Authors: John Marco
The Eyes of God (100 page)
Like a little child he turned his gaze back toward the heavens. For almost an hour he stood there with Grak, neither of them speaking, until it was time for sleep.
Akeela shared his pavilion with nobody. He slept alone because he enjoyed the quiet and was not afraid of the desert, though he did have two Knight-Guardians posted at his tent entrance. Tonight, Akeela’s sleep was restless. Nightmares consumed him, visions of slaughtered Jadori. He dreamed that he was at the front of a large army, driving hordes of Jadori women before him, naked and weeping for the men he had slain. The ugly image jolted him awake and he lay in his silk sheets, panting. There was not a sound in the world, and the silence was like an anvil, pressing the breath from his lungs. He looked around the darkness, spotted a single candle glowing against the murkiness and fixed on it, trying to remember where he was and convince himself that everything was all right.
“Fate help me,” he groaned. “What has become of me?”
No one answered. Within a few moments Akeela had composed himself. His eyelids began to droop and his head floated down to his pillow. He was asleep for only a moment when he heard an inhuman cry. Again he bolted up. Outside his tent he heard a terrible noise and the sounds of men shouting. There was a commotion suddenly as sleeping soldiers awakened throughout the camp. The scream came again, a strangled, guttural cry. Akeela flung his sheets aside and jumped up. Moonlight splayed through the fabric of his pavilion. Against it he saw an enormous shadow creeping skyward. He stared at the wall of his tent, dumbfounded.
“What the . . . ?”
Still in his bed clothes, Akeela sprang for the exit. His Knight-Guardians had left their post, then he saw why. A nearby tent was torn and flattened—Grak’s tent. Over it hovered the most enormous creature Akeela had ever seen, a monstrous serpent with a long, stout body and oily, scale-covered hide. Two crimson eyes glowed in its spotted head, shadowed by an enormous hood. The mouth was open, hissing and spitting, revealing a pair of saberlike fangs. Akeela skidded to a halt, frozen by the sight. Coiled in the creature’s tail was Grak, raised high above the sands and screaming. The Knight-Guardians had their swords drawn, holding them out impotently before them. All around the camp men were waking to Grak’s cries and the monster’s awful noise.
“By the Fate, what’s
that?”
that?”
Akeela spun to see Trager sprinting toward him, half-naked, sword drawn. The general grabbed Akeela’s collar and dragged him backward.
“Stay back!” he ordered.
“It’s got Grak!” Akeela shouted.
Trager shoved him back. “Get away!”
The Knight-Guardians were quickly joined by others, who formed a broken circle around the serpent. It hovered over them, threatening them with snapping jaws as it squeezed Grak to a ruddy purple. Grak’s brother Doreshen crawled out from beneath their flattened tent, his face bloody, his hands clawing the sand.
“Grak!”
The serpent spun at the sound, whipping its neck forward and bursting through the line of men, sending them scattering. Trager roared forward and slashed his sword before the beast.
“Down, you motherless whore!” he cried.
“Will, get back here!” ordered Akeela.
Seeing their king unprotected, the Knight-Guardians swarmed over Akeela, forming a shield and pulling him toward safety. He watched as Trager lunged for the snake, driving his sword again and again at its underbelly. But the monster already had its prize. With Grak still entwined in its tail, it darted away from Trager and slipped swiftly into the desert gloom, Grak’s gurgling screams echoing behind.
Akeela broke free from his guards. “After it! We have to follow!”
Trager fell to his knees and shook his head. “No,” he said breathlessly. “It’s too late.”
“It’s got Grak!”
“I know!”
More soldiers came, a pair of whom helped Doreshen to his feet. His eyes were terror-filled as he watched the darkness that had swallowed his brother. Akeela went to him at once.
“What was that thing, Doreshen?”
“A rass,” gasped Doreshen. He broke from the soldiers and cried, “Grak!”
