The Forever Knight: A Novel of the Bronze Knight (Books of the Bronze Knight) (7 page)

“S
o Lukien, tell me what it’s like to be immortal.”

The question came at me like an arrow, too fast to duck. I glared at Marilius. “Why would you ask a question like that?”

“Look at you—you’re already riding like nothing happened.” Marilius studied me as if I was faking. “Does it hurt?”

“No,” I told him, a fact that surprised me. I turned my head from side to side. After just four days, I felt completely healed.

“Lukien doesn’t like talking about his powers,” said Cricket. She rode up closer, wedging her pony between our horses.

“They’re not powers,” I said. “But she’s right—I don’t talk about it.”

“Oh, come on. I’ve heard you talking to Cricket, mumbling behind my back. And I saw the way you went after Wrestler. You’re not afraid of anything, huh?”

“Some things,” I said. “But they’re none of your business.”

Marilius shrugged. “We still have a full day ahead of us. Nothing to do but talk. Fallon’s going to ask you about your powers anyway.”

“Because you can’t keep a secret, right?”

“He needs a man like you, Lukien. But he’ll be curious. Can’t blame him for that. Hell,
I’m
curious. You’ve got the one thing money can’t buy, and I’m not talking about love.”

“A deal then,” I proposed. “You tell us why Fallon needs me so badly, and I’ll tell you what it’s like to be immortal.”

“Ooh, tempting,” smacked Marilius. “But no.”

“Why not?” asked Cricket. “We’re gonna find out once we get there. Just tell us now and save us the bother.”

“Nah, he won’t do that, Cricket,” I said. “He’s gotta keep his secret, otherwise we might not go with him. Must be something pretty bad, though, since he’s not willing to tell us.”

“Is it bad, Marilius?” asked Cricket.

Marilius shrugged. “Let’s just say it’s interesting.”

“Yeah, but you want to tell us,” pressed Cricket. “I can tell you do.”

“But I won’t,” Marilius snorted. “Now can we be quiet?”

“What’s the problem? Seriously, what’s Fallon need us for?”

“He needs Lukien,” Marilius corrected her. “You’re just along for the ride.”

“So are you, apparently,” I said. “Whatever it is, it’s something you can’t handle . . .
Captain
.”

This time Marilius didn’t answer. He pretended to scan the scrubby horizon. We were in the flat lands now, in the very heart of the Bitter Kingdoms. An occasional, dilapidated farm appeared as we rode, crops struggling in the hardscrabble earth. To the east loomed Zura, Sariyah’s dreamed-of spice lands. Near the mountains up north waited Akyre. Isowon was a day’s ride south and east, an isthmus of land Fallon’s fortune had turned into a garden, or so Marilius claimed. I dreamed of its promised water, so clear and turquoise you could see a rainbow of coral at its bottom.

“Okay,” Cricket said finally. “Just tell us about Fallon, then. What’s he like?”

“Rich,” said Marilius.

“We know that already. What else? Why’s he got so many men?”

“Why shouldn’t he? He can afford them.”

“Seems to me they’re not doing him much good,” I said. “I’ve got a feeling your employer isn’t so innocent around here, Marilius. If you’re bringing us to help him make war, you’re wasting your time.”

“Oh right, I forgot,” said Marilius. “You’re not a mercenary anymore.”

“That’s right.”

“Look around, Lukien. You’re in the Bitter Kingdoms now. War’s a way of life here. Tell him, Cricket.”

Cricket grimaced. “I can’t.”

Marilius looked at her. “What’s that mean?”

“It means she can’t remember,” I said. “She’s forgotten everything. What do you think can make someone forget everything they know, Marilius?”

“Damned if I know,” said Marilius.

“Damned sounds about right to me,” I said, and kept on riding.

*   *   *

The rest of that day we met not a single traveler on the road. We stopped as needed but made steady progress through the afternoon, all of us keeping our questions to ourselves. Malator continued to ignore my efforts to rouse him. I didn’t know if Akari ever got sick, but now I was worried. It wasn’t just a foul mood keeping him quiet this time. This time, he’d pushed himself too far. Both Cricket and Marilius rode in a sort of bored trance. I fixed my mind on Malator.

I can feel you
,
Malator
, I said, imagining myself deep inside the sword.
Just tell me you’re all right, and I’ll let you sleep.

For a long moment there was nothing. Then, at last, he stirred.

Sleep . . .

I chuckled to myself. “Good!”

