by John Marco
For Lukien, the end of the day meant time to think, a quiet time when he no longer fretted over direction or encountering some challenger on the road. When the sun went down and the campfire leaped, he could relax and ponder all that had happened during the day, and all that yet lay ahead. It had been weeks since they had left Jador. They had traveled more north than necessary to avoid Ganjor and Prince Aztar, and the detour had cost them many days. Thorin was well ahead of them, they knew, but there was nothing to be done for it. The way they had come had been the safest for them—if not the quickest—and Lukien was confident they would reach the Liirian border soon enough. Would they find Thorin there? They both supposed so, but they did not talk of it often. Instead, Mirage had made a fine travelling companion for Lukien, always keeping up and never complaining about the weather or the food or the tedious nights they spent beneath the sky.
Lukien had not expected to fall in love with Mirage, and in fact he had not. Though she was very beautiful now, the way she had been before her maiming, her constant attention had not swayed him. He knew it bothered Mirage that he did not love her, and that her time to lure him was running out. Once they reached Liiria and he found Baron Glass, she would be on her own. That was their promise to each other, and he had not stopped reminding her of it. For all her beauty, for all the true love she felt for him, Mirage was willful. And though he enjoyed her company, he resented the way she had used him and Minikin. If not for his guardianship she would be dead by now, he was sure.
Still, his distant manner did not stop the girl from trying—or from being tempting.
The music of crickets was thick in the air when Mirage returned from tending the animals. She wore a long coat to stave off the cool air and a pair of riding breeches that showed off her shapely frame. Lukien, hunched over a pot by the fire, had laid out metal plates for both of them, along with some cheese and hard biscuits. The donkey they had brought carried most of their supplies, including a chest with Lukien’s bronze armor. He knew it was an affectation, but he was determined to return to Liiria the way he had left it—as the Bronze Knight. He stole a glance at Mirage as she knelt down beside him. Her pretty nose sniffed at the steaming stuff in the pot, a stew he had made of meat and turnips and wild onions they had found on the side of the road. The smell of the stew brought a smile to Mirage’s face.
“Ooh, I’m hungry. You’re a good cook, Lukien. I look forward to this part of the day.”
The compliment made Lukien grin. As a child of the streets, cooking for himself had been a necessity. Then later as a soldier he had continued the practice, feeding himself and his men whenever anything edible crawled past them on the battlefield. Things were better now, but Lukien still enjoyed mixing up a meal from time to time, if only to remind himself of younger days.
“I used to be better,” he told Mirage, taking her plate and spooning her some of the food. “There wasn’t much reason for me to cook in Jador. The palace folk took care of that.”
He handed the plate to the girl, who held it under her face a moment to feel the steam. With her eyes closed he had time to look at her. No matter how hard he tried, he could not see the scars beneath the Akari illusion. Nor had he really gotten used to calling her Mirage, but that was her name now and she insisted on it. Mirage opened her eyes, picked up her folk, and sampled the stew.
“Hot!” she said, pursing her lips. “But good.”
Lukien served himself some food and, after tasting it, agreed with her. Crossing his legs beneath him, he settled back and began to eat. The moon disappeared behind a cloud, and while they slaked the worst of their hunger they were quiet, eating and drinking from their water-skins while the horses and donkey rested safely away from the fire. Mirage had already laid out their bedding for the night, near enough to the flames to keep them warm. The two blanket rolls were near each other, too, though Lukien pretended not to notice.
“We made good progress today,” said Mirage. She always started the night with small talk. “In four or five days we’ll be near Nith.”
“We won’t be going through Nith,” said Lukien. “We’ll go around.”
“Around? That’ll take us time, Lukien.”
“Nithins don’t like outsiders.”
Mirage shrugged. “Maybe they won’t see us.”
“Maybe. But if they do they’ll question us, and if they find out we’re heading to Liiria they’ll have us arrested.”
