The Forever Knight: A Novel of the Bronze Knight (Books of the Bronze Knight) (17 page)

I felt like an explorer. I sheathed my sword in a hurry and squeezed myself through the gash in the rocky wall, scraping my nose and breastplate. Fallon had obviously rushed his excavation. But once inside, every sense of tightness fled. Suddenly I was in a vast chamber with a sky-high ceiling and a finger of the river running through it. A hundred stone eyes watched me, the glorious work of long-dead sculptors, awash in Malator’s magic light. Cricket held up her flame for us to see. I saw dozens of sculptures, all of them animals, cut into the walls of the tomb or built up high on pedestals, like a lush jungle of wild cats and birds. Faded paintings in gold and scarlet decorated the walls, depicting battles and forests, a landscape of an Akyre that no longer existed. The entire chamber was filled with vases and urns, their contents turned to dust. Another chamber echoed to our left. The little tributary disappeared into its darkness.

“Lukien,” whispered Cricket. “Look.”

She walked toward the center of the chamber, where a large stone coffin stood, raised up on a marble pedestal chiseled with words. The slab that had once covered the coffin lay to the side, a reminder of Fallon’s grave-robbing. Atop the slab was another sculpture, this one of a bird. Cricket ignored the coffin and looked at the bird instead.

“It’s empty,” said Malator as he floated over the coffin.

“Of course. Fallon got what he needed. Whoever it was has been turned into mummy powder.”

Malator moved his hand over the words inscribed on the pedestal. They were foreign to me, like runes. “Can you read it?” I asked.

“No,” said Malator. “It’s probably some old Akyren language.”

“His name was Atarkin,” said Cricket. I turned and saw her reading the words, holding out her flaming palm as she knelt near the slab. “He was the last Emperor of Akyre.”

“How do you know that?” I asked. “Not even Malator knows that.”

“The words,” said Cricket. “I can understand them.”

“Well, now we know you’re definitely from Akyre,” joked Malator.

“How can you remember that?” I asked “How can you remember a whole language when you can’t remember who you are?”

Cricket pondered that, as confused as I was. “I don’t know. It’s like remembering how to talk I guess.”

“What else does it say?”

She leaned in and read some more. “He was called ‘the Nightingale.’ That’s what the people called him.”

“The bird,” said Malator, noting the sculpture on his slab.

“The Nightingale? Strange thing to call a tyrant.”

“Maybe he wasn’t a tyrant,” said Cricket. “Maybe he was a good king.”

I knew she wanted to believe that. “Maybe.” I touched the coffin, noticing for the first time the stone flowers carved into it. “Roses,” I whispered. “Nightingales and roses.” I looked around the tomb, struck by all the beautiful paintings and statues. “Was this Akyre? Is this what it was like?”

Cricket went on studying the words. “He was the master of the dead. Huh.”

“Huh?”

“That’s what it says, Master of the Dead.” She pointed to show me. “What’s that mean, Malator?”

Malator thought for a moment. “Master of the Dead.” He looked around the chamber. He stroked his chin with his glowing hand. “Emperor. Master of the Dead. What did Diriel say to you, Lukien? About magic?”

“He said the old kings called on the powers of the dead,” I recalled. “Whatever that means.”

“Master of the Dead,” Malator repeated. “
Master
.” He tipped his head over the empty coffin and looked inside. “Atarkin’s body. You can’t just grind up any old mummy and expect to make men immortal from it. Something about Atarkin was special.”

“His bloodline maybe?” said Cricket.

“That’s what Diriel said,” I pointed out. “He said it was his right to control the monster.”

“It’s a puzzle,” sighed Malator. I could feel his frustration. “The monster came from here. From right here in this chamber.” He turned toward the darker part of the tomb, where the tributary flowed. “From there.”

