by John Marco
‘I have,’ Gilwyn replied, ‘and she’s ready to speak to you. I told her what you did for us, coming to our aid and fighting with us.’
‘And that I am a king, yes?’
Gilwyn nodded. ‘That as well. She’s waiting for you.’
‘You mean now?’ said Lorn. ‘I’m filthy, boy. I cannot meet with the mistress as I am. I must wash first, have a proper bath.’
‘Change your clothes and wash your face. There isn’t time for more,’ said Gilwyn. ‘King Lorn, I got you this audience, but Minikin won’t wait. She’s preparing to ride back to Grimhold. The only reason she agreed to see you-’
‘Yes, yes,’ snapped Lorn. ‘All right. Wait for me then. I will dress as quickly as I can.’
Less than half an hour later, Lorn was following Gilwyn out of his chamber and through the palace halls. He had changed his soiled clothes into something more presentable, but he no longer owned any clothes befitting a king, and he still had not shaved his stubbly beard. Still, he was pleased to at last have a chance to meet Minikin and explain himself to her. He was sure she would listen to reason.
‘So?’ he asked. ‘Where are we going?’
‘To the kahana’s chambers,’ said Gilwyn. ‘They’re my chambers now, really, because the kahana never comes here.’
The kahana, Lorn knew, was White-Eye, the blind girl Gilwyn had told him about. Very slowly he was beginning to understand the social structure of this place, yet it seemed to him that Minikin was the true ruler of them all.
‘Where are these chambers?’
‘In the tower.’ The boy laughed distractedly as his monkey wrapped its tail around his neck. ‘Easy, girl,’ he giggled. ‘That tickles.’
Lorn looked at them both askance. ‘Why the creature, Gilwyn? A pet?’
‘Teku’s more than that,’ said Gilwyn. ‘She helps me. I’ve had her for years now. When I can’t get to something out of reach she fetches it for me.’
‘And the boot?’ queried Lorn, gesturing down to Gilwyn’s left foot, which was encased in a strange boot with a hinged heel. ‘That helps you walk?’
‘Uh huh. Figgis, the man who used to run the library, made it for me.’
Lorn nodded. He had already told Gilwyn about his brief sojourn in the Liirian library. They had discussed it at length, because the boy was starved for news from home. He was sure Minikin would want to know about it, too.
‘Remarkable,’ he said. ‘But what about these spirits you told me about, the ones that heal. Couldn’t they make your foot right for you? So that you could walk without the boot?’
‘They could, but I didn’t want it that way,’ Gilwyn replied. ‘Come, let’s get to Minikin.’
Gilwyn walked surprisingly quickly as he led Lorn through the palace, then finally up a spiral staircase that had once been grand but was now quite plain. At the top of the stairs — which were not at all easy for Gilwyn — they entered into a cavernous hall decorated with mosaics and enamel. Jadori men and women moved quietly through the hall, their faces still grave from the shock of the last two days. Whether or not these were the people Gilwyn had told him about — the Inhumans — Lorn couln’t say, but they nodded politely as they passed. At last, near the end of the hall, they came to a pair of beautifully carved, open wooden doors. Sunlight spilled onto the stone floor from the recesses of the chamber, which to Lorn seemed gigantic. Gilwyn paused as they reached the threshold and peered inside.
‘She’s here,’ he whispered, and stepped aside for Lorn to see.
At the far side of the chamber stood a woman, near open glass doors that led to a balcony. She was very tiny, a midget really, with a strange coat of varied colours and long white hair down her back. She did not turn to face them, but he saw her head cock to listen.
‘Come in,’ she said suddenly.
Gilwyn and Lorn stepped inside, revealing another person in the chamber, this one a giant with mountainous, slumped shoulders and a granite face marked by an overbite. His eyes fixed on Lorn as he entered the room. Lorn froze.
‘Do not mind Trog,’ the little woman advised. ‘He guards my person.’ At last she turned around, and the brilliant sun from the balcony lit her peculiar face. ‘Welcome to Jador, King Lorn.’
She was unlike anything Lorn had ever seen. Her ears, like those of an elf, bore two pointed peaks, and her eyes were a strange, oceanic grey. The coat that flowed around her legs seemed alive with colour as if made from a rainbow, and a glowing amulet hung at her breast, warmly lighting her face. Minikin did not step away from the balcony. Her smile struggled to seem genuine.