Mirage nodded, because she knew the story. When he had gone through Nith, King Akeela had ravaged the principality. “Thorin has days on us, that’s all I’m saying.”
“We’re going as quickly as we can,” said Lukien, blowing on a forkful of stew. “Anyway, I should think you’d want to take your time. There’s no rush for you to get to Liiria, is there?”
Mirage stopped chewing and stared at him. “I am not a child, Lukien, despite what you think. If you were not here I would make it to Liiria on my own.”
“Perhaps,” said Lukien. “But to what end? What is there for you in Liiria these days? If it wasn’t for Thorin, I wouldn’t be going at all.”
“And if it wasn’t for Minikin I wouldn’t be with you. Is that what you’re saying?”
“All right, I shouldn’t tease you,” said Lukien. “I don’t resent you being with me, Meriel.”
“Mirage,” she said crossly.
“I just want us to understand each other. We won’t be on the road much longer. A week, maybe, and we’ll be in Liiria. You should think on what you mean to do when we get there.”
The girl turned her wounded face from the fire. She was quiet for a long moment before replying, “It’s obvious to you what I want, Lukien. And now you make me feel a fool for it.”
“No,” said Lukien gently, “but you have to understand. I did this as a favor, both for you and for Minikin. She was worried about you, and I was going north anyway. That doesn’t mean I wanted you to come with me.”
Mirage lowered her plate sadly. “I understand. When we get to Liiria I’ll be on my own.”
“Unless you want to come back with me to Grimhold, yes?”
“Or unless you want to stay with me in Liiria.”
She glanced back at him, but Lukien slowly shook his head.
“No, Mirage.”
She gave a flirtatious shrug. “We’ll see. I know you, Lukien. You care about me. You won’t be able to leave me in Liiria.”
Lukien put down his fork. “Do not bait me, girl. I’m going to Liiria to find Thorin and save him from that cursed armor. And after I do that I’m going home—with or without you.”
His tone made Mirage retreat. “All right, but what about that? If we’re so close to Liiria now, you must at least have a plan.”
“For what?”
“For saving Baron Glass! He’s not just going to take off his armor and come home with you. You don’t know the Akari, Lukien. Once they bind with a person they can be very powerful. And an Akari like Kahldris won’t just let go. He wants to control Thorin.”
The statement ruined Lukien’s appetite. “I know. But there is a way. Amaraz said so.” He looked down at his amulet. “I have to trust him.”
“Trust him? He won’t even speak to you.”
“True,” said Lukien bitterly. “But I trust Minikin, and if she tells me Amaraz is wise and knows what he’s doing, then I have to believe.”
“That’s it?” asked Mirage. “That’s your plan?”
“Have you a better one?” snapped Lukien in annoyance.
“No,” Mirage admitted. “Except to hope that Thorin will listen to us. If we appeal to him, perhaps we can reach him.”
Lukien grinned. “That might work. After all, you’ve always appealed to Thorin.”
Mirage nodded as she picked up her plate again. “I know. He’s a good man. He always cared about me.”
“Yes, he did,” Lukien reminded her. “Even before you changed your appearance.”
“Why are you talking this way to me tonight, Lukien?�
�
Without looking at her Lukien returned to his meal. “Forget it,” he said softly.
They stayed like that for a half-hour more, neither of them speaking, Mirage toying with her food while Lukien devoured more than one plateful. As time progressed the moon got larger, bathing their camp in eerie light. Mirage stared into the sky, counting the stars through the thickening clouds. She was never afraid of the darkness or what it might bring.
Because she has been through so much, Lukien supposed, stealing a glance at her. He tossed his empty plate aside and leaned back to rest his stomach.
“Might be a bad night,” he said, breaking the silence at last. “Might rain.”
“I suppose,” replied Mirage without interest.
“Might attract garmys.”
At last she looked at him. “No. Do you think?”
Lukien didn’t think so really, but he liked teasing her about the creatures, the mention of which always made women cringe.
