by John Marco
Minikin shook her head. ‘I don’t think it’s White-Eye, Gilwyn. And you cannot go — you have something else to do. You must find Lukien, tell him to return to Grimhold at once.’
Now Gilwyn was truly stunned. ‘Minikin, I don’t know where Lukien is. How am I supposed to find him?’
‘Use your gift, Gilwyn, the way I’ve been teaching you. Ask Ruana to help you.’
‘My gift?’ sputtered Gilwyn. ‘But how?’
‘Ruana will guide you, show you the way.’ Minikin put out her little hand and touched his arm. ‘I have no more time to talk, Gilwyn. You must do this thing somehow. If what I think has happened, we will need Lukien. He and the amulet must come to Grimhold so that I may speak with Amaraz.’
None of it made sense to Gilwyn. He said, ‘I’ll try, Minikin. But if I fail. .’
‘You will not fail.’ She flashed him one of her wry smiles. ‘Think only of success.’
And then she left him, disappearing from the garden with a quick twirl of her colourful coat. Worried and confused, Gilwyn simply stood mutely for a moment, wondering what to do. He hadn’t heard from Lukien in days; he could have been anywhere out in the desert. Certainly he would never find him in the dark, even with Emerald and their magical bond. He needed another way to contact his friend. Could Ruana help him?
He sat down again on his iron chair and considered the idea. His hands and face began to sweat. He had made progress with Ruana; that was certain. Gilwyn had impressed Minikin, and himself. Now he could communicate with Emerald better than he ever had before, and his closeness with Teku was staggering. The monkey swung down from the branches of a fruit tree to sit on the table before him. As if reading his mind, the faithful creature nodded. Gilwyn reached out to scratch her furry head.
‘I don’t know, Teku,’ he said. ‘How do I find Lukien?’
He knew only that Lukien was in the desert. The Inhuman albino Ghost was with him, as were a handful of Jadori warriors.
‘Ruana won’t know where he is,’ said Gilwyn crossly. He looked at Teku. ‘Will she?’
The monkey’s answer was predictable. She yawned as he scratched her head.
‘Right.’
Gilwyn leaned back in his seat and tried to clear his mind. Summoning Ruana wasn’t difficult any more. It wasn’t even like summoning, really. He only had to think of her. He closed his eyes and thought of her then, and instantly felt her presence in his mind. She always came to him like a warm wind.
You are troubled.
The remark annoyed Gilwyn. ‘You heard what Minikin said, didn’t you?’
I’m always listening, Gilwyn.
‘Then you know there’s trouble,’ he said. He often spoke aloud to her, though there was no real need for it. ‘I have to find Lukien, Ruana. Somehow.’
How then?
‘You tell me. Minikin said you’d help.’
I will help you to help yourself, replied the spirit.
‘All right. I need to find Lukien. Tell me how.’
In his mind the woman seemed to sigh. You have your gifts, Gilwyn. Have you forgotten?
‘No, but Emerald isn’t with Lukien. Neither is Teku. How can I reach him?’
You have power over the kreel. The Jadori warriors with Lukien have kreels.
Gilwyn grew exasperated. ‘Please, Ruana, I don’t understand what you mean and I don’t have time to figure it out. I need your help.’
Then prepare yourself, ordered the Akari. Keep your eyes closed and your mind clear.
‘Prepare myself? What for?’
Keep your mouth closed, too. The aura of Amaraz is strong. I will find him.
Gilwyn struggled with her answer but did not argue. He trusted Ruana, and though he didn’t know what she had planned he knew she would help him. Sitting comfortably in his chair, he freed his mind of questions. A moment later, the sense of flying over the desert struck him with awe.
For Lukien, nights in the Desert of Tears were a salve.
Each day, he battled the sun and the sand and the raiders that constantly challenged him. He rescued Seekers from Prince Aztar, and sometimes he failed to keep them safe, coming across their slaughtered corpses in the dunes. While the sun was up, Lukien was at constant war. He had been at war for months now, and had lost count of how many men he had slain in the desert. The white gaka he wore against the sun was soiled with blood and sweat. The amulet chafed against his skin. For Lukien and those that accompanied him, keeping Jador safe from Aztar was a difficult, toll-taking duty. Bitter days in the desert exhausted them all.
