Authors: John Marco
The Eyes of God (34 page)
For Cassandra,
Lukien reminded himself.
Lukien reminded himself.
He wasn’t a thief, but for Cassandra he would become one. For Cassandra, he would do anything, and that troubled him. He was far from home now, maybe about to die. He had risked his brotherhood with Akeela and imperiled his soul, if indeed he even had a soul, and as the wind played across the sand Lukien wondered what life would be like without her. In the little time they had spent together, he had fallen deeply in love with her. He imagined he could accept her as Akeela’s wife, as long as she was close and he could look at her. But if she died. . . .
She will not die,
Lukien told himself.
I won’t allow it.
Lukien told himself.
I won’t allow it.
With Cassandra’s face filling his thoughts, Lukien closed his eyes and went to sleep.
17
A
t the bridge of Roan-si, Chancellor Hogon and his army of Liirians paused to look across the glistening River Kryss. They had traveled many days to make the rendezvous, and the infantry and horses were exhausted from the march. But the sight of the river heartened them, and the opposing army that had come to meet them put a smile on Hogon’s face. He narrowed his eyes against the strong sun, recognizing Raxor’s flag. The Reecian war minister’s standard was a green flag embroided with a snarling lion, in the same colors as his brother. From the looks of Raxor’s camp, the Reecians had arrived at least a day earlier. Tents and pavilions had already been erected, and a few small cooking fires burned among the huddled troops. The scouts that Hogon had sent ahead had reported that Raxor was anxious for his meeting at the bridge. Already Reecian soldiers were riding out of camp to greet them. Hogon put up his hand and bid his company to remain calm. He had five hundred infantry with him and almost a hundred heavy horsemen, all of whom still distrusted their new allies. But Raxor had come just as his brother had promised, and Hogon had his orders. So far, at least, Akeela’s plan was working.
t the bridge of Roan-si, Chancellor Hogon and his army of Liirians paused to look across the glistening River Kryss. They had traveled many days to make the rendezvous, and the infantry and horses were exhausted from the march. But the sight of the river heartened them, and the opposing army that had come to meet them put a smile on Hogon’s face. He narrowed his eyes against the strong sun, recognizing Raxor’s flag. The Reecian war minister’s standard was a green flag embroided with a snarling lion, in the same colors as his brother. From the looks of Raxor’s camp, the Reecians had arrived at least a day earlier. Tents and pavilions had already been erected, and a few small cooking fires burned among the huddled troops. The scouts that Hogon had sent ahead had reported that Raxor was anxious for his meeting at the bridge. Already Reecian soldiers were riding out of camp to greet them. Hogon put up his hand and bid his company to remain calm. He had five hundred infantry with him and almost a hundred heavy horsemen, all of whom still distrusted their new allies. But Raxor had come just as his brother had promised, and Hogon had his orders. So far, at least, Akeela’s plan was working.
“Dusan, you will accompany me,” said Hogon. “Kass, stay back with the others.”
The chancellor’s aides frowned at each other.
“Sir, is that wise?” asked Dusan, the younger of the two.
He had been with Hogon for five years, yet still saw fit to question him. “You should have at least two men with you, for protection.”
The Chancellor of War chuckled. “Protection from what? They’re our allies now.”
Lieutenant Kass snorted, “Allies. Who believes that, truly?”
“Your king believes that,” said Hogon sharply. “And look, they have come.”
“So you trust them?” asked Kass.
Hogon didn’t answer. He didn’t have to trust the Reecians. Like Liiria, they had a stake in defeating Norvor, and that would keep them honest, at least for now. And despite his violent history, Raxor was known as a man of his word, not only in Reec but throughout the continent. Hogon had battled Raxor many times, but he had never hated the man. He respected him.
“See that the men rest, Kass,” said Hogon, “and that the horses take water. Dusan, come along.”
With Dusan following close behind, Hogon trotted toward the bridge. Roan-si Bridge was wide and sturdy, and would easily accommodate bringing the army across. It had been built by the Reecians long before Akeela had come to power, but had been abandoned during the bitter stalemate, used mostly by traders and merchants. Roan-si, Hogon knew, was an old Reecian phrase meaning “meeting place.” The irony of the name wasn’t lost on the old man. Those who had built the bridge had supposed it would bring the two nations together, but only Akeela had been able to do that.