“Hard to say.” Lukien looked around, as if on guard for the manlike reptiles. “They like the woods and the wetness. And they’ll eat anything.”
“Stop playing with me,” said Mirage. “There aren’t garmys this far south. Besides, the fire would keep them away if there were.”
“You’re probably right. Still, I’d be careful sleeping if I were you.”
“Lukien, stop!”
The knight laughed and smiled at the girl. “I’m jesting, girl. There aren’t garmys around here.”
“How do you know? Oh, I wish you hadn’t even mentioned them!” Mirage wrapped her arms around her body and slid closer to the fire. “Disgusting creatures.”
“Have you ever seen one?”
“No, and I don’t care to, thank you very much.” She looked at him. “Have you?”
“As a matter of fact, yes,” said Lukien. It was almost two decades ago now, but he remembered the day well.
“Really?” said Mirage, instantly intrigued. “Tell me about it. Was it very ugly?”
“Ugly? Grotesque would be a better word. And when I saw them there were three of them.” His eyes narrowed in thought. “At least I think there were three.”
“Three? Great Fate, what happened? Did you fight them?”
Lukien hesitated. “I don’t think we should talk about this, Mirage. The circumstances were . . . strange.”
She looked at him curiously. “Oh?”
“It was a long time ago. We were heading back to Liiria from Reec.”
“Reec? Ah, you mean with Cassandra.”
Lukien nodded. “I was taking her to be married to Akeela. I don’t think you want to hear the rest.”
“No, Lukien, I do,” Mirage insisted. “I want to know.”
“About the garmys?”
“Don’t play games. About Cassandra.” She looked at him gently. “We never finished our talk about her. Do you remember? We were down in the prayer chamber. You told me she was beautiful.”
“Yes,” said Lukien sadly. “Very beautiful.” His mind filled with a picture of her, raven-haired and smiling, kept forever young by the same damned amulet he wore now. He still blamed himself for killing her. “I don’t know what you want me to say. I miss her. In all my life I never found a woman like her, not before or since.” Catching himself, he grimaced. “Forgive me. I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”
Mirage stayed very still as she stared at him. “And you don’t think you ever will?”
Lukien refused to look at her. “I cannot. She haunts me, and that is how I want it.”
“You waste all your life then, Lukien,” said Mirage. “You will never be happy. But I can make you happy. I know I can.” She slid closer to him. “If you would just forget her for a moment.”
Her body felt warm, warmer than the fire. So close was she that he could smell her hair. But all it did was steel him. He could never forget Cassandra. To Lukien, forgetting was betrayal.
“No, Mirage. You don’t understand . . .”
“I do,” Mirage insisted. “I know you pine for her. You love her memory. But that’s all she is, Lukien—just a memory now, and I’m here for real, in the flesh.”
She put her face up to his, then moved her lips ever closer. Lukien felt the brush of them. Their hot sweetness lured him forward . . .
And then repelled him.
“I’m tired,” he said without emotion. He stood and brushed the dirt and leaves from his backside. “We’ll keep the fire going. By morning it will be out and we’ll be ready to ride.”
Ignoring Mirage’s disappointment, Lukien went to his bed roll and did not speak again that night.
34
NITH
Atop a pretty little valley on a cold spring morning, Baron Glass paused in his relentless ride northward, surveying the land below him with an uncommon sense of dread. Birdsong filled the air. His horse waited quietly for orders. In the valley was a town, and in the town was a castle atop a small tor, the modest home of Prince Daralor. Baron Glass had never been to Nith. Even riding south a year ago he had avoided the principality. Now, as he sat atop his horse and stared, he wondered about the wisdom of his choice.
