by John Marco
‘Eiriann, in the morning I’ll tell you a story,’ he said as he followed her into the hall. ‘I’m going to tell you something about myself that you don’t know yet. After that you might not be so keen on having me accompany you to Mount Believer.’
Eiriann stopped in the middle of the hall, turning to look at him with her bright, emerald eyes. ‘I don’t ask for your sake alone, Akan,’ she said. ‘I’m asking for the child.’
‘And what if I wasn’t Akan?’ asked Lorn. He was so tired, so sick of arguing. All he wanted to do was fall into the arms of this girl who looked like his beloved Rinka. ‘What if I was some villain from across the world? Would you still want me to come with you?’
The girl’s smile did not wane. ‘I don’t think the magic of Grimhold works only on the innocent. Besides, what could you have done to possibly taint this child? Nothing, I think.’ She reached out and touched Lorn’s shoulder. ‘Come. It’s time for sleep. In the morning, perhaps you will see things differently.’
Too weary to argue, Lorn nodded and let the young woman guide him across the dim hall. He was grateful for her kindness and knew he didn’t deserve it. He knew, too, that tonight his dreams would be filled with her beautiful face, and the awesome possibility that she might be telling him the truth.
Tonight I will dream of Grimhold, he mused.
He looked down at the child in his arms. For the first time since she was born, he wondered if there might be a way to heal her.
15
The Scholars
All the next day Van kept to himself. He had been given a bunk in the officers’ barracks, which in truth was only a converted storage chamber in one of the library’s dusty wings, and had spent the night with Murdon and Aric Glass. Aric was the only non-commissioned soldier in the barracks, a favour bestowed on him because of his noble lineage, Van supposed. There were ten other men sharing bunks with them, all crammed into a chamber that should have slept half that many. Van had found his new accommodation barely tolerable. Being around fellow Chargers again was something oddly difficult. They had welcomed him coolly, and Van did not blame them for that. But they had not engaged him in conversation or asked him to join their card games before sleep, nor had they bothered to chide him for being a deserter. Except for Aric Glass, they had all simply ignored him.
Van did not see Lorn again that next day. At first when he had awoken, his anger at being deceived by Lorn was as hot as it had been the night before. By afternoon, though, his mood began to soften, and he wondered why Lorn had not come to him as promised, to keep him informed of his meetings with Breck.
Breck, like Lorn, was nowhere to be found. Van supposed the commander was busy with war plans. He wondered why Breck had not sought him out. He was at least as fluent in Jazana Carr’s tactics as was Lorn, and knew he could be a great asset to the cause. Even Murdon had not given Van anything to do. Murdon, who was his superior now, disappeared early in the day with the other officers.
Instead, Van spent the day exploring. He soon discovered that the library remained much as it was before King Akeela’s death, still vast and full of unguarded knowledge. In many ways, it had been untouched by the fall of Liiria. Back in the days when Liiria was whole and Van had been proud to be a Royal Charger, this was the place the world called its beacon, summoning scholars from around the world. It had been open to everyone, for that had been Akeela’s dream. But in those days, Van had never visited the library. It had always been a part of his life, and he had taken it for granted. As a boy he had watched it grow, rising brick by brick on the horizon, and when it finally opened he had marvelled at it from a distance, just as all Liirians had. But he had known from his earliest years that he would be a soldier, and so he had ignored the books and scrolls the library offered, thinking that Liiria’s war college held all the knowledge he would ever need.
Now, though, he was determined to make up those lost years. Deciding not to breakfast with the others, he had skipped his morning meal entirely to explore the many chambers of the library. He found reading rooms and conference chambers filled with books, and it took all of the morning just to see each of the library’s many halls. By afternoon, though, he had found the jewel of the library. It was a room high up in the main tower, away from the public areas. Bursting with books and scrolls shelved carefully in tall cases of shining wood, it was as if the chamber was a private library for Figgis himself, where the master librarian had gathered his most precious books and tucked them away in a place of undisturbed opulence. Here, Van found true solace. Within the walls of the chamber he could hear nothing. Knowing he would be undisturbed, he began searching through the books, choosing a dozen he thought looked interesting, then lost himself in their well-worn pages. Hours passed with stealth as he escaped into the manuscripts, leaning back comfortably in the only chair in the room, a great throne of buttery leather.
