The Forever Knight

by John Marco

  Meeting Kiryk and his Silver Dragons had shown me that not everyone in this part of the world was like Diriel or even like Anton Fallon. The Bitter Kingdoms had been plagued by every misfortune imaginable-war, starvation, even a demon-but good-hearted men and women still lived here and still struggled. If I could do some good myself, if I could help them, then I would. I would be for a moment the knight-errant I’d hoped.

  So I rode, pushing myself ever farther, and drank from the river and ate from my saddle bags, and it was like those old days back in Jador, when I’d escape to the desert just for solitude. I feared nothing and plowed down the miles until day and night passed, and I was at last in the north part of the forest that hid the Akyren tombs and the lair of the beast.

  I looked through the trees and into the valley and then up into the sky. It was afternoon, but the sun was cast with clouds and a breeze threatened rain. The woods rustled with the noise of animals. Birds chirped in the highest branches. Up ahead loomed the caves, barely visible through the foliage. The quiet and the daylight made me sure I’d find the monster there. Then I had another thought-what to do with Venger? I’d already lost a horse to Crezil. They were easy, tempting targets, and I could not bear another being killed. I dismounted and walked my new friend to the edge of the woods.

  “I wish you were a person,” I whispered. “Then I could send you away to come back for me.”

  Venger flicked his velvety ears. His brown eyes rolled toward me.

  “You know I can’t bring you in there with me,” I told him, “but you need to hide. You need to trust me. I’ll be back for you, all right?”

  He didn’t really nod; I just imagined that from the way he moved his muzzle. But I refused to tie him, either. If Crezil came after him-or if anyone did-I wanted him to be free to run.

  “Wait for me, but if trouble comes then bolt,” I said. “I’ll find you again.”

  Venger turned slowly and trotted into the cover of the trees, where he suddenly stopped. Satisfied, I left him there as I descended into the valley, through the trees, following the tributary toward the creature’s cave. Malator came to life at my side, humming inside the sword. I stalked toward the cavern, splashing through the stream and then peering inside the murky cavern. My eyes adjusted quickly, and I could hear insects crawling over the rocks. I went a little deeper, leaving the sunlight behind. The smell of rot and cadavers stung my nose. When I reached the stone blocking the entrance to the tomb, I suddenly stopped.

  Malator, I said silently, where is it?

  I don’t know, he answered. I don’t feel it. I don’t think it’s here.

  That’s impossible. It’s daylight.

  Malator stretched himself across the chamber, spreading out like smoke. I could feel him searching, taking my mind along.

  “I can’t see well,” I said finally. “Can you help?”

  Hold out your hand.

  I did as he asked, and a puff of fire appeared in my palm. I felt like a wizard! Now I could see the tomb clearly, bathed in the orange glow. I squeezed past the stone guarding the tomb, casting the chamber beyond with light. There stood the coffin that once held Atarkin. The silent sculptures of all the animals watched me. I knew as soon as I entered that Crezil had gone. But where?

  “It’s daytime,” I grumbled. “Why isn’t it here?”

  Maybe it’s gone to Isowon, said Malator.

  “Don’t say that. Don’t say we’re too late.”

  For my plan to work, I needed to face the creature. I sat myself down in the dust and waited, amusing myself by casting giant shadows of the animal sculptures upon the rocky walls.

  * * *

  I feel asleep dreaming of Gilwyn’s baby. In my dream the baby was a boy and looked like his father, small and mousey, with a hook for a hand. Compared to a clubbed foot, I told Gilwyn in my dream, a hook for a hand wasn’t such a bad thing. At least he could run when he grew up. At least he wasn’t blind like his mother. The Gilwyn in my dream smiled and agreed with me and cooed when the hook grabbed his finger. He called me Uncle Lukien.

  When I awoke I realized I was crying, my shirt wet with snot and tears. I ran a forearm under my nose and forced myself to stop, but couldn’t get the image of that little hooked hand out of my brain. My bladder burned, begging for a piss, and I realized I’d been asleep for hours. The tomb was even darker than I’d found it. Outside, night had fallen-I felt it in my bones. I was wasting time and angry with myself, and the little flame Malator had given me had gone out. But I didn’t ask for another. Instead I groped like a blind man for a corner, unbuttoned my trousers and pissed on the wall. The smell of it in the airless tomb made me sick. I finished fast, shuffled to the other side of the chamber and sat down again, lost in my own black thoughts.

