Authors: John Marco
The Eyes of God (66 page)
He reached out and touched the breastplate. It was cool and smooth, embossed with the image of a prancing stallion, the crest of the Royal Chargers. If there had been any question of Breck’s ties to Lukien, they were instantly erased.
“Lukien gave you this?” asked Gilwyn.
“It was no good to him anymore,” said Breck. “Not where he was going.”
“Where?” Gilwyn pressed. “Where did he go?”
Breck smiled sadly. “He went to the only place he could go. He was a soldier, and that’s all he ever could be.”
“I don’t get it,” said Gilwyn. “Where’s that?”
“Norvor.”
The word struck Gilwyn. Of all the places he’d wished to hunt for Lukien, Norvor was on the bottom of the list. Norvor, land of war. Land of death. A land where a heartless king and a queen of diamonds struggled for the single throne.
“Uh, Sir Breck,” said Gilwyn unsteadily, “if Lukien’s in Norvor, I’m going to need your help.”
Breck nodded. “I told you so.”
34
K
ing Mor was dead, sixteen long years now. He had left no heirs, for his son Fianor had been murdered with him, leaving empty the throne at Carlion and leaving his army leaderless. There was no ironfist to replace King Mor, no easy means of succession. But Mor had been a man of many enemies, and there were vultures eager for his throne. Vying for the riches of Norvor’s diamond mines and the fealty of her soldiers, they had fractured Norvor, spinning her into the maelstrom of civil war.
ing Mor was dead, sixteen long years now. He had left no heirs, for his son Fianor had been murdered with him, leaving empty the throne at Carlion and leaving his army leaderless. There was no ironfist to replace King Mor, no easy means of succession. But Mor had been a man of many enemies, and there were vultures eager for his throne. Vying for the riches of Norvor’s diamond mines and the fealty of her soldiers, they had fractured Norvor, spinning her into the maelstrom of civil war.
History had recorded Mor’s murder as “the massacre at Hanging Man.” Of the four hundred men stationed at the citadel, only a few dozen were spared. They had been forced to march back into the heart of their country with no food and water. Among these men was a Norvan colonel named Lorn. At Mor’s castle in Carlion, Lorn told the court that their king was dead and his son with him. General Nace, Lorn said, was dead as well. And because he was the highest ranking man to survive the massacre at Hanging Man, he claimed the throne of Norvor for himself. Protestors to his ascension were quickly killed by the other surviving soldiers of Hanging Man, who were all too eager to avenge their defeat, even on innocent countrymen.
But Lorn’s hold on power was tenuous, and always remained so. Though he continued to rule in the area of Carlion, calling himself king, there were others with ambition who saw opportunity in Mor’s death.
Of all challengers for Norvor’s broken throne, Jazana Carr had been the craftiest. Because she ruled the north of Norvor, and because she controlled the gem mines, she was called the Diamond Queen, a title she had purchased for herself with the help of a family fortune. For sixteen years Jazana Carr had fought King Lorn for control of Norvor, pressing her war from her stronghold at Hanging Man. With her own diamond-bought army, she had retaken the fortress when the Liirians and their Reecian allies had left, and from there had built her tiny empire, spreading her reign over more and more of the north’s teeming gem mines. Diamonds and rubies made Jazana Carr rich. Ever determined to secure her reign, she spent her burgeoning fortune on the best mercenaries in the world, keeping them loyal with lucrative contracts. She was not a true queen but she would be someday, she was sure. Until then, she was content to fight Lorn for the throne of Norvor.
The Bronze Knight was no more.
He had left his armor and loyalty behind, fleeing into Norvor without looking back. He knew the depth of Akeela’s hatred, knew that to return to Koth meant death for Cassandra and himself. He had tried, briefly, to live a quiet life like Breck, but he was unskilled as a farmer and clumsy as a carpenter, and so had returned to the only thing he had ever excelled at—once again, he became a soldier.