Cricket and I both froze as we watched Malator drift along the side of the water, gradually illuminating a tunnel of stone. The monster wasn’t here—I believed Malator about that. So why was I so anxious? I helped Cricket up and walked with her after Malator, following him into a dark antechamber. The flame still burned in Cricket’s hand. She held it up, revealing the opposite wall. Jagged rock, like all the others, the wall was painted with an enormous mural depicting a place I’d never seen before, a twisted landscape with blighted trees and burning mountains, peopled with tormented ghosts. In the center of the world stood a multi-armed, multi-headed beast, its long tongue roped around a naked woman, its tails rimmed with bloody thorns. It had the face of a human and a goat and a bird and a pig, and it was the goat’s tongue that held the woman, about to devour her. Above the painting was chiseled more of the Akyren letters.

“Gahoreth,” said Cricket. She turned to Malator. “What’s that?”

But Malator didn’t answer. He was looking down at the ribbon of water. “Look at the river.”

I’d been so struck by the painting I hadn’t noticed the river at all. It didn’t wind off into the darkness as I’d supposed, but disappeared directly into the wall. I peered closer, not sure what I was seeing. The river was there, right at my feet, and then it wasn’t. It didn’t pool at the wall like a dam. It just flowed right into it, into the painted world.

“Gahoreth,” said Malator. “One of the realms of the dead. A hell. That’s where our monster comes from.”

Cricket’s white face filled with awe. She shifted her magical flame from one palm to the other, then reached out to touch the wall. But her hand didn’t go through it the way the water did. She looked oddly surprised. She dipped her fingers into the water, then touched the wall again.

“It’s real,” she gasped. “But where’s it going?”

“Into Gahoreth,” said Malator.

“How’s that possible?” I was neither awestruck nor afraid. All I felt was baffled. “You know this place Gahoreth? You’ve heard of it?”

“It’s a place where souls go after life,” said Malator.

“I thought souls go to their own death place. That’s what Minikin taught me. You said so, too. Like Cassandra in the apple orchard. You never said anything about them going to hell.”

“Not hell,” said Malator. “Like a hell. That’s the best word for it. The souls trapped in Gahoreth aren’t in their resting places. They’ve been stolen. Taken to Gahoreth.”

“How?”

“I don’t know.” Malator turned back to the painting. “The monster perhaps.”

Cricket was busy studying the picture. She traced her finger over a bit of writing beneath the image of the beast. Her lips moved while she read.

“Cricket? What’s it say?”

“It’s name. It’s name is Crezil.”

“Crezil?” I looked closer at the writing. “All those words for that? What else?”

“I don’t really understand it, Lukien. It says Kasdeyi Orioc. Or Oriox. Something like that. The words don’t mean anything though. They mean like . . . Guardian Slave. Kasdeyi is an old Akyren word for a guardian or even a lighthouse. Oriox means slave.” Cricket read again, stringing the whole thing together, “I am Crezil the guardian slave. I’m sorry, Lukien. That’s the best I can figure.”

“Malator?” I called. “What do you think?”

Malator didn’t answer. He cocked his translucent head, examining the creature in the painting. It didn’t look like the one we’d seen, but something made me sure this was it. A guardian. A slave. I tried to unravel it.

“It guards the tomb,” I suggested. “The Akyren kings summoned it, maybe.”

“Or they thought they summoned it,” said Malator.

“What’s that mean?”

“A creature like this Crezil doesn’t guard a tomb. It doesn’t even belong in this world.” Malator pointed at the painting. “It belongs there. That’s its world. Gahoreth.”

“Then it’s the guardian of Gahoreth,” said Cricket. “You think so?”

“A guardian
and
a slave,” I said. “But a slave to who? Or what?”

“The ruler of Gahoreth, presumably,” said Malator.

“That doesn’t help. Who’s the ruler of Gahoreth, then?”

Malator didn’t answer.

“We’re just guessing,” I grumbled. “We’re wasting time. Diriel’s army is on its way. We need to get to Isowon.”

I turned to go, but neither Malator nor Cricket followed. Both were still enthralled by the painting and the disappearing river.

