The Eyes of God (64 page)
Authors: John Marco
“And you’ll answer me?” asked Graig skeptically.
Trager laughed. “Why shouldn’t I? We’re old friends now, you and I.”
“Old, perhaps,” said Graig. “Not friends.”
“Ask.”
“All right.” Graig folded his arms over his chest. “I don’t like being kept in the dark, General. I don’t like the access you’ve had to Akeela, and I don’t like the idea of him riding off with you to Jador. I want to know exactly what’s going on.”
“Have you asked Akeela?”
“Of course I have. He keeps telling me to mind my own business, says that you’re in charge of this mission and that it’s a secret.”
Trager grinned.
In charge.
He liked the ring of it.
In charge.
He liked the ring of it.
“It
is
a secret,” he whispered, leaning forward. “A great secret. And it’s been going on for sixteen years, right under your nose.”
is
a secret,” he whispered, leaning forward. “A great secret. And it’s been going on for sixteen years, right under your nose.”
Concern wrinkled Graig’s brow. “What do you mean?”
“You’re the Head Warden of Lionkeep,” said Trager with contempt, “and yet you’ve no idea what’s been happening all this time.” He laughed, delighted by the man’s ignorance. “Do you remember my last journey to Jador, Head Warden?”
Graig nodded. “Of course. You went with Lukien. You found the cure for Cassandra’s illness.”
“Cure. Hmm, what an odd of way putting it. What do you think it was? An herb perhaps? Some desert medicine?”
Shrugging, Graig said, “I don’t know. Akeela would never say. All that I know is that it cured Cassandra.”
“And made her a crone?”
“Well, a cancer will do that.” Graig shook his head and sighed. “Poor girl. She was so beautiful.”
Unable to contain his snickering, Trager said, “Remarkable.” He rose and shut the door, much to the surprise of Warden Graig. The old man stared at him inquisitively.
“Why shut the door? Is this Jadori thing really that secret?”
“Oh, it’s so much better than that,” said Trager. He sat back against the desk, grinning through the haze of the wine. “Cassandra’s not a crone at all, you fool. She’s as bright as a penny, still and always. She’s not a day older then when I left for Jador.”
“What are you talking about?” asked Graig. “How do you know what the queen looks like? No one but Akeela’s seen her for years!”
“Not even Akeela, actually,” said Trager. “No one has seen her. She wears an amulet, Graig, a magic pendent that keeps her young, keeps her tumor from claiming her. That’s what we got for her from Jador.”
Graig seemed stunned, disbelieving. He blinked with drunkenness as he tried to comprehend the amazing story. “Impossible.”
“The amulet is called the Eye of God. It’s one of two such amulets in the world. Akeela has been searching for the other one for sixteen years. Now he’s found it, in Jador. That’s why we’re going back, Graig. And that’s why the mission is such a secret.”
“I don’t believe it,” gasped Graig. His old mind was reeling. “It’s incredible.”
“It’s the truth. Only Akeela and three others know about this. Obviously I’m one of them. See? I’ve always been valuable to Akeela. More valuable than you.”
“I don’t believe you,” spat Graig. “Even if it’s true, why would you tell me such a thing?”
Trager shrugged. “Because it amuses me. Because I like knowing something you don’t know. You see, I’ve always hated you, Graig. I’ve always wanted you to know that you’re not so important to Akeela after all. To be honest, I thought Akeela might have let the truth slip out to you after all these years. But he didn’t. He doesn’t trust you, and that pleases me.”
“Scum,” hissed Graig, rising from his chair. “You’re a lying piece of filth.”
“I’m many things, Head Warden, but I’m not a liar. Everything I told you is true.” Trager sighed dramatically. “But now I have a terrible problem. I thought maybe you already knew the truth about Cassandra. Obviously I was wrong. This is very dangerous knowledge.” He winked at Graig. “A secret.”
Graig seemed not to take his meaning. “So? I don’t even believe it.”
“It doesn’t matter what you believe,” said Trager. “The sad fact is that I told you.” He shook his head in mock regret. “Very sad, indeed.”
“General, I think you should leave now,” said Graig.
Trager nodded. “Agreed.”
He turned to go. Graig stepped forward to escort him out. Trager reached for the door handle, then spun with his outstretched arm, catching Graig in the throat. The old man stumbled back from the blow, his neck snapping as he fell backward over his chair. His shock-filled eyes watched Trager as his back slammed into the stone floor. A wheezing gasp escaped his throat. Frozen horror fixed his twitching face.