  All of my life had been plagued by dreams. Nightmares, really. I never dreamed of good things, and as I sat there waiting for the monster I wondered at the turns that had brought me to this place. At night, when sleep evades, all your mistakes come haunting. I wanted to be drunk suddenly, to drown myself in wine or bury myself in a woman’s thighs-anything to take the pain away. The aloneness strangled me. The darkness played tricks on me. I could easily make out Cricket in the shadows, or Cassandra, or Akeela, or any of the others my love had murdered. I sat back and let them dance before my drooping eyes, somehow keeping my tears at bay as I drifted to sleep again.

  When I awoke, hours later, the little flame was once again alive in my hand. I smiled at it, thanking Malator for the gift. I took the flame from my palm and lit a stone with it, giving me just enough light to move around the chamber. I studied each of the sculptures, marveling at the grace of the leopard and workmanship of the eagle’s feathers. I wondered if Malator could bring them to life for me, the way he’d drawn the monster in the dirt all those weeks ago.

  The Sword of Angels rested in my lap. I caressed it as I thought of Cricket. First I smiled, then I laughed as I remembered her. How she could badger me! Malator noticed my mirth and popped into my mind.

  What? he probed.

  “I was thinking of Cricket,” I said. “All she ever wanted was to talk, remember? About anything. Even when she fell into a mood, she wanted to talk.”

  About you, mostly.

  I nodded. “Yeah.”

  In the darkness of the tomb, with death and eternity all around me, I wondered: I never really understood her curiosity about me or mine for her. I never answered the question for myself. Had I wanted to be her friend? Her father? Was I looking for a squire or something more? I had forever to face myself, but I didn’t want to look. All I knew for sure was that I loved Cricket. And I missed her.

  “She was a child,” I whispered. “Not even a woman yet. But she would have been a splendid woman. A brave woman.”

  Lukien, you will avenge her, said Malator. Remember, I promised you that.

  “I remember,” I said but wondered if vengeance would ease me.

  Lukien, said Malator, we should go into the antechamber.

  I sighed. Malator always tried to change the subject to deflect my sour moods. “Why?”

  Because the portal is there.

  “So?”

  Lukien, it’s a gateway to another realm.

  “A gateway to Gahoreth,” I corrected. “To hell.”

  To a realm of the dead, he argued.

  I didn’t get his meaning, and I didn’t care to. “Why are you pushing me? We were talking about Cricket. If you want to cheer me up, come up with something better than a visit to hell.”

  I was about to set aside the sword when suddenly Malator spoke.

  Lukien. . it’s back.

  I knew at once what he meant. I felt it. Slowly I got to my feet, letting the sword dangle in my hand. I stared at the stone blocking the door and held my breath, listening to the noise of its approach growing ever louder. Then, it suddenly stopped.

  It knows, said Malator.

  I waited, tensing, my mind going blank. If it knew I was here why didn’t it come
? I thought of calling out to it but didn’t. I took a small step forward then paused. The light Malator gave me still flickered atop the stone.

  “It wants darkness,” I whispered. “Malator. .”

  The light instantly extinguished. And my eyes, having grown accustomed to it, went blind. I stood there in the blackness, frozen, my heart noisily thumping, and turned my ear toward the crack I’d come through. Beyond the slab I heard the sound again, like something dragging closer. I had trapped myself, I realized. Not too loudly, I called out the demon’s name.

  “Crezil.”

  The dragging stopped. Silence. But only for a moment. Next came the shocking noise of the slab being pulled-ripped-away from the tomb. It tumbled sideways, rolling and crushing the rocks beneath it, finally crashing to the ground. I backed away, peering through the dust, looking desperately for Crezil. A crumb of light from the far-off entrance outlined the creature. I was twelve feet away from it, and yet could barely see it. But Crezil saw me clearly. I knew it did, putting one appendage forward and pulling itself nearer. Slowly my eyes adjusted to the horrible view.