“They’re all clues,” said Cricket. She looked up at Malator. “Right, Malator?”

“Pieces to the puzzle, Cricket,” he agreed. “The monster came through here—through this wall. Like the river. It crossed between worlds.” He grinned at me. “Hear that, Lukien?”

“We know that already,” I said. “What else?”

Malator crossed the chamber to face me. “We learned a lot,” he insisted. “The name of the monster, the fact that it’s from Gahoreth . . .”

“And none of us has any idea what that means,” I said. “Fallon set that monster free when he stole Atarkin’s body. But why? What’s it looking for? Revenge? Souls? Do you know, either of you?”

Cricket looked away. Malator seethed but didn’t say a word.

“I didn’t think so. Well, enough now.” I trudged my way into the main chamber, splashing through the water. “I’m done with riddles and clues. I’m done with running and hiding. It’s time to fight.”

“Oh,” said Cricket, “now I see. You’re mad because you didn’t learn anything helpful to kill it. That’s what you want, isn’t it? To fight it. To kill it.”

“That’s right.” I turned on her. “You want to know? I’m mad because the damn thing isn’t here. But I’m going to find it, and when I do I’m going to kill it. And then I’m going to find Wrestler and I’m going to kill him, too. That’s what I do, Cricket. I’m a killer.” It felt so good to finally admit it! Like chains had been broken. I couldn’t get to Isowon fast enough. “We’re done here,” I told them. “Let’s go.”

“We just started looking!” argued Malator. “There’s time. We have the whole tomb to explore.”

“Malator . . .” I struggled to control myself. “You’ve taken me astray. Remember when we set out? I told you I was in charge. You’re
my
Akari. But then I let you show me visions, get my head all turned around. Look at us. We’re in a tomb! Like grave robbers. Like that scoundrel Anton Fallon. Well, no more.” I pulled my sword a few inches out of its sheath. “Time for you to go home.”

Malator eyed the blade. “You’re making a mistake.”

“Go on, get in there,” I coaxed. “I’ll call you when I need you.”

“I’m not a slave—”

“Yes, Malator, you are! That’s the price you pay for keeping me alive. For keeping me away from Cassandra and everything that makes sense to me! I say where we go from here. Not you. Not anyone else. Now, get in the sword.”

He contested me with a long, hard stare, but he couldn’t win. Malator hated to admit it, but I owned him. In a puff of light, he disappeared. Out went the flame in Cricket’s hand. Darkness swallowed us instantly.

“Uh, Lukien?”

“Don’t worry. I can see.”

I still had the miracle of Malator’s powers. I took Cricket’s hand and guided us along the river, out of the tomb, and out of the cave, picking our way carefully and wordlessly over the rocks. When the sunlight finally touched us, I saw the worry on Cricket’s face.

She’s afraid of me
, I thought.

Maybe that was a good thing. We found our horses where we left them. I mounted up, told Cricket to hurry, and rode south for Isowon.

C
rezil.

The word kept going through my mind.

All that morning and into the afternoon we rode south for Isowon. Cricket spent her time talking about frivolous things, trying to draw me out of my sour mood, and avoiding any discussion of what we found in the cave. She bounced along behind me, commenting about the trees and how lovely the day was for riding, and how pleased Marilius would be to see us again, but she never once mentioned the monster or her ability to read the writings in Atarkin’s tomb. I never mentioned it either. I was sick of her memory lapse, sick of her not even trying to remember.

And I was suspicious. For the first time, I feared all her lost memories were nothing but a lie. Yet I knew there was nothing to be done for it. We had our hands full with Diriel’s army and the promise I’d made him to deliver up the monster, and now that I knew the creature’s name, I pondered ways to beat it.

Crezil.

To know it’s name almost put a face on it. I imagined Gahoreth, the hell it called home. In Liiria we had no hell. We had only the Fate, and I didn’t believe in it. Minikin and the Inhumans had cured me of that fairy tale, showing me a world beyond our own, beyond death even, and when she died Malator had taken up my tutoring. But still, it all befuddled me. Every new bit of knowledge called into question the bits I’d learned before.

