by John Marco
It was not unexpected news, yet Jazana Carr winced. Like the now-dead Lord Dugald, she hadn’t expected the Liirians to remain loyal to their shattered country. As she passed the prisoners they eyed her with awe and hatred. Jazana looked away, preferring the sight of Onikil’s back to the cold stares. She was not apathetic. Those willing to join her mercenary army would be given good pay and respectful treatment. Those who refused. . well, that was a decision for tomorrow.
‘Where’s Rodrik, Onikil?’ asked Jazana anxiously. She had expected to find him in the yard, but Onikil was leading her deeper toward the keep.
‘Up in Baron Ravel’s chamber, actually,’ replied the count with a little laugh.
He was vexing, but Jazana decided not to press him. Apparently, Rodrik had his reasons for bringing her to the baron’s chambers, and her curiosity spurred her on. They entered the keep — which like the courtyard was filled with Norvans now — and passed some of Ravel’s servants along the way. They were a harmless-looking group, mostly women and old men, and all of them bowed and hid their faces when they noticed the Diamond Queen, dropping to their knees and almost quaking with fright. Embarrassed, Jazana barked at them to rise and get on about their business, for the castle looked dishevelled now with all her men traipsing about, and there were many, hungry mouths to feed now that the castle was hers.
‘I’m the new lady of the house,’ she told an elderly maid locked in a curtsy before her. ‘Forget your old employer and remember my face.’
The old woman nodded rapidly then scurried away. Onikil guided Jazana Carr out of the area toward the stairs, a grand spiral of steps. Eager to be away from the Liirians, Jazana took the lead and hurried up the stairs with Onikil close behind. The count told her to go to the top, which was a good distance and had the queen quite tired by the time she reached it, and entered into a gilded hall that she somehow knew was Ravel’s private chambers. Here she found men she recognised, those mercenaries that were close to Rodrik Varl and had been in her employ for years. There were others with them as well — beautiful, well-dressed women that surprised Jazana when she saw them. All were young, pretty things with smooth skin and bright eyes, eyes that turned on Jazana Carr with dread as she approached. The women shrank away and Jazana leaned toward Onikil.
‘Who are they?’ she asked.
‘Ravel’s concubines, my lady,’ replied Onikil. He watched the women with admiration. A playful smile curled his mouth. ‘We weren’t sure what to do with them, you see. With Ravel gone, they have nowhere to go. Normally. .’
‘Normally you would have made slaves of them and taken them to your bed, Count Onikil. But since I’m queen now you can’t do that.’
Onikil grinned. ‘Just so, my lady.’
‘Disgusting. Great Fate, where’s that bloody Rodrik Varl?’
‘Here,’ came a voice from across the hall. From behind a grand and open door of carved oak stepped Varl. He wore no beret, and his red hair was matted with sweat and filth.
Jazana left Count Onikil at once and went to her bodyguard. Reaching out for him, she touched his face and smiled in relief.
‘I should be angry with you,’ she said. ‘I’m not.’
The weight of exhaustion on his face seemed unbearable. He took her hand and kissed it. ‘I’m glad you’re well,’ he said with affection.
She squeezed his hand, grateful to be with him again.
‘Why did you bring me up here, Rodrik? Where’s Ravel?’
‘In here,’ said Varl. He stepped aside so that she could enter the plush chamber, and when she did she saw another girl-woman. This one had blonde hair and was younger than the rest, seated in one of Ravel’s expensive chairs with her eyes fixed on the elaborate carpet. She kept her hands clasped dutifully in her lap, not even bothering to acknowledge the queen’s entrance. Jazana was not offended by the girl’s silence; she supposed something awful had happened to her.
‘One of Ravel’s?’ she whispered.
Varl nodded. Beside the three of them, there was no one else in the room. ‘Her name is Simah. She’s a slave, or was. She says that Ravel freed her before he died.’
‘Should I suppose that Ravel is in here somewhere?’
‘This way.’