‘Thank you, my lady,’ said Lorn carefully. He approached and gave a bow. ‘I am glad at last to be in your presence.’
‘And you have many questions, I’m sure,’ said Minikin. ‘And requests too, no doubt.’ Her face soured. ‘You may be disappointed, King Lorn.’
Lorn grinned. ‘I have already gained from your generosity, lady. If I beg more from you, than surely you will forgive me.’
‘Come,’ said Minikin. ‘Both of you, out onto the balcony with me.’
She turned and stepped through the glass doors. Gilwyn followed immediately, waving Lorn to come along. The one called Trog did not follow, but stayed near the balcony to guard her, keeping an uncomfortable watch on Lorn. The balcony itself was as lovely as the room, its stone rail carved with flowers and figures of beautiful women. It paled, however, next to the view it offered, an expansive scene of the serene desert, blushing pink as the sun set. A large birdcage stood near the rail, but there were no birds within it. Lorn wondered if that was why the mistress seemed so sad.
‘The birds of this cage bear us messages from Princess Salina,’ said Minikin. ‘You have met the princess?’
‘The princess? Yes,’ answered Lorn. His eyes narrowed on the woman. ‘Lady, are you some sort of mystic? To read my thoughts the way you do. .’
‘There are things you have to learn about us, King Lorn. Some of these things you have already seen.’ Minikin frowned. ‘Like the fire.’
Lorn shrugged. ‘It is all a mystery to me, I admit. But your regent has told me much already, lady. And yes, I did have the pleasure of meeting Princess Salina in Ganjor. It was she who warned us of your troubles with Aztar. Without her I doubt we would have made it across the desert.’
‘The princess is a fine young woman. Very brave.’ Minikin leaned against the ornate railing. ‘None of us have ever met her. We speak only through the doves she sends to warn us.’
‘I doubt we’ll be getting any more of those,’ said Gilwyn. ‘With Aztar dead, I mean.’
‘You presume too much, Gilwyn,’ chided Minikin. ‘None of us knows whether or not the Tiger still lives.’
‘No,’ Gilwyn admitted, ‘you’re right. But I don’t think he’ll be waging war on us too soon.’
Minikin nodded. ‘That’s a blessing, surely. And we are glad to receive you, King Lorn, and your people. Gilwyn has told me about all of you, and how you lost your throne.’
‘Not all of the stories about me are kind, my lady,’ said Lorn. ‘There are many rumours about me, and about my reign. Some are true, some are lies.’
‘They call you King Lorn the Wicked,’ said Minikin. ‘But I am wondering — would a wicked man lead suffering people across a desert? Or fight for us without being asked?’
‘My lady, I have been wicked, true enough, because I fought a wicked woman who knew no bounds in stealing my throne. I have too much blood on my hands to account, and my motives for coming to your aid are not all selfless. You know why we’ve come.’
The mistress smiled. ‘I do. Gilwyn told me about your daughter and the others. He has also told you about our situation. The place you call Mount Believer — that is the place we call Grimhold. Many hundreds like you have come here seeking the same as you, King Lorn.’
‘I know,’ said Lorn, his hope fading. ‘We have been told there is no room for us in Grimhold. But my lady, if you would at least hear my plea. .’
‘I have heard a thousand pleas in the last year, King Lorn, so many that my heart has shattered. Your daughter is deaf, and at least partially blind as well. The woman you care for, Eiriann, has an empty womb she yearns to fill. And so on and so on. The stories are the same, you see. Always wretchedly the same.’
She was not at all what Lorn expected, and now he didn’t know what to say. ‘My lady,’ he began carefully, ‘when Gilwyn told me you would see me I was hopeful. I am a king, or at least I was. I should think that counts for something with you.’
‘Sir, I agreed to speak with you out of respect, and to thank you for what you did for us. You saved Gilwyn here in battle. I am truly grateful, and glad to welcome you to Jador. There is room enough for all of you in the city, and your help rebuilding this place will be appreciated. As you can see there is still much devastation from the last war.’
‘And you can stay in the palace, my lord,’ offered Gilwyn. ‘All of your people will have a home here.’