For the first time in months, Van was at peace.
A clock on the wall ticked away the minutes as the day disappeared. Vaguely, hunger tugged at Van, but only from a distance. Too entranced to notice anything, he was only truly aware of the satisfaction he felt. Here in this place of great solace, he had disappeared from his peers and the problem of Lorn. More, he had left his old life and all its demons behind. By some magic, they were unable to touch him.
As though from sleep, Van at last awoke from his dreamscape of letters. The clock informed him of the hour — well into the evening now. Hunger roared in his stomach, and he knew he would have to eat soon, and to face the company of others. Regretfully, he closed his book, vowing to return and finish it. He rose from the chair, stretching and yawning like a lion. By now Lorn was looking for him, surely. Perhaps Murdon, as well. Driven by hunger, he left the chamber and descended the tower. He had done a good job of learning the layout of the library and easily found his way back into the main hall, the vast chamber they had first found themselves in when they’d arrived. He found the hall crowded with people, which gave him a shock after his solitary day. A few soldiers passed by, nodding politely but not saying a word, while the townsfolk of Koth offered kind smiles. Van looked around for a familiar face, hoping to spot Murdon or Aric. They would know where to find some food, surely. And Aric had been kinder than most, offering him a breakfast he had stupidly refused. But as Van navigated the hall, he was struck by something that made him forget his hunger.
It was a tapestry. Hanging on the brick wall of the hallway, it was the only colour on the bare, grey stone. Yesterday, when they had first arrived, Lorn had paused to look at it. At the time Van had been too agitated to give it attention, but he did so now. After a day surrounded by books, the tapestry took on a much grander meaning, for it depicted a group of bearded men huddled over a pile of books, their faces drawn with contemplation. Van’s eyes wandered carefully over the tapestry. It was obviously a valuable piece of art, which made it even more curious. Except for the books and scrolls, everything else of value had been stripped from the library. Yet this tapestry had survived the gutting. Ignoring the bustle of people around him, Van smiled at the tapestry, admiring its well-made grace.
‘Not hungry?’
The voice made Van jump. He turned to see Breck standing at his side. ‘What?’
‘You didn’t come for breakfast, nor for midday meal,’ commented the old soldier. ‘I’ve been wondering where you’ve been all day.’
‘I’m sorry,’ faltered Van. ‘I was. . looking around.’
Breck’s frown was searching. ‘Oh?’
‘Yes, well, exploring the library,’ Van explained. ‘I was curious about it. I never came here when I lived in Koth, not even as a boy.’
‘And did you find what you were looking for?’
The question embarrassed Van. He stood up straight. ‘Yes, sir, I think so.’
To Van’s relief Breck finally looked away, turning his attention to the tapestry. ‘You noticed “The Scholars”, I see.’
‘The Scholars,’ Van echoed. He smiled. ‘That
’s what it’s called?’
‘That’s what we call it,’ said Van. ‘If it has a proper name, I don’t know it. It was here when we took over the library. I was just as struck by it as you seem to be. I thought it would be best to leave it.’
Van nodded. It seemed that way to him, too. ‘Sir, may I ask you a question?’
‘If it doesn’t take too long,’ said Breck. ‘I’m on my way to supper and I’m starved.’
‘No, well, if it’s not a good time. .’
‘I’m joking, lieutenant. Ask your question.’
‘All right.’ Van thought for a moment. ‘I’ve been wondering something for a long time now, about you and everyone else here. And now that I’m here with you I can’t stop thinking about it. I’m wondering — why are you here?’
The question vexed Breck. ‘I don’t think I understand what you mean. Why am I here? You mean at the library?’
‘Yes, the library,’ said Van. ‘That’s it exactly. Forgive me, but you’re not a young man. You don’t have to be here, risking your life this way, risking your family. I mean. .’ Van shrugged. ‘Why?’