I pulled my water skin from Zephyr’s side, opened it with my teeth and took a drink. Behind me Cricket started talking to herself, realizing at last that I wasn’t listening. The bruise on her head had turned a dullish blue, and whatever her fall had knocked loose in her skull was still rattling around in there. She might have been on the brink of a breakthrough or an utter collapse; I could no longer tell the difference. All I wanted was to get to Isowon.

We rode on past noon, past the time when Fallon took his midday meal naked by the pool. I looked up at the sun and thought about the last time I’d seen him, balled up like a baby and sniffing that awful smelling spice. For a moment I regretted returning, until I thought of Isowon. Glorious Isowon was a company town; Fallon built it and owned every stick of it, but its people were innocent. I couldn’t abide their slaughter.

“Cricket?”

She snapped out of her daze. “Yeah?”

“My father smoked a pipe.”

“Huh?”

“My father. You’re always asking about my past. He smoked a pipe made of black bronze. Heavy goddamn thing.”

She rode up beside me with a wondering smile. “Oh, yeah?”

“These are the kind of things you remember. Sometimes I can’t even picture his face. I try and try, but I can’t. I have to sneak up on the memory. But that pipe . . . that’s what I remember. Him lighting it, puffing on it. That smell, like old leather. He used to blow the smoke into my eyes.”

“Why’d he do that?”

“Because he was a bastard. Some people are born bastards. And their children become bastards. They can’t help it. It’s just what happens.” I looked at her and felt like crying. “You get me?”

Cricket took my words to heart, thinking on them. She said, “People can change. That’s what I believe.”

“That’s what young people believe. That’s what gives them hope.” I looked ahead of us, desperate to see Isowon. “It’s changing other people that’s hard.”

*   *   *

An hour later we were finally in Isowon, riding through the city’s tree-lined streets. I’d expected to be greeted by soldiers and to see the citizens and merchants out in the sunshine, but instead the streets were deserted. I peered into the homes and saw boarded-up windows and chains on the doors, as if the townsfolk already knew Diriel’s army was coming. Except for the distant churn of the ocean and the stray notes of songbirds, all was a hush. Cricket rode out ahead of me, swiveling her head around at all the locked shops and houses. Fountains still spouted along the avenues, but no children gathered to watch them. Cricket reached into a tree and plucked off a fruit. Never having seen the fruit before, I warned her not to eat it.

“Not gonna,” she said, then tossed it hard at the nearest home, squarely hitting the door. A rustle came from inside the house, then a shadow at the window. Someone peered out from a slit in the boards.

“Hey,” shouted Cricket, “where is everyone? Why you all hiding?”

There was a long, unmoving silence. Then, “Get off the street,” warned a voice. “Get to the palace if you’re soldiers.”

“Why?” I called back. I trotted to the edge of the road. “What happened?”

“Are you stupid? The monster! Now go! I don’t want to talk!”

The shadow left the window. I glanced around the street, but saw no sign of the monster, or even an attack. I could feel eyes watching us from the buildings, but no one echoed the man’s warning. I wheeled Zephyr about.

“The palace.”

Cricket was already ahead of me, racing her pony over the cobblestones. I tucked in after her, studying the towers Fallon had built around his home. As we drew nearer I noticed them crowded with soldiers. A contingent milled inside the gate, coming to life as they heard us. They signaled our approach, but not a single bowman tilted toward us. I heard my name above the din, then a cry to let us enter. The shocked faces of the soldiers greeted us as we stopped to let the giant gates swing wide.

“Lukien!” cried a man who took my horse. Another grabbed my hand. Cricket jostled her pony through the swarm. Not only soldiers crammed the palace but townsfolk and their children, too.

“What’s happening?” I asked. I looked around for a friendly face, but they were all strangers to me. “Where’s Marilius?”

