to me.” I handed Cricket’s pony to the young one from the garden. “Take care of the animals. Hay and water if you have it. Grecht, please let us see your master now.”
Grecht pulled up his flapping sleeves. He nodded anxiously and led us through the courtyard toward the lopsided gate, hanging open on its rusted hinges. The ancient place looked every bit its age, with moss climbing up the walls and slimy water trickling down. The crooked turrets that had somehow been blasted out of the mountain’s dour face suffocated the sunlight and flaked dust onto our heads. Once past the gate, the oily interior of the castle warmed us with fiery torches. Dogs and filthy children crowded us. Grecht kicked them aside. The walls of the cavernous hall still had outlines where tapestries and paintings had once hung. Now weapons clung to the bricks, mostly morning stars and blood-stained axes.
And there were soldiers, lining the way to the open chamber at the end of the hall. Now I knew what had spooked that refugee boy. Now I knew why Sariyah had called them soulless.
The Legion of the Lost.
Their dead eyes watched us as we passed, their faces smeared with paint, their fingernails pale as they clutched their pikes and flails. White hair drooped beneath their battered helmets. No breath drew from their half-alive bodies, but there was sentience in their features still, some remaining spark of humanity that kept them in this world.
Malator, are they alive? I asked.
Their bodies live, replied the Akari. But their souls dwell elsewhere.
These were the men I’d come to save, and suddenly the folly of my mission came clear. Akyre was no longer a kingdom. Something—maybe war, maybe famine, maybe both—had eaten away its civilized self. This is what Cricket had fled: the tons and tons of sorrow that buried her memory. I could barely stand myself suddenly. I had dragged Cricket to this? The sight was barely fit for a grown man’s eyes. Surely a girl could only be scarred by it.
I dreaded reaching the end of the hall, and when we did I stopped to let Grecht enter the chamber. Inside were more of the soulless fighting men and slaves, the soldiers at blind attention, the slaves naked and piled one atop the other in some feat of grotesque sculpture. Muffled cries came from the human mound as children poked at it with sticks. Another pile, this one of skulls, crowded around the wooden throne, as though the man atop it had used the bones for stepping stones. King Diriel sipped from a goblet, his bloodshot eyes watching us over its rim. He listened as Grecht announced us. At his side stood the man who’d broken my neck.
“Master, this is Lukien of Liiria!” chittered Grecht. He bent all the way down to the base of the skulls, his little palms on the floor. “He’s from the continent, Unrivaled. He came all that way to glorify you!”
Diriel placed his goblet on the arm of his great chair. He wore no shirt, just a red robe open over his torso so the world could see his ribs. A crown of jewels capped his long, dark hair, but he wore no other gems or gold. Scuffed boots, the kind a military man would wear, slowly tapped the floor as he considered us. When he grinned, a mouthful of filed teeth displayed, pointed like a badger’s.
I wanted to flee, not out of fear but out of sheer revulsion. I had seen madmen before, but not like this one. Even Akeela at the worst of his madness—a madness I myself had driven him to—hadn’t compared to this. Diriel radiated lunacy. He leaned over and whispered to Wrestler, and the two of them gazed at Cricket. Wrestler nodded his bald head and folded his arms snake-like over his huge chest. He was exactly as he had been that day in Arad, shirtless, his stance full of challenge, and when he looked at me the grin he gave told me how satisfied he’d felt to break my neck, the way a man might feel when copulating.
“Come closer, Liirian,” said Diriel. “The girl, too.”
His voice was a syrupy lisp, the result of his self-sharpened teeth, I supposed. I made sure Cricket was right beside me before moving. My hand was ready for my sword. Grecht scurried away as we approached the throne, nearly tripping on a rolling skull. Wrestler kept his eyes on Cricket. His tongue poked out to lick his bottom lip.
“Great King, my name is Lukien,” I said. “But you already know this. May I ask how you know my name?”
I didn’t bow or avert my eyes. I looked right at Diriel instead. The king sniffed at my etiquette.
“The girl,” said Diriel. “What is her name?”
“Cricket!” answered Grecht.
“Did I ask you, dwarf? Let her speak!”
“Cricket is my name,” replied Cricket stiffly. “I’m Lukien’s squire.”
“Squire?” Diriel laughed, turning to share the joke with Wrestler. “What sort of knight chooses a girl for his squire? Unless you mean she takes care of your other sword.”
“She is my squire, and I am her protector,” I said calmly, but anger made my face hot. Diriel wasn’t a king—he was a creature, and being polite took all my will. “She’s come to help me in my mission, my lord, at great peril to herself.”
“What peril?” asked Diriel. “If you mean my bodyguard, yes, he has an appetite for youngsters. He’s already told me of your meeting. He offered a price for her and you refused.”
“That’s right, and I’ll refuse it again,” I said. “We’ve no slaves where I come from, my lord. It’s not our way. For me to barter her would be immoral.”