“He’s gone,” said Trager. “Bitches and whores, I lost him.” He got to his feet, his sword dangling weakly in his fist.
Doreshen slumped into the sand, weeping. Akeela stood over him, unsure what to say. All the men were staring, their faces ashen. The echoes of Grak’s screams still seemed to fill the night.
“A rass,” whispered Akeela.
He had never heard the term before, but he knew now that the desert had deceived him. Grak was wrong. The desert wasn’t peaceful or full of magic. Like everything else, it was evil and not to be trusted.
50
F
or Baron Thorin Glass, there was no greater disgrace than having to share a mount. In his youth, before his maiming, he had been a peerless horseman, but there were few horses in Jador and none of them could compare to the quick and powerful kreel. Worse, he had only one arm these days, and so could not ride the way he used to, galloping with perfect balance over any terrain. That was a luxury lost to him. Though he could still ride he could not do so with the skill and ferocity of his youth, and it pained him.
or Baron Thorin Glass, there was no greater disgrace than having to share a mount. In his youth, before his maiming, he had been a peerless horseman, but there were few horses in Jador and none of them could compare to the quick and powerful kreel. Worse, he had only one arm these days, and so could not ride the way he used to, galloping with perfect balance over any terrain. That was a luxury lost to him. Though he could still ride he could not do so with the skill and ferocity of his youth, and it pained him.
Tonight he had ridden out into the desert with two of Kadar’s men, sharing the back of a kreel with one of Kadar’s closest friends, a warrior named Ralawi. Ralawi spoke little of his tongue but the other scout was well-versed in the northern language, a lucky break for the baron, who had picked up no Jadori in his days with Kadar. The moon was rising when they’d left the palace, and now the sands shimmered in its silver light. Far in the distance, Jador sat uneasily on the horizon, a city bracing for battle. Thorin had been with Kadar when the first scout had returned, bringing the bad news.
Akeela’s army had been sighted.
Baron Glass chose to investigate. Only he could properly surmise their enemy’s strength. And since he could do no actual fighting, he was anxious to do his part. No sooner had the scout given his news then he had ridden from the palace himself. An hour later, he was crouching with Ralawi and a scout named Benik. A great dune hid them and their two kreels from the army on the western horizon. Thorin Glass lifted his eyes over the dune and let out a dreadful groan. He had never expected Akeela to bring so many men.
“Great Fate,” he whispered, shaking his head.
Ralawi only nodded. The first scout had reported a large force, but had not stayed long enough to really see their numbers. But now the moonlight revealed the truth to them. Akeela’s army was vast indeed. Thorin counted the mass and put their numbers at perhaps two thousand. Among the horses and men were scores of drowa, which had no doubt been used to carry the bulk of supplies. The cost of the operation boggled Thorin’s mind, and he knew that Akeela had spent a fortune, maybe more than he really had. A great blackness seized the baron’s heart. It was
his
money Akeela had used to prop up his reign, his and the money of other noblemen. Now he was essentially penniless, while Akeela continued to squander gold. More than anything, Thorin wanted to battle in the morning. There were years of crimes needing to be avenged.
his
money Akeela had used to prop up his reign, his and the money of other noblemen. Now he was essentially penniless, while Akeela continued to squander gold. More than anything, Thorin wanted to battle in the morning. There were years of crimes needing to be avenged.
“So many,” he whispered. “I did not expect it.”
“No,” agreed Ralawi.
Benik was defiant. “By the morning we will be ready,” he declared confidently.
“So will they,” retorted Thorin. “They’ll be expecting us.”
He could tell by the way their camp was arranged that Akeela’s army didn’t plan on staying long. Relatively few of the tents were erected; men milled about in alert pockets with pikes and lances, or grooming their horses or sharpening their swords. These were battle preparations; Akeela and Trager knew they’d been seen. Even now they knew Jadori scouts were in the dunes, watching them. The cockiness of their stride was meant to intimidate and frighten.