A one-handed man with a dented helmet pushed toward me through the crowd. “You’re back too late! It’s done and over!”

“What is?”

“You had hours! You come
now
?”

I dismounted, jumping down in front of him. “Was it the monster?”

“Yes!
Your
monster, Liirian. The one you were supposed to kill!”

“Mine?” I pushed the man so hard he tumbled. “Where’s Marilius? Someone bloody tell me!”

The noise stopped, and all their ghastly faces stared at me. Cricket got down from her pony to stand beside me.

“What’s wrong with you all?” I shouted. “You’re all struck stupid suddenly?”

“Lukien.”

A man came toward us from the edge of the yard. It took a moment for me to realize it was Marilius. He was almost staggering, favoring a bandaged leg and supporting himself with a homemade cane. Blood spattered his arms and cape, even his face. The breath he took rattled from his lungs. Cricket raced to help him.

“Marilius!” She wrapped herself around his arm. “What happened?”

“Last night,” said Marilius. He could barely catch his breath. “In the hall.”

“Fallon?” I asked.

“Alive.”

I couldn’t tell if he was relieved or disgusted. He let Cricket help him back toward the palace entrance, wincing with every step. “It was almost dawn by the time it came. Half of us were asleep. The gate, the towers . . . bloody useless. No one even saw it until it was near the hall.”

“What’d it look like, Marilius?”

Marilius shook his head. “I can’t even describe it. Like a sack of old skins. Animals, people . . . it wasn’t bones this time. Just skins, like it was wearing them.”

“Mother-whore. But it didn’t reach Fallon?”

“A damn miracle,” said Marilius. “The men tossed themselves at it. We couldn’t get out of the hall. We were trapped. You need to see for yourself.”

We walked into the palace, past all the shocked soldiers and shopkeepers and confused little kids, deep into the wing where I’d last seen Fallon. Another group of soldiers stood guard just outside the great hall. Marilius waved them away. The noise of the crowds dropped off behind us as we rounded the corner and the hall echoed before us. Sunlight gushed in from the towering windows, touching the golden pillars and alabaster tiles and human wreckage.

Cricket gasped.

“Oh, Fate . . .” I stepped around to block her way. “Marilius, take her out of here.”

Cricket pushed me off. “No!”

“I don’t want you here,” I said, but it was too late anyway. She’d already seen it.

The hall looked like a battlefield, the kind I’d seen a hundred times. Dozens of corpses spread out along the floor, some with horror-stricken faces, others with their heads caved in. Men with sliced bellies and missing limbs lay atop each other, oozing stomach juices across the polished tiles. Blood trickled down the walls and dripped from the ceiling. A pair of arms hung from a chandelier, the dead fingers still clutching the wrought iron. A shattered fountain in the center of the hall spread water and dead goldfish over the tiles. Every gentle statue had been toppled. Down at my feet an eyeball sloshed. I kicked it aside before Cricket could see it.

It was an image of hell, worse than the painting of Gahoreth. Next to me, Marilius made a whimpering noise. Amazingly, Cricket found the guts to put her arm around him. She didn’t even look away.

Guts
, I thought proudly.

“They didn’t break,” said Marilius. “They stayed. All the way until the sun came up.”

“What happened to it, Marilius?” I asked. I’d hoped to see the monster laying dead among the mercenaries. “Did you wound it at least? How’d you drive it off?”

Marilius pointed to the giant windows. “The sun drove it off, not us. Once the light came it ran.”

“Ran? Where?”

“How should I know? We didn’t go after it! Fuck, Lukien, look around! It’s unstoppable!”

“But it stopped,” I mused. I looked back down the hall. No one had tried to keep it from escaping. I turned to see the other end of the hall where Fallon’s private chamber waited. The door was open, but I was sure it had been locked up tight last night. “So you were trapped in here, guarding
him
. Is he in there?”

“He won’t come out,” said Marilius. “I can’t even get him to talk to me.”

“He has to talk,” I said. “Now.”