In the weeks since leaving Grimhold he had traveled ceaselessly, almost without rest, bolstered by the inhuman strength the armor gave his old body. Five horses had been exhausted from the pace, ridden almost to death by Thorin’s zeal to reach Liiria. The first horse—the one he had stolen from Grimhold—had taken him as far as Ganjor before the poor beast perished, baked and battered by the desert sun. From there he had had gone north, through ugly Dreel and the forests of Lonril, stealing horses and sleeping under the stars only when sleep was absolutely necessary. Without company or conversation, Baron Glass had only Kahldris for comfort. But he had his arm again, animated by the dark angel’s magic, and for Thorin that was enough. Kahldris had given him something no one in Grimhold ever had—a reason to live.
“It’s very quiet,” said Thorin.
He spoke more to himself than to Kahldris, who was always in his mind and body, just below the surface. Thorin held the armor’s homed helmet in the crook of his arm. Like the rest of the magical suit, it was feather-light and not at all a bother to wear or carry. Even when he slept, Thorin kept part of the armor on his person. Never once had he taken off the chainmail covering his left arm—the arm that no longer had flesh. As long as he wore that much of it, he was a whole man.
Kahldris did not answer Thorin. Instead the Akari pushed on his mind, urging him toward Nith. Thorin resisted. Traveling through Nith had not been his first choice. Though a quiet people, the Nithins were fiercely territorial and never welcomed strangers. It was why all travelers avoided the tiny nation, and Thorin, even in his armor, was loath to encounter them now.
It is the quickest way.
The words belonged to Kahldris, shouldering into Thorin’s mind.
“I know.”
There is nothing for you to fear.
“I’m not afraid,” said Thorin angrily.
You are, but you must learn there is nothing that can challenge you now, Baron Glass. Not while you wear my armor.
The voice of the demon—if indeed he was a demon—stroked Thorin’s mind. So far Kahldris had never lied to Thorin or led him into danger. Thorin trusted Kahldris. He supposed it was this way with all the Inhumans and their Akari.
“Why make trouble?” Thorin asked aloud. “In a day I can ride around.”
Kahldris did not answer him, yet Thorin could feel the spirit’s disappointment. He still did not know very much about Kahldris or the man he had been in life, but he was learning the spirit’s many moods.
“They will notice the armor,” he said. Many others had already. “Yes, we should go around.”
Do as you wish, Baron Glass.
The voice was almost sullen.
“I’m not afraid of them, demon,” Thorin insisted. “But Prince Daralor abides no outsiders in his land, especially since Akeela cut off his fingers.”
You are on your way to battle an army, yet a princeling with missing fingers dissuades you. You have armor that no blade has ever nicked, you have both your arms . . . You are fearful I say.
Thorin growled back, “I am not afraid, damn you. I will have my breakfast in Nith if that is all that will appease you!”
It was hunger at least that finally made Thorin drive his dapple-gray down the hillside and into the valley. Though he no longer needed food or sleep the way a normal man might, he had not eaten properly for days and his stomach roared to be filled. Angry at being thought a coward and mad with hunger, Thorin punched his heels into the sides of his horse and led the beast toward the waiting town.
Nith itself was not a large town. Like the sunken valley surrounding it, the town was quaint and pretty, with the typical trappings found everywhere this far north. It could have been a Liirian town with its dominating castle and offshoot streets and buildings, all huddled close as if for warmth. The avenues were narrow and hilly, filled with stairs and archways and gentle bends revealing tiny gardens. Thorin reached the town quickly, finally slowing as he made his way through its central street. He had slung the armor’s helmet over his saddle horn and was glad to see the streets mostly empty. His unusual attire always attracted unwanted stares, and here in Nith he knew such stares were dangerous.
Trotting across the cobblestone street, he turned a corner and saw a tavern nearby. A flame flickered in the dusty window. Hoping it open, Thorin steered his mount that way and peered inside the window. A man he supposed was the proprietor was at the bar, hurriedly wiping it down. A few other murky figures sat at tables near the hearth. The sign outside advertised food and drink. Thorin dropped down off his horse, eager to go inside, then wondered what to do with his things. His bedroll and other belongings were safe enough, he guessed, but the helmet was another matter entirely.
“I should have taken off this damn armor,” he chided himself. “They will think me riding off to war!”