“The morality of the continent. Dog shit.” Diriel shifted and the crown on his head tipped forward. “You asked how I know you. I know you because I know everything, Lukien of Liiria. I know you’re in the employ of that sodomite Anton Fallon. I even know that Wrestler snapped your neck like a chicken bone before you ever reached Isowon. Wrestler doesn’t lie to me, so I ask myself how it’s possible for you to be standing here.”
“Then you don’t know everything, my lord.”
“But I believe in miracles. Seeing you makes me believe, Sir Lukien. I hear from Isowon that you are immortal.” Diriel shrugged. “So it must be true. Now I ask myself, why does Anton Fallon think to threaten me with an immortal soldier, when I have so many of my own? Unless you come to plead for him. Have you? I see
no repayment for the money he stole from me.”
“We’re not in his employ,” I said. “Not any longer.”
“No?” Diriel got out of his chair with a great big frown. “I have an army barely a day’s march from Isowon. Does he know this? I will have the mummy powder he promised and the money he stole from me! And yet he sends no one to plead for mercy?”
“I do come to plead, mighty Diriel, but not for Anton Fallon.”
“Ah, so you want something!” Diriel’s deduction made him grin. “You come to barter after all. I will pay a good price for the girl. We won’t call it slavery if it offends you. A gift, let’s say.”
“Let me say it clearly. The girl is under my protection. She’s not for sale or gift, and if anyone dares touch her they will be dead before they hit the ground.” I looked right at Wrestler. “That means you. Don’t put me to the test.”
Diriel clapped with pleasure. “I would pay to see that if I had any money left.” He dropped back into his throne. “I have none, you see. That goat-fucking swindler took it all, but it doesn’t matter. My army will get back what is mine. You can tell Anton Fallon that for me.”
“No, my lord, I can’t do that. My business with Fallon is done. I’m here to—”
“Stop,” bade Diriel. “You will do this for me. It is the only reason I allowed you to cross the bridge.”
“You’re a messenger boy,” snorted Wrestler. “How do you like that?”
“Do you think I give a shit why you’re here?” spat Diriel. “Did my peanut-brained midget tell you I’d be happy to see you just because you’re from the continent? I wipe my ass with your courts and courtesies, Liirian. The last travelers who came here from the continent wound up with their organs on my dinner plate. The Liirians and Reecians should pray to their dead gods that I don’t march my legion across the desert to conquer them next.”
Wrestler grimaced with laughter. The mound of slaves whimpered. One of the children—a boy—moved from tormenting them to sit on the skulls at Diriel’s feet. Another simply picked his nose. I could feel Cricket bridling next to me, just wanting to get out of there. I wanted to go too, but there was the mission, and as stupid as it seemed I was going to speak my piece.
“Your legions are the reason I’ve come, my lord. I had to see them for myself, and now I know that they are slaves too, just like these wretches you make entertain you. I ask myself, what kind of king would steal the souls of loyal soldiers? Anton Fallon is no friend of mine. Indeed he is a dog for selling you such an evil potion as mummia. But you can still truly be great, King Diriel. You can free these men and give them back their souls.”
Diriel blinked his bloodshot eyes, pretended to give weight to my words, then shook with laughter—uncontrollable laughter that made him knock over his goblet and cry real tears. His jolliness spread like a contagion, first to Wrestler and then to Grecht and the filthy children. Only the slaves and soldiers were silent.
“You came all this way to ask me to free my men from the mummy powder?” chortled Diriel. He choked on his laughter, then spat a wad of mucus toward Grecht. He stood and picked his way down the pile of skulls to face me. “Help me figure this out,” he said. “When did nations of the continent decide they were so much better than the rest of us? You don’t come and ask me favors, Liirian. I am an Emperor!” He placed his palm on his naked chest. “My men love me. They love me. They’re not my slaves. They’re my children. They would do anything for me.”
“How can they love you?” I asked. “When they can’t even think for themselves? Do you want an army of mindless creatures, King Diriel, or men with the heart to choose their loyalties?”
Diriel smirked as though he’d been waiting for his chance. “Zursas,” he said with a snap of his fingers. “Come here.”
From out of the line of soldiers stepped a single legionnaire. White-haired like the rest of them, I knew from his pallid skin that he couldn’t be more than thirty years old. The silence of the grave followed him as he moved, his worn-out boots impossibly quiet against the sooty floor. I fought for a glimpse of his dead gaze, looking for any spark of life.
“Zursas,” said Diriel, “show these outlanders how much you love me.”
It happened so fast I didn’t have time to cover Cricket’s eyes. The soldier’s dagger flashed from his belt to his very naked throat, and with one deep and instant gash he sliced it. Blood sheeted down his neck. Cricket screamed and the soldier crumbled. The slaves in their sculpture began to squirm and wail, and the children scampered from the pooling blood. But Diriel didn’t move. He stood there as the blood seeped around his boots, looking at me.
“Now, don’t you wish your squire here was as loyal as that? This is what you’re asking me to forsake. I need more men like this, not fewer. I bargained for them in good faith with Anton Fallon. He owes me the mummia, but that won’t be enough to save him. He stole from me. An Emperor! Not even that monster will save him from me.”