Leaving Simah alone in the chamber, Varl led Jazana to an adjoining room, this one trimmed with marble and lit by dozens of candles. The scent of lilacs filled the air, and rose-water jugs lined the walls and polished floor. It was a bath chamber, and in the centre of the room was an enormous sunken tub, large enough even for a man of Baron Ravel’s giant size. Ravel himself was in the bath water, which was tepid now and turned an unusual rust colour. The baron’s head hung backwards at a grotesque angle, his eyes open and gaping at the ceiling. He was naked in the tub, but Jazana could barely see him in the opaque water. What she could see was the odd, upturned angle of one of his wrists, resting on the side of the tub, a great gash sliced through it that had long ago stopped oozing blood. A dagger rested on the floor nearby. The other wrist, similarly slashed, rested just beneath the water.
‘What an unholy sight,’ whispered Jazana as she inched toward the tub. She knelt down to inspect Ravel’s lifeless face. He looked miserable, as if his last hours had been unbearable. She even pitied him. ‘It’s not easy for a man to be bested by a woman,’ she said softly.
She picked up the soiled dagger and shook it in the bloodied water to clean its silver shaft. Then she stood and went back to where Varl waited for her. His face was tight, as if he too pitied Ravel and blamed her for what had happened to him.
‘Bite back whatever you’re thinking,’ she warned. ‘I don’t want to hear it right now.’
Passing him, she returned to the main chamber where Simah the slave sat. There she dropped down onto one knee before the girl, forcibly took her hand and slapped the dagger into her palm.
‘This,’ she declared, ‘is yours now.’
Simah looked up. Her haunted eyes gazed into Jazana’s own. ‘My family doesn’t want me,’ she said. Then, ‘I have nowhere to go.’
‘You’re free now,’ said Jazana. ‘Don’t make the mistake of thinking that Baron Ravel freed you. That was my doing, child. Ravel may have made a whore of you but I have given you back your womanhood. Now, take that dagger and keep it with you always. Use it to remember how strong you are.’
Simah nodded as understanding slowly dawned. ‘What about the others? Will we be safe here in the city?’
‘You don’t need Ravel to protect you any more. This city belongs to me now.’ Jazana Carr stood. ‘Rise,’ she commanded. Simah did so. ‘Stay in the castle until you’re ready to leave. No one will harm you. You’ll be given new clothes to wear, whatever you need.’
‘My lady,’ Simah stammered, ‘I don’t understand. .’
‘You are free,’ repeated Jazana. She took Simah’s hand and led her out of the chamber. ‘In time you will learn what that means.’
18
A Song Without Sound
Over the course of several weeks Lorn and his daughter Poppy settled into the rhythm of Koth’s great library. Like many of the places they had been since fleeing Carlion the library had become a home to them, and Lorn was pleased with the time he had spent there. It had been months since he’d felt useful. He conferred almost daily with Breck, telling him about Jazana Carr, his experiences in fighting her, and what the defenders of Koth might expect from her war machine. To Breck, Lorn was a fount of insight. The information he passed to the commander was always met with thanks, and after a while the two forged a grudging friendship. Because most in Breck’s army still mistrusted Lorn, he was not often present in their meetings. Instead he usually spoke privately with Breck and sometimes his closest aides, leaving the lower-ranking men to wonder about him. Their mistrust did not offend Lorn. He admired the men who had answered Breck’s call. Against Jazana Carr they would quite probably die, and their willingness to do so demanded respect.
When he was not with Breck or alone jotting down jour
nals full of tactics, Lorn spent most of his time with Eiriann and her father, Garthel. Because he shared a room with them he had gotten to know the strange pair more intimately than he’d known anyone in years, save his beloved Rinka. Living quarters were cramped in the library, and Lorn had only a corner of the room for himself, enough for a bunk and a small cradle for Poppy. As he had promised Eiriann that first night when he’d met her, he confessed his true identity to her early that next morning. By then Eiriann had already heard about it, and she surprised Lorn by not being shocked at all. While Breck’s soldiers continued to gossip about Lorn and his colourful past, Eiriann and the others planning to leave for Mount Believer were too preoccupied with their preparations to waste time with idle chit-chat. Lorn soon learned that there were thirty others like Eiriann and her father, all desperate people with various maladies who intended to make the trek across the Desert of Tears. While Lorn conferred with Breck and fretted over the library’s defence, these poor folk made cloth and gathered supplies and bartered for pack animals, all in anticipation of their departure.