But at night, when the world grew quiet and the sun surrendered, peace returned to the desert. Lukien had learned to worship the night. The moon had become his god. Finally, night brought the end of killing. He could relax by the fire with his comrades, tell stories of the world beyond Jador, and forget that his war with Aztar had no end. Tonight the Jadori warriors slept. The fire they used to warm themselves against the surprising chill of the desert had subsided to a mild smoulder. Nearby, the kreels they rode were bedded for the night, nestled into the sand to warm their cold blood. There was no need for ropes with kreel. The huge reptiles never strayed or disobeyed their masters. The same was not true of Lukien’s horse, which stood obediently, as long as it was tied to a stake driven into the sand.
Lukien lay back against his elbow, staring at his silent mount as he sipped from a skin of wine. It would be so easy for the beast to bolt, he decided, if only it were smart enough to know the weakness of its ties. Horses weren’t like kreels. They weren’t nearly as smart or as fast or as loyal. Kreels were remarkable. He envied the others their abilities.
In the sand next to him, the young albino Ghost sat cross-legged as he toyed with a wooden flute. The music he made delighted Lukien. Ghost’s talent with the instrument was substantial, the music he made soulful. It was very late but sleep never came easy to Lukien. The tunes from the flute soothed him. He scanned the desert, happy at the quiet. In the past day they had come upon another of Aztar’s raiding parties, this one closer to the city than usual. The clash had left three of the Voruni dead; the others had fled deeper into the desert. Lukien wondered where they were now, if they had returned to Aztar or if they had returned to watch them from some nearby dune. He doubted it. Aztar’s men were brutal, but they weren’t cowards. They never ambushed them at night, always brave enough to face them in full light.
Like it did in every battle, Lukien’s magnificent amulet had saved him today. The raiders they had fought were well-trained fighters, and once they knew it was Shalafein they had discovered they did their best to slay him. Ghost’s mournful song reminded Lukien how close he’d come to death. Badly outnumbered, they had nevertheless bested the raiders. It was strange to Lukien to think that he couldn’t die. Was there nothing that would stand against the amulet?
Suddenly Ghost’s song shifted, and he began playing a gay tune. Lukien looked at him.
‘What’s that you’re playing?’
‘Something happy. You looked like you needed it.’
‘Stop it. Go back to playing the other song.’
Ghost shrugged and did as Lukien asked, and once again their little camp filled with soft music. Now that the sun was down, Ghost had shed most of the cloth that covered his head and face and hands, protecting his sensitive white skin from the ravaging light. His eyes were the colour of grey pearls. He was only a little older than Gilwyn, but his experiences in Grimhold had made him a good deal wiser. He was also a good fighter, always eager to help defend Jador. He and Lukien had quickly become friends.
‘Why do you play that thing?’ Lukien asked.
The albino pulled the flute from his lips and thought for a moment. ‘Because there are no women here.’
Lukien laughed. It was the answer of a true soldier. ‘Keep on playing then. We won’t see a woman out here tonight.’ He glanced at Ghost, curious suddenly. ‘You don’t have a girl back in Grimhold. Why is that?’
‘Because girls like to go
for strolls in the sunlight,’ joked Ghost, ‘and look into a fellow’s eyes at the same time. They can’t do that while I’m hooded like a leper.’
‘You should find yourself a girl,’ decided Lukien. ‘In the village maybe. Lots of good-looking ones there. Or maybe a Jadori girl.’
‘I’ve been to the village,’ replied Ghost. ‘My white face scares them.’
It wasn’t true, Lukien knew, but he thought it best not to press his friend. There were Inhumans and regular folk in Grimhold’s village, and none of them were afraid of Ghost. He was friend to everyone.
‘You shouldn’t be so shy,’ he concluded. ‘I think that’s your problem.’
Ghost laid the flute down in the warm sand. ‘And what about you? You could do with a woman yourself, my friend. It might make you less irritable.’
Lukien smiled and gave his usual answer. ‘I already had a woman. She was incomparable.’
‘There are others.’
‘Not like mine.’