I froze.
“That’s right, I know about the monster,” said Diriel. “He hired you to help him kill it, didn’t he? But it’s still alive, yes?”
I nodded, unsure how much to reveal. Diriel already knew far more than I suspected. Cricket stepped back from the pooling blood, pulling me with her. I wanted to kill Diriel for making her witness such horror.
“The monster is Fallon’s problem,” I lied. “I’m here to talk about your soldiers.”
“You have my answer about my soldiers,” said Diriel. “Did you fight the monster? They say it’s not of this world.”
“Who says that?” I asked, eager to learn all I could about the creature.
“The scum I employ to tell me such things. They say it comes from the world of the dead. The same world where the souls of my soldiers live. You’re a man of that world, too, Sir Lukien. An undead warrior. A forever knight! But even you couldn’t destroy it, could you?”
I tried to ignore the dead man at my feet. Cricket held her ground without looking down. “You see things very clearly, King Diriel,” I said. “I’m a stranger here. I know nothing of Akyre’s lore. The monster’s a mystery to me. You seem to know more about it than I do.”
“Are we testing each other? I don’t like contests, so let me tell you plainly—I do not know this monster or where it comes from. I only know it has power, and power is what I need. You faced the creature and survived. That intrigues me. If you could bring the beast to me, that would be worth something.”
“That thing is uncontrollable,” said Cricket. “It’s not a pet.”
“Or a weapon,” I added. “I know what you’re asking, King Diriel, and what you’re asking is impossible.”
Diriel stepped out of the blood, then wiped his boots on the dais around his throne. Wrestler came down to stand next to him. When I braced myself Diriel chuckled.
“You want to go,” he observed. “You want to take the girl out of here because you fear for her. You’re right to be afraid. Wrestler isn’t as loyal as my legionnaires, but I tell you this in truth—you are safe in this castle, much more safe then you will be once you leave. You’re under my protection here. Both of you. Stay. For the night.”
My insides clenched. “I came to see your soldiers and talk sense to you, my lord. But maybe we’re already done here.”
Diriel picked up one of the skulls around his throne. “A Kassen,” he pronounced. “Worthless. You should be glad they’ve been wiped away, but you’re appalled because you’re so moral and stupid.” He dropped the skull to the floor. “You came to haggle with me. We’re not done.”
“Are we back to bargaining for the girl or the monster?” I asked.
“The monster, of course. The girl is safe for as long as you remain in my castle. Outside these walls I have no control over Wrestler. Stay. Think of a way to get me that monster. If you do, I will consider sparing Anton Fallon.”
“Not a chance.”
“Then think of something else you want. The lives of the people of Isow
on, perhaps. If I have the monster I will consider Fallon’s debt to me paid. Otherwise . . .” Diriel shrugged. “Who can say what will happen to them?”
We were in a trap. When I couldn’t think of what to say, Malator spoke to calm me.
Agree with him. Remain here for the night. That’ll give us time to plan something.
Cricket?
She’ll be safe.
I had no choice but to believe him. “All right,” I agreed. “We’ll stay the night. If you’d make a place for us.”
“What?” cried Cricket. She pointed at Wrestler. “So he can rape me while I sleep?”
Diriel seemed offended. “Child, haven’t you heard me? This is where you are safe, not out there. Outside these walls you’re a deer to be hunted. Inside you belong to me, and no one touches what is mine.”
I looked at Wrestler. “Listen good, shit-eater. I don’t need sleep. I’m going to be up all night standing guard over her. You’re fast with your hands, I’ll give you that, but it won’t be a fair fight next time. You come after her, you’ll lose your head. Understand?”
Wrestler winked to mock me.
“Gargoyle, I asked if you understand me.”
“I understand.”
Grecht hurried forward and took Cricket’s hand, trying to lead her out of the throne room. She pulled free of him, glaring as though I’d betrayed her.
“Go with him,” I ordered. “I’ll be along.”
Pleased, Diriel relaxed as he watched Cricket taken from the chamber. “Think hard tonight, Sir Lukien,” he advised. “If you can get me the monster, we can part ways happy men.”
“And you’ll guarantee Cricket’s safety?” I asked.
“For as long as you’re here,” agreed the king. “After that, I guarantee nothing.”
18
I didn’t sleep at all that night.
We spent the first half of it arguing—me, Cricket, and Malator. Cricket was angrier than I’d ever seen her, blaming me for risking her life and dragging us all to Diriel’s hellhole in the first place. There was nothing I could do to defend myself. My mission was folly. I knew that the first moment I set eyes on Diriel. Now I had trapped us in a castle of horrors, where our host was a cannibal, and his henchman planned to hunt us the moment we left the grounds. Worse, I had learned almost nothing about the monster. I tried to apologize to Cricket but my words were stale. Up till now Cricket had always believed me, but this time I had truly blundered, and I knew that she wished she had never come with me to Akyre or ever agreed to be my squire.