As he neared the stone bridge, Hogon recognized Raxor among the approaching soldiers. When the Reecian noticed Hogon’s single companion, he paused for a moment, ordering all but one of his soldiers to stop and wait as he himself rode on. He wore a surcoat over his black armor and metal studded greaves, and his ebony warhorse matched his own dark hair, combed back and slick with oil. He was a big man, like his brother, and as he trotted onto the bridge his eyes met Hogon’s with an air of mistrust. Hogon remained arrow-straight in his saddle, not even blinking as he rode to face his longtime enemy. Never before had he been this close to Raxor. The urge to draw his sword was almost irresistible. There was no sound on the bridge, only the clopping of horse hooves on stone. Behind Hogon, Dusan was silent.
The two men rode toward the crest of the bridge, their aides keeping back a pace. Hogon stopped his horse and raised his hand in greeting.
“Raxor.”
The War Minister of Reec nodded. “Hogon.”
They looked at each other without the smallest hint of friendship. Raxor was unreadable. Hogon felt the breeze strike his face and decided he should say something.
“You’ve come,” he said. “To be honest, I didn’t know if you would. Thank you.”
“My king commanded it,” said Raxor. “Is that not why you are here, Hogon?”
Hogon nodded. “It is.”
“You look tired,” the Reecian remarked.
“It is a long march from Koth.”
“And from Hes,” agreed Raxor. “But we have rested. We arrived yesterday.”
“Good. Then you are ready to march on Hanging Man?”
“We are.” Raxor hesitated, sizing up Hogon. “Chancellor, I have a question from my brother. He wants to know how his daughter fares.”
Hogon grimaced. In the tension of the moment, he had forgotten that Karis had been told of Cassandra’s illness. The messenger that had asked for his help against Norvor had delivered that bad news as well.
“I’m sorry,” said Hogon, “but the queen does poorly. She has some good days, but she is very ill. Her physician says she may be dead in a month or two.”
“And the quest your messenger spoke of? How does that go?”
“No word yet. But we have sent out our best knights in search of the amulets. If they exist, our men will find them.”
Raxor’s face betrayed his sadness. “It is a fool’s errand,” he said. “If Cassandra has so little time, how can your knights save her?”
“They will do their best,” said Hogon. He did not believe in Lukien’s quest either, but thought it best not to say so. “As I said, if the amulets exist, our men will find them.”
“Then I will dispatch that news to my brother, and tell him to begin mourning his daughter,” said Raxor bitterly. “Now, what news of your king?”
“King Akeela still rides for Hanging Man. He will arrive there on the morrow. We will attack the day after, just past dawn.”
“Will there will be a signal?”
Hogon shook his head. “No. My orders are to attack an hour past dawn. Akeela assured me he would be ready.”
Raxor grimaced. “With respect, I have met your king, Chancellor. He doesn’t seem capable of this mission.”
“Maybe. But he’s not alone. He has fifty men with him, including one of his best Chargers. When we attack, they will be ready.”
Raxor looked over Hogon’s shoulder, toward his Liirian army. “You have brought a goodly force with you.”
“Five hundred infantry and a hundred cavalry.” Hogon surveyed Raxor’s troops in the distance. “Almost as many as you, it seems.”
“Indeed. We will be formidable . . .” Raxor almost smiled. “Together.”
Hogon returned the crooked grin. “Together,” he echoed. The word felt odd to him. “We live in strange times, Minister,” he said, then proceeded across the bridge with Raxor.