Cricket perked up. “What’s good?”

“Malator. He’s . . .” I stopped myself. Marilius stared at me, puzzled. “Nothing.”

“Talking to your ghost friend, Lukien?” he asked.

“Keep riding, Norvan,” I replied. Then, quietly in my head, I said to Malator,
Just sleep now. We’ll talk soon
.

He slipped away like a drowsy child. The sun disappeared behind incoming clouds. I peered at the darkening horizon, surprised to see another group traveling toward us.

“Look,” said Cricket. “People!”

Next to me, Marilius stiffened. His gaze narrowed as they came into view.

“Soldiers?” I ventured.

“No,” said Marilius. He dropped his guard with a sigh. “Refugees.”

Next to me, Cricket went white. A single ox-drawn wagon shambled toward us, piled high with furniture, bundles of clothing, dilapidated crates—all manner of belongings. A dozen people trudged alongside it, thick with the dust of the road. Atop the wagon, teetering at the pinnacle of their possessions, sat a single, lonely child.

“Where are they from?” asked Cricket. She looked at Marilius. “Do you know?”

Marilius shrugged. “Could be anywhere. Maybe Drin. Or Kasse.”

“Maybe Akyre?”

“Sure, maybe.”

“No sense in wondering,” I said and rode forward.

The refugees stopped as we approached, bringing their pair of oxen to a halt. Three men gathered to greet me, shielding the others. I counted thirteen in all, at least four of them women. The boy—I could tell now he was a boy—was the only child among them. His blank eyes studied me behind a mask of grime. I raised a hand in greeting.

“Heading west?”

The group looked me over. A single man in a torn brown hat stepped forward, his grizzled face flaked with sunburn. He had farmer’s hands, hammy with great big knuckles.

“You coming from that way?” he asked.

“That’s right,” I replied. No matter where they come from, refugees only want to know one thing. “No troubles on the road. Should be safe for you.”

His forehead crinkled. “You from Norvor? You sound like a Norvan.”

“I’ve spent some time there,” I answered. “We’re bound for Zura. You?”

The man wilted at the question. “Anywhere safe that’ll take us. It’s good you’re heading east. Stay clear of the north. Diriel’s soldiers crossed the border. Took over both our farms, took our livestock ’cept for these two.” The man’s face twitched, on the verge of tears. “Torched the house.”

Now I could see these were two different families. Neighbors, probably, who’d taken everything they could with them.

“Are you from Akyre?” asked Cricket. She didn’t address the men, though. Instead she spoke directly to the boy. The man with the hat answered for him.

“We’re from Kasse.”

“Southeast of Akyre,” Marilius explained. “On the border. They’ve been warring with King Diriel for a year.”

“No more,” said the man. “Diriel’s taken Kasse. Calls himself ‘Emperor’ now. Almost all the old provinces have fallen. Not Drin, though.”

I didn’t know much about Akyre or its history, just whatever bits Cricket could remember. “How’s that possible?” I asked. “It’s always been a stalemate down here. How’d Diriel get so powerful?”

The man looked at his cohorts, but none of them answered. A woman in the background whispered a warning to him. The man scratched his sunburned cheek.

“Can’t say,” he said.

“Can’t?” I worked to hide my annoyance. “A friend of mine told me about Diriel. Told me about his army. Told me they were dead men. Is that what’s got you scared?”

Marilius shifted in his saddle. “Lukien, don’t.”

The man took off his hat to fan his face. “We gotta move on.”

“No,” Cricket insisted. “Just wait. We need to know what you saw. Please!”

They all fell silent.

“They won’t tell you,” said Marilius. “Just let ’em go.”

“What about you?” asked Cricket, looking up at the boy. “Will you tell me what you saw?”

The boy—maybe seven years old—nodded. “The legion of the lost.”

“Tomas!” shrieked one of the woman.

I looked at the man with the brown hat. “You can be a big help if you’d tell us. Anything about Diriel, Akyre . . .”

“Can’t!” barked the man. “I warned you off the north. That’s all. Have the sense to turn around. Go back to Norvor. Or stay in Zura when you get there. Just keep clear of Akyre. All of it.”

He yanked the oxen forward and the wagon waddled past us. Cricket called after them, begging them to wait. Marilius looked at me, his expression cross.

“Will you take some advice?” he asked. “Nobody here’s going to tell you about Diriel, Lukien. Nobody. So just stop asking.”

*   *   *

Finally that night, I saw Malator again.

