The Sword Of Angels eog-3

by John Marco

  ‘No, King Lorn, that’s not why I have come. Nothing has changed in Grimhold. There is still no Akari for Poppy.’

  ‘Pardon me, but I have heard about what happened to White-Eye. Before he left, Gilwyn explained it to me. She was severed from her Akari, and it is tragic. But would that not free up her Akari for Poppy?’

  ‘No, because it does not work that way. You are a stranger here, King Lorn, and I do not expect you to understand the bond between Akari and Inhuman. White-Eye’s Akari was taken from her in violence.’ Minikin dropped her gaze a little. ‘Faralok is lost to us.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Lorn. ‘But for my daughter’s sake I had to ask.’

  ‘I have not forgotten Poppy, or my promise to you. She is always in my thoughts, and if the time comes I will make arrangements for her. But I have explained this to you already, King Lorn. There are many like Poppy, and they have been here longer.’

  ‘I understand,’ said Lorn, unable to hid his disappointment. Over Minikin’s shoulder, the brooding Trog stared at him. The great bald giant with the overbite didn’t seem to understand anything that was being discussed, but his gaze unsettled Lorn. ‘So,’ Lorn continued, ‘if you have not come to talk of Poppy, then you have come to talk about what I have been doing here. I assure you, Lady Minikin, you have nothing to worry about.’

  ‘Good, because I want your assurances, King Lorn. I want to know that Gilwyn made the right decision when he gave Jador over to you.’

  ‘Let me correct you. Gilwyn did not give me the city. He asked me to look after it for him, because of what happened to White-Eye and because of what has happened to you, as well. Forgive this impertinence, but you have not been well. Your heart aches from what you did in the battle with Prince Aztar. I know. I was there, remember.’

  Minikin’s normally placid face grew stormy. ‘I have no regrets.’

  ‘My lady, I was King of Norvor for sixteen years. I killed people just as you did, and I never regretted it either. I did what had to be done, just like you. But I never enjoyed it. So you need not pretend with me. Believe it or not, I know what guilt feels like.’

  ‘So,’ sighed Minikin, ‘that is why Gilwyn asked you to look after things. I thought as much. And he is correct. I am old now, King Lorn, far older than you can imagine. And I need young people like Gilwyn and White-Eye to look after things. I cannot do it on my own, not any longer. Jador has grown too much, and with Grimhold’s secret out in the world. .’ She shrugged. ‘Others are needed. And that’s why I have come here.’

  ‘I’m not certain I understand you, Lady Minikin. You have not come to speak about Jador?’

  ‘In a way, yes, but I haven’t come to criticize you, or even to curtail you.’

  ‘That is good, because I made a promise to young Gilwyn.’

  ‘And you intend to keep it.’

  Lorn nodded. ‘Precisely right.’

  ‘I have no argument with you, King Lorn. Not yet, at least. You promised Gilwyn you would look after things in the city. That is good. Gilwyn is young, but wise. He is concerned about Jador, and he is concerned about White-Eye. I am concerned about White-Eye as well. Gilwyn was only regent of Jador. He and White-Eye are not married. Only her desire made him regent over Jador.’

  ‘I know that,’ said Lorn. ‘My lady, your meaning is clear. I know that I am not Jador’s rightful ruler. .’

  ‘No, you misunderstand me, King Lorn. I have not come to talk about you. I have come to talk about White-Eye.’

  ‘White-Eye? I do not even know the girl.’

  ‘But I do, and I can tell you that she is not well, not at all,’ said Minikin. At last the mistress sat back, looking remarkably old. The torchlight wavered on her face. ‘I have known White-Eye since she was born. Her father, Kadar — he gave her to me to look after. Did you know that?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Lorn. ‘Gilwyn told me that. You are like a mother to the girl, that’s what he said.’

  ‘A mother?’ Minikin brightened. ‘I like to think that’s true. I have tried to make her strong. And she is strong, King Lorn. White-Eye is like her father. Even when he died, White-Eye was strong. But not now. She has lost her Akari.’

  ‘I confess, I do not really know what that means,’ Lorn admitted. ‘Gilwyn has tried to explain it to me, but this bond between people and spirits; it vexes me.’

  Minikin gave a knowing chuckle. With Trog’s big hand still on her chair, she reached over her shoulder and patted it. ‘The Inhumans use their Akari to help them. Without her Akari, White-Eye is as blind as your daughter, Poppy. But Poppy has never known sight, while White-Eye has had it robbed from her.’

