The Eyes of God (18 page)
Authors: John Marco
The captain had been very quiet lately. Since leaving Hes, he had hardly spoken at all. He simply rode at the point of the company, occasionally giving orders to the men and checking on Princess Cassandra’s carriage, which rolled along in the middle of the company, comfortably housing the young woman and the maid Jancis. Despite the wind and rain, Trager smiled as he thought about Cassandra. She was comely, more than Akeela deserved, and the image in his mind made him hunger. He didn’t wonder why Lukien was always looking at her—the answer was obvious. The lust in Lukien’s eyes was plain enough for anyone who cared to see it. And Trager didn’t blame his captain for coveting Cassandra, either. He was a man, with a man’s urges. To Trager, that was forgivable. What wasn’t forgivable—what haunted Trager day and night and had for years—was the arrogance with which the captain carried himself. Apparently he thought nothing of craving the king’s property, because he was like a brother to the stupid Akeela and the king was blind to everything. When it came to Lukien, Akeela was like a little boy, hero-worshipping an undeserving bag of pus.
“It’s time to puncture that bag, I say,” muttered Trager.
He would do it with a lance. When the spring tourney came, he would be ready for it. Finally, he would tarnish the vaunted knight of bronze.
Trager rode on, heartened by the image of Lukien dangling from the tip of his lance. Overhead the tangle of branches thickened, blocking out the worst of the rain. He would ride another mile before turning back, he decided. Ahead of him, the forest road widened slightly. Trager congratulated himself for choosing the right direction. Reecian roads were good, at least as good as those in Liiria, but the rainy season turned them all into slop. This year, the rains had come earlier than expected. A slick of mud blanketed the road, making travel hard for his horse. The stallion’s hooves disappeared into the earth with a sucking sound. Trager listened to the noise, wondering if he should stop. Then he heard something else. A hissing sound, very faint. His eyes seized on something dead ahead. Abruptly he jerked back the reins.
For a moment he saw nothing, then caught a glimpse of something green slipping through the mud. The darkness of the storm and trees shaded the road. He held his breath, afraid to make the smallest sound, realizing that a garmy was ahead, one of the rarest and most deadly creatures that called the forest home.
The creature lay very still. Trager mimicked its silence, not daring to move. Thankfully, his horse had yet to see the beast. Carefully he scanned the surrounding trees, looking for others, then saw two more pairs of yellow eyes glowing in the thickets. His heart thundering, Trager considered his options. He had to flee, that was plain enough, but garmys could be quick, and might strike if he tried to run. He pretended to ignore the creatures, knowing they would come as close as possible before striking. Predictably, the one in the road began to slither forward.
It moved like a cat through the mud, its reptilian body barely visible, its spiked tail rising like a dorsal fin above the water. Beneath the filth, two webbed hands pulled it forward. Its head was smooth, covered with scales, and its lidless eyes shone a sickly gold. Each swish of its tail brought its wide mouth closer, while its brothers in the trees watched in silence, ready to spring.
“Mother of Fate,” Trager whispered. He knew the tales of the garmys, how they looked like people and preyed on human flesh, and how they could hypnotize a man with their preternatural eyes. Now, caught in their watery nest, he believed every word. His horse finally caught the scent of the monsters and began to snort wildly. Trager squeezed his thighs against its flanks to quiet it. Only one thought occurred to him—escape.
“Now!”
Drawing his sword in one hand, he wrenched his mount around with the other, bringing the stallion snorting to its hinds. The garmy in the road sprang forward; its hideous face filling Trager’s vision. He swung his sword wide, catching the creature’s neck and slicing the head from its sinewy body. A shriek filled the air, then silence. Trager spun his horse around. The garmys in the trees dropped from the branches. Trager heard them sprinting through the mud. But his horse was already bolting away. He turned to see the creatures scurrying over their fallen brother, slowly dropping back. They were monstrously ugly—like monkeys in the skin of snakes.