We rode until the sun went down, finding a campsite far enough from the road so no one would see us while we slept. I helped Cricket clear the brush and make a fire, and Marilius took care of the animals. None of us spoke as we worked. Cricket was in a particularly foul mood. Spooked by the refugee boy, she kicked away the branches with clenched teeth. When we sat around the fire to eat, Marilius helped himself to our food, while Cricket picked at her own. My appetite had flown as well. All I wanted was rest.

But when I tried to sleep I couldn’t. Images flashed through my mind—of Cassandra, Cricket, even Wrestler’s ugly face. I looked up at the stars, counting them to quiet my mind, but the constellations taunted me, forming monstrous patterns in the sky. I listened to Cricket’s breathing next to me, using the cape I’d made her for a blanket, her peaceful face turned toward me.

She was safe, for now, but where was I taking her? I sat up, anxious to get away, needing a place to scream. In the shadows of the dying fire I tiptoed away, the Sword of Angels still—forever—belted to my waist. The darkness trapped me like a cage. I took a moment to let my vision adjust, then prowled through the trees like a restless tiger until at last I reached the road.

Silence.

I walked out into the center of the road, awash with moonlight. I looked east toward Zura and thought of Sariyah. I looked west toward home and thought of Gilwyn. When my sight cocked north, I heard Cassandra in my head. I closed my eye to hear her voice, imagining it precisely. Just a year before I had heard that voice for real, in the Story Garden. I had summoned her from the world of the dead just to see her one more time. She alone had convinced me to live, when all I wanted was to join her.

“You can always go back there, you know,” said a voice. “The Story Garden remains.”

I looked down and saw Malator sitting cross-legged in the middle of the road. He smiled up at me, his impish face weary. He seemed substantial this time, as if the moonlight had made flesh of him. But he was a spirit, and I wondered if I had conjured him the way I’d conjured Cass’s voice.

“I’m all alone, Malator,” I whispered. The desolation and empty road felt unbearable. “Why am I here? Why’d I come? I miss her so much. I
should
be with her. Really with her.”

“She doesn’t want that, Lukien. She told you that. She wants you to live and find your destiny.”

Malator didn’t understand. He’d spent his whole life fighting, back when he was alive. He’d never been in love. Not really. I sat down beside him in the dusty road, laying the sword across my lap. “Shouldn’t you be in here resting?” I asked, tapping the blade.

“I’m all right now,” he said in a reedy voice. “Your loneliness woke me. I’m very angry with you.”

“Angry? Why?”

“For making me save you—again. You shouldn’t even be here talking to me. You should be floating around somewhere like a ghost. You know where you’d be if I let you die? In Arad. That would be your death place.”

Like Cassandra in the apple orchard, a death place is where a soul resides when the body finally expires. But Cassandra’s orchard was a far better place to spend eternity than Arad.

“That’s not what’s bothering you,” I said. “You’re angry because you think I tried to kill myself.”

“Didn’t you? I thought I had you figured out, Lukien. I thought you wanted to die just to be with Cassandra again. Now I can’t tell if you’re trying to die or just trying to prove yourself.”

“You saw what he did to Cricket, Malator. You know what he wanted. Wrestler deserved to die. And when I see him again he will.”

“You mean when you go to Akyre?”

“That’s what you want, isn’t it? You told me to come to the Bitter Kingdoms, remember? Well, here I am! I don’t see a whole lot of answers! What’s the point of me coming to this shithole? What am I supposed to find here?”

Malator grinned. “Why ask, Lukien? You know I’m not going to tell you.”

“You make me want to strangle you, Malator. But . . .” I leaned back. “Thank you for saving me. I was afraid when I was dying. Just floating in that darkness.” I looked at him. “What was that thing I saw, Malator? Tell me that at least.”

“I still don’t know,” said Malator. “Maybe nothing. Maybe just a symbol.”

“No, it was real. I saw it. It was dead like me, only it wasn’t.”

“Just like you.”

“That’s right. It was dead, and it wasn’t dead. What could be like that, Malator? You must know.”

“I know a lot of things, Lukien. Some of them I can tell you, some of them I can’t.”

“You drew that thing in the sand, then told me not to take Cricket with me. Is that thing after Cricket?”

“I can’t answer. I told you that already.”

“All right,” I said, “then what’s this Legion of the Lost that boy mentioned? Diriel’s death army?”

Malator looked around, then up at the stars. “It’s dark. How is your vision, Lukien?”