  Lorn tried to look moved. ‘It must be terrible.’

  ‘Terrible? At least that. White-Eye has not only lost her sight but also part of her soul. That is what an Akari is like — they become part of their hosts. She has never been so alone, and it has damaged her. She no longer thinks of herself as kahana. And she must, King Lorn, because she must rule here someday.’

  ‘But how can she? She never even comes to Jador because of the sun. How can she rule the city?’

  ‘White-Eye made Gilwyn regent so that he could look after things while she stayed in Grimhold,’ said Minikin. ‘But what if Gilwyn never returns?’ She looked hard at Lorn. ‘Have you not considered that?’

  ‘I have,’ said Lorn. ‘He is young, and I warned him when he left that there would be dangers. That is why I am trying to prepare Jador, Lady Minikin. The city needs to be strong.’

  ‘Indeed, and it needs a strong leader. You are strong, certainly, but you are not Jadori and you were not chosen by White-Eye. The city needs its kahana. And White-Eye needs to be whole again. She needs to see that she is strong, that she can lead.’

  ‘I’m sorry, my lady, but I am still lost. What is it you want of me?’

  Minikin at last got out of her chair. She padded over to stand before Lorn, who looked up in confusion into her troubled face. She returned his gaze directly, her eyes gentle and encouraging.

  ‘You have done a great deal for Jador, King Lorn,’ she said. ‘Some think you are ambitious and that you only agreed to help us for your own self interest. I do not believe that about you. Gilwyn believes in you, and so do I.’

  Lorn wanted to look away, but forced himself to meet the lady’s gaze. ‘You are na??ve to say that,’ he replied. ‘You are speaking to King Lorn the Wicked.’

  ‘That is what they call you up north. Not here.’ Minikin touched his hand. ‘I have a great favour to ask of you.’

  A day later, White-Eye remained in her bleak chambers, waiting for sleep to come. The spinning wheel Minikin had given her sat neglected in the corner of the room. White-Eye sat near a windowless wall, listening to the deaf-making silence.

  Alone.

  The profoundness of her solitude frightened White-Eye. While Faralok was with her, she was never really alone. He had been her constant companions, even making her dreams vivid. Now, closed or open, her eyes surveyed the same blackness. The sound of her own breathing grated loudly on her brain. She did not know the time, for time moved like syrup now, dripping slowly in frozen drops. Occasional footfalls outside her door told her that it was not yet very late, but to White-Eye the time didn’t really matter. One moment was like the next or the one before, and to sleep meant nightmares. So she remained in her chair, brooding, neglecting to grope her way toward her bed.

  She would be ‘all right.’ In time. That’s what they all were saying, and it angered White-Eye. She had nothing but time these days, and no way to help herself or her people. Even Gilwyn was lost to her.

  ‘How much time?’ she wondered aloud. In her stark chamber, her voice rang hollow.

  Then, remarkably, she heard a knock at her door. White-Eye sat up and turned toward the door, cocking her head to listen.

  ‘White-Eye? I’m coming in.’

  The door opened. A pair of little feet entered the room. White-Eye tried to smile, feeling the presence of her beloved Miniki
n. There was another with her, too, bigger and larger. White-Eye puzzled, for the sense of the person felt unlike Trog.

  ‘White-Eye, I’ve just returned,’ said Minikin. She went to stand beside White-Eye’s chair, to touch the girl’s arm. A gentle kiss caressed her head. ‘How are you?’

  ‘The same.’ Though she was glad Minikin had come, she could give no other answer. ‘Minikin, who is with you?’

  White-Eye felt her pull away. The other — a stranger — stepped into the room.

  ‘Kahana,’ said the voice, a man White-Eye did not recognize. ‘I am Lorn of Norvor.’

  White-Eye got unsteadily out of her chair to face him. ‘I know you,’ she said. ‘Gilwyn told me about you.’

  She felt Lorn step closer. Even in her blindness his presence felt enormous. Minikin did not touch White-Eye again, but stayed near her.

  ‘What happened to you is a great tragedy,’ said Lorn. ‘You have my sympathies.’

  White-Eye nodded, confused. ‘King Lorn, you have surprised me. I did not expect you to be coming here.’ She turned toward Minikin for an explanation. ‘Is there a reason?’