Ralawi asked a question in Jadori, which Benik translated. “He wants to know where they will attack,” said Benik, “In the city?”
“Yes,” replied Thorin, “unless we take the fight to them.”
Ralawi understood well enough. A grimace gripped his face. “Bad,” he said. They all knew Kadar wanted to fight on the sands, rather than risk the people in the city. More, that’s where they would have the advantage. The desert terrain was well-suited to their swift kreels. They had hoped it would be enough to offset the size of Akeela’s force, but now that he saw the Liirian army, Thorin lost that hope. He knew now they would need a miracle. He had spent his time in Jador training Kadar’s warriors, telling them what to expect, the tactics Trager might employ. And he had been impressed with the Jadori and what they and their kreels could do. They were fierce and skilled fighters, and if the odds were even could easily have bested the Liirians. But the odds were heavily skewed. Akeela had come with every Royal Charger and a dozen other companies. Kadar’s kreel riders numbered barely three hundred.
“We will win,” said Ralawi, his face hard. He had learned the term from Thorin and repeated it constantly, like a mantra. He looked at the baron for support. “Win?”
Thorin bit his lip. “I don’t know.” With his one arm he rolled himself onto his back, feeling the warm sand beneath him and looking up into the stars. His mind was reeling. Back in the palace, Kadar was hurriedly preparing for battle, hoping to ride out and meet the invaders at dawn. He was a brave man who truly loved his people, and Thorin hated the idea of him dying. He wished Lukien were with him, and wondered how the Bronze Knight was faring in Grimhold. As he stared up into heaven, he decided that the best they could do was take out as many of the Liirians as possible, giving the Inhumans a fighting chance.
“We go back now,” he said.
Ralawi and Benik looked at each other. Benik asked, “What do we tell Kadar?”
With effort Baron Glass got to his feet and brushed the sand from his breeches. “We tell him it’s time for battle,” he said, then turned and walked toward the waiting kreel.
Kahan Kadar’s army was ready before the sun rose.
With the advice of Baron Glass, they had arranged themselves at the crest of a long dune, so that the rising sun struck their kreel-hide armor and glinted off their spear tips. Kadar had mustered his three hundred riders, with another hundred or so warriors guarding the gates of the city. If the Liirians broke through here, Glass supposed the warriors would have little chance. After that, it would be up to the people of Jador to defend themselves. Glass hoped Akeela would be merciful.
He sat astride a kreel with Benik, who had been ordered by Kadar not to leave Thorin’s side. Neither of them were to join the fight. Neither man appreciated the order, but both understood. Thorin would be little use in battle, Kadar had told him frankly, and would be more valuable in warning Grimhold of the outcome. Kadar himself was grim-faced as he sat upon Istikah, his own magnificent kreel. Both were armored in heavy green and brown scales, a light and flexible suit that made the pair seem like a single reptilian beast. The kahan wore no helmet. His gray hair shone in the sun, proud and disdainful. At his side was a whip. In his left hand he held an erect spear decorated with white feathers. Like his kreel, he was silent. Istikah’s tongue darted out to test the air. Her sparkling eyes watched their distant enemies with almost human hatred. She had sharp claws that she flicked from time to time, eager for combat. She was beautiful, though, and Thorin admired her. If only there had been more time; he knew they could have built an army strong enough to best his old countrymen.
Three hundred yards away, Akeela’s army stood at the ready. Ranks of heavy horsemen waited at the forefront, bearing lances and swords, their silver armor reflecting sunlight in all directions. They were arranged in a line, as Thorin had predicted, with lancers in front. One by one the lines would be called into battle. There would be no distance fighting with archers this time. It would be a clash on the sands, hand to hand and hoof to claw. Behind the lines sat Trager atop his black charger. The general looked splendid, his helmet held in the crux of his arm as he surveyed his Jadori foes. A standard-bearer sat next to him, boldly displaying the Liirian flag. The air was breezeless and the flag hung still. Thorin wondered if Trager recognized him up on the dune.
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