On the floor, unmoving, he gazed up wildly as Trager hovered over him. Trager smiled, then roughly kicked over the flagon, sending its contents spilling along the floor.
“You shouldn’t drink so much,” whispered Trager. “Now look at you. You’ve slipped and hurt yourself.”
Graig couldn’t respond. His neck broken, he could barely breathe.
“Such an unfortunate accident,” said Trager with a smile.
Warden Graig gasped, a garble of sounds that sounded to Trager like curses.
“You should have been nicer to me, Graig,” said Trager. “It would have been so easy. Well, let me tell you something now. I’ve got what I want, and I’m not sharing Akeela with anyone.” He poked at Graig’s cheek. “Do you hear me? You’re finished, Graig. You, Lukien, and someday that old waterhead Figgis.
I’m
the one that tells Akeela what to do. And that’s how it’s going to be forever.”
I’m
the one that tells Akeela what to do. And that’s how it’s going to be forever.”
Trager didn’t wait for Graig to die. The old man’s face was already purpling. Confident he’d be dead in minutes, the Supreme General of Liiria retrieved his cape and left the office, closing the door behind him. But before he left he took his goblet with him.
“A man shouldn’t drink alone,” he sighed as he left the keep. “That’s how accidents happen.”
33
G
ilwyn rode out from the library at dawn, when the sun was barely peeking over the horizon. He had his wagon and his horse Tempest to pull it, Teku on his shoulder, and a pocketful of silver coins. The letter Queen Cassandra had given him was tucked safely into his trousers. Aside from those things, he had nothing. He was alone and afraid, but he was determined to reach his destination by nightfall. So he said good-bye to Figgis and did not look back, focusing instead on the long trek ahead. Figgis had given him sparse directions to Breck’s farm. Never having actually been there, the old man wasn’t exactly sure of its location. It was north of the city, he’d told Gilwyn, near the town of Borath. Borath was a shire of wheat and potato farmers, and Figgis was sure that Breck grew one of those crops. Find Borath, Figgis had explained, and you’ll find Breck. It seemed an easy enough task, but Gilwyn had never ridden out of Koth before. And Figgis had been unable to offer any guarantees. It had been five years since he’d last heard from Breck, and it was very possible that the old knight had moved on. Figgis didn’t think so, but the possibility made Gilwyn anxious. And Borath was a full day’s ride from the library. Even with good weather, it would take determination to reach the shire by dark.
ilwyn rode out from the library at dawn, when the sun was barely peeking over the horizon. He had his wagon and his horse Tempest to pull it, Teku on his shoulder, and a pocketful of silver coins. The letter Queen Cassandra had given him was tucked safely into his trousers. Aside from those things, he had nothing. He was alone and afraid, but he was determined to reach his destination by nightfall. So he said good-bye to Figgis and did not look back, focusing instead on the long trek ahead. Figgis had given him sparse directions to Breck’s farm. Never having actually been there, the old man wasn’t exactly sure of its location. It was north of the city, he’d told Gilwyn, near the town of Borath. Borath was a shire of wheat and potato farmers, and Figgis was sure that Breck grew one of those crops. Find Borath, Figgis had explained, and you’ll find Breck. It seemed an easy enough task, but Gilwyn had never ridden out of Koth before. And Figgis had been unable to offer any guarantees. It had been five years since he’d last heard from Breck, and it was very possible that the old knight had moved on. Figgis didn’t think so, but the possibility made Gilwyn anxious. And Borath was a full day’s ride from the library. Even with good weather, it would take determination to reach the shire by dark.
Blessedly, the morning was fair. Gilwyn did not stop riding until he was well beyond Library Hill. He kept to the northern outskirts of the city, watching it peripherally and marveling at its size. It was much bigger than it looked from Library Hill, tall and vast and mysterious. The road Gilwyn took afforded him an excellent view. It was cobble-stone and lined with trees, and the day soon took on a beautiful aura. To the south, Koth reflected the sunlight like a mirror. To the north, a great expanse of golden grass swayed in the breeze. Gilwyn quickly forgot his thousand troubles. He felt remarkably free, untethered by his apprenticeship to Figgis or his mild deformities.