For Lorn the arrangement was remarkably good. Eiriann continued to wet-nurse Poppy without complaint, happy to be useful and feel like a whole woman. It was a wrenching thing to watch at times, for the girl who had lost three children of her own became a surrogate mother to Poppy, and Lorn wondered what would happen when Eiriann left, and if she would be heartbroken if Lorn and Poppy did not go with them. The preparations the group had been making were nearly completed now. There was talk of them leaving for Mount Believer within days. Yet Lorn still hadn’t decided whether to go with them or not. He merely let Eiriann and her father go on thinking he would accompany them, for by some strange belief in Lorn’s morality Eiriann simply couldn’t fathom anything else. He was needed, she had told him, not just by Poppy but by all the infirm going to Grimhold.
Eiriann’s faith in Lorn seemed unshakable. Unlike Van and the others, she put no credence to his nickname King Lorn the Wicked, and she never once questioned him about his past or the ugly things he was purported to have done. While rumours swept through the library almost daily about how he had abandoned his men at Carlion or poisoned his friend Duke Rihards or let his own people starve, Eiriann ignored them all with a smile, sure that he had somehow changed and that the Great Fate, that mystical, remarkable force of Liiria, had brought him to them for a reason.
Sadly, Vanlandinghale did not share Eiriann’s faith. Since discovering Lorn’s true past, Van had grown distant and the two had seen each other only seldom in the subsequent weeks. Lorn realised that his friend — if that’s what Van was — had been occupied in becoming a soldier again and had little time to discuss what had happened. Although it seemed to Lorn that Van’s anger had dissipated, they remained estranged from each other, the fracture made worse by the fact that Van bunked with Breck’s soldiers instead of with the citizens, as Lorn did. Eventually, Lorn gave up trying to speak to Van. He had promised Van to keep him informed about things but never had, and he supposed it wasn’t really necessary. Van had a purpose in life again and that was good. According to Breck, he was finally fitting in with the rest of the Royal Chargers.
Then, exactly four weeks after coming to the library, Lorn decided he needed to speak with Van. It was a decision forced on him by Eiriann, who informed him that she and the others were ready to leave and would do so in two days. As always, the girl assumed that Lorn would go with them. Unable to disappoint her, Lorn remained vague, but he realised a time of decision had come. He needed answers. He needed to speak with Van.
It was mid-afternoon and the day was surprisingly warm. Library Hill bustled with activity as Breck’s soldiers continued erecting defences and training with their mounts and weapons. Women and girls washed clothes and hung them to dry in the yards, while men and boys from the city did the work of tending animals and stacking grain. Supplies continued to be brought in from the corners of Koth, for it was said that Jazana Carr had moved on Liiria and that a great battle was about to take place in Andola. The soldiers and the people they protected worked diligently to prepare the library for siege. Eiriann and the others — who collectively called themselves the Believers — continued their own preparations as if nothing threatened them. And indeed, they were unthreatened by Jazana Carr. By the time her forces arrived in Koth they would be long gone.
But would Lorn be going with them? Deciding between a fairy tale and the reality of slaying Jazana Carr was too much for Lorn to decide on his own. It surprised him that he needed Van to help make his choice. So Lorn went in search of Van, and after asking around discovered his friend hard at work mending an ancient stone fence on the south side of Library Hill. Van was all alone at his toil, working shirtless in the sun with a pile of stones and a pail of mortar beside him. Away from the others and kneeling near the stubby wall, he looked strange doing the work of a tradesman. But he also looked content. Lorn paused a good distance from his friend, watching him as he worked the mortar with a trowel, carefully eyeing its level before laying the heavy stones. Sweat ran down his bare back, which had been cooked red from the sun. Too involved in his work to notice the interruption, it was not until Lorn’s shadow crossed his view that he started. He turned around with trowel in hand, but his face fell when he noticed Lorn.
The two men stared at each other for an awkward moment.
‘You do good work,’ said Lorn.
Van glanced at his uneven mortar line and shrugged. ‘Trying.’
‘I need to talk to you.’