I trekked straight through the hall, over the pools of blood and stinking entrails, heading for Fallon. Marilius called at me to stop.

“Forget it,” I snapped. “He’s got more troubles then he knows.”

I reached the chamber and peered inside. The room was just the same as I’d left it days ago. Only now Fallon looked worse. He’d obviously sniffed up all his purple spice, because only the residue of it stained the table. Fallon had his head down and his arms spread out across the tabletop. I thought he was asleep until he turned his bloodshot eyes to face me. He’d been weeping. Trails of dried tears streaked his dirty face. I pictured him cowering in his sanctuary while his men were ripped to shreds just beyond the door. Surprisingly, I pitied him.

“You came back,” he whispered. He smiled without a trace of joy. “What does it want, Lukien? Why won’t it leave me alone?”

“I’m not sure yet,” I said.

“Did you go to Diriel?”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

“I was right about him, wasn’t I?”

“You were right,” I admitted. “All of Akyre’s an asylum.” Cricket and Marilius finally came up behind me in the threshold. I stepped into Fallon’s sanctuary. “He’s coming after you, Anton,” I said. “He’s got an army. The Legion of the Lost. He gave us seven days to make ready. That was three days ago.”

Fallon didn’t bother lifting his cheek off the dirty table. “I don’t have his money.”

“He knows that,” I said. “It’s not the money he wants. It’s you. And he wants the monster. He thinks I can get it for him. I told him I would, to buy some time. You need to get ready, get your men ready.”

Marilius asked, “Lukien, are you bloody blind? We can’t fight an army!”

“You are an army!” I shouted back. “You’re soldiers. It’s time to fight—men this time, not monsters.”

“Men that
are
monsters, you mean,” said Marilius. “You saw them yourself. They’re not human anymore.”

“They can be killed, and we’re going to kill them,” I argued. “So they have no souls, so what? They have bodies and bodies can die.”

“It’s hopeless,” groaned Fallon. “We can’t fight them. We don’t have enough men.”

I went and stooped down to face him. “Anton, listen to me. Diriel doesn’t have a regular army, not the way a country does. They’re a mismatched group of soldiers and sheep herders, and not all of them have used the mummia. His country’s a wasteland. He can’t even feed an army. They get one shot at this. We drive them back, and they’re finished.”

Fallon managed to lift himself up. “A hundred men are dead out there,” he said as he pointed to the hall. “Can’t you smell that? That blood? Maybe more than a hundred. I can’t even tell because they’re in pieces!”

“Find more men, then. Buy them, bribe them—do whatever you have to but get them here. Get them here now.”

“How can I pay for them? I told you, Lukien—I’m finished! I can’t even pay back Diriel.”

“No one’s going to come here now anyway, no matter how much he pays them,” said Marilius. “Not after what happened. Even the men we have won’t stay. Many have left and others are talking about it.”

“What about Drin?” asked Cricket.

We all blinked at her innocent question. “Drin?” I asked.

“They’re fighting Diriel too, right? That’s what I keep hearing. Maybe they can help.”

“But I can’t pay them!” roared Fallon.

“No, no, she’s right,” I said. “What about that, Marilius? The Drin are fighting, right? What if they came here to join us? This is their last chance—if Isowon falls they’re finished. They must know that.”

Marilius thought about it. “I don’t know,” he shrugged. “Maybe.”

“How many men do they have? Are they a big army?”

“No, they can’t be,” said Marilius. “Some of the other mercenaries come from Drin, but it’s a small country. There’s been some fighting, I know that. But Diriel was after Kasse.”

“Yes, Kasse first,” I said. “But Diriel’s not going to stop. The Drin are on his supper plate, too. If we can bring them here, get them to listen—”

“Hey,” barked Fallon, banging on the table. “Are you forgetting something? The monster? I told you, we can’t fight with that thing on top of us!”

“He’s right,” said Marilius. “How can we build a defense? We can’t even leave the palace.”