  Minikin shrunk under the question. ‘White-Eye,’ she sighed, ‘please listen to me. Lorn is here to help you.’

  ‘Help me? How?’

  ‘You are going back to Jador with me,’ said Lorn. ‘To be Kahana.’

  White-Eye was in no mood for jests. ‘Be serious, now. .’

  ‘I am serious, my lady,’ said Lorn. ‘It is what Minikin has asked of me, to make you into a ruler.’

  ‘What?’ White-Eye asked furiously. ‘Minikin, what is this? Tell him to leave at once.’

  ‘Child, it is necessary,’ said Minikin. ‘Jador needs you.’

  White-Eye put up her hands, shaking her head and backpeddling until she hit her chair. ‘No! Go away!’

  ‘Listen to me,’ Minikin insisted. ‘You think you are useless because you are blind. But you are Kahana! You cannot sit forever in this room. You must learn things, things that Lorn can teach you.’

  ‘Him?’ White-Eye shrieked.

  ‘I will be as gentle as I can with you, Kahana.’ She felt Lorn stalking closer. ‘I will teach you how to lead your people, and how to overcome your terrors.’

  ‘This is madness!’ White-Eye collapsed into her chair, turning away from them both. ‘Look at me! How can you do this to me?’

  ‘It is necessary,’ Minikin said, her voice pleading. ‘This is not to hurt you. It is to make you strong. You must see that you can still do things.’

  ‘I do not want to do things! I want to be left alone!’

  Minikin took a breath to quiet down them all. Finally she said, ‘Lorn will not leave without you, White-Eye. You must go with him to Jador.’

  ‘Minikin, I cannot! I cannot stand the light!’

  ‘It is dark now, Kahana,’ said Lorn. ‘And I will not allow any harm to come to you. We will travel through the night, and while the sun is up you can stay within the palace.’

  ‘And what will you do with me in the palace?’ White-Eye asked. ‘Tutor me? Like I am some dullard?’

  Lorn quickly seized her hand in his own. ‘Do you feel that?’

  White-Eye could not break from his grasp.

  ‘Do you feel that?’ he asked again.

  ‘Your hand?’

  ‘Aye, my hand. Do you feel the strength of it, girl? I have been through a hundred heartaches like yours.’

  He yanked her to her feet. She stared blankly, frightened.

  ‘You and I are special, girl. We are rulers. I’m going to teach you what that means.’

  White-Eye felt herself shaking. She tried to pry his fingers free, but they were like corded ropes.

  ‘King Lorn, I am afraid!’

  His grasp wouldn’t slacken. ‘You have dragons,’ he said. ‘Together we will slay them. I will teach you.’

  White-Eye turned hopelessly toward Minikin. ‘Minikin, I do not want this. Please. .’

  The mistress would not comfort her. ‘He won’t harm you, White-Eye. He has promised it and I believe him. There are kreels and warriors waiting to escort you.’

  The madness of the moment seemed inescapable. White-Eye nodded, not really agreeing, not wanting to struggle. Lorn’s hand remained strong. She kept hold of it even as he took his first slow steps toward the door.

  6

  Mirage was dreaming of Grimhold when the carriage came to a halt.

  At first she did not remember where she was, but then the chains around her feet reminded her. She lifted her head from the hard floor, groggily searching the dark interior. The airless, windowless carriage stifled her breathing, but she knew they had stopped and her stomach rumbled with hunger. Finally, there would be food. Her companions inside the prison carriage — all of them women — began coming alive in the darkness. She had spoken barely a word to any of them over the past few days. She didn’t even know their names. Mirage prepared herself, ready to fight the way an animal might. Days of darkness and hunger had driven her to madness. The chains around her ankles had made the skin chafe and bleed. Her eyes stung from tears and dirt and the sheer stink of captivity.

  ‘Mine,’ muttered one of the women insanely. She was a small, Norvan woman with jet hair who had positioned herself near the carriage door, the first to leap whenever food was given. The other women — less than a dozen in all — shuffled near to her, to beg for the morsels their captors pressed through the portal. They were all Norvans, Mirage had guessed, captured in Liiria just as she had been. After Chane had taken her to the Reecian camp, she had been shoved into the prison carriage for the long ride to Hes, the Reecian capital. Without explanation, she had learned on her own that there were scores of prisoners, mostly men. Mirage rubbed her red eyes with her dirty hands. The food was always terrible, but hunger made her choke it down. She could barely believe her misery.