He had entered Norvor fully aware of its grim reputation, sure that the usurpers of the broken throne could use his skills. In Jazana Carr, he had found a willing employer. And so he had waged the Diamond Queen’s battles, fighting for money along with countless others. He had changed his name to live among them, but Jazana Carr knew his secret and kept it, for the Diamond Queen had ambitions even greater than the Norvan throne. Lukien, now called Ryon, knew this and did not mind. Like Jazana Carr, he dreamed of one day returning to Liiria, even if it meant returning as a conqueror. Then, perhaps, he would be reunited with Cassandra. It was the one bargain he had struck with Jazana Carr—if ever they should attack Liiria, and if ever Koth should fall, he was to have Cassandra.
Lukien had quickly learned that Jazana Carr was a pragmatic woman, endlessly patient. It had been over sixteen years now, and Carr was showing her age. But she still battled King Lorn for Norvor, and she still spoke of the day when Liiria, the greatest diamond of them all, would be hers. Perhaps it was treachery for Lukien to listen to such talk. At first it had felt like the highest heresy. But the years had hardened Lukien, and he had never forgiven Akeela for banishing him. That one great insult had stripped him of everything. After a lifetime dedicated to Liiria and its ideals, the endless struggle to climb Koth’s complicated social ladder, he was nothing but a freelance. Now, sixteen years and countless battles later, it no longer bothered Lukien to hear Jazana Carr speak of conquering Liiria.
But his love for Cassandra had never died. He knew that she continued to live in Lionkeep, was still Akeela’s captive. And it was this more than anything that fostered Lukien’s loyalty to Jazana Carr. If the possibility to see Cassandra again ever existed, Lukien was sure it would come through her.
Before that day could come, though, there were battles to fight. Lukien had become an important pawn in Jazana Carr’s struggle for power. Because of his prowess with a sword he was valuable to Carr. There were borders to secure and skirmishes to fight, and towns under Carr’s dominion that needed protection. Towns like Disa.
When Lukien fought, he forgot that he was just past forty. He forgot that his body was growing old or that he had lost an eye to a Norvan scimitar. He did not think of Cassandra or Liiria, or even remember that his true name was Lukien. When he fought, as he had at Disa for five dreadful weeks, he was simply Ryon, a mercenary fighting for Jazana Carr.
Disa had been a nightmare, and Lukien was well pleased to have it behind him. Once Disa had been a pretty little town, with quaint old houses and neatly trimmed gardens. But its southern location had made it a battleground. Suddenly the sleepy town of metalsmiths and shopkeepers had become tactically significant. For five weeks Lorn’s soldiers had battled for Disa, trying to take its bridge. Under the command of a colonel named Ness, the southerners had put up a worthy fight. But in the end they had retreated south, back to King Lorn’s territory. They had not taken the bridge, but they had exacted a heavy toll on Lukien—Ryon—and his men. The protracted fight had laid waste to Disa, sending streams of refugees north, further into Jazana Carr’s bosom. Finally, when reinforcements arrived, Lukien joined the refugees. He was exhausted and longed for the peace of Hanging Man. He was confident that Layton and the others could hold Disa.
Lukien had been on the road for barely an hour when the messenger reached him. He and twenty of his fellow mercenaries had left Disa early in the morning, eager to return north. They wore no armor, nor did their horses. And they bore no lances, only shields and swords. Jazana Carr had long ago secured the northern territories, and Lukien and his men felt safe as soon as they’d left Disa behind. The road was blessedly quiet, with only the singing of birds and the good-natured banter of comrades. Young Marke, who had become a friend to Lukien since joining their ranks a month ago, rode beside him. Marke was barely twenty and reminded Lukien of himself at that age, when he had been handsome and still had both eyes. Now he wore an eye patch to cover his disfigurement, and countless skirmishes had scarred his pretty face. Marke told jokes and sang bawdy ballads as they rode, making them all forget the horrors they had left behind in Disa
And then, like the trump of doom, came the messenger’s cry.