“Hurry!” Trager urged his mount, praying his horse wouldn’t stumble and break a leg.
Two hours later, Trager approached the camp. His ride back had been uneventful, and he had neither seen nor heard anything more of the garmys. He was proud of himself for having slain one of the beasts, and was looking forward to boasting about it when he returned. The fear that had seized him earlier was gone now, and all he could think about was Lukien, and how the captain would look when he told him about the garmys.
But not far from the camp, Trager remembered how much he hated Lukien, and how unendurable his life had become in the Bronze Knight’s shadow. He remembered also how much Akeela loved Lukien, and how Lukien was a hero in Liiria, something that Trager would never be. And then he remembered how Lukien always took the point when they traveled, careful to protect the king’s new bride.
When at last he entered the camp, he reported directly to Lukien. He told the captain how he’d scouted the forward area, and that there was no trouble on the roads save for the muck that had plagued them for days.
He mentioned nothing of the garmys.
The next morning, Lukien gave the order to break camp and led the company once again toward Koth. It was a clear morning, the first any of them had seen in days, and Lukien took the sunlight as a good omen. Now they might finally start making some real progress. As was his custom, he rode at the head of the company, with Trager and the other Royal Chargers behind him. Cassandra’s royal carriage rumbled along in the center. So far, it had been an uncomfortable ride for all of them, and Cassandra’s once lovely carriage was now spattered with mud and windblown leaves. The roads were still soaked with rain, which made traveling slow, but as the sun rose higher the day began to warm and the puddles slowly dried, revealing the road beneath. Lukien kept a relaxed pace, careful not to tax their horses. If they were lucky, they would reach the Liirian border in a day or so. From there it was at least another full day’s ride to Koth.
To Lukien, it seemed like a lifetime ago that he had been with Cassandra at the picnic. Since then, he had seen precious little of her. She had been shunning him, and he supposed it was embarrassment that kept her silent. He had tried several times to speak to her while in Hes, but always she had feigned tiredness or some pressing business, and she never seemed to require his bodyguard services anymore, the way she had during their first weeks together. Now she was lost to him, and the loss disturbed Lukien. Soon enough, he would turn her over to Akeela. They would marry, and he would be forever cursed to see her with another man. Irritated, Lukien gave an angry sigh. The sound of it summoned an unwanted visitor.
“Captain?” asked Trager. The lieutenant rode up alongside him. “Is something wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” answered Lukien, struggling to be civil. The last month with Trager had been unbearable. “I was just thinking.”
“You should be pleased,” said Trager. “We’re making good progress. And look at that sky. Not a cloud.”
Lukien nodded. “Yes. Finally.” He looked over at his lieutenant. Trager wore a peculiar grin. He asked, “What are you smiling at?”
“The day, Captain,” replied Trager. “That’s all. And I’m glad to be getting closer to home.”
“Mmm, yes,” agreed Lukien. “But the roads are still bad. We won’t cross the border till tomorrow at the earliest. There’s a fork up ahead, you say?”
Trager looked around, seemingly puzzled. “It was dark in the rain,” he mused. “I can’t quite recall. But it’s around here somewhere.”
A few minutes later, they found it. Lukien considered the fork, not liking the looks of either route. Both were canopied with trees and laden with mud. He brought up a hand, calling the company to a halt. Trager relayed the order and watched as the horsemen and carriage came to a stop.
“All right, we’ll rest here for a spell,” said Lukien. He spied the two lanes, unsettled by them both. “Trager, which way did you take yesterday?”
The lieutenant didn’t reply. Lukien turned and saw that he had already dismounted and was leading his horse away.
“Trager,” he called. “Which way?”
“Captain?” the lieutenant asked.
“Which way did you go yesterday?”
Trager thought for a moment, then said “Left.”
Still atop his horse, Lukien studied the leftward route. It was dim and foreboding, like its twin, and something told him to be cautious. He said, “I’m going to ride ahead and scout it out. Tend to the men and see that they water their horses. Then look after the princess, make sure she’s all right.”