  It was as I’d seen it in the painting of Gahoreth, many-limbed and huge, man-shaped but disfigured, with tails for arms that wriggled over its bulbous head. Now it was exposed, without the bones and skins to hide it. I stood my ground, using my enchanted eyes to see. There was no stench from it, nor any sound at all, but Crezil had not returned alone. Dragging behind it, held by a claw-like hand, were the bodies of a man and a woman. Both were naked and badly bruised, with the man being pulled by an ankle and the woman by her long, bloodied hair. Before I knew what was happening, Crezil lifted them off the ground, letting them dangle before me like a string of fish.

  “I see them,” I said. I sheathed my sword and put up my hands. “I’m not here to fight you.”

  Crezil tossed the bodies at me. They landed hard and rolled to my feet. Shocked, I knelt to examine them, to be certain they were dead. Not a strip of clothing remained on either of them. I wondered if Crezil had killed them in lovemaking. When I put my fingers to the woman’s neck, all I felt was a chill. I looked up at Crezil in disgust.

  “Are you giving these to me?” I asked. “Why?”

  Malator spoke up. A peace offering, perhaps.

  I rose slowly to face the beast. “What shall I do with them?” I asked it. “Eat them? I’m not like you, Crezil. I’m not a demon. I’m a man.”

  There was no answer from the monster. It hovered there on its bony limbs, watching me through the darkness.

  “Did you know I’d be here?” I asked. I gestured to the bodies. “Did you kill them for me?”

  Again, no reply. Yet I knew the thing could understand me.

  “No more killing,” I said. “We stop now. I don’t want to hunt you. Do you see?”

  Crezil either couldn’t or wouldn’t speak. Instead it took a single step backward. Its shining eyes watched for my next move.

  “All right,” I said carefully. “Now listen to me. I know you want to go back to Gahoreth. Gahoreth. Your home. Yes? I don’t want to stop you. I want to help you.”

  It seemed intrigued. Its tails or arms or whatever they were wrapped around its pulsing body.

  It’s listening, Lukien, urged Malator. Go on.

  “I’m going to get you what you want so you can go home,” I told Crezil. “But you have to help me, too. No more attacks on Isowon. No more. You stay here. You wait for me to come back. Do that, and I’ll bring you what you want.”

  I kept my voice calm, like talking to a dog. Crezil responded with silence.

  “I can’t kill you, and you can’t kill me,” I continued. “We’re immortal now, both of us. I have no soul for you to steal. But we can both get what we want. You can hide here so no one sees you, and in a few days I’ll return.” I carefully stepped over the bodies of the man and the woman. “Will you make this peace with me?”

  Crezil moved back into the shadows, shrouding its massive body. But was that an answer?

  “You can go home,” I said. “And then I can go home, too. Agreed? If not, tell me so now or let me walk out of here freely. If you don’t try and stop me, I’ll know we have a bargain.”

  I took another step. This time Crezil didn’t move. There was just enough space for me to walk past it. I eased myself forward, careful not to look at Crezil as I groped through the darkness, focusing on the distant sunlight. As I brushed past the creature, I felt its cold, inhuman breath. It could have easily lopped my head off, yet it did not. Two more steps, and I was past it.

  I kept on walking, just a little faster. Behind me Crezil moved into its tomb, ready, I supposed, to feast on the dead lovers.

  29

  The way west was harder than I remembered. The sky was clear and the road was good, and I had gotten enough sleep in the tomb to last me a week. Yet I could not ride fast enough to suit me and pushed Venger more and more to reach Isowon on time. By now I’d lost count of the seven days Diriel had granted me. It had been morning when I left Crezil’s lair, and all that day I followed the sun’s movements west, finally reaching the road to Zura. Fallon himself had come across the road as a teenager, even younger than Cricket, he’d told me, and made a fortune looting spices from his homeland. Now, though, the road was quiet, tottering between sandy coastline and sparse forests.