  She had been having a good dream, and had awoken to a nightmare. For days now she had endured the humiliation of captivity, fighting for scraps and wondering against logic how her life had taken such a turn. At first she had thought it a sick joke, but then Chane had taken her to the camp across the border, and she knew with awful certainty that it was no joke at all, and that she truly was a prisoner. And she had cried. Like the other bewildered women, she had sobbed lonely tears as the carriage bumped toward Hes, away from her old life toward the frightful unknown.

  At last she heard the bolts being thrown open and saw the door crack with moonlight. It was still late, and she had no real notion of the hour. The women shouted and crowded toward the door, but before Mirage could make her move the figure of their gaoler appeared, his angry face barking at them to back away. He had no food, this giant Reecian, just a chain of keys around his wrist and a stout stick in his meaty fist. He beat the little Norvan woman back until she yelped like a dog.

  ‘Norvan sluts,’ he cursed. ‘Get back, the lot of you. We’re here.’

  Mirage crept forward to see outside the little door. Were they in Hes? The gaoler stepped away and let a team of his companions into the carriage. One by one they hauled the chained women out, dropping them to the cold earth. When it was Mirage’s turn she tried hard to keep her balance. Suddenly she was tumbling, the fresh air pricking her skin, the hard ground rattling her jaw. With her bound wrists she tried to right herself, looking around in horror. Her body was always in pain, and stretching it now made her wince. A dark city rose up around her, quiet and still. The other prison carriages had also stopped to unload their human cargo. Mirage got to her knees, pausing uncertainly. The big Reecian with the stick knocked the other women into the same position, his thick accent barely understandable. Around them, ancient Hes twinkled with torchlight, its magnificent towers soaring into the black sky. A courtyard spread out around them, full of soldiers and activity. Mirage glanced up to see a forbidding structure blocking her sight, a rambling edifice of grey stone and iron. Her heart iced over, sure that her undoing lay inside.

  ‘That one,’ s
aid a voice.

  Mirage turned toward the voice and saw Corvalos Chane. He was pointing at her, conversing with the gaolers. When their eyes met he smirked. One of Mirage’s captors approached and lifted her roughly to her feet, dragging her toward Chane. Barely able to walk, Mirage struggled not to fall when the Reecian released her. She stood before Chane, filthy and broken, her eyes locked hatefully on his own.

  ‘I will take her inside myself,’ said Chane.

  The big man with the stick backed away, not questioning Chane as he took hold of Mirage and led her away. Mirage’s head swiveled in confusion. Throughout the courtyard, men were tumbling out of prison carriages.

  ‘My feet,’ she gasped. ‘I can’t. .’ She paused, nearly falling, coughing up dirty spit. For days she had barely used her voice, and now it failed her.

  ‘Keep up,’ Chane demanded. ‘Little steps, girl.’

  Mirage forced herself to walk, her steps shortened by the chain around her ankles. Chane’s strong hand clamped around her arm guided her painfully away from the others, toward an open, spiked gate and the dark recesses of the keep.

  ‘This place,’ she rasped. ‘What is it?’

  Chane did not answer.

  ‘Is this Hes?’ she asked angrily. ‘Is this where Asher is?’

  The name Asher had haunted her the whole miserable journey. Chane had used the name like a weapon. The nightmarish castle of slimy moss and tangled iron tortured her thinking, making her beg for answers. Before Chane could pull her through the gate, Mirage planted her feet and grit her teeth, refusing to go further.

  ‘No!’

  Chane’s free hand shot across her mouth, stunning her.

  ‘You will have your answers. . inside.’

  He pulled her bodily through the gate, nearly lifting her from her bound feet as he dragged her into the keep. Remarkably strong, he barely broke a sweat as he half-carried her through a sleepy hall, dimly lit with oily lamps and smelling badly of humanity. Mirage gave up her struggle, fighting instead to keep from falling, her booted feet skipping across the stone floor as Chane bounced her along. Soldiers leered, ignored by Chane as he led her deeper into the keep. She heard the cries of other prisoners echoing through the halls, the ghastly music punctuated by the noise of scraping metal. Nausea swam through Mirage’s mind as she imagined the torture the Reecians had arranged for her. Chane’s special interest in her snuffed out the last of her confidence.