‘You see we are grateful to you, King Lorn, but I cannot heal your daughter or the others. What you ask is not possible. There are too few of the Akari. . you know of the Akari, yes?’
‘Vaguely,’ replied Lorn. ‘The boy explained it to me, but I admit my grasp is cloudy.’ It was hard for Lorn to hide his disappointment. He said in exasperation, ‘My lady, we’ve come so far. .’
‘No farther than any others,’ said Minikin. ‘King Lorn, be you wicked or not, I am not your judge. But be you king or not, you have no more right to the gates of Grimhold than do any of the hundreds that came before you. I must be just in choosing who may be healed, and it is not a duty I enjoy. I am sorry.’
‘That’s it, then?’ Lorn looked between the mistress and Gilwyn. ‘Nothing else to say? You’ll just let my child go on the way she is?’
‘Here in Jador she will not be judged by her inability to hear or see,’ said Minikin. ‘She will be welcome here and have the same value as any other.’
‘But she will be deaf and blind,’ argued Lorn. ‘What kind of life is that for her? For anyone? Lady, I saw what you did with that fire. You are powerful! You must have the means to help Poppy.’
The reference to the fire made Minikin wince. ‘I have not the power to create more Akari, my lord. Nor is it my place to put you ahead of all others. I have offered you a safe life in Jador. All of you may benefit from that. It is up to you to decide.’
There was silence for a moment as Lorn considered the harsh terms. From the time he’d met with Salina he had known his chances were slim, but he had hoped his station as a former king would sway the tiny woman in his favour.
‘My lady,’ he said, ‘I am not ungrateful to you. You have offered us a place to call home, and for us that is no small thing. But I must ask you to think on my daughter. Do not put her completely out of your mind. While we are here, will you at least consider taking her to Grimhold?’
Minikin quietly thought for a moment, then said, ‘If you are in the palace, then you will be a constant reminder to me, King Lorn. I am not a monster. How can I help but think of your daughter?’
Lorn smiled. ‘Then we will be the best guests you have ever had, my lady. And should the means come for you to help Poppy. .?’
‘I will consider her.’ Minikin glanced at Gilwyn. ‘You will see to all their needs, then?’
‘Yes,’ said Gilwyn quickly. ‘I’ll help them settle in.’
And that was it. Lorn recognised dismissal. His audience with the mistress was ended.
‘Thank you, lady,’ he said, then bowed again. ‘You are generous, and we are grateful.’
‘King Lorn,’ said Minikin, ‘Mount Believer may not exist in the way you had hoped, but Grimhold is a place where we all escape our past. Jador can be such a place, too, if you will let it be so.’
The strange words made Lorn pause. ‘My lady, I have run from my past so long my legs can take me no further. If this city is to be my home, than I will do my best to make it a worthy one.’
His answer seemed to satisfy Minikin, who smiled as she bid farewell before turning her attention back toward the desert.
33
In the Flesh
Nights up north were different from those in the desert. Lukien had forgotten how much he missed them.
The winter that had left the desert untouched had begun its slow retreat. And the night sky, filled with clouds and mists, still made the breath freeze as it left Lukien’s mouth. It had been a cold few days, with the kind of killing frost that made the first spring flowers die, but he and Mirage had relished the weather. For Mirage, who had not been away from Grimhold in years, the taste of winter brought back a flood of happy memories. So too it was for Lukien, who had never quite adjusted to the heat of Jador, not in the whole time he had lived there. Together they rode north, remembering things the way they had been, and at the end of the day they would talk as they ate around the fire, telling stories of Liiria in the days before it was a battlefield.
As so often happened, Lukien and Mirage were between towns this night. They were deep within the state of Marn now, but the city itself was still days away and the trail they had taken had been sparse with farmland and forest. Because night fell quickly this far north, they had bedded early on the side of the road, making a fire for themselves and cooking the provisions they had purchased in the last town they had encountered, a sleepy place called Moorstok. Mirage tended their donkey and horses while Lukien cleared the area and made the fire. They had practised this many times now and knew their roles perfectly. Within an hour, they were warm and comfortable.
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 travelled 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 wilful. 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 armour. 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 fork, 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 waterskins 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.’