The young man said seriously, ‘She’s dead, Lukien.’
Lukien nodded. ‘Aye, she is that.’
He was grateful when Ghost said no more. He had made the mistake of telling his friend about Meriel, and how the young woman obviously adored him. She loved him really, and would probably keep on pursuing him. Surprisingly, Ghost hadn’t thought it such a bad thing. He hoped the albino didn’t think him bigoted against the Inhumans. His lack of love for Meriel had nothing to do with her burned appearance.
Or perhaps it did. Sometimes he wasn’t sure. He knew only that he still loved Cassandra, and the year since her death had done little to ease his heartbreak. People like Ghost thought his mourning had gone on too long, but Lukien knew differently. Someday the amulet would release him from its immortal hold. Then he would die, and if the priests were right at all he would go to that place of the dead where Cassandra lived. And then he could see her again.
Sometimes he longed for that day. Some days it was a struggle not to rip the Eye of God from his neck and bury it deep in the sand with his last dying breath.
‘Someday I will,’ he whispered.
‘What was that?’
Lukien smiled faintly. ‘Go on and play some more. I like it.’
Ghost was about to take up his flute when a noise from the kreels got both their attention. What started as a throaty grunt was quickly picked up by the other beasts, who began to stir from their slumber and rise on their scaly haunches. Their long necks snaked upward as they looked about with their glossy eyes. One by one they began to give the same peculiar call.
‘What’s that about?’ asked Lukien, getting to his feet.
‘Something’s spookin’ them,’ Ghost surmised. He rose and headed toward the kreels. The noise from the creatures had started to rouse their Jadori riders. The warriors shook sleep from their brains and went to their mounts, calming them by stroking their long necks. There were four of the men, all of whom seemed perplexed by the kreels’ behaviour. Lukien stood apart from them and watched as they communicated with the beasts, speaking to them gently but also pausing to listen to the arcane signals sent between them.
‘What are they saying?’ Lukien asked. ‘Can you tell?’
Unlike himself, Ghost had fluency in the Jadori tongue. The albino replied, ‘They’re asking them what’s wrong.’
‘Karcon,’ Lukien called, addressing his friend and the leader of the warriors. ‘What is it?’
Karcon was a tall, dark man about Lukien’s age, a warrior with smoky eyes and a black, tapered beard. His kreel was Shanjal, a Jadori word meaning ‘fierce’. Lukien had never learned the Jadori language, but he liked the sound of Shanjal’s name. It was a larger kreel than most, a great male of the species older than Karcon himself. Karcon, who spoke the tongue of the continent, turned to Lukien.
‘Shanjal hears,’ he said. ‘I feel a voice in him.’ The dark man conferred with his fellows, and all the Jadori nodded. ‘All the kreels feel it. Something calls them back.’
‘Back where?’ asked Ghost.
‘To Jador.’ Karcon ran a hand over Shanjal’s great skull. ‘Much noise,’ he said, but he was clearly confused. He turned back to Lukien. ‘Gilwyn Toms.’
‘Gilwyn? What about him?’
Karcon said, ‘He calls out to the kreels. We must go, Lukien. To Jador. We must ride now.’
Nothing else mattered to Lukien but the name Gilwyn. Fearing for his friend, Lukien hurried to his horse and called his fellows to mount. Moments later the kreels were leading them through the darkness, hurrying home to Jador.
It had taken the entire night for Minikin to reach Grimhold, and by the time she saw its rocky face materialise from the mountains she was thoroughly exhausted. She and her party had ridden nonstop, driven on by Lariniza’s urgent words and the sense of dread in her stomach. The Akari had not come to her again, but Minikin could sense the spirit’s unease throughout the trip, cresting when they finally arrived home. At first the sight of Grimhold eased Minikin’s fears; the fortress was quiet. The great gates of the place were open wide. Greygor the guardian stood at the maw of the keep, heavy in his armour, awaiting her. A handful of other Inhumans shared his vigil. Back from them, safe in the dark recesses of the keep, stood White-Eye. The young kahana’s face was drawn from lack of sleep.