“Ryon!”
The twenty mercenaries turned in unison. A single rider thundered toward them, his black horse kicking up a furious dust cloud. Lukien recognized the rider at once. It was Garrin, one of the men he’d left behind at Disa. Marke also took notice of the man, his young face falling.
“Trouble,” he said grimly.
Lukien spun his horse to face the coming rider. His companions formed a circle around Garrin as he reigned his steed to a skidding stop.
“Thank the Fate I found you,” said Garrin. “Ryon, Ness is back!”
“What?” gasped Lukien. “When?”
“Soon as you left. They hit us at the bridge, not an hour ago. He’s got fresh men with him, dozens of them.”
The news shocked Lukien. He was sure Colonel Ness had retreated. After such a bloody stalemate, even the stalwart Ness needed rest. Lukien cursed himself for underestimating the Norvan colonel. But he had been so desperate to get home, so very tired. . . .
“The bridge?” he asked dreadfully.
“Holding when I left,” said Garrin. “Now, who knows. We need you, Ryon. There’s no time to waste.”
The image of home faded instantly in Lukien’s mind. He knew the bridge wouldn’t hold forever. And if the bridge fell, so too would Disa. Though there were only twenty of them, they would have to lend their swords to the cause.
“Every able man,” shouted Lukien to his comrades. “Come on.”
With Lukien in the lead, Marke and the others galloped back the way they had come, chewing up the road to Disa.
Colonel Ness sat atop his dapple gray, the visor of his winged helmet up, his eyes scanning the battleground and the town beyond. Here on the east side of the river, he was safely away from the raging battle for the bridge, on a swale of grass that afforded him an easy view of the melee. Exhaustion plagued his battered body. His armor hung on him in broken bits, dented and filthy from his countless clashes with the mercenaries. More than anything in the world, Colonel Ness wanted to return home to Carlion, to be with his wife and to forget about this worthless town that fate had catapulted into importance. But Colonel Ness could not return. He had already tried that, just yesterday. Instead he had been met by a fresh contingent of men from Lorn, one of them bearing a note from the so-called king himself. Ness hadn’t really needed to read the note; he was clairvoyant enough to know what it said.
King Lorn would brook no failure at Disa. Colonel Ness was not to return to Carlion without having conquered the town. No retreat. If he failed, he would be executed.
After reading the dreadful note, Ness had let it fall from his hands into the mud. He had simply stared vacant-eyed at the two dozen new troops Lorn had sent him. Two dozen more corpses to litter the grounds of Disa. Carr’s mercenaries were simply too good for them. Part of Ness had felt like weeping. But he was a military man charged with a mission, and so he had turned back with his own battle-weary men to once again walk into the lion’s mouth.
It was mid-morning and the war for the bridge still raged, as protracted as ever. Ness commanded his men from the safety of the rear, but there was nothing much for him to do. The bridge was too important. And the only way to take the bridge was to throw wave after wave of soldiers at it. His cavalry still tried to ford the river in spots, but the current was too swift to make that practical. Men from both sides clashed in the water, spreading the bloody stalemate like a stain. On the bridge itself, his cavalry had pushed through the barricade of caltrops but had failed to crush the wall of lancers awaiting them on the other side. Horsemen and infantry tumbled over each other like a bloody waterfall, slashing and screaming and plunging down into the rushing waters below.
Colonel Ness watched, unmoved. He had a very clear vision of himself dying today, because he doubted he could take the bridge and because he’d rather die here, in battle, than on the gallows back home.
When Lukien reached the riverbank, he called his party to a halt. The horsemen fell in line behind him, surprised. Garrin skidded up to Lukien with a troubled look.
“Why are we stopping?” he asked.
Lukien glanced around. They were not far from Disa and if he listened closely he could just make out the din of battle over the gurgle of the river. An ample cover of trees surrounded them, shielding them from sight. Lukien knew they’d come far enough.
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