By late morning he located the river which would lead him north to Borath. The river was called the Trident, because it split into three smaller tributaries just south of the capital. The Trident was wide and crystal clear, and Gilwyn took the time to stop for rest, letting Tempest drink from the Trident’s inviting bank. While the horse drank, Gilwyn and Teku rummaged through the food Figgis had packed for them, finding bread, meat, and fruit. Teku grabbed for the fruit immediately, snatching herself a shiny red apple harvested from the orchards of Lionkeep. She sat herself down on the carriage’s bench seat and buried her snout noisily into the fruit. Gilwyn wedged some ham between bread, then leaned back, studying the blue sky as he ate. Though they had passed many others during the morning, the little place he had staked out by the Trident was deserted. The place was lovely and reminded him of Cassandra. He laughed, shaking his head. How stupid he’d been to think she was interested in him. But she had been kind, just as he’d imagined, and she had not shunned him or stared at his boot or crippled hand. Though she was a queen, she had treated him like an equal. And that, more than anything, was the reason he wanted to help her.
For the rest of the afternoon, Gilwyn, Teku, and Tempest followed the Trident north. They stopped when necessary for rest, letting old Tempest catch his breath, and came upon a town where Gilwyn took the time to talk to the locals. It was a farming village called Ferri, one Figgis had told him about.
“If you’re not making good time, spend the night in Ferri,” Figgis had said. “There’ll be a bed for you there if you want it, but don’t pay too much. And don’t tell anyone why you’re heading to Borath.”
It was advice Gilwyn didn’t need. He had no intention of asking anyone in Ferri about Breck, but he did ask directions to Borath. A brawny pig farmer with kindly eyes confirmed what Figgis had said—Borath was only a few more hours north. Follow the Trident, head northeast where it forks, and keep your eyes open for the shire. Gilwyn thanked the man, let his young daughter play with Teku a few moments, then went about his way.
By late afternoon, they were all exhausted from the ride, despite their frequent breaks. Teku had long ago stopped chattering on Gilwyn’s shoulder, and instead curled up in a sleeping bundle on his lap. And Tempest, who had pulled the carriage without complaint throughout the day, began to show signs of weariness. Gilwyn was beginning to regret his decision not to spend the night in Ferri when he saw the fork in the Trident.
“Look,” he cried, waking Teku. “There it is!”
His little companion spied the forking river, squawking with relief.
“Not much farther, Tempest old boy,” Gilwyn encouraged, and gently guided the horse northeast. They left behind the banks of the river and soon entered farm country again, a great flat plain with homesteads dotting the horizon. Gilwyn could barely make out the outlines of the little shire in the distance. The sun was beginning to sink, and the stone chimneys of Borath sent up evening smoke signals. Grass and fruit trees flanked the road. Up ahead, a field of wheat rippled in the breeze, like the tide of a golden ocean. Gilwyn spied the homesteads. They were acres apart, and he wondered which one was Breck’s.
“Potatoes or wheat?” he wondered aloud. The wheat looked more inviting, so he headed toward the waving grain. The closest farm took long minutes to reach, and when he did Gilwyn waved down a boy just coming in from the field. The boy was younger than Gilwyn and wore clothes of the field, patched and stained with soil. He eyed the carriage suspiciously as it entered the property.
“Excuse me,” said Gilwyn. “I’m looking for the home of a man named Breck. Might this be it?”
The boy didn’t answer. He didn’t move a muscle.
“Do you know of a man named Breck?” asked Gilwyn hopefully.
The boy nodded. “I do.”
“Then would you mind telling me where I can find him? I’ve been on the road all day.”
“You know Breck?” asked the boy. His eyes watched Gilwyn carefully.
“No, I don’t,” Gilwyn admitted. “But I’ve come to speak with him.”
“Come from where?”
“Look fellow, it’s getting late,” said Gilwyn. “If you know where this man Breck is, could you tell me? I’d like to find him before it gets dark.”
“Gordel?” called a voice. It came from the nearby house. Gilwyn turned toward the cobbled structure and saw a woman emerge from the rounded doorway. She wore a patchwork frock dirtied by labor and a smile that melted away when she noticed Gilwyn. “Gordel, who is this?” she asked.
Other books
Take the A-Train by Mark Timlin
Castle of Wizardry by David Eddings
Home For Christmas by Fiona Greene
Runaway by Peter May
Witness Protection: Hide and Seek by Dukes, Ursula
Green: The Beginning and the End by Ted Dekker
The Hair of Harold Roux by Thomas Williams
His Ancient Heart by M. R. Forbes
The Daughters: A Novel by Adrienne Celt
The Last Whisper in the Dark: A Novel by Piccirilli, Tom