  I needed no map to find my way back, and so spent my hours planning Isowon’s defense and daydreaming of my vengeance. By now Marilius and Kiryk had reached the palace, I supposed, and Fallon had no doubt bolstered his defenses. So far, Fallon had been a disappointment. I doubted he’d be much help in the coming battle. But that hardly mattered. All I really needed from him was his gold and a promise to pay his mercenaries on time. Given the odds against us, I was sure many of the mercenaries had already fled, but with Kiryk’s men to strengthen us and enough of Anton’s own remaining, maybe we had a chance.

  If I was lucky and reached Isowon by nightfall, I told myself, I could meet with Anton and the others. We could council and make plans. There were so many questions going through my mind. How many men had Diriel brought with him? How many of them were legionnaires? Had Marilius made it back yet? I could barely keep my mind together. Questions flew through me like arrows.

  “Enough!” I shouted.

  The birds scattered from the treetops. I took a breath to calm myself, then heard a surprising reply.

  “Someone?”

  The call came from far ahead, buried from view and muffled by trees. Venger’s ears perked up. I listened, eased Venger ahead, then heard the noise of riders. I rounded the bend and saw them ahead of me-a dozen men, all on horseback, each horse the deepest black I’d ever seen. The men wore fur-lined helmets of riveted iron, with leather and animal skins cloaking their bodies. Long arrows fletched with white feathers stuck from the quivers on their backs, and some carried spears in their hands. A skirt of metal-rings draped around their legs, falling down to their ankles. Each had a sword as well, a curved scimitar that bounced inside its dangling sheath.

  These were men riding to war. Even their horses were armed, shielded with plates and iron spikes. Red and yellow ribbons flowed from their bridles. The man in the lead paused when he saw me, bringing his companions to a halt. His dark eyes stared at me from a face of bronze. He had turned the company around to find me, and now just seemed confused. Or was he delighted?

  “Luck upon your journey,” he called to me.

  I had never heard that greeting before. “To you as well,” I offered.

  He and his men looked at me and at my horse. Their own mounts were spectacular. Clearly they knew horseflesh, and appreciated Venger. With no reason to fear them, I trotted closer, raising my hand.

  “I ride for Isowon,” I said. “From Drin territory.”

  The man’s face brightened. “We ride for Isowon! We ride from Zura.” He poked a thumb to his breast. “We are Zurans. Bogati.”

  “’Bogati’? I do not know that word,” I said. “But Zura I know
. You’re far from home.”

  “Bogati always hear the call of war,” he said. This time he touched his ear. “We follow the wind and listen. If it is just, we come. Do you ride to the war in Isowon?”

  His accent made him hard to understand. “Yes,” I answered. “I’ve been to Isowon-I know the man who leads there. Have you heard of Anton Fallon? He’s a Zuran, like yourself.”

  The man laughed, then turned to his fellows and translated the joke. The man looked at me and said proudly, “I am the only one of us who speaks the western words. All Zurans know Anton Fallon! Fallon not Bogati, though. Fallon is. .” His face scrunched as he searched for the word. “A soft man.”

  “And Bogati?” I asked. “Horsemen?”

  His smile broadened to show his big teeth. “Ah, you know Bogati! None are horsemen like Bogati horsemen. We are twice other men. Three times.” He studied my horse. “But you are horseman.” He put his hand over his heart. “My greeting is sincere. No offending. You will ride with us to Isowon. We fight together.”

  “Why would you fight for Anton Fallon?” I asked. I still didn’t know how the news from Isowon had reached them. “Because he’s a Zuran?”

  “No,” said the man flatly. “Never for Anton Fallon. For the bronze man.”

  One of his companions spoke up. “Others come that way, too. All who have heard. Bogati, Zithras. . all men from Zura come to see this man.”

  The leader quickly nodded. “You say you come from Isowon. Have you seen him?”

  “Who?” I asked.

  “The man of bronze. The one kissed by heaven. If you’re from Isowon you must know him.”

  “I think I might,” I said. I’d left my battered armor back in Isowon, but the reference was obvious. “You mean Lukien.”

  “Yes!” said the man, and all his companions nodded when they heard the name. “The Undying.” He turned to the others, gesturing and grinning. The men with the spears shook them excitedly. They shared some words I couldn’t understand before their leader looked back at me. “Have you fought with him? Will you tell us of him?”