“Good idea, Captain,” said Trager, then quickly turned and walked away.
Cassandra sat inside her carriage, absently watching the world through her dingy window. Though Jancis was with her she felt completely alone, just as she had for weeks. The carriage rocked from side to side as it rolled along the muddy roads, slowly pulled forward by a team of horses. The horses had been white when they’d left Hes, splendid looking beasts to herald her arrival in Liiria. Now they were mud covered, like everything else, and they matched Cassandra’s mood perfectly. For days now she had been stuck inside the carriage, only taking breaks when her escorts did, or when she needed to relieve herself. The vehicle’s claustrophobic walls were driving her mad. Jancis, who constantly occupied herself with knitting, made small talk as they traveled, daydreaming about Koth and King Akeela, and what it would be like for Cassandra to be queen. But Cassandra hardly thought about those things anymore. As it had for weeks now, her mind turned to Lukien.
She had embarrassed herself with the knight, and now could barely face him. She remembered with horrible clarity his expression when he’d seen the painting, and though Jancis had asked him not to tell anyone about it, Cassandra didn’t trust him. She fretted that he had bragged to his comrades about the incident. Worse, she wondered what he might tell Akeela. And though she had desperately wanted to talk to Lukien, to apologize and beg his silence, she could not, for being around him stole her voice. She feared him. Worse, she feared she loved him. She kept reminding herself that Akeela was a good man, and how fortunate she was to have been chosen by him. Any of her sisters would have willingly traded places with her. But the love she had hoped to feel for Akeela had yet to take root, constantly stunted by her infatuation with Lukien.
Have I ever loved?
she wondered as she watched the trees pass by her window.
Do I even know what love is?
she wondered as she watched the trees pass by her window.
Do I even know what love is?
She loved her father, but this was different. When she looked at Lukien—or when he looked at her—she felt peculiar, and the feeling was wonderful. None of the boys in Castle Hes had ever stirred such emotion in her, and she knew that was because they were simply boys, while Lukien was a man. He was accomplished and strong, and his skin bore the scars of a life hard-lived. In a matter of weeks he had taken over her mind. That was love, surely.
“I don’t know,” she whispered.
Jancis looked up from her knitting, eyeing her friend suspiciously. “What’s that?”
Cassandra didn’t reply. She merely stared out the window. Jancis laid her knitting aside and leaned forward.
“You’ve been very pensive lately,” she remarked. “Are you feeling all right?”
It was the same tired old question. Jancis watched her like a midwife these days.
“Yes,” Cassandra lied. “I’m fine.”
“No pains?”
“No,” said Cassandra. Another lie. “I was just thinking.”
“Oh, I’m sure. About what? Should I guess?”
“Don’t be a pest, Jancis,” said Cassandra. But she sighed theatrically, inviting her friend’s attention. “Oh, Jan. I don’t know what to do . . .”
“There’s nothing to be done, so don’t fret over it. I told you—he’s probably forgotten all about it. And even if he hasn’t, I don’t think he’s going to tell anyone. He’s as guilty as you, Cass. Don’t forget that.”
“He’s not,” said Cassandra.
“He is. He was the one looking at you, remember. He couldn’t take his eyes off you!” Jancis frowned. “Bloody wretch, that’s what he is. Going over his king’s wife like that. Maybe Akeela should find out about it, teach him some manners.”
“I have to talk to him,” Cassandra resolved. She thought for a moment, her eyes narrowing. “Yes. If I could speak to him I could explain things, before he says anything to Akeela.”
Jancis’ face hardened. “Don’t talk to him. That’s how you got in this mess in the first place.”
“I have to,” said Cassandra. She gave her maid a sad smile. “I want to, Jan.”
Just then the carriage came to a stop. Jancis massaged her neck in relief.
“Thank God,” she said, stretching. “I could use a walk.”
“We’re stopping,” said Cassandra absently. The seed of an idea began to bloom. She cranked up her courage. “Yes, all right.”
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