‘I’m here to defend Koth,’ said Breck, ‘just like you. But you know that already. That’s not what you’re asking.’ The soldier grinned as though he knew a secret. ‘You’re a searcher, Vanlandinghale. Always looking for answers. I’ll answer your question in a moment, but first I have a question for you.’
‘Oh?’ Van braced himself.
‘You and King Lorn,’ said Breck. ‘When you first came here you looked like friends. I know you didn’t realise who he really was, but you did talk. You shared things, I’m sure.’
‘Yes,’ said Van cautiously. ‘So?’
‘So I’m wondering why you didn’t tell him anything about Jador.’
Van froze, staring at Breck. ‘I told him enough. I told him that we disgraced ourselves.’
‘But you didn’t tell him anything about Grimhold,’ said Breck. His expression was cool, unreadable. ‘Or about the magic.’
‘No.’
‘Not even when you realised his daughter was deaf and blind.’
Van shifted a little under Breck’s gaze. ‘I didn’t mention any of it because I didn’t want to talk about it. It’s my business.’
‘I’m not accusing you, boy, I just want you to know something. I spoke to Lorn this morning. Spent a good two hours with him, going over plans and such, getting his opinions about Jazana Carr and her strength. But at the end of our meeting he surprised me. He said that he’d been talking to some of the townsfolk here in the library. They told him about Grimhold. They told him how his daughter might be healed there. He asked me if the stories were true.’
Van grimaced at the news. ‘What did you tell him?’
‘I told him what I knew,’ said Breck. ‘I told him that I didn’t know for certain, but that many who returned from Jador spoke of this magic as real. As far as I know it exists.’ Breck gestured to the people still milling past them. ‘That’s what all these people believe, lieutenant. Haven’t you noticed how many of these folks have trouble walking and seeing? Many of them are planning to cross the Desert of Tears and go to Jador. They want to find Grimhold and be healed. They call it Mount Believer. And now your friend Lorn wants to go with them.’
Van nodded but the news didn’t surprise him. He had always supposed the Norvan would hear the truth eventually.
‘I suppose I should have told him,’ he admitted. ‘But it was my business and he knows that. He has no right to be angry with me.’
‘Not angry,’ said Breck. ‘Bewildered. I think maybe the rumours of his wickedness are ill-founded. He loves his child, anyone can see that. Now he has a decision to make.’
‘He loves Norvor,’ corrected Van. ‘That’s what’s important to him, not his daughter. He won’t leave for Jador, not while there’s a chance of him winning back his throne.’
‘You may be right,’ Breck admitted. ‘He still has time to make up his mind. I was just wondering why you thought it best to keep the truth from him.’
‘I wasn’t being deceptive, sir. I neglected to tell him everything, true. But he found out on his own, and that’s good enough.’ Then Van had another thought. ‘What if he decides to go to Jador with the others? Will you let him?’
‘He’s not a prisoner here. I can’t make him stay, and he’s already told me a great deal about Jazana Carr. If he wants to leave he’ll have my best wishes.’
The idea disturbed Van. ‘What I said about Lorn not loving his daughter is a lie. I had no right to say that. I’ve seen him with her; I know he cares for her.’ He looked away, wishing he had told Lorn the truth from the start. Whatever he had done as king was not the child’s fault. ‘I guess we didn’t trust each other. If he goes, I’ll miss him.’
‘The past is an odd thing,’ said Breck. ‘Wherever a man goes, his past follows like a phantom.’ His expression grew serious. ‘That’s something you have to learn, lieutenant. Your past follows you just like Lorn’s chases him. Whatever you did in Jador is over. But you have to know that.’
‘Over.’ Van considered the word. It was such a tidy term for the filthy things he’d done. ‘I understand what you’re saying, sir.’
Breck watched him for a long moment, as though he didn’t truly believe the young man. ‘Good,’ he said finally. ‘I hope so.’