Minikin rode up to the gate and dismounted her kreel along with the giant Trog. The warriors that had escorted her remained on their mounts. The little mistress said nothing as she approached the gate. She looked around to see what great calamity had befallen her home, and seeing none was relieved. Still, Lariniza’s anxious silence drove her forward. While Greygor and the other Inhumans greeted her at the gate, she passed them without a word as she beelined toward White-Eye.
‘Tell me what’s happened,’ she demanded.
White-Eye crouched on one knee before the tiny lady, taking her small hand. Her expression was grave as she explained, ‘The Devil’s Armour has been stolen, Minikin.’
Minikin thought she had prepared herself for the news. She did not expect hearing it to be so shocking. ‘By whom?’
The blind kahana hesitated. ‘Baron Glass.’
Minikin pulled her hand free of White-Eye’s and clenched it angrily. ‘Thorin.’
‘Last night, while the rest of us slept.’ The girl’s blank eyes were remorseful. ‘We didn’t know, Minikin.’
‘Nor could you have stopped him had you known,’ said Minikin. ‘There’s only one man to blame for what’s happened, and that’s Baron Glass. And perhaps myself as well, for trusting him. He has all the armour? Not even a piece remains?’
‘Once we realised what had happened we went down to check on it. It’s all gone, Minikin. The helmet, the mail, everything.’
‘How did you know what had happened, child? Did someone see him?’
‘We discovered the armour missing after. .’ White-Eye paused. ‘Minikin, perhaps I should show you.’
‘Show me what?’
‘Baron Glass needed a horse to flee Grimhold. He took one from the stables in the village.’
‘And?’
The girl girded herself. ‘There was a stablehand sleeping with the horses. An old man named Denik.’
‘I know Denik,’ said Minikin. All the people of Grimhold were known to her, even the villagers. ‘He saw Thorin?’
‘He did. There was a fight. A stableboy with Denik told us what happened. I’m sorry, Minikin — Denik is dead.’
Minikin’s hand went instinctively to her amulet. ‘No. .’
‘Denik tried to stop Baron Glass, that’s what the boy said. He was afraid and ran off after Baron Glass killed Denik. The boy’s father came to the keep to tell us what had happened.’
‘The boy saw the armour?’
White-Eye nodded. ‘He described the man who’d killed Denik. I knew it was the Devil’s Armour. When I went down to the armoury, the armour was gone. And so was Baron Glass.’
Minikin clasped her amulet. Already Thorin had killed
a man. Already Kahldris was coaxing out the worst of the baron’s nature. They were military men, both of them, and she knew Kahldris would use that against Thorin.
‘I should have seen this,’ she groaned. ‘I should have known the power Kahldris would have over Thorin.’ She turned toward the gate where the others waited for her. Outside, the great expanse of desert hid Baron Glass and his new, dangerous weapon.
‘He took the horse and rode off, but that was hours ago,’ said White-Eye. ‘We did not know what to do, so we waited. I knew you would come, Minikin. Faralok told me you were coming.’
White-Eye’s Akari was a sensible spirit. He had counselled her correctly.
‘There was nothing for you to do,’ said Minikin. ‘You were right to wait for me.’
White-Eye grimaced. ‘I am sorry. If I could have done more. .’
‘You would have been killed, just like Denik. There’s nothing to be done now but wait.’
‘Wait?’
‘For Amaraz to arrive,’ Minikin explained. ‘Once Lukien brings the amulet, Amaraz will know what to do.’
23
Amaraz
Lukien stood in the middle of the small chamber, smelling the sweet incense burning on the altar. A dozen candles flickered in sconces along the stone walls. In this small prayer chamber of Grimhold, silence reigned, punctuated by Minikin’s rhythmic breathing. On her knees before the altar, Minikin prayed. Lukien had only just arrived, and she had brought him to the unassuming room at once.
It had been night again by the time he’d reached Grimhold. His own horse had exhausted itself along the way, expiring amid the formidable desert sands. From that point on he had shared the back of Sharjal with Karcon. The kreel had gotten them to Jador quicker than any horse, and from there had rushed him to Grimhold. Together he and Gilwyn and Karcon had gone on to the ancient fortress, and had at last heard the desperate news from Minikin.
The Devil’s Armour was gone. And Thorin with it.