18
T
he Norvan fortress of Hanging Man clung to the edge of a cliff, one sheer face turned toward the churning river below. Defiant flags overhung its battlements, snapping in the wind, while countless scores of armored men milled about its courtyard, barely visible through the surrounding iron gate. A single turret rose from the fortress, its gray stone weather-pitted, its arrow slits perpetually watching the River Kryss. Beyond the fortress lay Norvor, a land of formidable mountains and hot southern summers. Hanging Man’s shadow fell across the River Kryss like a drawbridge. The fortress had stood for six decades, guarding Norvor and its diamond mines from its Reecian neighbors. It had earned its name during the first Reecian’Norvan war, when Norvan soldiers hung their Reecian captives on the wall facing the river, so that any who approached would see their grisly trophies and be warned. The name had stuck, but not the practice, for there had been no war between the uneasy neighbors for many years, and Norvor had quieted as its brutal leader aged. Akeela knew very little about King Mor, but he knew that he was very old, and that now he was very angry. Angry enough, it seemed, to return to his warlike ways.
he Norvan fortress of Hanging Man clung to the edge of a cliff, one sheer face turned toward the churning river below. Defiant flags overhung its battlements, snapping in the wind, while countless scores of armored men milled about its courtyard, barely visible through the surrounding iron gate. A single turret rose from the fortress, its gray stone weather-pitted, its arrow slits perpetually watching the River Kryss. Beyond the fortress lay Norvor, a land of formidable mountains and hot southern summers. Hanging Man’s shadow fell across the River Kryss like a drawbridge. The fortress had stood for six decades, guarding Norvor and its diamond mines from its Reecian neighbors. It had earned its name during the first Reecian’Norvan war, when Norvan soldiers hung their Reecian captives on the wall facing the river, so that any who approached would see their grisly trophies and be warned. The name had stuck, but not the practice, for there had been no war between the uneasy neighbors for many years, and Norvor had quieted as its brutal leader aged. Akeela knew very little about King Mor, but he knew that he was very old, and that now he was very angry. Angry enough, it seemed, to return to his warlike ways.
It was just past noon when Akeela and his contingent of Chargers arrived at Hanging Man. The sun beat down on his cape-clad shoulders. His horse moved sluggishly, eager for a rest, and the warmth had wilted Akeela’s spirits, which withered further at the sight of Hanging Man. For eight days they had ridden, finding what shelter they could in Liirian villages, until they had crossed the Kryss and entered Reec. After that they had been on their own, and the lack of sleep and decent food had plagued Akeela. He wasn’t as hearty as Breck or the others, and he knew that it showed. Breck rode very close to him, watching him like a concerned brother.
“They see us, my lord,” said Breck. He ambled his horse alongside Akeela’s, pointing at the great turret.
“No doubt,” said Akeela. His insides clenched. From the looks of the fortress, King Mor had been busy. There were catapults and heavy wagons and stables housing war horses, all plainly visible and meant to send a message. Akeela no longer doubted Mor’s intentions. It was expensive to move so many men and so much equipment; Mor wasn’t bluffing. He intended to attack Reec if his demands were not met, even if it meant war with Liiria.
“Keep riding,” Akeela told Breck. The lieutenant called the order down the line, and the fifty horsemen kept moving. The men in Hanging Man’s courtyard began opening the great gate.
“My lord?” Breck whispered.
“Yes?”
“Are you all right?”
Akeela nodded. “Yes.”
Breck leaned in closer. “You don’t have to do this. We can still turn around. Just say the word.”
But Akeela couldn’t say the word. Frightened as he was, he knew there was no turning back. Hogon was already prepared, and Raxor with him.
“I can’t explain this to you, Breck. It’s just something I have to do.”
“But you’ve never done anything like this before.” Breck kept his voice low, but his tone was earnest. “Forgive me for saying this, but you’re not a soldier, my lord.”
“Shhh,” Akeela urged. “No more talk, all right? It’s done, and I’m not backing down.”
Akeela took a breath to still his doubts. Mor’s arrogance had brought them to this, and if Mor died in the battle, then Akeela wouldn’t shed a tear for him. There was more at stake than one man’s life—there was Liiria, and Akeela’s rule over it. He couldn’t let Mor or Baron Glass or anyone else think him a weakling.
Cassandra doesn’t want a weakling for a husband,
thought Akeela.
She wants a hero, like Lukien.
thought Akeela.
She wants a hero, like Lukien.
He rode ahead of Breck, checking himself as he approached the fortress. He felt the slender length of his dagger against his breast, his only protection. Up ahead, the great gate of Hanging Man beckoned. A contingent of soldiers waited there, dressed in the peculiar armor of Norvor, their heads hidden beneath winged helmets. Akeela searched the crowd for Mor, but did not see the old man.
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