It seemed impossible to shake Breck’s calm. He glanced back at the tapestry. ‘You asked me why I’m here,’ he said. ‘Let me try to explain it to you. Look at the tapestry, lieutenant.’
Van studied the wall art. It was very beautiful and calming.
‘Someday this war will be over,’ Breck continued. ‘Someday, when all the warlords are gone and Jazana Carr with them, Liiria will have peace again. When that day comes, the world is going to need the library.’
A faint smile crossed Breck’s weary face. Suddenly, Van knew he had his answer.
Together they were silent, studying the artwork and its scholarly men. The noise of the hall faded around them.
‘I became a Royal Charger because it seemed the best work a man could do,’ Van said suddenly.
What might have been a smile cracked Breck’s face. ‘It’s time for supper.’ He turned away from the scholars and their curious faces. ‘I expect my officers to dine with me every night.’ He strode past Van, then paused when he noticed he wasn’t being followed. ‘Come along, Vanlandinghale.’
Happy for the invitation, Van did not hesitate.
16
The Richest Man in the World
When he was a very young man, Baron Reynard Ravel’s father had given him a useless bit of wisdom. In a dusty field of their barren farm, his eyes weary from years of struggle, the older Ravel told his son that a man can’t have everything, and that he should not expect too much in life.
It had been easy for Ravel’s father to make such a statement, a convenient excuse to pardon his many failures. To Reynard, who had grown up poor but who had quickly made a fortune importing tea and spices, his father’s advice now seemed quaint, and not at all applicable to the grand life he had built. It was the only thing his father had given him. It was, sadly, a useless inheritance.
Tonight, Reynard Ravel rolled the advice over in his mind. He began to laugh, and his enormous belly convulsed beneath his silk shirt. After a day touring his plantations and an evening spent poring over ledgers, Ravel was tired. His mood, however, remained good. Now at last he could relax over his supper and celebrate his coming victory. Lying on his side amid a bed of colourful pillows, he reached across the floor toward the feast laid out before him, an orgy of meats and fruits and peacock eggs, from which he selected a single, plump fig. He sucked on the fig slowly, admiring the woman dancing before him, her body only partially clothed, glistening with sweat as she turned to the music. An enormous fire in a marble hearth kept the room warm. Ravel watched the perspiration slide down her bare belly and felt a stirring in his loins. She smiled at him, noting his lust, forci
ng the smile to her lips. Ravel’s girth made him grotesque to women, but his wealth kept them willing. The Merchant-Baron of Andola pinned the fig between his teeth and clapped, grinning like a wolf as he quickened the slave’s pace. The musicians beat their drums and picked their strings faster and faster while the woman sped through her pirouette, her scarlet skirt spinning out around her, the silk around her breasts blurring with colour. Ravel clapped and clapped until she cried with exhaustion, and at that delicate lament he stopped his clapping and watched her collapse to the floor, completing her dance with a toss of her golden hair. The music abruptly stopped. The girl knelt, panting, smiling, looking at him from across the floor. Ravel pulled the fig from his mouth and cheered.
‘Beautiful,’ he applauded. ‘Fate above, you were worth every penny, my dear! Your father wasn’t lying when he said you were an accomplished dancer. I should increase his fee just for that performance.’
A glee that was more like relief flashed through the girl’s blue eyes. ‘Thank you, my lord,’ she said, then let her gaze drop dutifully to her knees. Her heavy breathing quickened Ravel’s own. He glanced at the musicians and shooed them out of the chamber with a wave of his jewelled fingers. The girl waited obediently. Unsure what to do with herself, she adjusted the beads over her breasts. Ravel pursed his lips, loving her innocence.
‘Come here, girl,’ he said at last. She obeyed, padding toward him on bare feet. An arrangement of pillows had been set for her before the feast. Baron Ravel gestured to the soft spot. ‘Sit.’
Again she did as told, folding her legs beneath her as she sat before her new master. She dared not look up at him, but Ravel did not want her to fear him. He had a harem of women just like her, but he had never raised a hand to any of them. He had found out long ago that love given willingly was far sweeter than any love stolen.