The request vexed Van. After a moment he said, ‘I need a break anyway,’ then put down his trowel and sat himself on the grass. The sun struck his eyes, and he squinted as he looked up at Lorn. ‘You want to sit? Oh wait! Maybe I should be standing. You’re a king, after all.’
Lorn remained on his feet. ‘You’ll get no apology from me. I did what was required to protect my daughter. And we all have secrets. . don’t we, Van?’
‘Ah, is that why you’re here? Because I didn’t tell you about Grimhold? I was wondering when you’d come about that.’
‘Eiriann and the other Believers are leaving soon, probably in a day or two. I have to make a decision whether or not to go with them.’
‘I thought you made that choice already. Breck told me you planned to go with them.’
‘I’m not sure what to do,’ said Lorn. ‘Or what to believe. You were in Jador. You must have seen something.’
‘You mean magic?’ asked Van. ‘No. Not with my own eyes, at least.’ He glanced down at the ground, shading his eyes from the sun. ‘I never got to ride to Grimhold with the others. My company stayed behind in Jador. After we took the city General Trager ordered it secured.’
‘But there is a Grimhold? It really exists?’
‘Oh yes,’ said Van. ‘It exists.’
Lorn hovered over him. ‘Tell me what happened. It might be your last chance.’
‘Sure,’ Van laughed. ‘Why shouldn’t I? It’s no worse than anything you’ve done in your life.’ He shifted over so Lorn could sit with him. When the older man was settled he began, ‘Jador was a beautiful city. I don’t know what it looks like now, but it was really something when we got there. King Akeela was out of his mind, of course, and General Trager was no better. We’d hunted the Bronze Knight across the desert and there was no way the general was going to let him get away, but the Jadori put up a good fight. They’re a fierce bunch, I’ll tell you.’
‘But you defeated them,’ said Lorn.
‘That’s right. We had too many men with us; the Jadori never really had a chance. After we battled them on the desert we rode into their city. By then they didn’t have many fighters left, but they still wouldn’t surrender.’
‘So you slaughtered them.’
‘Worse than that,’ said Van. ‘They didn’t have a chance but we fought them anyway. We killed most of them in the fight, but those we captured. .’ His voice trailed off.
‘What?’ Lorn pressed.
‘We crucified the ones we captured. Trager had us build crosses outside the city, facing Grimhold. Kind of a warning to them, I suppose. We took the prisoners and hung them there.’ Van’s face paled as he recalled the grisly task. ‘My company was given that duty.’ He shook his head in disbelief. ‘And I did it, that’s the worst part. Some mad general gave me an order and I obeyed. He wasn’t so different from you, Lorn. And he had all of us puppets dancing, doing his dirty work for him.’
‘War,’ said Lorn. ‘That’s what happens. I know. When I was king I expected my orders carried out, no questions.’
‘I tried that excuse,’ said Van. ‘It didn’t work. I still think of those people we hung out there. I think of them every day. I don’t think they’ll ever leave me. Sometimes I think they’re with me, haunting me.’ He laughed, dark and miserable. ‘Like magic, you might say.’
‘What do you know about the other magic? What do you know about Grimhold?’
‘Like I said, I never went there. When we got word that General Trager was dead I was so happy. Akeela was already dead by that point. We all scattered, all us so-called Royal Chargers. You know about that already. But I heard stories from some of them that came back, about the people there. They’re not like the Jadori. They’re a different race. They’re magical beings for sure.’
‘Your companions told you that?’
‘Aye. Some of them don’t even look normal. They look like monsters. But they can do things, weird things with their minds. One of them fought General Trager in the city. Disappeared, right while they were battling! Just blinked right out of sight. That’s a true story, mind you, not some tavern babble.’
‘Ah, but can they heal people?’
Van shrugged. ‘Could be. If they can make themselves disappear I suppose they can do anything. All I know for certain is that Grimhold exists. And I know that Lukien lives there still. Aric Glass’ father, too.’
‘The baron?’
‘Aye, Baron Glass.’ Van’s voice dipped an octave. ‘We were hunting him as well, not just the Bronze Knight. Maybe Aric knows that already. It’s not for me to say either way. But just listen to me, Lorn — if those two scoundrels have holed up there, it must be some kind of special place.’